Work Text:
“Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”
Kon looks up from the box he’s unpacking, distracted by the gleeful tone of Tim’s voice.
Distracted and a little worried, because it sounds like Tim has found something he thinks he can torture Kon with, and that’s just unfair, seeing as how Tim’s only been in his new apartment for about twenty minutes.
He’s supposed to be there to help Kon unpack, but he hasn’t done a thing so far. In fact, he’d shown up two hours late, crawling though Kon’s bedroom window still gross from last night’s patrol, his suit bundled up in a bag slung over his shoulder. Kon had kissed him and shoved him toward the shower before turning his attention back to the mountain of boxes in his bedroom.
Tim reappeared a short time later, yawning and waving off Kon’s offer to let him nap.
“There aren’t any sheets on the bed,” he’d said, wrinkling up his nose. Tim is strange about the weirdest things.
Now he’s digging through Kon’s closet with Kon’s borrowed pajama pants hanging precariously low on his hips and a large coffee from the shop around the corner in one hand. Kon will gladly continue being a super-fast delivery boy for Tim if it means he gets a view like this every once in a while.
“I can’t believe you kept this,” Tim says as he pulls something out from the very back of the closet.
It turns out to be Kon’s old leather jacket, the one from his first costume with the big yellow ‘s’ shield on the back.
“What? It’s sentimental, dude,” he says, automatically defensive when Tim gives him a look. “It’s not like I still wear it. It’s just, you know, memories.”
Tim’s expression turns into a smile. He takes the jacket off of its hanger and holds it up by the shoulders towards Kon, like Kon is some sort of enormous paper doll. “That’s good, because I don’t think you could get your arms through these sleeves anymore.”
Kon rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the box in front of him. “You’re going to tease me about this forever, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Tim says absently, and then, “Hmm. I wonder…”
Kon stops what he’s doing, hands curled around a stack of books, because Tim only says that sort of thing when he wants you to pay attention. If Tim’s really thinking about something he’s not going to let you in on it until he figures it out. There’s a rustling sound, and when Kon turns around to look, like a good boy, Tim is facing away from him again, shrugging the jacket on. The golden yellow ‘s’ shield stretches between his shoulders as he moves, the fabric pulled taut.
Kon watches him, caught up in fascination and curiosity as Tim turns around.
The fit is tight and a little too small all over-- Tim’s wrists peek out of the cuffs like a kid who’s outgrown his clothes-- but there’s enough room left that Tim could zip it if he wanted to. It’s strange to think that Tim has grown, filled out enough that he’s a little bigger than Kon used to be, because Kon’s so used to thinking of Tim as tiny.
Easy to pick up and easy to hold, small under the breadth of Kon’s hands-- it’s something Kon loves about him. Not that he lets himself forget just how dangerous Tim can be, or how mean he can get if he wants to, but yeah. It’s one of his favorite things.
Tim doesn’t bother to zip the jacket up, though, and Kon’s gaze stumbles and stops on the smooth expanse of skin left exposed down the middle of his chest, the soft-cut shadow of muscle framed by black leather.
Kon’s mouth is suddenly very dry.
They had been teenagers together, after all, at that age where anything and everything seems to turn a guy on, and... well. He’d be lying if he said that he’d never thought about Tim wearing his jacket.
Nothing
but his jacket.
Spread out on his bed, naked except for the jacket falling off of his shoulders and that damn mask on his face, back when he never took it off for anything. There’s a deep flush spilling down his chest as Kon marks out the shape and feel of his thighs with his hands, pushing them apart and settling in between—
Kon has always had a great imagination.
It doesn’t matter that it’s something that never would have happened back then, because it’s something that he can make happen now.
And that is a fact that never stops being wonderful, no matter how long they’ve been together.
The idea propels him forward, and it only takes a few steps for Kon to crowd him, backing him into the wall beside the closet. Tim looks up at him, bright slivers of blue beneath his eyelashes, head tilted down because he’s trying to hide the twitch of his lips, the bitten back laughter at Kon’s rather obvious intentions.
“Can I help you?” he asks, low and threaded though with amusement.
Kon doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid his voice will crack, desire and ragged need tightening up his throat. He may feel like an infatuated teenager, but that doesn’t mean he has to sound like one.
After all, it’s not every day that something straight out of your adolescent fantasies becomes real. He wants this to happen. He needs it.
He places one hand against the wall beside Tim’s head, the other flat against the center of his chest. His skin is soft under Kon’s palm, still humid and warm from the shower.
Kon leans down, planning to kiss the smile right off of his lips, mouth closing in as Tim tips his head up—
“Would it be better with a mask on?”
Low and teasing because Tim knows him, knows exactly what he’s thinking.
“I could…” Tim trails off, face shifting easily into a smirk, sly and superior and, just like that, he’s Robin. Rob, back when that was all they knew him as.
Kon manages to find his voice. “Oh god.”
It totally cracks.
“Superboy.”
Tim’s voice is stern and disapproving, even the smallest trace of amusement gone. It twists something low in Kon’s gut, making him feel immediately guilty for no reason.
“Please shut up,” Kon says, kissing him just as Tim opens his mouth to reply. Undoubtedly to say something full of sarcasm and disdain, Kon can feel it in the sharp shape of his mouth before Tim relaxes against him.
He tastes like coffee and sugar at first, but underneath everything else there’s just Tim, warm and familiar.
When they part for air Tim is smirking again, his eyes dark and considering. “So, no role-playing then?”
Kon laughs. “Only if you want this to be over before it starts.”
He drags his lips along Tim’s jaw as Tim hums in agreement, mumbling “we wouldn’t want that,” under his breath. There’s about two days worth of stubble on Tim’s face, another sign that he’s been ‘working’ long hours again. The texture of it feels good against Kon’s skin, rough and soft all at once, and it makes him wish for the vulnerability of human flesh, for just a moment, so that he could really feel it.
Tim pulls him into a kiss again, slow and deep, like he could go on like this for days. Sometimes Tim likes to tease, torturing him until he snaps, and Kon is just wondering if this is going to be one of those times when one of Tim’s hands shifts low, down over the waistband of Kon’s jeans.
Tim pulls out of the kiss when Kon gasps and mumbles “back up,” his breath warm against Kon’s ear. Kon doesn’t ask why, because Tim’s hand is pressing against him, working him through his jeans and frying all his higher brain functions. He just steps back, and when Tim drops to his knees, his fingers deftly unbuttoning Kon’s pants and tugging them down, Kon congratulates himself on a job well done. He follows directions well, depending on the situation.
Motivation is certainly a factor in that, and it doesn’t hurt that he loves this, loves watching Tim getting into it almost more than he loves—well, okay, not more than he loves getting blown, but it’s a damn close second. Tim is focused on him completely, with that same sort of concentration that he usually reserves for the criminal set, and damn if that isn’t ridiculously hot. Tim wraps one of his hands around him, placing the other one flat against Kon’s thigh, and Kon knows he’s considering his plan of action. He would laugh if it wasn’t such a turn on.
Of course, all this careful consideration just means that Tim knows exactly what he wants to do, so that when he opens his mouth he takes Kon all the way down, the hand that was wrapped around him dropping away, and it’s wet and warm and perfect. Kon leans his hands against the wall, his eyes fixed on Tim’s dark head as it moves, slow and steady and maddeningly sweet.
He doesn’t trust himself to put his hands on Tim’s head; he never does. It’s not that he’s afraid of hurting him, although he supposes he could if he wasn’t careful. It’s more that he’s afraid if he interferes too much then Tim will stop. Which would be horrible. Tim likes to do things his own way, and Kon is really, really okay with that.
Especially when Tim leans back, letting his head lean back against the wall as his hand slides up from Kon’s thigh to curl around his hips, encouraging Kon to move. To thrust.
He pushes himself into Tim’s mouth and watches Tim’s eyes fall closed, as if this is the only thing he wants to be doing, as if the act itself is as good for him as it is for Kon.
It probably is, considering the fact that Tim will do this every chance he gets, but Kon really doesn’t have the brainpower left to think about that right now. He’s completely focused on watching himself move, his world narrowed down to the stretch of Tim’s red lips around him and the flicker of Tim’s eyelashes against his cheeks as he moans, obscenely and wonderfully muffled.
As if he needed another indication that Tim loves this.
He closes his eyes for a moment, because that thought is going to kill him, but only for a moment. This is not something that he ever wants to miss.
Movement catches his attention when he opens his eyes again, and the flex of Tim’s shoulder suggests that his arm, his hand, is moving in long, smooth strokes somewhere out of Kon’s line of sight. The thought of Tim touching himself for this is almost too much for him, and he doesn’t want to come like this, not this time. That, more than anything else, is what makes Kon grab at him, ttk and hands on his arms until he’s on his feet again.
Tim smiles at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, his eyes dazed and hot. His mouth is shiny and wet, an obscene red that matches the flush in his cheeks. His borrowed pajama pants are tangled around his calves, and he takes a moment to kick them the rest of the way off before practically jumping at Kon, wrapping his legs around Kon’s waist and hauling himself into a kiss.
Kon, in turn, finds his hands on Tim’s skin, one on the small of his back underneath the jacket and the other one underneath his thigh. Tim’s mouth is warm against his, human and fragile, and Kon imagines that he can feel the ebb and flow of the blood just under his skin.
He wants to be inside that skin, wants to feel Tim all around him now more than ever. He uses the ttk to hold Tim up, because it’s the greatest, most useful thing ever, and slides the hand on Tim’s thigh up, over the curve of his ass and then down—
Kon’s eyes go wide and he pulls out of the kiss with a wet ‘pop.’
“Did you seriously…?” he asks, breathless because his fingers are sliding into Tim’s body, easy and ready and wet.
“It’s been two whole weeks and I missed you,” Tim says by way of explanation, a smug an entirely unashamed grin on his face. He actually slicked himself up in the bathroom after his shower, and Kon would be laughing if it wasn’t so hot.
“You’re driving me crazy,” Kon whispers into Tim’s ear as he uses his fingers to slowly stretch him open. The careful pace isn’t necessary—Tim is always very thorough about preparing himself, but the tease is good for both of them. “You always drive me crazy.”
“Please.” Tim’s head falls back, exposing his neck to Kon’s lips. He tries to push back on his fingers but Kon holds him still, keeping his movements steady and smooth. The smell of the leather jacket is stronger now, warmed by Tim’s body heat, and the sense memory of it is making Kon dizzy.
“Do you know how much I wanted you?” Kon asks, moving his hand away and pushing in. Tim’s head knocks back against the wall as he gasps, his hands digging into Kon’s shoulders. “Thought about you wearing this. This and nothing else but that damn mask, because you never ever took it off.” The words pour out, out of Kon’s control now, because it has been two weeks and Kon has fucking missed this too. Tim is open enough that Kon can just slide right in, move like he wants to right from the start.
“God, Kon.”
“Thought about spreading you out on my bed and fucking you while you wore it, like it was a goddamn varsity jacket and you were my girlfriend.”
Tim chokes out a laugh, his body tightening beautifully around Kon’s dick. “Heh. You wanna go steady?”
Kon thrusts hard enough to make the last word come out high and thin, but it’s not enough to make him shut up. Law of the universe #543: You can’t stop a Robin with a bad joke.
“Hmm. I could get a cheerleader uniform…”
And that—short skirt, tank top, maybe even some pom-poms—hell, Kon’s always had a deep appreciation for cheerleaders…
Kissing Tim seems like the best way to both shut him up and stop that line of fantasizing right in its tracks, so Kon does it, teeth and tongue and the awkward angle of their bodies making it messy.
Not that it isn’t a perfectly wonderful fantasy, but yeah. He should totally pay attention to the one that’s currently under his hands.
Because Tim is always a fantasy. He was one of Kon’s first ones, and the fact that years have passed doesn’t seem to matter. He feels like a sap for even thinking it, but it’s true.
Touching him like this is still a thrill, every time, and the novelty that he’s allowed to do it has never worn off.
Tim throws his head back when he comes, muscles flexed and pushing back hard against Kon, and the way he looks and sounds is enough to push Kon over the edge after him.
They stay like that for a moment, Tim pressed between the wall and Kon’s body as they wind down. Kon kisses Tim’s face and eases them to the floor. Tim is dead weight at this point, and Kon thinks that he might not object to the state of Kon’s bed anymore.
Tim sighs and rolls away once they’re on the floor, using the borrowed pajama pants to clean himself off. Kon doesn’t care at all, because it leaves him gloriously naked, stretched out beside Kon and breathing deeply, his body shining with a thin layer of sweat.
Kon kicks his pants the rest of the way off before turning towards Tim and reaching for his hand. Tim laces their fingers together and rolls towards him, propping himself up on his elbow and placing his other hand in the center of Kon’s chest. He still looks suspiciously gleeful, desepite his sleepy eyes.
“What now?” Kon demands, too tired to feel anything but warily amused.
“Oh nothing,” Tim says, grinning lazily, “I was just wondering what else you might have in that closet.”