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Tim shakily lifted his hips, easing down his tights and cup to free his cock. With a soft sigh he began languidly stroking it, feeling it fill out in his palm.
His mind drifted to him– that stupidly bright grin when they made it through a battle by the skin of their teeth, those tired eyes after a particularly grueling week where he still managed a small smile for everyone else's sake, the dark curls around his face that he had just begun growing back out...
Tim bit his lip as his cock twitched and stiffened in his hand. He thought of Kon. Of that broad chest, of those muscled thighs, those arms that were thicker than Tim's damn waist.
Tim remembers how unabashed Kon use to be about walking around the locker room naked– always so sure of himself, comfortable in his own skin, so open. Tim had always felt like he was taking advantage of that openness by looking, but how could he not? He was modeled perfection.
Tim's head fell back as he rolled his hips up into his fist, thinking of his voice. The specific lilt it'd take in when he was talking to Tim specifically, like Tim was something special.
He thought of the metallic scent of blood, the first thing that had hit him when he saw Kon's body. He thought of smoke and dirt and blood staining his face. He had already been gone by the time Tim got there.
He felt tears splatter on his hand that never stopped even as he hunched over in grief. Even as Kon's memory was tainted he kept going, just as he always did. Because even at death he was beautiful, he was a hero.
Tim let out a sob in time with the twist of his hand, thinking of his regrets. He regrets every time they fought, every time he didn't have time to listen to Kon when he needed it, any time he didn't take Kon seriously when he opened up, never opening up to Kon.
So many things he had wanted to say, so many things he was so afraid to say. Things he should've said but now will never have the chance to.
He curled further into himself as his shoulders shook with sobs. Kon was gone and he never knew how much he had meant to Tim. They were best friends but that wasn't even the half of it, Tim loved Kon. He was in love with him.
He had held back so much in fear of ruining their friendship but now it haunted him, wondering what could've been. They could've been closer for it all, Tim could've confided in Kon more, Kon could have comforted him. And God does he miss it, he missed Kon's comfort like a hole in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to fall into one of his side hugs, hear him say 'it's alright' or 'I'm here' or anything at all. He wanted to be held.
And what if Kon had felt the same way? Tim had always felt there was something unspoken between them, but the fear that it was all in his head kept him from pursuing it. But what if they had spoken it into existence, stopped dancing around it and were just open with each other. Tim couldn't imagine the things they could've been without feeling ill.
Tim's eyes fell shut and he leaned back, spreading his legs while pumping his hips up into his fist. Each thrust elicited a sharp pant, punctuated only by a hiccuped sob or sniff. He let out a soft moan.
How disgusting to remember Kon this way– perverting his memories for his own self pleasure. Kon had been so much more than the object of Tim's desire, yet Tim couldn't control himself. He squirmed in shame and thought of himself in disgust, but that didn't make the memories any less erotic in his mind.
Tim's chin hit his chest as he watched his hand moving through blurred vision. Kon deserved so much more than to be the fantasy of Tim's morbid pleasure, to be a memory for Tim to masturbate to.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut as his cock pulsed, sending waves of pleasure through his body, useless to combat his anguish. His sobs started anew as he painted his fist– what a disgusting desecration of Kon's memory. The post-orgasmic haze did nothing to quell his agony, only amplified his self revulsion.
As the haze lifted he sat there limply, staring unseeingly ahead as his mind kept flitting through every memory.
"Attempt seventy-eight unsuccessful."
Tim's eyes slid closed as he let out a slow breath. He sat there for what could've been hours or seconds, before finally standing, wiping his hands with clinical detachment.
"Initiate next attempt."