Dared to Confess
{ NC-17 | Bruce/Tim/Kon | timeline? what timeline? | title from “We Are Wolves Now” by David Usher | written for Porn Battle 8 }
*
Sometimes Kon likes to tag along while Tim patrols. He likes to watch Tim in his element, skulking through dark and shadowed alleys and stalking the criminals of Gotham’s underbelly from above, rooftop to rooftop.
Kon doesn’t help — because Tim is motherfucking Robin, he doesn’t need help — he just follows, admires some of Tim’s more elegant moves, and then when they’re done for the night, after leaving their trussed-up bounty on the steps of the handiest police station, Kon will drag Tim into the shadows, shove him against a rough stone wall, and kiss him.
Tonight is no different; they drop off four zip-tied crooks for Commissioner Gordon, then Kon leads Tim into the nearest alley, wraps an arm around Tim’s waist, and flies them both across the city and away from prying eyes. He lands them in a dark alley beside a dumpster.
“Very romantic,” Tim comments, but he’s already tugged his guantlets off and is fisting his hands in Kon’s hair, reeling him in. Right after patrol, Tim kisses the same way he fights: with skill and precision, and a little bit dirty. Tim bites Kon’s lower lip hard; if Kon weren’t meta it would swell and bruise, but he is and it won’t. Kon doesn’t have the same luxury; in fact, Kon has to be twice as careful.
“We could wait,” Kon breathes against Tim’s throat. He palms Tim’s cock through his body armor and adds, “Your uniform is impossible to deal with for anything more complicated than this,” and rubs hard, using a little bit of superstrength so that Tim can actually feel it.
Tim gusts out a breath that stirs the hair at Kon’s nape, and the next thing he knows Tim is shoving him against the wall and is dragging Kon’s jeans down his hips, saying, “Luckily your uniform is much simpler,” and drops to his knees.
“Shit!” Kon yelps as Tim licks the head of his cock. He gets a smirk for that, and then Tim is going down on him, all the way down, until Tim’s nose is pressed against him and Kon’s cock is –
“Ngh,” he groans, and Tim hums an agreement. The sensation makes Kon slam his head back against the wall, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. He digs his fingers into Tim’s hair, and Tim moans, and Kon’s hips jerk roughly, and Tim gives a ragged whimper, and, really, this isn’t going to last very long at all.
Abruptly, Kon is aware of someone else in the alley. His eyes snap open and he peers into the shadows, but it’s too dark to see anything. He listens instead, uses his superhearing, and yes, there it is — a heartbeat at the end of the alley.
“Am I boring you?” Tim asks, dragging Kon’s focus back. Tim’s mouth is red and wet and Kon wants nothing more than for Tim to go back to what he was doing, but –
Kon looks to the street, listening again, but the person is gone.
“Kon?” When he looks back, Tim is frowning up at him.
“Sorry,” Kon says, scraping his nails across Tim’s scalp in the way that makes him shudder. “It was nothing.”
—
It wasn’t nothing. Two weeks later Kon has Tim pressed against a wall, Tim’s legs wrapped tight around Kon’s waist. They’re grinding roughly together, biting at each other’s mouths, when the hair at the back of Kon’s neck stands up and he freezes.
“What?” Tim asks, but then he turns his head and scans the alley, frowning slightly.
Again, it’s too dark for Kon to see, but he can hear someone in the shadows, not moving, just standing still, a steady heartbeat, even breathing.
Watching.
“Robin?” Kon says, because there’s someone standing right there, “should we…?”
“Titans Tower. Let’s go,” Tim replies, and Kon doesn’t need to be told twice.
In hindsight, he probably should have wondered why Tim wanted them to fly all the way to San Francisco when Tim had a perfectly serviceable bed in Gotham.
—
In fact, he’s in that perfectly serviceable bed when Kon finally realizes what’s been going on.
Kon’s on his back on Tim’s bed and Tim’s on all fours above him. Three of Kon’s fingers are buried in Tim, who shudders with every cruel twist of Kon’s wrist and shoves back, demanding more.
“Unh,” Tim says after a particularly vicious thrust. He bites his lip and sweat breaks out across his body; Kon is gripping Tim’s hip with his free hand, and his fingertips slide across the slick skin of Tim’s back with every movement.
“Fuck,” Kon replies, and Tim drops his head to bite at Kon’s collar bone and says, “Yeah, yes. Now,” and who is Kon to argue with that?
Tim twitches when Kon pulls his fingers out, but then he reaches down to guide Kon’s cock and sinks down on him — and then stops abruptly as his whole body tenses.
“Shit, did I hurt you?” Kon asks, baffled. But Tim’s eyes have gone unfocussed and his face is fixed in concentration, his head slightly tilted as if he’s listening to something.
So Kon listens, too. And aside from all the usual things, like Tim and the wind outside and Alfred puttering around the giant mansion, what Kon hears is a low electronic whine, like a security camera.
A security camera in Tim’s bedroom? No, just a camera. A camera in Robin’s bedroom in Wayne Manor.
Well.
“Tim –”
“I’m okay,” Tim says. He licks his lips, hesitating, and Kon can’t read his face at all right now; Tim’s wearing the inscrutable Bat-special, so he doesn’t know what to expect. “We could — we could keep going.” Tim’s voice is carefully neutral, but the way his fingers dig into the comforter on either side of Kon’s head gives him away. “If you wanted, I mean.”
And that’s the big question, isn’t it: what does Kon want? Because it’s clear what Tim wants; Kon can see it in the glassiness of his eyes and the way his heartrate and breathing have kicked up a few notches.
Kon is under no illusions that this, whatever it is, is about him. This is about Tim, and Bruce, and Batman and Robin. Although, considering the secret spy camera, probably mostly about Batman.
But it’s Kon, not Bruce, who Tim is sleeping with. That makes him feel a little bit better about the whole thing.
So Kon grips Tim’s hips with both hands and pulls him down, down, inexorably down, and then guides him back up, again and again. Tim shifts, gets his hands on Kon’s shoulders and maneuvers himself in increments until the angle is perfect and Tim is gasping and shaking.
Tim says his name, deep and low, and it’s the sexiest thing Kon has ever heard. He finally spots the camera over Tim’s shoulder — it’s not so dark in here that Kon can’t use his telescopic vision — and hopes viciously that it has sound as well as video, because he wants Bruce to hear what Tim sounds like when Kon is fucking him.
It’s when he possessively flexes his fingers around Tim’s hips so hard as to leave vivid red fingermarks, and Tim only gives a little grunt in response and rides him harder, that Kon remembers this is not. About. Him.
He flips them without warning. Tim doesn’t disorient easily — he’s already wrapping legs and arms around Kon’s body, pulling him into a rough rhythm, but that’s not what Kon wants. Or rather, that’s not what Bruce would want.
Kon disentangles himself from Tim and pulls out. Confusion, frustration and disappointment war on Tim’s face briefly before he manages to mask it. “Why –?” he starts to ask, but Kon is already moving down his body. He kisses and nips his way down Tim’s chest, and when he gets down far enough that he’d have to crawl backwards, he instead grabs Tim firmly by the waist and drags him bodily up the bed.
Tim flings an arm above him to brace on the headboard just in time to keep his head from hitting it. Kon presses a kiss to Tim’s stomach, in easy reach now, and bites roughly at the line of his hip. Surprised, Tim yelps, and Kon hides a grin against the inside of his leg.
“You might want to hold on with both hands,” Kon advises, and takes Tim into his mouth. He hears the muted thunk of Tim’s head against the headboard and takes a moment to look up Tim’s body, admiring the way he’s stretched out, on display. Both hands are wrapped awkwardly around the top of the headboard, putting his biceps into stark relief. Tim’s hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead; his eyes are closed and his mouth is open, gulping in air. His chest is nice, if course, but it’s the way his stomach muscles jump that Kon finds truly fascinating.
Yes. This is exactly what Bruce would want to see.
Kon pushes his fingers back in. Tim’s hips twitch, shoving his cock into Kon’s mouth, so Kon grabs Tim’s hip with his other hand and keeps him pinned to the bed. Tim’s legs rub restlessly against Kon’s sides instead, and his shoulders shift with tension. Kon can tell Tim is close and pulls off.
Tim’s eyes pop open and he blinks down at Kon in consternation. “Seriously?” he snaps, all quivering rage and pent-up sexual frustration.
“I want you to come just like this,” Kon tells him, pushing one of Tim’s knees to the bed to splay him out. He fucks Tim with his fingers as hard as he dares, and adds, “I want to watch you.”
And then he does; he watches Tim’s body arch upwards, his shoulders coming off the bed with the force of it. His head is tipped back so far that all Kon can see is his chin and the long line of his neck, the pulse point there throbbing. Tim’s gripping the headboard with such force that the wood groans from the pressure, but it holds.
When it’s over, Tim slowly relaxes into the bed and eyes the come splattered across his stomach and chest, wiping at it. Kon grins and crawls up Tim’s body, settling himself between Tim’s legs, and Tim reaches down and uses his slicked hand to stroke Kon’s cock and quickly finds a familiar rhythm.
And now it’s Kon’s turn. Now that Tim’s part in this is mostly done, and Kon’s body is physically blocking the camera’s view, it’s finally about him. The rest of this, whatever happens next, belongs to Kon and Tim.
Kon lowers his head to kiss the side of Tim’s neck and says, pitched for Tim’s ears only, “Next time, you’re going to be on your stomach. I’m going to pin your shoulders so you can’t move, and then I’m going to fuck you as hard as you can take it.”
Tim cranes his neck until they’re forehead to forehead and meets Kon’s gaze steadily. “I look forward to it,” he promises, and kisses Kon as he comes.
—
The camera is gone the next morning. Kon never asks about it, and Tim never mentions it.
They don’t make out after patrol anymore. It wouldn’t matter even if they did; there’s no one following them.