We just carried on (DC)
Title: We just carried on
Pairing or Characters: Tim Drake/Kon-El
Rating: Mature
Summary: Not for the first time does Tim miss the big picture until it’s too late.
Notes: This is a commission for the awesome ciclo-de-la-tortuga who wanted a friends-with-benefits story that had a clueless Conner (in terms of Tim’s affections) and didn’t have anything resembling a happy ending for Tim. (The title comes from Mika’s Happy Endings as it was my song of the day while I was writing.)
-----
Tim has no idea when the realization hit him--
One minute he’s on his back on a king-sized mattress, grunting as his best friend pushes into him with one smooth but hard thrust of his hips. And the next; Tim finds himself sitting next to a sleeping Superboy and wondering where things went pear-shaped. He finds himself wondering when exactly no-strings-attached sex with his best friend became so unsatisfying.
Conner is one of the deepest sleepers that Tim knows. He could probably play his favorite alt bands as loud as he wanted to without Conner doing more than grumbling in his sleep and stealing the blankets. Instead of making a nuisance of himself, Tim reaches for the extra blanket that he keeps for moments like this. He wraps it around his body when he gets off the bed.
“I’m heading back to my room now,” Tim says, voice low as though Conner will actually wake up and ask him to what-- stay with him a little longer? Tim shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear that though from it. Then he sets about gathering up his clothes --or what’s left of them really.
His civvies are a lost cause. The thick denim fabric of his second-best pair of jeans covers the ground in several places, split right on the seams from a less-than careful application of Conner’s telekinesis. His shirt follows the same pattern, but the ragged tears come from Conner’s fingers rather than his powers. Tim makes a face at the remains of his clothes and then looks over at where Conner takes up the entire bed.
“There’s no way I can walk back to my room in these,” he says, grumbling just a bit when he realizes that he has to special order yet another t-shirt because of his best friend. Tim moves back to the bed and then flicks Conner in the side of one muscular arm. “Wake up, Conner!”
Conner grunts and then reaches for Tim with his fingers and his tactile telekinesis. He pulls once, yanking Tim down without even opening his eyes, barely grunting when Tim loses his grip on the blanket and comes tumbling down on top of him.
“Conner,” Tim shouts, voice wavering when the other boy grabs him and shifts him around on the bed until Conner has him lying across his body with their chests pressed together. “Conner, wake up!” There’s not much between them except for thin blue sheets. Tim shoves at Conner’s broad chest to wake him. The other teenager twitches once before going back to snorting softly in his sleep.
Tim can’t move. He tries shifting around on the bed and squirming out from Conner’s solid hold. But it feels like every time Tim gains an inch of space on the bed, Conner tightens his grip and hauls him back to sprawl over his chest. Conner’s chest is nice, all pale skin stretched over strong muscle. Tim would appreciate such a close-up glimpse of Conner’s musculature if his nose wasn’t jammed painfully into it.
No matter what Tim does, Conner refuses to wake up.
So of course, Conner wakes up a few minutes later all on his own.
Conner groans and gets his hand on Tim’s ass, cupping him through the tangled up sheet wrapped around his waist. He squeezes Tim once, hard enough that Tim winces as his sore body protests the treatment, and then opens his eyes.
“Oh, hey Tim,” Conner says, voice dull with sleep as his grip on Tim finally slackens and he blinks up at Tim with sleepy blue eyes, “You’re still here?”
After that, Tim can’t wriggle away fast enough.
-----
Conner likes Raven.
He likes Cissie.
He likes Kory.
He likes Kiran.
Conner even tells Tim all about his desire to get a little (or a lot) further with Cassie --in the middle of a frantic necking session on the small couch in Tim’s bedroom that sees Tim’s shirt rucked up to bare his nipples to Conner’s soft fingertips. He pulls his mouth back from the dip of Tim’s collarbone and smiles at him, mouth red and glistening with saliva.
“One day,” Conner says as he flicks at one of Tim’s nipples hard enough to sting. “One day I’m gonna do this to Cassie.” Conner sooths the hurt with the side of his thumb, rubbing Tim until the other boy’s lips part to release a steady stream of whimpers. “One day I’m gonna kiss her like this and she’s going to make noises--”
Noises like the kind that Tim can’t stop making. Tim can’t stop moaning; can’t stop panting out Conner’s name as his best friend tells him all the different things that he’d like to do with their female teammates. Face flushing with embarrassment as Conner trails kisses over his chest, Tim’s fingers flex over his shoulders and he tries to hold Conner close. He tries to keep Conner there, tries to keep his head and that too-soft mouth pressed against his skin because it can’t last--
It won’t--
Tim doesn’t know when things changed from him being mildly amused that Conner wanted to touch him like this to him aching with a sharp pressure in his chest at the very thought of Conner doing this with anyone else.
Something in Tim’s scent must change because Conner moves against him, pulls his mouth away from the nipple he’d been nuzzling, and looks up at him.
“You okay there, man,” Conner asks with a shrewd expression on his face. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”
Of course Tim shakes his head and says no.
What else can he do?
It’s not like he can suddenly tell his best friend that he’s not comfortable hearing about the other boy’s mostly heterosexual fantasies when they’re making out. That would require actual conversation and frankly, that’s the last thing that Tim wants.
Conner shakes Tim a little, squeezes him about the waist until Tim blinks and focuses at him.
“Are you sure?”
Tim nods and then leans forward, mashing their mouths together in a sloppy, sharp kiss. He doesn’t stop kissing Conner until he feels his friend’s thumbs brushing at the sides of his jaw. Then he leans back, jaw faintly aching.
“I’m fine,” Tim says, clipping the syllables short until they sound as though Tim has erected a wall between them --between Conner and his suddenly unreliable emotions. “Go back to what you were doing.” One corner of Conner’s mouth curves up with a small, self-satisfied smirk and his gaze zeroes in on the side of Tim’s throat.
“I don’t think so, bird boy,” he says, voice coming out in a low rumble that has no business making Tim’s breath hitch in his throat. “I think I see something else I want to do.”
“Conner --ah!”
Later, Tim will berate himself for letting out such a surprised noise for the purposeful biting pressure of Conner’s sharp teeth over the hard rise of his collarbone. For now though-- For now Tim finds himself panting into the suddenly stifling air as Conner’s lips and teeth mark his skin.
Normally, Tim doesn’t like marks being left on his skin. Even if almost everyone in the tower knows what Tim and Conner get up to in their rooms once everyone is bedded down for the night, Tim doesn’t like the permanency of marks.
There’s too high a chance that someone will see them and then ask questions that Tim can’t answer. However, when Conner has him like this with his hot mouth worrying little marks into Tim’s skin on top of stretching scar tissue as he settles his palm dead center on his spine to hold him steady on his lap--
Tim can’t bring himself to pull Conner’s mouth away from his chest.
A few seconds later, Conner’s ringing cell phone does it for him.
Conner pulls away from Tim’s skin with a soft smacking noise and glances over at where his phone is busy buzzing away on the little table across from Tim’s couch.
“I should get that,” Conner says, voice rough, “It’s Cassie. That’s her ringtone.”
Tim manages not to flinch. Barely. He swings himself out of Conner’s lap and then starts heading to the en-suite bathroom so that Conner has some semblance of privacy in the small bedroom.
“Yeah,” Tim says without looking back. “You should.”
-----
Jealousy does not look good on Tim.
He and Conner are friends with benefits. Nothing more. Nothing less. And they’re supposed to be more friends than benefits anyway--
Tim keeps telling himself that he’s happy being Conner’s friend and nothing more. He sets it up as a running mantra in his head until he’s damn near sick of his internal monologue. However, telling himself something on repeat doesn’t guarantee that he’ll believe it, and when Conner comes into his room without more than a cursory knock after two in the morning one Friday night, Tim gets a forceful reminder of his feelings.
“Dude, we need to talk,” Conner says all in a rush after skidding to a stop just a few feet away from Tim’s bed. Tim sits up and stares at Conner in silence, eyes stinging behind the lenses of his mask from his sudden awakening.
“What do you want, Conner,” Tim says in a tone that’s almost unfriendly.
Conner takes Tim’s question as an invitation for conversation and he comes closer until his legs brush the side of the mattress. He’s looking everywhere but at Tim, that much is obvious even though Tim’s senses aren’t at full capacity at the moment.
“I can’t hook up with you anymore, man,” Conner says in a sheepish tone, “Cassie and I... Cassie and I are a thing now and it’d be pretty disrespectful to her if I kept up being fuck-buddies with you. You get it?”
Yeah.
Tim gets it. Even though he’s half-asleep and hurting from getting the snot pounded out of him in a fight from earlier, Tim gets it. It hits him right in the chest, in his heart, like a blade. Tim must make some kind of upset noise because Conner moves to sit on the edge of his bed and reaches for him.
“It’s okay,” Tim hears himself saying as he bats Conner’s big hands away. “I’m fine. You can go back to your room now. I’m fine.”
Conner shakes his head, but doesn’t press Tim for further information. He gets off the bed and reaches out as though he wants to squeeze Tim’s knee.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Tim nods and forces his breathing to slow.
“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “We’ll have breakfast or something.”
Conner’s smile seems almost too bright in contrast to the darkness in Tim’s head.
“Cool!”
“Yeah,” Tim says just loud enough for Conner to hear him, “Cool.”
Pairing or Characters: Tim Drake/Kon-El
Rating: Mature
Summary: Not for the first time does Tim miss the big picture until it’s too late.
Notes: This is a commission for the awesome ciclo-de-la-tortuga who wanted a friends-with-benefits story that had a clueless Conner (in terms of Tim’s affections) and didn’t have anything resembling a happy ending for Tim. (The title comes from Mika’s Happy Endings as it was my song of the day while I was writing.)
-----
Tim has no idea when the realization hit him--
One minute he’s on his back on a king-sized mattress, grunting as his best friend pushes into him with one smooth but hard thrust of his hips. And the next; Tim finds himself sitting next to a sleeping Superboy and wondering where things went pear-shaped. He finds himself wondering when exactly no-strings-attached sex with his best friend became so unsatisfying.
Conner is one of the deepest sleepers that Tim knows. He could probably play his favorite alt bands as loud as he wanted to without Conner doing more than grumbling in his sleep and stealing the blankets. Instead of making a nuisance of himself, Tim reaches for the extra blanket that he keeps for moments like this. He wraps it around his body when he gets off the bed.
“I’m heading back to my room now,” Tim says, voice low as though Conner will actually wake up and ask him to what-- stay with him a little longer? Tim shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear that though from it. Then he sets about gathering up his clothes --or what’s left of them really.
His civvies are a lost cause. The thick denim fabric of his second-best pair of jeans covers the ground in several places, split right on the seams from a less-than careful application of Conner’s telekinesis. His shirt follows the same pattern, but the ragged tears come from Conner’s fingers rather than his powers. Tim makes a face at the remains of his clothes and then looks over at where Conner takes up the entire bed.
“There’s no way I can walk back to my room in these,” he says, grumbling just a bit when he realizes that he has to special order yet another t-shirt because of his best friend. Tim moves back to the bed and then flicks Conner in the side of one muscular arm. “Wake up, Conner!”
Conner grunts and then reaches for Tim with his fingers and his tactile telekinesis. He pulls once, yanking Tim down without even opening his eyes, barely grunting when Tim loses his grip on the blanket and comes tumbling down on top of him.
“Conner,” Tim shouts, voice wavering when the other boy grabs him and shifts him around on the bed until Conner has him lying across his body with their chests pressed together. “Conner, wake up!” There’s not much between them except for thin blue sheets. Tim shoves at Conner’s broad chest to wake him. The other teenager twitches once before going back to snorting softly in his sleep.
Tim can’t move. He tries shifting around on the bed and squirming out from Conner’s solid hold. But it feels like every time Tim gains an inch of space on the bed, Conner tightens his grip and hauls him back to sprawl over his chest. Conner’s chest is nice, all pale skin stretched over strong muscle. Tim would appreciate such a close-up glimpse of Conner’s musculature if his nose wasn’t jammed painfully into it.
No matter what Tim does, Conner refuses to wake up.
So of course, Conner wakes up a few minutes later all on his own.
Conner groans and gets his hand on Tim’s ass, cupping him through the tangled up sheet wrapped around his waist. He squeezes Tim once, hard enough that Tim winces as his sore body protests the treatment, and then opens his eyes.
“Oh, hey Tim,” Conner says, voice dull with sleep as his grip on Tim finally slackens and he blinks up at Tim with sleepy blue eyes, “You’re still here?”
After that, Tim can’t wriggle away fast enough.
-----
Conner likes Raven.
He likes Cissie.
He likes Kory.
He likes Kiran.
Conner even tells Tim all about his desire to get a little (or a lot) further with Cassie --in the middle of a frantic necking session on the small couch in Tim’s bedroom that sees Tim’s shirt rucked up to bare his nipples to Conner’s soft fingertips. He pulls his mouth back from the dip of Tim’s collarbone and smiles at him, mouth red and glistening with saliva.
“One day,” Conner says as he flicks at one of Tim’s nipples hard enough to sting. “One day I’m gonna do this to Cassie.” Conner sooths the hurt with the side of his thumb, rubbing Tim until the other boy’s lips part to release a steady stream of whimpers. “One day I’m gonna kiss her like this and she’s going to make noises--”
Noises like the kind that Tim can’t stop making. Tim can’t stop moaning; can’t stop panting out Conner’s name as his best friend tells him all the different things that he’d like to do with their female teammates. Face flushing with embarrassment as Conner trails kisses over his chest, Tim’s fingers flex over his shoulders and he tries to hold Conner close. He tries to keep Conner there, tries to keep his head and that too-soft mouth pressed against his skin because it can’t last--
It won’t--
Tim doesn’t know when things changed from him being mildly amused that Conner wanted to touch him like this to him aching with a sharp pressure in his chest at the very thought of Conner doing this with anyone else.
Something in Tim’s scent must change because Conner moves against him, pulls his mouth away from the nipple he’d been nuzzling, and looks up at him.
“You okay there, man,” Conner asks with a shrewd expression on his face. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”
Of course Tim shakes his head and says no.
What else can he do?
It’s not like he can suddenly tell his best friend that he’s not comfortable hearing about the other boy’s mostly heterosexual fantasies when they’re making out. That would require actual conversation and frankly, that’s the last thing that Tim wants.
Conner shakes Tim a little, squeezes him about the waist until Tim blinks and focuses at him.
“Are you sure?”
Tim nods and then leans forward, mashing their mouths together in a sloppy, sharp kiss. He doesn’t stop kissing Conner until he feels his friend’s thumbs brushing at the sides of his jaw. Then he leans back, jaw faintly aching.
“I’m fine,” Tim says, clipping the syllables short until they sound as though Tim has erected a wall between them --between Conner and his suddenly unreliable emotions. “Go back to what you were doing.” One corner of Conner’s mouth curves up with a small, self-satisfied smirk and his gaze zeroes in on the side of Tim’s throat.
“I don’t think so, bird boy,” he says, voice coming out in a low rumble that has no business making Tim’s breath hitch in his throat. “I think I see something else I want to do.”
“Conner --ah!”
Later, Tim will berate himself for letting out such a surprised noise for the purposeful biting pressure of Conner’s sharp teeth over the hard rise of his collarbone. For now though-- For now Tim finds himself panting into the suddenly stifling air as Conner’s lips and teeth mark his skin.
Normally, Tim doesn’t like marks being left on his skin. Even if almost everyone in the tower knows what Tim and Conner get up to in their rooms once everyone is bedded down for the night, Tim doesn’t like the permanency of marks.
There’s too high a chance that someone will see them and then ask questions that Tim can’t answer. However, when Conner has him like this with his hot mouth worrying little marks into Tim’s skin on top of stretching scar tissue as he settles his palm dead center on his spine to hold him steady on his lap--
Tim can’t bring himself to pull Conner’s mouth away from his chest.
A few seconds later, Conner’s ringing cell phone does it for him.
Conner pulls away from Tim’s skin with a soft smacking noise and glances over at where his phone is busy buzzing away on the little table across from Tim’s couch.
“I should get that,” Conner says, voice rough, “It’s Cassie. That’s her ringtone.”
Tim manages not to flinch. Barely. He swings himself out of Conner’s lap and then starts heading to the en-suite bathroom so that Conner has some semblance of privacy in the small bedroom.
“Yeah,” Tim says without looking back. “You should.”
-----
Jealousy does not look good on Tim.
He and Conner are friends with benefits. Nothing more. Nothing less. And they’re supposed to be more friends than benefits anyway--
Tim keeps telling himself that he’s happy being Conner’s friend and nothing more. He sets it up as a running mantra in his head until he’s damn near sick of his internal monologue. However, telling himself something on repeat doesn’t guarantee that he’ll believe it, and when Conner comes into his room without more than a cursory knock after two in the morning one Friday night, Tim gets a forceful reminder of his feelings.
“Dude, we need to talk,” Conner says all in a rush after skidding to a stop just a few feet away from Tim’s bed. Tim sits up and stares at Conner in silence, eyes stinging behind the lenses of his mask from his sudden awakening.
“What do you want, Conner,” Tim says in a tone that’s almost unfriendly.
Conner takes Tim’s question as an invitation for conversation and he comes closer until his legs brush the side of the mattress. He’s looking everywhere but at Tim, that much is obvious even though Tim’s senses aren’t at full capacity at the moment.
“I can’t hook up with you anymore, man,” Conner says in a sheepish tone, “Cassie and I... Cassie and I are a thing now and it’d be pretty disrespectful to her if I kept up being fuck-buddies with you. You get it?”
Yeah.
Tim gets it. Even though he’s half-asleep and hurting from getting the snot pounded out of him in a fight from earlier, Tim gets it. It hits him right in the chest, in his heart, like a blade. Tim must make some kind of upset noise because Conner moves to sit on the edge of his bed and reaches for him.
“It’s okay,” Tim hears himself saying as he bats Conner’s big hands away. “I’m fine. You can go back to your room now. I’m fine.”
Conner shakes his head, but doesn’t press Tim for further information. He gets off the bed and reaches out as though he wants to squeeze Tim’s knee.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Tim nods and forces his breathing to slow.
“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “We’ll have breakfast or something.”
Conner’s smile seems almost too bright in contrast to the darkness in Tim’s head.
“Cool!”
“Yeah,” Tim says just loud enough for Conner to hear him, “Cool.”