[fic] Choppers | 9
Title: Choppers 9/?
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: Definitely PG-13 for vague smut.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko and jamjar for audiencing and offering advice, and everyone following this fic -- you've all been really lovely with comments and encouragement. Thanks heaps!
Title comes from the song 'Choppers' by Headless Chickens and has nothing to do with the fic at all.
Summary: Two reasons why Bart should not become a DIY-er. Tim comes to an understanding.
It was definitely night by the time Tim finished the calculations. He’d turned all but the light over the navigator’s console off, as he fed in the new co-ordinates to the ship computer, and shadows spilled over the desk and floor around him. Tim liked it. It was quiet and still and for once, he could feel at home aboard ship --
The door to the flight deck slid open and Tim blinked against the sudden bright light.
“You have to be the only person I know who would willingly sit in darkness,” Bernard said, leaning in the doorway. “Aren’t you worried about the damage you’re doing your eyes?”
“That’s a myth,” Tim said. “Besides, who says I’m not improving my night vision?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly the sort of thing you would do.” Bernard came over to thump Tim on the back. “Well? What are you waiting for? Clear out.”
“What?”
“It’s my shift. Or did you lose track of time?” Bernard settled into the Captain’s chair, stretching out his legs. “You gotta rest sometime, you know.”
Was it really Bernard’s shift? Tim took a look at his watch and saw he had indeed lost track of time. “You seem more enthusiastic about taking shift than you usually do.”
“Yeah, well,” Bernard shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything better to do. Kon’s . . . well, this thing’s got to him. He’s not exactly in the mood.”
“And here I was thinking you might have altruistic motives.”
“Perish the thought!” Bernard scoffed. “You really need to hit the sack, Tim. See you tomorrow.”
Tim found himself smiling as he went back downstairs to his bunkroom. Somehow, that exchange with Bernard had been cheering.
Bart was already in bed, of course, so Tim slipped into his pyjamas as noiselessly as possibly, taking care not to disturb him. He drew back the covers to his bed, about to climb inside and paused. His pillow was gone.
He glanced about, wondering where it could have got to. A movement drew his attention to the other bunk, where Bart hastily shut his eyes, pretending to sleep. His arms tightened around Tim’s pillow which he was cuddling to his chest.
Tim frowned.
He could sleep without a pillow, but he was tired and he knew it would take ages for him to settle. He could try and wrestle the pillow away from Bart, but that would take effort and he would have to deal with feeling like some kind of mass-kitten murderer for removing Bart’s cuddle-toy.
On the other hand, Bart wasn’t using all of his own pillow.
“Shove over,” Tim said, and climbed into the bed.
Bart wriggled over obediently, and Tim settled in. It took a couple of tries to get comfortable, but with the pillow still in between them, it was strangely cosy and comforting. Not that Tim needed comforting, of course, but he could see why Bart might have wanted his pillow.
It was that knowledge that kept Tim from pushing Bart away when he rested his head against Tim’s side. It wasn’t as if Bart was heavy or anything. Just kind of warm. Of course it did make it awkward for Tim to place his arm anywhere. In the end, he settled for letting it loop around Bart’s shoulders.
From the way Bart snuggled up to him, this had been the right choice.
Tim sighed. If Dick ever found out about this, he would have to die of embarrassment. “Night, Bart.”
---
Tim’s calculations gave the escape pod a projected trail that was within the boundaries of their search, so it was decided to track the pod while continuing to send the droids out to scout. Tim taught Bart how to programme the droids with the specifics of their search, and he was impressed both with the speed with which Bart got the hang of it, but also the obvious mechanical knowledge Bart had. He may not have had formal training, but he was the equal of any engineer Tim had met.
He was also having far too much fun ejecting the programmed search droids into space.
Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “Fly, my pretties, fly?”
Bart stopped cackling to himself and turned around to stare at Tim. “Huh?”
Tim patted him on the head. “Sorry. Forgot you were culturally illiterate. I’m going to see how Kon’s doing. You’ll be fine on your own, yeah?”
Bart had already lost interest in Tim and was playing with the droids.
“I’ll manage him,” Bernard waved from where he was doing routine patching. “No problem.”
Tim watched them a moment, but the ship did not seem in any immediate danger, so he headed to the flight deck.
---
“Hey!” Kon looked up surprised as Tim put a cup down in front of him. “Must have been thinking too hard, didn’t hear you -- what’s this?”
“Earl Grey,” Tim said. At Kon’s expression, he clarified. “Tea.”
“Geez, you League lot are fancy, aren’t you.” Kon picked up his glass hesitantly. “You didn’t have to.”
Tim shrugged, taking his usual seat in the navigator’s chair. “You’re not the only one on this ship capable of making hot water,” he said. “Besides, you take care of all of us. You should allow us to do the same.”
“It’s nothing really,” Kon said awkwardly taking a sip of tea.
It was hardly nothing. Tim pointed out how good Kon had been not only taking such care of Bart, but dealing so well with Bernard, even to going back aboard the wrecked ship that clearly made him uncomfortable.
“Hey, that’s no big deal,” Kon shrugged. “I just -- well, I’m meant to help people.”
“Meant to?” That was an odd way of putting it.
“I don’t remember much, but there’s this feeling I have, this person --” Kon frowned. “Dunno who he is, but he’s important and good and --” He stopped. “I can never remember much.”
“Something that happened when you were younger?” Tim said, knowing that Kon didn’t remember anything of that time, but wanting to hear his voice all the same.
“Maybe. I really don’t -- oh. Well, that’s kind of odd.”
“What is?”
Kon tapped the viewscreen. “One of the droids just blinked out. It looked like it got a reading and then - zip.” Kon looked up the area. “I hope that wasn’t the one I crunched malfunctioning -“
“One droid won’t make a huge lot of difference,” Tim reassured him. “Stop beating yourself up over it. That was a lot to spring on you.” He patted Kon’s shoulder. “Enjoy your tea. I’ll talk to you later.”
Kon waved goodbye. “Looking forward to it, man.”
Tim shut the bridge door, wondering why he felt so odd. It took him a moment to realise he was smiling - and he hadn’t thought about it first. He allowed the smile to deepen, reflecting upon the reason he was smiling in the first place. Kon was looking forward to seeing him!
Of course, Tim told himself sternly, it was more than likely a figure of speech. Kon was friendly to everyone, and there was no reason to carry on like a vapid teenager with a crush just because the guy talked to him. Bruce had trained him better than that. Firmly, Tim squashed the smile and replaced it with a much more business like attitude.
It did nothing for his self-resolve to realise that Bart was sitting against the wall with his chin resting on his knees and had apparently witnessed the entire thing.
“What are you doing?” Tim asked.
“Waiting for Kon.”
“Is there a reason you’re not still working on the droids?”
“Bernard made me help him with the changes he’s making to the scout, and there was a spill,” Bart said. “He said Kon could get the sealant out of my hair because he wasn’t going to.”
“Sealant?” Now that Tim was closer he could smell it, thick and plasticy. It wasn’t just on Bart’s hair, either. “Bart, this stuff is mildly toxic - how long have you been out here?” Tim swore at Bart’s careless shrug. “Into the shower, now. I’ll come and help you as soon as I’ve checked on Bernard.”
Bernard was, against all expectations, doing the sensible thing - mopping up the mess while wearing one of the ship’s protective suits. “Trust Bart to remember that comment and not me telling him 5 times to get it off as soon as possible.” He sighed. “I’m going to be at this a while - if this stuff sets before I get it off it’s going to be impossible to clean.”
“I’ll manage Bart,” Tim said.
Tim got Bart under the shower, and dumped his clothing in a chemical solution to be dealt with later. He found a mask and gloves for himself before returning to the shower. Some of the sealant that had got into his hair had set, and Tim had to carefully cut it out.
“Sorry,” he said, as he finished up. “This is doing nothing to make you look less like some sort of urchin.”
“I look like a rock?”
“An urchin isn’t a rock. It’s a - keep your eyes shut, Bart, I’m going to wash your hair now.”
Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t remember the other shower, than his breath didn’t come quicker as the feel of Bart’s hair under his fingers, the occasional warmth as their bodies bumped brought his memories of that shower into sharp focus. Trapped between two warm, slick bodies, both intent on taking pleasure by pleasuring him -- Tim shook himself firmly. This was no time to start carrying on like some bad romance novel.
“There,” he said, a little more sharply as he stepped away from Bart, peeling the gloves and mask off. “You can rinse out yourself.”
Bart pouted at him. “You won’t . . . help?” he asked, sliding his hands down his body in a way that made it clear Tim wasn’t the only one thinking of that other shower.
Tim caught his breath sharply. Bart’s lips were parted and his eyes bright and focused on Tim. It would be so easy to step over there, push him against the shower wall and -- no. What would Bruce do in this sort of situation?
... that was scarily wrong. Tim vowed never to have that thought again. Who else was there? Dick - no. Alfred --
“No,” said Tim firmly. “It’s not practical. We have to conserve the shipboard water supplies.” Turning his back very firmly on Bart, Tim retrieved his towel. “There’s a time and a place for everything --”
The water clicked off.
‘Oh,’ thought Tim and then as warm arms wrapped around him, and his towel was very firmly kicked aside, ‘I really should have expected this.’
Bart nuzzled his shoulder, guiding him over to the wall. Tim didn’t resist, if only because he was trying to work out a good argument.
“Bart, this isn’t a good idea. We can’t -- Professional relationships between crewmates --” Tim caught his breath as Bart made it clear what he thought of professional relationships. “I don’t think -- could you at least lock the door?”
It wasn’t giving in, Tim told himself, focusing all his self control on keeping the moans that threatened to escape him to a more dignified gasp. It was strategic. Build up tolerance -- there might be times in his career when this kind of control might be good and sex was as much of a weapon as anything else --
Bart, meanwhile, was conducting himself like someone who’d just received a new toy.
Tim hesitated then decided he could free one of the hands that clutched the wall, keeping him upright, to bury in Bart’s hair. “More,” he ordered brusquely.
Bart complied and how.
A dizzingly short time later, Tim was leaning against the wall, catching his breath and waiting for the pleasant tremours to stop and his legs to go back to being solid. Bart wiped his chin and smirked up at Tim, resting an arm against Tim’s thigh.
“On a scale of one to ten?”
Bart expected him to be able to think? “One to . . .” Tim repeated, dazed.
“Two?” Bart pouted. “Kon told me I should practice, but I didn’t think I was that bad.” His hand drifted up Tim’s thigh and around.
Tim firmly took hold of Bart’s hand. “I don’t think so.”
Bart pouted at him. “You let Kon.”
Tim kept hold of Bart’s hand, pinning it to the bathroom floor as he moved to kneel over Bart, trapping his other hand in the process. “That was different.”
“Different how?” Bart insisted, as Tim leaned in to breath a line down Bart’s neck, pausing to nibble at his collar bone. “And it should be my turn to --”
Tim’s turn to smirk. “Your turn to --?” he said idly, pressing against Bart and enjoying the way his entire body shivered with it. He lazily mouthed one of Bart’s nipples, letting go of Bart’s hand to slip his own hand between his legs.
Bart was too distracted to notice he’d been freed. “I -- not important, I -- Tim!”
That last was a plea so desperate and needy, it went straight to Tim’s groin, prompting him to do the only thing he could: go even slower.
By the time they’d finished, Bart had insulted Tim in five alien languages, professed love for him in three, and was currently wrapped around him in a state of almost liquid pleasure. Tim, his shoulder still stinging from where Bart had bitten him in an abortive attempt to hurry things along, couldn’t help but feel rather smug. This . . . encounter had been rather more educational than he had imagined.
“You’re . . . kind of . . . mean,” Bart seemed to have got enough breathe back to speak.
“Mmm,” Tim said, cosily. “You complaining?”
“N-no,” Bart considered this. “Maybe. We might have to do this again so I can be sure --”
Tim smirked, and began untangling himself from Bart. He ruffled Bart’s hair as he stood. “We can’t have sex everytime we use the shower,” he said, stepping back under the water quickly. “It wouldn’t be practical.”
Bart pouted at him, but made no attempt to move. “You’re going now?”
“Have to. It’s my shift.” Tim turned off the shower and reached for his towel. “Don’t stay in here too long, Bernard’ll want to clean up. And if you feel ill, or anything, let him know at once.”
“Why not you?”
“Bernard’s the medical officer as well as Captain,” Tim reminded him, as he finished pulling his clothes back on.
He was not humming as he returned to the flight deck, or smiling, but only through supreme force of will.
Bernard had changed out of the protective suit, and was leaning over the pilot’s console where Kon sat. Tim paused. They were talking closely, and for a moment he considered leaving them to their conversation. But something about the sharpness of Bernard’s smile -- Tim pressed himself back out of sight against the corridor wall and listened.
“-- love is for the elites, man,” Kon said lightly. “Those who can afford it.”
“You’ve never fallen in love then?”
“Didn’t say I hadn’t. Said I couldn’t afford it.” Kon’s smile was sad and he looked like the age he was in years, rather than body. “It would never have worked out, and it hurt too much when it finished. Too many things pulling us apart -- her job, my status --”
“Human?” Bernard asked sympathetically.
“League scientist.”
“Ouch. Man, that would have hurt.”
“It was great while it lasted,” Kon said. “But we said goodbye, made promises to meet again . . . she died a couple of months later, but I didn’t hear about it for years.”
Tim kept his breath steady. He’d never suspected --
Bernard let his hand rest on Kon’s shoulder. “I’d always thought love was something that happened to other people,” he said, his smile somehow mocking. “I was too smart, you know? Too careful --” he snorted, self-depreceatingly. “They say there’s someone out there for everyone --”
Kon snorted. “Not for me.”
“Oh?” Bernard raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re sure about that?”
“You forget, man,” Kon told him. “I’ve been doing this years. There’s not a lot I haven’t tried or seen. I don’t think I could fall in love again -- not that I want to.”
“What if --” Bernard said, and his eyes rested just for a fraction of a second on the shadows beyond the doorway, and Tim held his breath. But Bernard didn’t appear to have seen him, turning instead to study Kon. “-- you met someone really outstanding --”
“Such a person doesn’t exist,” Kon said simply.
Even though he was hidden in the shadow, Tim was grateful for the training that kept his face blank.
“I never would’ve taken you to be so cynical,” Bernard laughed. “What about Bart, then?”
“Someone has to take care of him,” Kon answered readily.
“Man, I’m not arguing on that point. Apparently he was just sitting in the corridor until Tim pointed him towards the shower --”
Tim gave them a few minutes before stepping into the deck. “Sorry I’m late for my shift, Kon,” he said, easily. “I hope I haven’t kept you.”
“Nah, we’ve just been chatting,” Kon said, standing to relinquish the pilot’s chair to Tim. “Where’s Bart?”
“Here,” Bart padded into the room in bare feet. “The shower’s free now, Bernard --”
“Holy shit, man,” Kon said, and Bernard straightened up. “What happened to your hair?”
Tim turned. He didn’t think the bits he’d had to cut off merited that reaction. “The sealant had set. It was --” Then he saw Bart’s hair and stopped. “Bart. You didn’t.”
“It didn’t match,” Bart explained, entirely unconcerned by ths fuss his appearance was causing. “It looks better now.”
“Better?” Bernard walked over to get a closer look. “It looks like someone took a propeller to your head.”
“I used scissors,” Bart frowned at him. “So what? I like it --”
“You would,” Kon patted Bart on the head, tousling his already messed up hair even further. “Geez, did you shut your eyes while you did this too? It doesn’t look like any of this is the same length!”
“Kooooon--” Bart tried to wriggle free. “It’s my hair! Leave it alone!”
“I’ll see you guys later,” Kon said, pushing Bart toward the door. “I’m going to do what I can to fix this.”
“Good luck,” Tim said dubiously. He looked At Bernard. “You’d better grab the shower now then.”
Bernard nodded, slapping Tim on the back. “Right.” He paused. “You don’t want company?”
“I’d be happier knowing you were getting rid of any traces of the sealant,” Tim said. “I’ll see you later.”
Not until he was entirely sure he was alone did Tim let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t think it was possible to be hurt this much by someone who was entirely unaware that they’d done so.
What if you met someone really outstanding --
Such a person doesn’t exist.
He sighed. It hurt all the more for having been with Kon that once, and even if it was with Bart as well, the memory of it was enough to leave him feeling bereft and needing. So maybe it had been foolish of his to assume he had anything to offer Kon, but he’d wanted --
And Dick had told him to go for it --
Was it worth pursuing things, even with the chance of failure so great? In all likeliehood, they would part ways after the mission, and if that thought hurt this much after knowing Kon almost a week, how much harder would it be, after --
But to walk away, without ever knowing if perhaps he’d have been able to make Kon feel this same steady warmth -- Tim swallowed. He’d already had a try at that. One shot, and he’d blown it. Kon hadn’t expressed any interest in a repeat of the shower. Tim managed a half hearted smile at the irony that of the two of them, it had been Bart, Bart who treated the whole thing as some kind of practice--
Tim paused.
What if you met someone really outstanding --
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: Definitely PG-13 for vague smut.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko and jamjar for audiencing and offering advice, and everyone following this fic -- you've all been really lovely with comments and encouragement. Thanks heaps!
Title comes from the song 'Choppers' by Headless Chickens and has nothing to do with the fic at all.
Summary: Two reasons why Bart should not become a DIY-er. Tim comes to an understanding.
It was definitely night by the time Tim finished the calculations. He’d turned all but the light over the navigator’s console off, as he fed in the new co-ordinates to the ship computer, and shadows spilled over the desk and floor around him. Tim liked it. It was quiet and still and for once, he could feel at home aboard ship --
The door to the flight deck slid open and Tim blinked against the sudden bright light.
“You have to be the only person I know who would willingly sit in darkness,” Bernard said, leaning in the doorway. “Aren’t you worried about the damage you’re doing your eyes?”
“That’s a myth,” Tim said. “Besides, who says I’m not improving my night vision?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly the sort of thing you would do.” Bernard came over to thump Tim on the back. “Well? What are you waiting for? Clear out.”
“What?”
“It’s my shift. Or did you lose track of time?” Bernard settled into the Captain’s chair, stretching out his legs. “You gotta rest sometime, you know.”
Was it really Bernard’s shift? Tim took a look at his watch and saw he had indeed lost track of time. “You seem more enthusiastic about taking shift than you usually do.”
“Yeah, well,” Bernard shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything better to do. Kon’s . . . well, this thing’s got to him. He’s not exactly in the mood.”
“And here I was thinking you might have altruistic motives.”
“Perish the thought!” Bernard scoffed. “You really need to hit the sack, Tim. See you tomorrow.”
Tim found himself smiling as he went back downstairs to his bunkroom. Somehow, that exchange with Bernard had been cheering.
Bart was already in bed, of course, so Tim slipped into his pyjamas as noiselessly as possibly, taking care not to disturb him. He drew back the covers to his bed, about to climb inside and paused. His pillow was gone.
He glanced about, wondering where it could have got to. A movement drew his attention to the other bunk, where Bart hastily shut his eyes, pretending to sleep. His arms tightened around Tim’s pillow which he was cuddling to his chest.
Tim frowned.
He could sleep without a pillow, but he was tired and he knew it would take ages for him to settle. He could try and wrestle the pillow away from Bart, but that would take effort and he would have to deal with feeling like some kind of mass-kitten murderer for removing Bart’s cuddle-toy.
On the other hand, Bart wasn’t using all of his own pillow.
“Shove over,” Tim said, and climbed into the bed.
Bart wriggled over obediently, and Tim settled in. It took a couple of tries to get comfortable, but with the pillow still in between them, it was strangely cosy and comforting. Not that Tim needed comforting, of course, but he could see why Bart might have wanted his pillow.
It was that knowledge that kept Tim from pushing Bart away when he rested his head against Tim’s side. It wasn’t as if Bart was heavy or anything. Just kind of warm. Of course it did make it awkward for Tim to place his arm anywhere. In the end, he settled for letting it loop around Bart’s shoulders.
From the way Bart snuggled up to him, this had been the right choice.
Tim sighed. If Dick ever found out about this, he would have to die of embarrassment. “Night, Bart.”
---
Tim’s calculations gave the escape pod a projected trail that was within the boundaries of their search, so it was decided to track the pod while continuing to send the droids out to scout. Tim taught Bart how to programme the droids with the specifics of their search, and he was impressed both with the speed with which Bart got the hang of it, but also the obvious mechanical knowledge Bart had. He may not have had formal training, but he was the equal of any engineer Tim had met.
He was also having far too much fun ejecting the programmed search droids into space.
Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “Fly, my pretties, fly?”
Bart stopped cackling to himself and turned around to stare at Tim. “Huh?”
Tim patted him on the head. “Sorry. Forgot you were culturally illiterate. I’m going to see how Kon’s doing. You’ll be fine on your own, yeah?”
Bart had already lost interest in Tim and was playing with the droids.
“I’ll manage him,” Bernard waved from where he was doing routine patching. “No problem.”
Tim watched them a moment, but the ship did not seem in any immediate danger, so he headed to the flight deck.
---
“Hey!” Kon looked up surprised as Tim put a cup down in front of him. “Must have been thinking too hard, didn’t hear you -- what’s this?”
“Earl Grey,” Tim said. At Kon’s expression, he clarified. “Tea.”
“Geez, you League lot are fancy, aren’t you.” Kon picked up his glass hesitantly. “You didn’t have to.”
Tim shrugged, taking his usual seat in the navigator’s chair. “You’re not the only one on this ship capable of making hot water,” he said. “Besides, you take care of all of us. You should allow us to do the same.”
“It’s nothing really,” Kon said awkwardly taking a sip of tea.
It was hardly nothing. Tim pointed out how good Kon had been not only taking such care of Bart, but dealing so well with Bernard, even to going back aboard the wrecked ship that clearly made him uncomfortable.
“Hey, that’s no big deal,” Kon shrugged. “I just -- well, I’m meant to help people.”
“Meant to?” That was an odd way of putting it.
“I don’t remember much, but there’s this feeling I have, this person --” Kon frowned. “Dunno who he is, but he’s important and good and --” He stopped. “I can never remember much.”
“Something that happened when you were younger?” Tim said, knowing that Kon didn’t remember anything of that time, but wanting to hear his voice all the same.
“Maybe. I really don’t -- oh. Well, that’s kind of odd.”
“What is?”
Kon tapped the viewscreen. “One of the droids just blinked out. It looked like it got a reading and then - zip.” Kon looked up the area. “I hope that wasn’t the one I crunched malfunctioning -“
“One droid won’t make a huge lot of difference,” Tim reassured him. “Stop beating yourself up over it. That was a lot to spring on you.” He patted Kon’s shoulder. “Enjoy your tea. I’ll talk to you later.”
Kon waved goodbye. “Looking forward to it, man.”
Tim shut the bridge door, wondering why he felt so odd. It took him a moment to realise he was smiling - and he hadn’t thought about it first. He allowed the smile to deepen, reflecting upon the reason he was smiling in the first place. Kon was looking forward to seeing him!
Of course, Tim told himself sternly, it was more than likely a figure of speech. Kon was friendly to everyone, and there was no reason to carry on like a vapid teenager with a crush just because the guy talked to him. Bruce had trained him better than that. Firmly, Tim squashed the smile and replaced it with a much more business like attitude.
It did nothing for his self-resolve to realise that Bart was sitting against the wall with his chin resting on his knees and had apparently witnessed the entire thing.
“What are you doing?” Tim asked.
“Waiting for Kon.”
“Is there a reason you’re not still working on the droids?”
“Bernard made me help him with the changes he’s making to the scout, and there was a spill,” Bart said. “He said Kon could get the sealant out of my hair because he wasn’t going to.”
“Sealant?” Now that Tim was closer he could smell it, thick and plasticy. It wasn’t just on Bart’s hair, either. “Bart, this stuff is mildly toxic - how long have you been out here?” Tim swore at Bart’s careless shrug. “Into the shower, now. I’ll come and help you as soon as I’ve checked on Bernard.”
Bernard was, against all expectations, doing the sensible thing - mopping up the mess while wearing one of the ship’s protective suits. “Trust Bart to remember that comment and not me telling him 5 times to get it off as soon as possible.” He sighed. “I’m going to be at this a while - if this stuff sets before I get it off it’s going to be impossible to clean.”
“I’ll manage Bart,” Tim said.
Tim got Bart under the shower, and dumped his clothing in a chemical solution to be dealt with later. He found a mask and gloves for himself before returning to the shower. Some of the sealant that had got into his hair had set, and Tim had to carefully cut it out.
“Sorry,” he said, as he finished up. “This is doing nothing to make you look less like some sort of urchin.”
“I look like a rock?”
“An urchin isn’t a rock. It’s a - keep your eyes shut, Bart, I’m going to wash your hair now.”
Tim would be lying if he said he didn’t remember the other shower, than his breath didn’t come quicker as the feel of Bart’s hair under his fingers, the occasional warmth as their bodies bumped brought his memories of that shower into sharp focus. Trapped between two warm, slick bodies, both intent on taking pleasure by pleasuring him -- Tim shook himself firmly. This was no time to start carrying on like some bad romance novel.
“There,” he said, a little more sharply as he stepped away from Bart, peeling the gloves and mask off. “You can rinse out yourself.”
Bart pouted at him. “You won’t . . . help?” he asked, sliding his hands down his body in a way that made it clear Tim wasn’t the only one thinking of that other shower.
Tim caught his breath sharply. Bart’s lips were parted and his eyes bright and focused on Tim. It would be so easy to step over there, push him against the shower wall and -- no. What would Bruce do in this sort of situation?
... that was scarily wrong. Tim vowed never to have that thought again. Who else was there? Dick - no. Alfred --
“No,” said Tim firmly. “It’s not practical. We have to conserve the shipboard water supplies.” Turning his back very firmly on Bart, Tim retrieved his towel. “There’s a time and a place for everything --”
The water clicked off.
‘Oh,’ thought Tim and then as warm arms wrapped around him, and his towel was very firmly kicked aside, ‘I really should have expected this.’
Bart nuzzled his shoulder, guiding him over to the wall. Tim didn’t resist, if only because he was trying to work out a good argument.
“Bart, this isn’t a good idea. We can’t -- Professional relationships between crewmates --” Tim caught his breath as Bart made it clear what he thought of professional relationships. “I don’t think -- could you at least lock the door?”
It wasn’t giving in, Tim told himself, focusing all his self control on keeping the moans that threatened to escape him to a more dignified gasp. It was strategic. Build up tolerance -- there might be times in his career when this kind of control might be good and sex was as much of a weapon as anything else --
Bart, meanwhile, was conducting himself like someone who’d just received a new toy.
Tim hesitated then decided he could free one of the hands that clutched the wall, keeping him upright, to bury in Bart’s hair. “More,” he ordered brusquely.
Bart complied and how.
A dizzingly short time later, Tim was leaning against the wall, catching his breath and waiting for the pleasant tremours to stop and his legs to go back to being solid. Bart wiped his chin and smirked up at Tim, resting an arm against Tim’s thigh.
“On a scale of one to ten?”
Bart expected him to be able to think? “One to . . .” Tim repeated, dazed.
“Two?” Bart pouted. “Kon told me I should practice, but I didn’t think I was that bad.” His hand drifted up Tim’s thigh and around.
Tim firmly took hold of Bart’s hand. “I don’t think so.”
Bart pouted at him. “You let Kon.”
Tim kept hold of Bart’s hand, pinning it to the bathroom floor as he moved to kneel over Bart, trapping his other hand in the process. “That was different.”
“Different how?” Bart insisted, as Tim leaned in to breath a line down Bart’s neck, pausing to nibble at his collar bone. “And it should be my turn to --”
Tim’s turn to smirk. “Your turn to --?” he said idly, pressing against Bart and enjoying the way his entire body shivered with it. He lazily mouthed one of Bart’s nipples, letting go of Bart’s hand to slip his own hand between his legs.
Bart was too distracted to notice he’d been freed. “I -- not important, I -- Tim!”
That last was a plea so desperate and needy, it went straight to Tim’s groin, prompting him to do the only thing he could: go even slower.
By the time they’d finished, Bart had insulted Tim in five alien languages, professed love for him in three, and was currently wrapped around him in a state of almost liquid pleasure. Tim, his shoulder still stinging from where Bart had bitten him in an abortive attempt to hurry things along, couldn’t help but feel rather smug. This . . . encounter had been rather more educational than he had imagined.
“You’re . . . kind of . . . mean,” Bart seemed to have got enough breathe back to speak.
“Mmm,” Tim said, cosily. “You complaining?”
“N-no,” Bart considered this. “Maybe. We might have to do this again so I can be sure --”
Tim smirked, and began untangling himself from Bart. He ruffled Bart’s hair as he stood. “We can’t have sex everytime we use the shower,” he said, stepping back under the water quickly. “It wouldn’t be practical.”
Bart pouted at him, but made no attempt to move. “You’re going now?”
“Have to. It’s my shift.” Tim turned off the shower and reached for his towel. “Don’t stay in here too long, Bernard’ll want to clean up. And if you feel ill, or anything, let him know at once.”
“Why not you?”
“Bernard’s the medical officer as well as Captain,” Tim reminded him, as he finished pulling his clothes back on.
He was not humming as he returned to the flight deck, or smiling, but only through supreme force of will.
Bernard had changed out of the protective suit, and was leaning over the pilot’s console where Kon sat. Tim paused. They were talking closely, and for a moment he considered leaving them to their conversation. But something about the sharpness of Bernard’s smile -- Tim pressed himself back out of sight against the corridor wall and listened.
“-- love is for the elites, man,” Kon said lightly. “Those who can afford it.”
“You’ve never fallen in love then?”
“Didn’t say I hadn’t. Said I couldn’t afford it.” Kon’s smile was sad and he looked like the age he was in years, rather than body. “It would never have worked out, and it hurt too much when it finished. Too many things pulling us apart -- her job, my status --”
“Human?” Bernard asked sympathetically.
“League scientist.”
“Ouch. Man, that would have hurt.”
“It was great while it lasted,” Kon said. “But we said goodbye, made promises to meet again . . . she died a couple of months later, but I didn’t hear about it for years.”
Tim kept his breath steady. He’d never suspected --
Bernard let his hand rest on Kon’s shoulder. “I’d always thought love was something that happened to other people,” he said, his smile somehow mocking. “I was too smart, you know? Too careful --” he snorted, self-depreceatingly. “They say there’s someone out there for everyone --”
Kon snorted. “Not for me.”
“Oh?” Bernard raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re sure about that?”
“You forget, man,” Kon told him. “I’ve been doing this years. There’s not a lot I haven’t tried or seen. I don’t think I could fall in love again -- not that I want to.”
“What if --” Bernard said, and his eyes rested just for a fraction of a second on the shadows beyond the doorway, and Tim held his breath. But Bernard didn’t appear to have seen him, turning instead to study Kon. “-- you met someone really outstanding --”
“Such a person doesn’t exist,” Kon said simply.
Even though he was hidden in the shadow, Tim was grateful for the training that kept his face blank.
“I never would’ve taken you to be so cynical,” Bernard laughed. “What about Bart, then?”
“Someone has to take care of him,” Kon answered readily.
“Man, I’m not arguing on that point. Apparently he was just sitting in the corridor until Tim pointed him towards the shower --”
Tim gave them a few minutes before stepping into the deck. “Sorry I’m late for my shift, Kon,” he said, easily. “I hope I haven’t kept you.”
“Nah, we’ve just been chatting,” Kon said, standing to relinquish the pilot’s chair to Tim. “Where’s Bart?”
“Here,” Bart padded into the room in bare feet. “The shower’s free now, Bernard --”
“Holy shit, man,” Kon said, and Bernard straightened up. “What happened to your hair?”
Tim turned. He didn’t think the bits he’d had to cut off merited that reaction. “The sealant had set. It was --” Then he saw Bart’s hair and stopped. “Bart. You didn’t.”
“It didn’t match,” Bart explained, entirely unconcerned by ths fuss his appearance was causing. “It looks better now.”
“Better?” Bernard walked over to get a closer look. “It looks like someone took a propeller to your head.”
“I used scissors,” Bart frowned at him. “So what? I like it --”
“You would,” Kon patted Bart on the head, tousling his already messed up hair even further. “Geez, did you shut your eyes while you did this too? It doesn’t look like any of this is the same length!”
“Kooooon--” Bart tried to wriggle free. “It’s my hair! Leave it alone!”
“I’ll see you guys later,” Kon said, pushing Bart toward the door. “I’m going to do what I can to fix this.”
“Good luck,” Tim said dubiously. He looked At Bernard. “You’d better grab the shower now then.”
Bernard nodded, slapping Tim on the back. “Right.” He paused. “You don’t want company?”
“I’d be happier knowing you were getting rid of any traces of the sealant,” Tim said. “I’ll see you later.”
Not until he was entirely sure he was alone did Tim let out the breath he’d been holding. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t think it was possible to be hurt this much by someone who was entirely unaware that they’d done so.
What if you met someone really outstanding --
Such a person doesn’t exist.
He sighed. It hurt all the more for having been with Kon that once, and even if it was with Bart as well, the memory of it was enough to leave him feeling bereft and needing. So maybe it had been foolish of his to assume he had anything to offer Kon, but he’d wanted --
And Dick had told him to go for it --
Was it worth pursuing things, even with the chance of failure so great? In all likeliehood, they would part ways after the mission, and if that thought hurt this much after knowing Kon almost a week, how much harder would it be, after --
But to walk away, without ever knowing if perhaps he’d have been able to make Kon feel this same steady warmth -- Tim swallowed. He’d already had a try at that. One shot, and he’d blown it. Kon hadn’t expressed any interest in a repeat of the shower. Tim managed a half hearted smile at the irony that of the two of them, it had been Bart, Bart who treated the whole thing as some kind of practice--
Tim paused.
What if you met someone really outstanding --