Divine
All right, you can all give yourself a pat on the back and thank thestalkerhermit. You guys convinced me with Lazarus!Kon and thestalkerhermit's prompt made me want to write it. It's a verse, I guess.
So have a bit of Lazarus!Kon because I need some interlude or something before I can even work on thestalkerhermit's prompt.
AND let me know how it reads for you. I think I used why too much italics -- and it feels kind of weird because I usually avoid italics and bolding. So, I feel like I killed what I wrote but I don't know...
*is dead*
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His touches burned, scorching and soaking heat into patterned lines of deep purple and mottled green across Tim’s flesh. And Tim loved them, loved them even when the grip was just too hard or that an artery was being crushed to the point he just (it felt so good) might lose a limb. Because Kon was back. Insane. Mad. Divine. From the pit, but always all Tim’s.
And he was his.
Tim didn’t try to hide it. That Kon was back. It would have been possible only for a few months because they would know. With their cameras and computers and searching. And it was funny (Tim laughed and laughed about it afterwards), but Jason found out first. He wasn’t even involved.
He had punched Tim in the face, sent him sprawling across the cold pavement from the rooftop.
“You fucking replacement,” he screamed. “Do you know what the hell you just did? Huh, do you?”
And he pounded Tim, angry, so angry that Tim would do that. Shove a body into the pit.
Tim allowed him, not resisting because he knew. Knew it when he had to coax Kon from frying Jason to a crisp. Knew it when Jason swore at him, cursing, face bloody and raw and hurt as they left. And knew it when Kon licked every single injury gained, tongue searing across to mark what was his. Tim knew what he did. He brought Kon back.
The one that Tim avoided was Dick. Out of stubbornness because all Dick had was a wealth of disappointment. In the lines of his face, the corner of his lips. At every fucking angle. Because he thought Tim would do the right thing. Well, Tim did do the right thing. He knows he did. He knows it every night Kon clings to him in sleep, suffocating to the point of near asphyxiation, knows it when Kon takes him brutal and unforgiving, knows it when Kon peppers him with biting kisses and leaves those lines, those burning lines in purple and mottled green.
Damian didn’t comment. Not after the first time. Was even supportive. And Tim almost regretted it. That he would have let Kon kill the boy the first and only time Damian said something.
As for Bruce? Tim rather not think about it. There were too many feelings there.
Not when he could think about this. Had to concentrate, focus entirely on Kon.
Kon’s hands hot and fire razed on skin, his aching skin. Kon’s growls and the way Kon squeezed and ravaged and scarred so deeply into Tim, into his soul that Tim might never really had his own to begin with.
And Tim loves it. The purple, violent and violet, and the green, mottled and molten. Because he knew his desperation wasn’t in vain. His mad divine love.
And he was his, so completely it hurts.
From the Pit His Scent