Fic: Substitute for Praise
So, apparently this is porn-week in Betty's lj. I know. I'm as surprised as you are.
Fic: Substitute for Praise
Fault of: Petronelle
Beta by: Petronelle
Warnings: Not just porny, also kinda creepy!
Summary: "Kon-- The Titans wanted to know when you would be coming back," says Superman, closing the window with more respect than the reproductions deserve.
"Well done, Robin," says Bruce, and Tim forces himself to smile.
"Yeah, we're a team," he says, with as much real enthusiasm as he can fake. It sounds about right to him, and doesn't make Bruce's smile slip. He should be thinking Batman; it would be more authentic if he could, but he can't. He's sore from the unfamiliar fighting style, and dog-tired from the effort of someone else's moves.
"You've got some blood on your--" Bruce reaches out and wipes at the corner of Tim's mouth with his gloved thumb.
Tim only hesitates a moment before he makes himself turn into it. Bruce holds Tim's face in his hand for a moment, before letting it drop. If Tim were a better Robin, he'd have kept his hand there, and maybe lifted his other to join it.
"You've got homework, Robin."
"I was going to hit the heavy bag," says Tim, scowling. Thankfully, Bruce frowns, because Tim's in no mood to dislocate his shoulder for verisimilitude.
"I'm not happy with your grades. Bring your homework to me when you're done, and I'll take a look at it."
"Fuck that," mutters Tim, which Alfred has told him is the strongest permissible expletive.
"Language, Robin," says Bruce, and Tim lets him ruffle his hair before moping his way up the stairs.
He doesn't need to worry about the homework; it's already done, to the degree of accuracy Bruce will expect. Every detail Bruce has to rationalize, explain away, is another strain on Bruce's psyche. Tim strips out of the wrong suit as if it were contaminated.
"Superman," he says, while stripping, and the window's rattle is a relief, "how much-- How much longer?" He bites his tongue on the please that wants to come out.
"Kon-- The Titans wanted to know when you would be coming back," says Superman, closing the window with more respect than the reproductions deserve.
"That depends how much longer Bruce--"
"Zatanna says she's very close. The spell... the human mind is delicate," says Superman, with apology in his voice. "Are you-- You don't have to continue doing this."
Tim doesn't bother giving that a response. He takes Superman's hand, instead, and puts it to his jaw. Kal-El lets him.
Tim is furious, suddenly, at Bruce, at al Ghul, who got them in this mess, at Jason, at... He turns his face and bites Superman's thumb as hard as he can without risking his enamel.
Kal smiles. Tim snarls and claws at his uniform, pulls the collar down until the neckline is deformed so he can scratch his nail across Superman's nipple. Superman is trying to pet Tim's tongue with his thumb. Trapped thumb, Tim thinks, and then realizes that Kal's just leaving it there as an alternative to removing Tim's teeth. He lets go of Kal's thumb.
"Take it off," he demands, and Kal gently removes Tim's fingers from his collar before pulling his uniform shirt up, over his head. Not a hair on his head is moved by this process. Even Bruce's hair gets ruffled by taking a shirt off over his head. Tim's so hard his head feels light.
He swallows.
"Tim," says Kal softly. "Can I touch you?"
"I-- s-suck me," Tim stutters, and it sounds harsh and wrong and right in a way that Bruce would understand and Kal never will.
Kal strokes his hand, his big, warm hand, down Tim's body, once, as if he thinks it will be soothing. Then he says, "Robin," and folds to his knees. Tim staggers back a half step, to his bed. He's pulling on his balls to attempt to stave off orgasm before he realizes he's done it.
"Robin," says Kal, and it's the same way that Bruce has said Robin these two weeks. Maybe it should scare him, but it doesn't. It makes him bite his cheek to stop himself from moaning.
Kal pushes Tim back on the bed, and he stares at the bas relief in the ceiling as Superman puts his tongue to the inside of Tim's shaven knee. When Kal shows no signs of being about to move up his leg, Tim puts his wrist in his mouth and bites down; he'll explain the bruises to Bruce somehow.
He feels suction. "Don't. I can't have a-- mark. There."
Suddenly Superman is huge, looming over him like a spreading oak. "Gloves," he says, and tugs on Tim's elbow.
Tim gives Kal his hand, with reluctance; but once it's out of Tim's mouth, Kal wants to examine the bite mark, carefully, delicately, with his fingers. And then with his tongue.
This time, he can't stop himself from making noise, although he keeps it to a whine in the back of his throat. Slowly, far too slowly, tracing the imprint of each tooth with his tongue, Kal settles out of the air and on top of Tim. He doesn't give Tim his whole weight, and Tim has to wrap himself around him, pull himself up, to rub against all that sun painted skin.
When Kal starts to tease him with his hand, Tim bites Kal's earlobe, and comes. He's not able to do it silently, but he is able to keep any words from forming.
Afterward, Superman lies back on Jason's bed and holds Tim's hand in his own while he jerks himself off. "Tim," he says, his breathing actually strained, "give me. Please. Something."
"I- Every time I'm on a jump line. I -- you feel like -- I think, this time, I'm going to let go. Just forget -- God, Kal -- Forget to hang on."
"Robin," says Kal again, and comes, his face turning smooth, and blissful, and alien.
Tim stands up as soon as Kal lets go of his hand and gets a terry cloth to clean up. He lets Kal watch him dress in a dead boy's clothes again. He puts the briefs on last, hoping it will let him pretend he's putting on his own uniform, but it doesn't.
"Is the Flash having any trouble with the al Ghul's?" he asks.
"No," says Superman. He wants Tim to stay. Tim puts on his gloves.
"Avoid being seen. He won't find a way to rationalize your presence here easily," says Tim. He picks up his homework and returns to the cave.
"Jason," says Bruce, standing, "done already?"
"Yeah, I'm going to put in some time on the bench," says Tim, dropping Jason's homework next to the computer console.
Bruce smiles. "Not yet, young man. You and I are going to go through this together."
"Tightass," Tim mutters, so that Bruce will overhear, and throws himself into Bruce's chair.
Bruce puts his hand on Tim's shoulder.
Fic: Substitute for Praise
Fault of: Petronelle
Beta by: Petronelle
Warnings: Not just porny, also kinda creepy!
Summary: "Kon-- The Titans wanted to know when you would be coming back," says Superman, closing the window with more respect than the reproductions deserve.
"Well done, Robin," says Bruce, and Tim forces himself to smile.
"Yeah, we're a team," he says, with as much real enthusiasm as he can fake. It sounds about right to him, and doesn't make Bruce's smile slip. He should be thinking Batman; it would be more authentic if he could, but he can't. He's sore from the unfamiliar fighting style, and dog-tired from the effort of someone else's moves.
"You've got some blood on your--" Bruce reaches out and wipes at the corner of Tim's mouth with his gloved thumb.
Tim only hesitates a moment before he makes himself turn into it. Bruce holds Tim's face in his hand for a moment, before letting it drop. If Tim were a better Robin, he'd have kept his hand there, and maybe lifted his other to join it.
"You've got homework, Robin."
"I was going to hit the heavy bag," says Tim, scowling. Thankfully, Bruce frowns, because Tim's in no mood to dislocate his shoulder for verisimilitude.
"I'm not happy with your grades. Bring your homework to me when you're done, and I'll take a look at it."
"Fuck that," mutters Tim, which Alfred has told him is the strongest permissible expletive.
"Language, Robin," says Bruce, and Tim lets him ruffle his hair before moping his way up the stairs.
He doesn't need to worry about the homework; it's already done, to the degree of accuracy Bruce will expect. Every detail Bruce has to rationalize, explain away, is another strain on Bruce's psyche. Tim strips out of the wrong suit as if it were contaminated.
"Superman," he says, while stripping, and the window's rattle is a relief, "how much-- How much longer?" He bites his tongue on the please that wants to come out.
"Kon-- The Titans wanted to know when you would be coming back," says Superman, closing the window with more respect than the reproductions deserve.
"That depends how much longer Bruce--"
"Zatanna says she's very close. The spell... the human mind is delicate," says Superman, with apology in his voice. "Are you-- You don't have to continue doing this."
Tim doesn't bother giving that a response. He takes Superman's hand, instead, and puts it to his jaw. Kal-El lets him.
Tim is furious, suddenly, at Bruce, at al Ghul, who got them in this mess, at Jason, at... He turns his face and bites Superman's thumb as hard as he can without risking his enamel.
Kal smiles. Tim snarls and claws at his uniform, pulls the collar down until the neckline is deformed so he can scratch his nail across Superman's nipple. Superman is trying to pet Tim's tongue with his thumb. Trapped thumb, Tim thinks, and then realizes that Kal's just leaving it there as an alternative to removing Tim's teeth. He lets go of Kal's thumb.
"Take it off," he demands, and Kal gently removes Tim's fingers from his collar before pulling his uniform shirt up, over his head. Not a hair on his head is moved by this process. Even Bruce's hair gets ruffled by taking a shirt off over his head. Tim's so hard his head feels light.
He swallows.
"Tim," says Kal softly. "Can I touch you?"
"I-- s-suck me," Tim stutters, and it sounds harsh and wrong and right in a way that Bruce would understand and Kal never will.
Kal strokes his hand, his big, warm hand, down Tim's body, once, as if he thinks it will be soothing. Then he says, "Robin," and folds to his knees. Tim staggers back a half step, to his bed. He's pulling on his balls to attempt to stave off orgasm before he realizes he's done it.
"Robin," says Kal, and it's the same way that Bruce has said Robin these two weeks. Maybe it should scare him, but it doesn't. It makes him bite his cheek to stop himself from moaning.
Kal pushes Tim back on the bed, and he stares at the bas relief in the ceiling as Superman puts his tongue to the inside of Tim's shaven knee. When Kal shows no signs of being about to move up his leg, Tim puts his wrist in his mouth and bites down; he'll explain the bruises to Bruce somehow.
He feels suction. "Don't. I can't have a-- mark. There."
Suddenly Superman is huge, looming over him like a spreading oak. "Gloves," he says, and tugs on Tim's elbow.
Tim gives Kal his hand, with reluctance; but once it's out of Tim's mouth, Kal wants to examine the bite mark, carefully, delicately, with his fingers. And then with his tongue.
This time, he can't stop himself from making noise, although he keeps it to a whine in the back of his throat. Slowly, far too slowly, tracing the imprint of each tooth with his tongue, Kal settles out of the air and on top of Tim. He doesn't give Tim his whole weight, and Tim has to wrap himself around him, pull himself up, to rub against all that sun painted skin.
When Kal starts to tease him with his hand, Tim bites Kal's earlobe, and comes. He's not able to do it silently, but he is able to keep any words from forming.
Afterward, Superman lies back on Jason's bed and holds Tim's hand in his own while he jerks himself off. "Tim," he says, his breathing actually strained, "give me. Please. Something."
"I- Every time I'm on a jump line. I -- you feel like -- I think, this time, I'm going to let go. Just forget -- God, Kal -- Forget to hang on."
"Robin," says Kal again, and comes, his face turning smooth, and blissful, and alien.
Tim stands up as soon as Kal lets go of his hand and gets a terry cloth to clean up. He lets Kal watch him dress in a dead boy's clothes again. He puts the briefs on last, hoping it will let him pretend he's putting on his own uniform, but it doesn't.
"Is the Flash having any trouble with the al Ghul's?" he asks.
"No," says Superman. He wants Tim to stay. Tim puts on his gloves.
"Avoid being seen. He won't find a way to rationalize your presence here easily," says Tim. He picks up his homework and returns to the cave.
"Jason," says Bruce, standing, "done already?"
"Yeah, I'm going to put in some time on the bench," says Tim, dropping Jason's homework next to the computer console.
Bruce smiles. "Not yet, young man. You and I are going to go through this together."
"Tightass," Tim mutters, so that Bruce will overhear, and throws himself into Bruce's chair.
Bruce puts his hand on Tim's shoulder.