WIP excerpt for Paradox behind the cut; Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Can’t say I mind either,” Tim says lightly, stroking his cock a little tighter, and Kon is already much, much harder than he usually would be this quick. Which–it’s Tim, so . . . yeah, of course he is.
Tim wants him to be hard, because Tim wants to touch him.
He’ll be fucking anything, if it makes Tim touch him.
He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, though, so they just end up awkwardly resting flat on Bernard’s stomach, and he’s already basically sitting on Bernard’s stomach, so that kind of makes it like . . .
Like. That’s kind of how a “pet” would sit, right? Or–close to it. Maybe.
Kon’s . . . not sure if he’s doing this right, but Tim hasn’t said he’s not, so–he must be, right?
It is so fucking hard not to drool, though. He can’t close his mouth or swallow, and the candy on his tongue is making his mouth water, and he can barely pay attention to anything but Tim’s hand around his dick and voice in his ears and eyes on him. And Bernard’s watching him too, and they both clearly wanna see, so . . .
So it’s really hard not to drool or fall right over into Tim or just immediately embarrass himself, one way or the other. Tim’s hand is around his cock, stroking and squeezing and clearly examining it, feeling it out, and it’s like–he looks like he’s really paying attention to what he’s doing. To what Kon can’t help but respond to. To what he–likes, Kon means.
What he likes, and what Tim likes, and probably what Bernard likes too, considering.
A Bat’s level of attention is a fuckton of attention.
Fuck, Kon thinks, and shudders uselessly under it. Tim tilts his head, narrowing his eyes assessingly at his dick and his own hand; at what he’s doing to his dick with his hand. He twists his fist as he closes it tighter over the head on the upstroke; tightens his grip as he pulls it back down. He’s not really using a steady rhythm or pattern, just . . . examining, again. Feeling it out. It makes Kon feel weird and breathless and a little stupid, but also like something worth looking at. Like something Tim thinks is worth looking at.
He wants to come. He wants to get kissed. He wants–
Tim wraps his other hand around his cock too and squeezes them both at once, and Kon barely keeps himself from swallowing. Spit drips out of his mouth and he’s immediately mortified about it, but–but he’s supposed to keep his mouth open and he’s supposed to not swallow, Tim said, so–so he keeps his mouth open, and he doesn’t swallow.
Tim’s eyes flick to his mouth, very briefly, and then up to his eyes instead.
He smiles, quiet and approving, and Kon immediately stops caring about how embarrassed he is right now and how stupid he must look.
“Good boy,” Tim says, and squeezes him tight.
Kon makes a breathy, half-strangled noise in the back of his throat, but he manages not to swallow.
Tim smiles wider.
Kon’ll live with the embarrassment, yeah.
“You're so sweet for me, pet. So cute like this, showing off just like I like,” Tim hums, and Kon maybe halfway burns alive while Bernard huffs out a laugh.
“Jesus, babe,” Bernard says, stroking his hands over Kon's thighs–or maybe petting Kon's thighs, more like. “Still no chill at all, huh?”
“Not really, no,” Tim says, and strokes Kon tighter; harder. It takes way too much effort for him to keep his mouth open and his throat from trying to swallow, and he’s maybe actually outright drooling now, but Tim’s still smiling and hasn’t told him to stop or swallow or anything, so . . . so that’s fine, that’s alright, he’s allowed to. It’s okay to look a little stupid, if it means being good for Tim. Okay not to look good, if he’s being good.
He–thinks it is, anyway.
It’s Tim, though. Tim wouldn’t do something like this just to, like–fucking laugh at him, or whatever. Just to make him look stupid because he thought it was funny he’d let him, or . . .
Tim wouldn’t do that. He knows Tim wouldn’t do that. He–
“You always do your best for me, don't you,” Tim murmurs, and every drop of uncertainty and tension in Kon seems to drain out of him all at once, and his cock throbs in the other’s hands, and he just feels all . . . all warm and loose and easy again.
Tim’s really good at making him feel like that, he recognizes vaguely, but mostly all he’s thinking about is how Tim thinks he’s good. How Tim thinks he’s being good for him, and good at doing what he asks and wants, and . . .
Kon is definitely actually drooling now, and definitely does not care. His mouth tastes like his favorite candy because Tim went and brought him his favorite candy, the candy he keeps around for him on purpose, and Tim’s touching him because Tim wants to be touching him, and he’s being good for him, he’s giving Tim what he wants, he’s doing his best for him and Tim knows it.
Tim believes it. Doesn’t doubt it at all.
“You're doing so well, pet. So good for me, just like I asked,” Tim hums approvingly, and Kon hears himself make a strangled little rasp of a noise in the back of his throat. “Can you come for me again? Give me what I want from–”
Tim doesn't even finish the sentence before Kon comes embarrassingly hard, and nearly doubles over with it. He makes a shocky, punched-out noise and Tim works him through every wave and pulse of it with both hands, his grip tight and careful and certain.
He doesn't let go of him, and Kon whines.
He’s–fuck, he’s supposed to have actual stamina. Especially after going how damn many rounds already, he should have some damn stamina. Tim barely even did that much to him; just fucking talked him off more than anything else.
Tim’s just–they’re just–
They both just keeping making it so fucking easy.
“God damn,” Bernard says admiringly, and Kon hears the camera click. Tim exhales, very slowly. He’s still holding Kon’s cock even though it's spent and starting to soften, and Kon doesn’t know why he likes that so fucking much. Just–he feels . . . dazed, and heady, and all floaty and weird and warm again. He wants to slump over into Tim and melt right through him. Suck him off again, maybe, or maybe get back in his lap and do a little better job of riding his dick this time, or . . .
The only thing he can think clear enough to actually do, though, is to tilt his head back up and stick his tongue out to show Tim the candy that he definitely only managed not to drop because of his TTK.
Tim smiles at him, soft and approving, and seeing that actually might feel better than just coming did.
“Good boy,” Tim says, and takes one of his hands off Kon’s cock to pluck the candy off his tongue with his come-sticky fingers and–inspect it, almost. He gets the candy even stickier in the process. Kon watches him do it a little hazily, and still doesn’t close his mouth or swallow.
Tim didn’t tell him to, after all.
Tim looks back at his face, and his expression softens. Bernard mumbles a few incredibly niche-sounding godly curses.
“You’ll have to tell me how it tastes, pet,” Tim says, tone light and conversational. He still doesn’t let go of Kon’s cock with his other hand, even with it half-soft and useless right now; just slips the candy-sticky, come-sticky fingers of his free hand into Kon’s mouth, lightly pressing the candy back down into the center of his tongue with a fingertip.
Kon’s whole useless excuse for a brain melts into genetically-unstable soup, and he moans.
And Tim smiles at him again.
“You can have it, pet,” he says, and then Kon has the even more brain-melting experience that is licking his own fucking come off Tim’s fingers with a piece of the candy Tim got just for him in his mouth.
“Floaty and warm” does not even remotely cover the way that doing that makes him feel. Doesn’t even begin to.
Bernard mutters a lot more incredibly niche curses and snaps another picture, then puts the camera down on the mattress and slides his hands up Kon’s thighs and up over his hips. Kon presses down into his grip reflexively and Bernard’s incredibly niche cursing cuts off with a low little breath of a groan. He’s not really hard, though, so Kon isn’t sure if that means he still needs a break, or . . .
Kon licks the last of Tim’s fingers clean and definitely drools all over himself while he’s doing it, but it’s just part of listening to him, so it doesn’t matter. He leans back a little once he’s done, mostly to make it easier to resist the urge to outright go down on Tim’s fingers in the process, and . . . he didn’t fully close his mouth for it or anything, and Tim didn’t tell him to swallow, so . . . so he doesn’t, still.
Tim’s eyes heat as he takes his fingers back and his hand off his cock, just barely half-lidded and looking all dark and warm, and Kon just . . . just keeps his mouthful of come and candy and fucking drool, and . . . and sits. Stays. Waits.
Tim’ll make it worth it, if he waits. If he’s good for him.
Kon knows he will.
Tim lets his eyes linger for a long moment as they trail over Kon’s body and face, then leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, and strokes his fingertips down his throat at the same time.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, sounding impossibly fond and absolutely fucking tender. “Swallow.”
Kon, obviously, swallows every goddamn thing in his mouth.
Tim smiles against his cheek, and that does feel better than just coming did. Just–not physically better, obviously, but . . . but better.
Kon doesn’t really understand that thought fully, but . . . but it’s definitely a thing that he thinks.
“Good,” he mumbles a little belatedly, a little dazedly. But Tim said, so . . .
“Mm?” Tim tilts his head, and Kon . . . swallows, again, and half-licks his lips. They’re sticky, still. Sweet and metallic and . . .
“It tastes good,” he clarifies in a rasp, and Bernard’s fingers dig into his thighs.
“Ngh,” Tim says, his own fingers staying very carefully still against Kon’s throat. They couldn’t actually hurt him if they dug in. Obviously they couldn’t.
But Tim still doesn’t do it. Still stays so deliberately gentle, just like he promised, like it actually really matters if he is or not, and Kon fucking shivers over it.
“Robin,” he croaks, feeling a little dizzy with . . . all of it. Just . . . just . . .
“Good boy,” Tim repeats, his voice lower this time, and shifts his hand away from his throat to press lightly against the back of his neck instead. “Bernard, you can have him back now. Take care of my boy for me. He’ll make you feel good."
Kon melts under the light, light press of Tim’s fingers against his spine and then just melts down all over Bernard, who lets out a breathless huff of a laugh and shifts to slide his hands up his back. Kon slumps down into him without thinking about his weight or the mess of drool still on his face and chest or anything else, and Bernard laughs again and winds his arms properly around his back as Kon’s face ends up buried in the crook of his neck.
“Man, I wish I could get a weighted blanket that came in demi-Kryptonian,” Bernard says feelingly, and Kon feels him flash Tim a grin as he makes the joke. And it’s . . . a joke, obviously, but it makes him feel even warmer and floatier to hear it. Like he’s just something Bernard would wanna keep at the foot of the bed and use and appreciate on the regular, and . . .
Kon is pretty sure he forgets what being a solid is like. Like, he’s just a liquid now. Like, forever.
Being a liquid feels good, though.
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oooo logan’s magical paradox sounds interesting
The synopsis is provided in this ask. I can, however, offer a snippet.
*************
“George!” Alex moved in between George and the child who was a crumpled heap on the ground. A deadly silence settled between all of them until a whimper began to grow louder and louder.
*hic* *hic* “WAHHHHHHH!” Blood was dripping from his nose and a dark purple bruise was forming on his forehead. The cute, chubby face turned a violent red as streams of tears fell down the child’s face.
“Logan?” Alex bent down tentatively, an arm outstretched but not close enough to reach.
The little boy looked up and gave a timid smile, the blood from his nose was smeared all over his face. “It is Logan, right?”
Logan didn’t respond, only giving a shaky nod.
“Hey, how about you come here and let me clean your face? Come on.” Alex opened his arms and Logan came rushing in, smushing his blood, tears, and snot covered face all over Alex’s jacket.
The other two stared in shock as Alex soothed the crying child.
“Call James” he mouthed to Elias.
“I’ll call the others. They might know how to help.” George said, looking quite shell-shocked at the fact he attacked a child.
Logan cried softly as Alex carried him to the couch and tried to clean up the bloody mess on Logan’s face. Elias applied a healing spell to stop the blood and soothe the deep purple bruise on Logan’s forehead. George sat on the far end of the L-shaped couch, wanting to be close but clearly worried about his recent actions.
“There, that should do it.” The spell transformed the bruise into a light pink color.
“Hahhh!” Logan giggled as the sparkles of light disappeared.
“Did it tickle?” Alex grinned.
Logan nodded. “Smells minty. Like the blue jar.”
“Blue jar? Oh you mean the vaporub!”
Before Logan could respond, a knock cut through the conversation. Logan’s eyes widen with fear before he grabbed at Alex’s hoodie and hid his face in it, his body trembling.
George jumped up to open the door, revealing James, Lewis, Max, and Oscar. Oscar looked as if he ran the length of the hotel to get here judging by the sweat on his brow and the heaviness of his breathing. Before George could invite them in, Oscar shoved his way through.
“Where’s Logan?” Oscar panicked, his eyes darting everywhere in the room before settling on the trembling child in Alex’s arms. He knew those blonde locks anywhere.
“Logan?” Oscar stepped towards him to get a better look.
“GO AWAY!” Piercing eyes stared into Oscar’s soul. He knew those eyes. He dreamt of those eyes. But never once in his life did he think those eyes would state at him with such fear and hatred.
*****************
Please Enjoy❤️
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