WIP excerpt for CactusCat; “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it”. content notes: Dom/sub, pet play, subspace. (( chrono || non-chrono || AO3 ))
"Kon, man, if Superman does not give you back the pink kryptonite for Tim's birthday, I might legit go ask Brainiac if he has any job openings," he says, and still doesn't take his eyes off them at all. "Bet that dude'd pay me in any color of kryptonite I was after. Or hell, maybe I'll just go for broke and see what LexCorp's stock options are like."
"Pretty good, honestly. The benefits are surprisingly solid too," Tim says as he draws his fingers out of Kon's hole so fucking slow that Kon actually whines over it—as Bernard watches Tim do that, and Kon's body shivers and shakes over it—and then drops a kiss against Kon's pulse again. "Watch my boy for a bit, babe. I still want a shower before we give him his bath."
"Uh-huh," Bernard says, apparently too busy watching Kon's dick just, like, exist to really pay attention to the conversation. The way he's staring at him makes Kon feel a little bit buzzed, but so does literally everything about . . . like, literally everything right now.
"Be a good boy and let Bernard take care of you, Kon," Tim says as he runs a hand up Kon's sternum to tap just below the dip of his collarbone—right where a tag would hang off a collar—and says it exactly like he says "pet". Kon's heart does a backflip up into his throat, right above that tap.
"Yeah," he croaks, and Tim smiles at him, and then steps back from him—Kon only just doesn't whimper again—gives Bernard another peck on the cheek, and disappears into the bathroom. Kon stares after him, feeling like he's about to melt into slush.
Bernard keeps staring at his dick.
So that's, like—a thing, Kon guesses. A flattering thing, but . . . a thing, yeah.
Then he notices that the bathrobe is slipping off one of Bernard's shoulders and exposing way more of his chest and collarbone than he's actually seen so far, and it's really, like . . . like there's some muscle there, obviously—the guy definitely has muscle, and it's definitely functional muscle, not just aesthetic—but there's also this layer of soft, smooth, unscarred skin and this sort of . . . this sort of softness to him, visually. More fat than most vigilantes would carry, but more muscle than most civilians would bother working for, and just . . .
Technically Kon felt all that earlier—has felt all that several times, at this point—but the visual is kinda, like . . . it's kinda more . . . affecting than he expected, maybe.
Like. A lot more.
