WIP excerpt for LexiOakEn behind the cut; “project sidekick”.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
“Yeah, little weird, but guess we’re just all officially ride or die for our own clones who we haven’t even met yet now, good to know,” Robin says casually, drumming his fingers on his thighs and then suddenly perking up in his seat and grinning at Superboy, who has no idea how he feels about this conversation at all anymore. “Oh wait, SB, real important question here: does my clone-me understand the value of being whelmed? I really need to know if my clone-me understands the value of being whelmed, that is so important for our future relationship.”
“Sure, I’m narcissistic enough for that,” Kid Flash agrees–then stops again and groans again, dropping his head back on his neck. “God, though, we’re seriously gonna have to deal with two of you? Like that’s literally what this is, like ‘two of you’ is literally what ‘genetically identical with and’ . . . what’s three months for you, like two percent of your life? 1.923 percent, give or take. So ‘two of you’ is literally what ‘genetically identical with and in possession of 98.187 percent of your memories, give or take’ means, yeah.”
“I think you’re being very ungrateful about the existence of our newly-gained clone-bros, bro,” Robin replies primly, then grins wide at Kid Flash. “What, you don’t want kept on your toes, Yellow? You wanna get all lazy and complacent in life?”
“Maybe!” Kid Flash shoots back accusingly, then frowns, tapping his foot in a crackling blur for a moment and looking considering. “I mean I guess I’m never gonna be outnumbered again, I guess I’ve got that.”
“Just try not to edge me out of BFF status by becoming best friends with yourself, huh?” Robin asks with another snigger. Kid Flash eyes him, then looks considering again.
“Actually, wow, that actually sounds really convenient, I bet Three-Months-Plus!Me would totally go for–”
“Oh my god, KF!” Robin says with a cackling laugh, then pauses and looks considering himself. “Hey, think they’ll tutor us on the two months of class we missed if we ask nice? That a thing you think they’d be up for?”
“I think it’s hilarious that you think Three-Months-Plus!Me would be capable of tutoring anyone, actually,” Kid Flash retorts dubiously, and Robin cackles again, and Ahm muffles a quiet laugh behind his fist.
And Superboy–he still doesn’t know how he feels right now, and knows it doesn’t matter how he feels about any of this anyway, but . . .
But he definitely feels some very, very complicated things about all of this.
WIP excerpt for LexiOakEn behind the cut; "the finishing touch".
content notes: clonecest, Supercest, D/s vibes, unnegotiated kink, degradation kink, consensual-but-unnegotiated dubcon of the "no means yes" variety, overstimulation, and I dunno how to tag for "low-key bullying" as a kink but basically this is "experienced partner deliberately overwhelming/picking on unexperienced partner".
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
"Don't what?" Kon hums, stroking the back of the other's neck and wrapping his legs around his waist to slowly, slowly squeeze. Match chokes again; nearly collapses again too. "I wanted fucked, remember? You're the one who bitched out on me again."
"Just—shut up, shut up and let me pull out, you fucking idiot," Match hisses, trying to push himself back from him. Kon just tightens his legs and arms around him and doesn't even pretend to humor him on that one.
"You're the one who stuck your dick in, baby bro; not my fault if you can't finish the job," he replies with a leering smirk, giving his hips a pointed upward roll. Match whimpers. "You don't get to play take-backsies now. So how about you put your money where your mouth is for once, yeah?"
"L-let me—let me go," Match chokes, and his voice cracks into a whimper as Kon makes a point of squeezing his hole around his dick this time. Kon sniggers at him, stroking the back of his neck again and nuzzling into his throat. Match whimpers.
The bastard's so fucking pathetic when he gets his dick wet.
Kon wants to be a total fucking bastard to the bastard about it.
"C'mon, Matty, you really think I'm gonna let you bitch out on me again?" he taunts again, coaxing and mocking at the same time; stroking the back of his neck and nuzzling his throat and squeezing around him all again, all at once. Match makes a desperate, pathetic keen of a sound and his hips jerk forward; Kon snorts out another laugh. "Damn, you came even faster than last time."
"Too much, it's too much, let me go," Match begs, which Kon wouldn't believe the prick wanted even if he weren't already back to doing a shitty job of trying to fuck him and weren't even harder than he'd been before he'd come. "Fuck, fuck, let me go!"
"What, don't like gettin' the good grip, baby bro?" Kon purrs against the other's pulse, and rolls his hips up easy and languid underneath the jerky and stilted rabbit-thrusts of Match's as he clenches up even harder. Match moans, his hips stuttering forward harder and even clumsier about it.
The dumbass really can't fuck for shit, goddamn.
"C'mon," Kon breathes, nuzzling harder into Match's throat, and Match keens absolutely fucking pathetically over it and very literally drools on his collarbone. Kon laughs again and hooks an arm hard around the back of the other's neck, then flips him onto his back and sits up enough to let himself sit down hard on his dick. Match outright wails as he grabs onto his thighs, his head slamming back against the mattress.
Kon grins maybe a little mean and leans forward as he rolls his hips down harder to grab as much of the asshole's cheek as he can and pinch.
"Aw, baby bro, you're so cute when you're so fucking useless," he coos. Match makes a messy sobbing sound and bucks up underneath him, clawing at his thighs. "Awwwww. You gonna come again already, buddy? That's pretty pathetic too."
The third time, unfortunately, Superboy still hadn't admitted it, and had gotten Match down on his back and knocked his legs open and gotten between his thighs, and Match had had to put up with getting fucked again—put up with getting fucked again with Superboy acting like it was supposed to be that way, like it was better that way, the stupid fucking fuck—
Match had wanted to knock the idiot's head off his shoulders, especially after he'd come for it again and Superboy had acted so damn cocky and smug again and gloated about it again.
But the idiot hadn't actually come for it himself as hard—or as easy—as he'd come for getting fucked through the wall, and Match hadn't missed that. And the fourth time—the last time they'd done it, specifically—the fourth time, he'd gotten Superboy's face in the dirt, and he'd fucked him to shrieking all over again while the stupid bitch had kept trying to pretend again.
Superboy should've goddamn known then, if he hadn't known all this time, but he still clearly doesn't.
So Match is finally going to fucking prove it, this time. Superboy probably thinks it's his "turn" to top here, if nothing else, even though it should never be his fucking "turn" at all unless Match decides it is—but that's what's been happening, the bitch keeps fighting him about it so that's how it's been. So this time Match isn't going to let the bitch fight him about it, because that's the mistake he's been making: letting the bitch make it a fight.
If it's an actual fight, that's acting like there's actually a question about who's in charge here.
The bitch needs to act right, so this time Match is just going to make sure the bitch doesn't get away with tricking him into not acting right himself.
"Bitch," he snarls, and feels his voice come out of his throat—different, somehow. It does that sometimes. Usually Match doesn't care whether it does or doesn't.
But the sound of it like this makes Superboy's heartbeat stutter and eyes dilate, so right now Match does, in fact, care.
"MY bitch," he snarls even lower, and Superboy's heart beats triple-time, fast enough to outright thrum, and his jaw tips—up, just a little, and heat flashes through Match's gut—and then the stupid bitch stiffens up and snarls up at him again instead of showing him his throat, struggles under him again and tries to throw him off, and Match wants to smash his stupid skull open. Goddamn useless little—
No. Not this time. It's not a fight, and he isn’t going to let Superboy make it one again; isn't going to let Superboy fucking challenge him again. Like the bitch thinks he's the one in charge here, like the bitch thinks Match isn't good enough to fuck him—like the bitch doesn't know Match is the only one who's good enough to fuck him.
The bitch needs to act right, so Match is going to act right too.
"Stay DOWN," he snaps, and Superboy's whole body tenses for just an instant, and his heartbeat skips—and then he bares his teeth and growls back up at him and just struggles harder, the stupid—
"FUCK you!" Superboy snaps back, and Match's lip curls in disgust at the sound of that rumbling difference coming from his throat. It doesn't belong there. The only thing that should be coming out of this bitch's throat right now is begging. Begging to get fucked, begging for a knot, for his knot and his—his—
There's something—else, Match feels like. Something else the bitch is supposed to be begging him for.
His teeth fucking itch, trying to figure out what that "something else" is.
This time they're in an insultingly dilapidated and likely condemned warehouse that they'll definitely fuck down if Match lets the bitch make this a fight again, and also might fuck down if Match just feels like making the bitch have to explain the mess later.
He should, if a place like this is the best Superboy's got to offer. Superboy always picks the worst places to do this, but this one is, again, insultingly bad: it's full of rotten wood and the unpleasant reek of mold and old, dirty oil and stale air, and even the windows are so filthy that it would genuinely take X-ray vision to look through them. Or it would, if the building didn't have enough lead in it to plate the fucking place.
Again: it's fucking insulting.
Usually Match doesn't know if Superboy's just too stupid to pick a decent place for them to fuck, but this time it is undeniably, blatantly clear that the bitch is trying to start shit with him. But putting Superboy down in a fight doesn't work, and punishing Superboy doesn't work, and nothing like that's going to make this stupid whore act right.
None of it's going to get him wearing scars shaped like Match's fangs either, much less coming on his knot like the bitch he is in front of Superman.
Match hadn't really meant it about the other S-shields finding out when he'd first said it, but the longer this takes, the more he's starting to feel like he might just need to make sure they find out. Superboy couldn't keep pretending and posturing like he's something else, if all those idiots finally knew what Match already does.
Maybe the next time they actually are in a fight, he'll just put the bitch on his knees right then and there and prove it to the whole damn world right then and there.
