Match stares blankly at him for another long moment. Tim just smiles blithely at him again. Match narrows his eyes in response, then slides them over to Kon.
". . . how does this work," he says.
"Uh—what?" Kon asks, looking briefly alarmed but mostly confused. "How does—what work, Mat?"
"This," Match repeats as he jerks his head towards Tim, looking irritated.
. . . hm, Tim thinks.
"Do you mean how does foreplay work, how does sex work, or how do I work?" he asks curiously. Match slants his eyes back to him, looking annoyed by the question.
. . . . . . hm, Tim thinks again.
"Or all three?" he asks. Match's expression sours even more.
"What the fuck, man," Kon snorts. "Virgin or not, he's literally got the same junk we do; what's so hard about figuring that out?"
Match—pauses, and then Kon seems to realize exactly what he said, and just barely stiffens. Tim feels Kon's thigh tensing underneath him, and feels Match's thigh very obviously not tensing underneath him.
Well . . . neither one of them had wanted him to touch all of them—or at least, neither one of them had wanted to admit to wanting him to touch all of them—so it's not really an unexpected reaction.
"You do realize my junk is lot less invulnerable than either of yours?" Tim asks wryly, raising an eyebrow at Kon and giving them both the excuse to not think about anything else about anything else that isn't "the same" there. "I really need you to tell me you realize that, Kon."
"Dude, what do you even think we're gonna do to your squishy human dick?" Kon asks, making a face at him before laughing instead. Match just looks skeptical. Both options are an improvement on the tension—or the total lack of tension. Tim knows exactly how Kon fights, obviously, but he's learned a few things about how Match fights lately too—or rather, how Match fights when he isn't pretending to be Kon—and neither of those reactions belong in this situation at all.
"Why does it matter if he's invulnerable or not?" Match asks, giving Kon a skeptical look. "We're both here."
. . . okay, Tim might be a little bit concerned by that question.
They’re still both fully hard, he notes, despite the lack of direct stimulation or anything particularly sexual occurring in the past few minutes, and–
Kon flicks his forehead again and raises both eyebrows at him. Tim clears his throat.
“I’m not that in my head,” he lies. Kon snorts; Match looks dubious.
“You were literally just discussing extrapolating sexual behavior based on information gathered from a previous test subject,” he says. “And getting off on it.”
“In my defense, you and Kon definitely were both reacting similarly to the same stimulation,” Tim says, because embarrassment is for cowards who do not have a nonzero chance at getting demi-double-teamed tonight. Kon and Match both–pause, and then both give him the exact same blank look. Tim doesn’t get why, though them reacting in unison is becoming a familiar experience. Just while they’re on the subject and all. “When I was jacking you off, I mean. You both seemed to like the same things then.”
“You–what, you were actually trying to duplicate your results?” Kon asks, half-laughing and looking–awkward, momentarily, and for some reason a little self-conscious. Tim resists the urge to frown.
“I mean, not exactly,” he says. “I just kept doing the same things to both of you at the same time. Did you not notice that? I assumed you’d noticed that.”
How did they not notice that, more like, between their TTK and their super-senses? They’d have to be deliberately not paying attention to–
. . . ah.
“Oh,” Kon says, and turns red. “I–uh–I didn’t–”
Match, somehow, finds a way to look even blanker than before.
WIP excerpt: Tim + clonecest.
(( chrono || non-chrono ))
Tim, extremely briefly, has a flashed image of Kon and Match’s pretty pink cunts splitting open around a fat, slicked-up toy made of something strong enough to really open them up–a dildo or a vibrator, maybe, or maybe a double-ended dildo, because if Tim isn’t gonna get double-teamed, at least he could get a toy to take up the cause for him.
He pictures those matched cunts all hot and soaked and stretched around shiny promethium or polished-up blue kryptonite or maybe a combination of both. Promethium studded with blue kryptonite, maybe. Tim doesn’t know if a studded dildo would actually feel as good as most porn wants him to think it would, but the image is still appealing.
If it was double-ended, they’d have to work together to take it. They’d have to–
Tim has to stop that line of thought before he either swoons like a Victorian maiden in immediate vicinity of a fainting couch or blows his load before he even gets his damn dick out. Or, like–both. Both is definitely a concern.
“Jesus, what just made your heart do that?” Kon says with a heated, flustered little laugh. Tim debates the merits of honesty, then decides maybe just “a certain point of view” honesty will have to do in this situation.
“I was trying to think of ways I could get you both off at once,” he replies matter-of-factly, and just doesn’t mention the specific images still filling up his head with thoughts of Kon breathless and panting and answering for a tight-lipped, flushed Match every time Tim asks them how it feels, how they feel, how they like their present that he made just for–
Tim definitely needs to stop that line of thought. Immediately.
I want to post more random excerpts but WHAT should I actually--oh right, weirdly emotional porn is an option.
Working title for this one: "Tim + clonecest". Read-more for the porn.
Kon and Match are both laying on their backs on Tim's bedroom floor, shirts rucked up over their chests and jeans shoved down around their thighs, and Tim is kneeling between them and hasn't so much as taken off his gloves from patrol. There wasn't enough room in his bed for this, or at least he doesn't feel like there would be. Also, the bed might be too much to start anyway.
He should take off his gloves, really, but he doesn't want to.
Anyway, he's an unenhanced human and they're both invulnerable alien hybrids with impregnable force fields that they wear like second skins. It's not like they have to worry about chafing or anything.
He squeezes both their cocks. Kon and Match make the exact same sound, and Tim makes a little mental note of just the way he did it.
They both liked it, so of course he does.
"Rob," Kon pants, practically keening, and Match grits his teeth, though it looks more like he's baring them. Tim wants to see them touch each other, but he hasn't mentioned that yet. He's not sure how either of them would take the idea. Six and a half minutes ago he wasn't even sure how they'd take this idea.
He thinks Kon wants to be used like a thing, probably–wants to be useful, more like–and that Match doesn't know how not to be. He thinks they both probably don't have much grasp of what they really want.
He thinks he'd really, really like to help them figure that out.
Tim strokes them both; pushes his thumbs up over the heads of their cocks and across their slits. Kon groans. Match grits his teeth harder.
Kryptonian genitalia is functionally identical to human, but Kon was custom-designed to be scientifically "useful" and Match was made in his image, so they both have a little extra . . . well, extra. Their matching cocks are both hard and heavy in Tim's hands, big and gorgeous and tempting.
And their matching cunts are both pink and pretty and so, so inviting.
Tim hasn't touched either of them there yet. Kon had gotten embarrassed when he'd asked if he could, and Match had just looked irritated. Neither of them had actually said "no", though, so Tim had decided to just revisit the question when they were both a little more relaxed about all this.
Or a little hornier. Whichever.
Tim doesn't know if it's gender dysphoria or general self-consciousness or just some kind of nerves about offering up something more vulnerable-feeling than just getting jacked off, but he isn't going to push it, obviously. If either of them had actually said "no", he wouldn't even revisit the idea at all.
But they didn't say "no", and he knows how Kon at least gets when he's feeling self-conscious or thinks he was made wrong or that he isn't measuring up to expectations in some way. Match he doesn't know as well, obviously, but . . .
Well. Match didn't say "no" either, did he.
Tim didn't even know Kon and Match were built like this six and half minutes ago, but now he's fairly certain he'd chew broken glass to get either one of them to let him really touch them. Or to see them touch each other, or even just themselves. They're both gorgeous, their faces and bodies identical and their hair inversed and their so-telling eyes that couldn't be more different; Kon's skin all sunwarmed and soft and Match's tense and cool as moonlight. They're both wearing civilian clothes, and never mind the recent changes in Match's allegiances, it's still one of the only times Tim's ever seen him wearing an outfit he didn't put on in an explicit attempt to pass for Kon. They're still Kon's clothes, though–Tim recognizes the shirt and jeans and even the sneakers and–
Well. And the underwear.
Possibly Tim knows a bit too much about Kon, given this is the first time they've ever done anything like this. Then again, he likes to know things about Kon.
And he's liking learning things about Match, too. Like the fact that apparently he and Kon are both fine with sharing underwear.
Rao give him strength, Tim thinks while he's trying not to melt into useless incoherence over that particular thought. He's not any kind of Kryptonian himself, no, but he absolutely needs Kryptonian-level gods for that prayer.
He twists his hands on the next downstroke and Kon groans louder and Match's eyes screw shut tight. Tim might feel trusted, if he didn't know perfectly well that the other could still feel every single thing that's happening in the room with his TTK whether he's got eyes on him or not. If he couldn't feel the touch of that TTK all over his body, ready to throw him across the room the moment he does something Match doesn't like.
He doesn't take that personally. He'd be more concerned if Match could actually trust another person this easily, given his entire life experience so far.
He also doesn't doubt it's Match's TTK on him and not Kon's. There's just no comparison in how they feel.
"Rob," Kon pants again, his invulnerable body shuddering helplessly against the floor, and Tim thinks, clinically, that he probably should've kissed him before they got this far. Match probably doesn't care, but Kon . . .
