nerd!tim drake gets hard every time bully!conner kent and bully!reader make fun of him!! ╱ mdni, degradation, reader and kon are mean, tim is a pervert ˚.✦
He's thankful that the times you and Kon decide to tease him, poke him or joke about him, he's sitting behind his desk, the perfect place to hide the boner straining his jeans.
But tonight there’s no desk.
The bass thumps through the floorboards of the frat party, bodies packed wall-to-wall, red solo cups sweating in hands. Tim’s backed into the corner near the makeshift bar, half liquor-store run, half scavenged Wayne Enterprises conference snacks and he’s trying very hard to look like he’s just casually leaning against the wall. He’s not. He’s pinned there by the twin gravitational pull of you and Kon.
Kon’s got one thick arm braced above Tim’s head, caging him without quite touching. You’re on Tim’s other side, hip cocked, twirling those stupid wire-frame glasses you just plucked off his face like they’re a trophy.
“Aw, look at him,” you drawl, holding the lenses up to the dim purple party lights so they catch and flash. “Without these he’s basically blind. Poor little nerd can’t even see how pathetic he looks right now.”
“Give 'em back.” He tries to take them from you but you move your arm faster.
Kon snorts, loud enough that a couple heads turn. “You look cuter all squinty and confused. Like a kitten that lost its favorite toy.” He reaches out with his free hand and flicks the tip of Tim’s nose.
Tim’s breath hitches. It’s small, barely audible over the music, but you catch it. Your eyes flick down, then back up, then down again, slower.
“Oh my god,” you say, voice pitching into something delighted and dangerous. You step in closer until your chest almost brushes his folded arms. “Kon baby. Look.”
Kon follows your gaze.
Tim’s jeans are dark, but the outline is unmistakable: thick, insistent, pressing so hard against the zipper that the fabric looks ready to split. The head of his cock is practically molded into the denim, flushed and straining upward like it’s begging for attention.
Kon lets out a laugh that vibrates through Tim’s ribcage. “Holy shit, Drake. You’re hard?”
Tim’s face goes nuclear. He tries to turn away, Kon’s arm drops from the wall to his shoulder, keeping him right there.
“Don’t,” Kon says, almost gentle. “Don’t you fucking dare hide it now.”
You tilt your head, still holding the glasses. You bring them to your own face, peering through them at Tim like you’re studying a particularly interesting slide under a microscope.
“Wow,” you murmur. “Even blurred you’re leaking for us. That’s so... embarrassing.”
Tim’s throat works. “I’m not—It’s not—You guys are just—”
“Hot?” Kon supplies helpfully. He slides his hand from Tim’s shoulder down his chest, slow, deliberate, until his palm rests flat over Tim’s pounding heart. “Annoying? Mean? Everything that gets your sad little nerd dick leaking in public?”
Tim makes a sound and his hips jerk forward before he can stop them. The movement drags the swollen head of his cock against the inside of his fly. You both see it happen. You both see the way his lashes flutter and his lips part on a shaky exhale.
You step even closer. Now your thigh is brushing the outside of his, close enough that if you shifted your weight you’d be grinding right against that obscene bulge.
“Be honest, Tim,” you whisper, voice syrup-sweet and razor-sharp. “You get off on this, don’t you? On us laughing at you, on us taking your glasses so you can’t even look away properly, on everyone else in the room thinking you’re just some awkward third wheel while your cock’s throbbing because we’re being dicks to you.”
Tim’s breathing is ragged now. “Please—”
“Please what?” Kon cuts in. He leans down until his mouth is right against the shell of Tim’s ear. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”
“Knew it. Perverted little freak.” You finally lower the glasses, but instead of handing them back you hook one arm around the back of his neck and use the other hand to slide the frames back onto his face, letting the cool metal drag along his overheated skin.
The second they settle on his nose you grab his chin, tilt his head up, force him to meet both your eyes and Kon’s.
“Look at us while you’re dripping in your jeans like some desperate virgin who’s never been touched.”
Kon’s hand slides lower, cupping Tim through the denim, just a firm, possessive squeeze. Not stroking. Not yet. Just holding. Tim’s whole body jolts like he’s been electrocuted.
“Fuck,” Tim chokes out. His hips cant forward into Kon’s palm before he can stop himself. “Fuck, Kon—”
“Shhh,” Kon murmurs against his temple. “You’re gonna come in your pants right here if you’re not careful, baby. And then everyone’s gonna know what a pathetic little slut the great Timothy Drake really is.”
You lean in until your lips almost brush Tim’s. Close enough that he can feel every word.
“Say it,” you breathe. “Tell us what you are.”
Tim’s voice cracks on the first try. He tries again, quieter, shaking.
“I’m… I’m yours,” he whispers. “I—I get hard when you bully me. I can’t help it. I like it. I like it so much.”
You smile against his mouth, don’t kiss him, just let him feel the shape of your satisfaction.
“Good boy,” you purr.
Kon’s grip tightens. “That’s our little freak.”
Tim shudders so hard you feel it in your own bones. His hips are already moving, helpless little rocks forward into Kon’s palm like he can’t stop himself even if the room caught fire. He’s panting against your mouth, glasses fogging at the edges from how hard he’s breathing, cheeks blotchy red under the party lights.
You don’t pull away. You press your thigh harder against the thick line of his cock instead, letting him feel the seam of your jeans drag right over the swollen head every time he grinds.
“Fuck, nghh!” Tim’s voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. “I can’t I can't I’m gonna—”
Kon chuckles right into the shell of Tim’s ear. “Yeah? Already? We’ve barely started, baby.” He flexes his fingers, then lets go just enough to let Tim chase the pressure. “Go on then. Hump us like the desperate little nerd you are. Show everyone how easy you get off on being laughed at.”
Tim whimpers and his head drops forward until his forehead thumps against your shoulder. His hips snap forward harder now, shameless, grinding the full length of his cock against your thigh in short, frantic rolls. The denim’s so tight it’s obscene; you can feel every twitch, every pulse through the layers of fabric.
“Look at him go,” you murmur, sliding your hand up to card through his sweaty hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. “Can’t even wait to get a room. Has to rut on us right here like a bitch in heat.”
“Pathetic,” Kon adds, voice dripping mock sympathy. He presses his palm flat again, this time letting Tim fuck up into it properly. “Bet you’ve been jerking off thinking about this for months. Bet you come so fast every time.”
Tim’s nodding before he can stop himself, jerky little jerks of his head against your shoulder.
“Y-yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah—fuck—every time you... when you steal my stuff, when you hah when Kon calls me ‘Drake’ like I’m nothing fuuuck, I—”
He cuts off on a broken moan as you shift your leg higher, trapping his cock right against the crease of your hip. The new angle lets him grind the sensitive head directly against you, and his whole body locks up for a second.
“Oh shit,” Kon breathes, delighted. “He’s right there. Look at his face, isn't he cute?”
You tilt Tim’s chin up with two fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, lashes clumped with sweat, lips swollen from biting them.
Kon leans in, lips brushing Tim’s temple. “We’re not stopping, pretty boy. You’re gonna come in your pants in the middle of a party because that’s what filthy little freaks like you do.”
Tim’s hips stutter, lose rhythm, then speed up, frantic, sloppy. He’s practically riding your thigh now, needy thrusts that make the wet spot at the front of his jeans spread darker. You can smell It, mixing with the spilled beer and cheap cologne in the air.
“Gonna, gonna—” Tim’s fingers claw at your shirt, at Kon’s arm. “I can’t, f-fuck nghh I’m—”
“C'mon, make a mess,” you whisper against his mouth. Not kissing, just close enough that every word brushes his lips.
Tim’s whole body seizes. A choked, strangled sound rips out of his throat and then he’s coming, hard, hips jerking uncontrollably against your thigh. You feel it happen: the hot, pulsing rush of it soaking through his jeans, pulsing against you in thick spurts. His cock kicks and throbs under Kon’s palm, spilling and spilling until the wet patch is obvious even in the low light.
He keeps grinding through it, weak little aftershocks, whimpering into your neck as the orgasm drags out longer than he can handle. Kon doesn’t let go, keeps that steady pressure, milking every last tremor out of him until Tim’s shaking so hard his knees nearly buckle.
When it finally ends, Tim sags between you, forehead pressed to your collarbone, chest heaving. His glasses are crooked, one lens smudged with condensation. The front of his jeans is obscene.
You stroke the back of his neck, almost gentle now. “There you go,” you murmur. “Good boy. Made such a pretty mess for us.”
Kon laughs. He cups Tim’s jaw, tilts his face up so you can both see how wrecked he looks: flushed, dazed, lips parted, eyes glassy behind those crooked frames.
“Fucking beautiful,” Kon says, thumb dragging over Tim’s bottom lip. “Our perfect little come-slut nerd.”
Tim shudders again, aftershock or fresh arousal, impossible to tell, and buries his face back in your shoulder like he can hide from what he just did.
You and Kon share a wicked look over the top of his head.
I just wanted to share this lovely TimKon fanart that astranovella on ao3 made for chapter 3 of my fic Take Care on Ao3 (if you haven’t read it then you totally should!!)
Ok, so, you know that a lot of the times Lex (when he HAD hair) is a red head, or at least was.
Now, Kon is like and half Clone, because he's got bot Superman and Lex Luthor DNA, so technically he got the redhead gene.
After this premesis let's talk about Tim clone problem and Timkon clone baby.
So Tim mixed his DNA with the one of Kon and ended up in a baby.
Usually in fics the baby ends up resembling Tim or Kon or both of them, so with Black hair and blue eyes and all, what if the baby ended up resembling both Lex and Janet Drake, so with Lex red hair and Janet eyes, and for face a mixture of both Kon and Tim?
Kon spun in his chair, hoping it made him seem more casual. “What do you know about Tim Drake?”
Robin didn’t look up from the computer, but his typing slowed to a more human speed, “Why in the world would you want to know anything about Tim Drake?”
OR: In which Kon reads an article, gets a little crush on Tim Drake, and figures his local Gothamite might know something about him. Asking doesn't go quite as he planned, but hey- he gets a boyfriend out of it, who is he to complain?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was all that stupid article.
Kon could hardly think, could hardly focus, could hardly do anything that wasn’t mission related.
And it was all Tim Drake’s fault.
Well, to be fair, Kon had never met the guy. All he had done was read one Gotham Gazette article about him that just had to include photos, and well. It devolved from there.
Kon knew he was getting a bit obsessive, but really, who could blame him? The only other person in his life that was able to distract him like Tim Drake had was Red Robin. And that was a non-starter.
The guy had been asked out plenty, other heroes weren’t subtle about it. Anyone bold enough to try got the same pitying look and the “Sorry, I don’t date with the mask.”
Kon was not going to be added to the long list of broken hearts Red Robin left in his wake, thank you very much. He was content never asking the question.
Not asking meant he wouldn’t get rejected. Not getting rejected meant he could live in delusion and give himself crushes that passed like the wind to try and get over his stupid feelings for Robin.
Which brought him back to Tim Drake.
The guy was pretty, sue him!
He was idly flipping through a gossip magazine, one of the ones Lois would roll her eyes at, when the interview caught his eye.
“Twenty-Two Year Old CEO of Wayne Enterprises!” It boasted. Kon knew the name Wayne. They were probably the most famous people in Gotham, which was saying something given they had a host of eclectic rogues and vigilantes in their city.
His curiosity got the better of him and he started reading.
CEO very young, only to go on a “soul searching” trip for a year, to come back better than ever. Bruce Wayne’s third adoptive kid, though the second youngest of his five. Came from money in the form of the Drakes, but didn’t share much about his life with them.
He talked about hobbies, which included things like skating, rock climbing, and some martial arts. He spoke a frankly ridiculous amount of languages. (Kon hated the way he could only think of Robin reading out a cipher in Latin without even glancing at a translator. Or the way he was already picking up on Kryptonian better than Kon was, despite them having the same access to Clark’s files.)
The real kicker, though, was the photo spread. Pictures Kon would hang in his room at Mount Justice if it wasn’t the lamest thing in the world.
The rich wine red shirt, tastefully unbuttoned enough that some of the pictures had his lithe collar bones peaking out. His hair, delicately falling over his forehead, looking softer than sin. And Kon could write sonnets about his face.
He was pretty, gorgeous, hot, and handsome all at once. His eyes drew Kon in like a siren’s, he didn’t think he could find words to describe the blue color. The soft bow of his lips begged for a kiss. (Much like Robi- damn it.)
The small peek of calluses on his hands spoke of a man who knew how to work, despite having a silver spoon dangling from his lips. The echo of muscle under his well tailored pants, cut to keep him mysterious and yet had muscle clearly below, read like a story, desperate to be told.
Oh Jesus, here he went getting poetic.
That’s what led him to asking the question. The one that would live in infamy in his brain for years and years to come.
(The one he’d hold over Red Robin for just as many years, despite not knowing it yet.)
In retellings of the story Kon would insist on “setting the scene.” To which Red Robin would scoff and roll his eyes, citing that Kon was too smug for his own good. Kon would take it in stride and go into depth about the case they had been working.
Or well, Red Robin had been working. Kon always told it best.
The case, an otherwise boring and unremarkable one if it hadn’t been graced by this occurring in the midst of it, had to do with white collar crime.
Red Robin had discovered it while cleaning up their previous Young Justice case. Some company records that didn’t match county ones, or something. Either way it was worth looking into because, in the end, Robin had found evidence of embezzling.
He had saved the county a lot of time and money clearing the whole thing up. It was then up to Young Justice to do the, minorly illegal but overwhelmingly for the greater good, breaking and entering to prove it.
After one such mission, Red Robin had sent Bart and Cassie back to their home bases, saying all he had left was to write up some reports. One meaningful look at Kon had the half-alien stepping up and claiming he’d be there to help type away.
They both knew it was an excuse to spend some time just the two of them.
And don’t get Kon wrong! They loved their team, but there was something about time with your best friend that made everything else seem insignificant. And apparently Rob was in desperate need of Kon time, and who was Kon to refuse him?
So, with them being the last in Mount Justice, they made their way to Tim’s favorite computer room set up. The one he designed after the Batcomputer.
Kon dropped himself into the comfy rolling chairs that sat in front of the desk. “Alright, what can I do to help?”
Red Robin sat and began opening all of his files. “If you so much as lay a finger on my mission report, you’ll lose it in your sleep.”
“Moral support, got it.” Kon got comfortable, leaning back in his chair as far it would go and crossing his legs at the ankle.
The half-smile it earned him felt like a monumental win. Robin’s fingers were already flying across the keyboard, moving faster than Kon’s could, even with his heightened speed.
(He spent way too much time looking down at the keys then back up at the screen, typing was not his strong suit by a mile.)
He let Robin find his groove, waiting until the long pauses in his typing stopped, which meant he was in a nice flow state. This way he knew his talking wouldn’t throw Robin off.
“What’s been going on in the world of Red Robin lately, Sunshine? I feel like I haven’t heard the latest bat-gossip in ages.”
Yes, he can come across as stalkerish sometimes (a lot of times) and he definitely stalks his loved ones to make sure they’re alive and well, much to their chagrin. But one person in particular doesn’t just tolerate the stalking, in fact, he enjoys it.
Kon-el. Superboy. The diva himself.
Kon likes knowing that Tim’s watching. He’s decided to put on a show whenever he’s alone, sometimes out of mischief, sometimes to ragebait him, and sometimes just to tease. He tries to always be in view of the hidden cameras that Tim had placed, knowing where each one was without announcing it or directly looking into it. It’s like a roulette of sorts.
And it’s just a bonus that Kon can hear the subtle spike of Tim’s heartbeat, or the way Tim breathes out his name oh so sensually which definitely hints at what unsightly thing he was doing with Kon tuning in. It’s a bonus that Kon knows just what makes that boy tick.
In a way, he’s no better than Tim. Instead of stalking him visually, he’s always keeping an ear out, always aware. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind being watched. They’re one and the same.
Plus, Kon’s pretty sure Tim knows that he’s listening. If so, Tim’s been radio silent about it. Not a peep. Which is typical, coming from the son of Batman.
And really, how’s Kon supposed to play this out? How can he put himself out there enough for Tim to finally crumble at the sight of him and call him over out of desperation? What could possibly be the right moment to break this unspoken game they’ve been playing with each other?
He wonders, sometimes, if Tim just likes the thrill of it. The idea of getting caught. Maybe he’s waiting for Kon himself to call him out for it, to be the one to make that step. But Kon wouldn’t go so far, he was just as cowardly as Tim in confessing…this.
Or; Tim watches, Kon listens. They’re both big ol creepos who love each other yet are too CHICKEN to say so.
Anyway, I’ll try to write this out on AO3 and post it soon in full.
I want to read a fic where somehow (whether by force or simple curiosity in a style change) Tim ends up in a skirt and then Kon walks in and absolutely loses his mind and falls head over heels in love if he’s not already. I just think it would be a really cute scenario. I know this is like… an ultra specific prompt but if there are any existing fics like this I would love to read it! 🤭
