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.
Summary:
You have lived across the hall from Tim Drake and Conner Kent long enough to know a few things.
Tim keeps terrible hours, notices too much, and has a habit of making concern look like common sense. Conner is all easy grins and unfair confidence, the kind of man who can turn a two-minute conversation by the mailboxes into something you think about hours later.
You have also been doing a very respectable job pretending the tension between the three of you is harmless.
Then you lock yourself out.
Author’s Note:
surprise Conner Kent/Kon-El appearance! he’s not on my list of characters i write for, but TimKon is SUCH a good pairing, and i just had to do it
🐦 🔑 ☀️
You realized you had locked yourself out about three seconds after the door clicked shut behind you.
It was not dramatic enough for the amount of damage it did to your night. There was no slam, no echo, no cinematic pause where the universe gave you a chance to lunge for the handle and save yourself from humiliation. Just a small, neat click from the deadbolt, calm as a verdict, while you stood in the fourth-floor hallway with an overfull laundry basket on your hip and a single sock slipping loose from the pile like it was trying to abandon you too.
You stared at the door.
Your keys were inside. Your phone was inside. Your shoes were inside, which felt personal. You had gone downstairs for one quick laundry run because your phone was charging and your keys were on the kitchen counter and you had, apparently, mistaken yourself for the kind of person who could be trusted with a door.
Across the hall, apartment 4B was quiet.
You looked at it, then away, then back again.
That was the worst part. There was an obvious solution, and it was standing directly across from you in the form of a dark-painted door, an expensive deadbolt, and a plain black doormat that said WELCOME with far too much confidence. Behind that door lived Tim Drake and Conner Kent, your neighbors, your hallway acquaintances, and the source of several months’ worth of increasingly inconvenient thoughts.
Tim kept terrible hours, drank coffee like sleep had personally offended him, and noticed things with the quiet precision of a man who could probably tell you what you had for lunch based on the look on your face. He was careful in a way that made care feel like strategy. He remembered that you hated the elevator’s flickering light, that you did not drink anything with caffeine after five, that you always checked the mailroom twice because the delivery drivers in your building treated package labels like riddles.
Conner, on the other hand, was the kind of man who turned taking out the trash into an event. He was broad-shouldered, unfairly charming, and constantly on the verge of saying something that made your dignity consider moving out. He flirted with you by the mailboxes, in the stairwell, while carrying groceries, while holding the elevator, while barefoot at midnight with a carton of milk in one hand and a grin that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
Together, they were a problem.
You had watched Conner lean into Tim’s space and watched Tim pretend not to like it. You had watched Tim hand Conner his keys before Conner asked, watched Conner draw a laugh out of Tim like he was stealing something precious and getting away with it. You had watched them come home bruised at odd hours and learned not to ask questions when Tim’s sleeves were torn, or when Conner’s smile came in late.
You had also spent months doing a very respectable job pretending the tension between the three of you was harmless.
The sock fell the rest of the way onto the carpet.
“Traitor,” you muttered.
Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you shifted the laundry basket higher against your hip and knocked on 4B.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then there was movement inside, soft enough that you would have missed it if you had not been listening too hard. A step. A pause. The small shift of a lock.
Tim opened the door.
He was barefoot, wearing dark sweatpants and a faded gray shirt, his hair damp and pushed back from his forehead in a way that had not survived drying. There was a faint bruise near his collarbone, partly hidden by the stretched neckline of his shirt, and a thin healing cut along his jaw.
His eyes dropped to the laundry basket, then to your socks, then back to your face.
“You’re locked out,” he said.
You hated him a little for getting there first.
“I was going to say hello.”
“You knocked like someone who was either locked out or being chased.”
“Those are weirdly specific categories.”
“You’re holding laundry, and you’re not wearing shoes.” His gaze flicked over you again, quick and clinical until it softened into something closer to concern. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just embarrassed.”
“That I can’t fix.”
“You could pretend you didn’t notice.”
“I could,” Tim said. “I won’t.”
From somewhere behind him, Conner called, “Is that our favorite neighbor?”
Tim’s eyes stayed on yours. “That depends on how many neighbors you’ve been flirting with.”
“Just the one across the hall.”
Your pulse did something deeply unhelpful.
Conner appeared over Tim’s shoulder a moment later, wearing a black T-shirt and low-slung pajama pants, his hair a mess in a way that looked better than effort had any right to. His grin spread the second he saw you.
“Well,” he said. “This is a nice surprise.”
“It’s not a surprise. It’s a lockout.”
“I didn’t say it was nice for you.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m being supportive.”
“Try harder.”
Conner leaned against the doorframe above Tim’s shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with the universe. “You look very brave.”
Tim sighed, but his mouth twitched. “Ignore him. Come in.”
You glanced between them and the warm light of their apartment. “Just until I can call a locksmith.”
“Obviously,” Conner said.
Tim gave him a look.
Conner widened his eyes. “What? I agreed.”
“You sounded insincere.”
“That’s because I’m hoping the locksmith is terrible and late.”
“Conner.”
“I didn’t say I was going to sabotage anyone.”
You stepped inside before you could smile too obviously.
Their apartment was warmer than the hallway and smelled like coffee, clean cotton, and something metallic you couldn’t place. The living room was tidy without feeling staged: a couch with a blanket thrown over one arm, books on the coffee table, a pair of sneakers kicked half beneath a chair, a laptop closed beside a mug. Near the door sat a tray with keys, sunglasses, a roll of athletic tape, and a compact flashlight. There was also a folded piece of black fabric you very deliberately did not inspect.
Tim noticed you noticing and closed the door.
Conner noticed Tim noticing you noticing and looked delighted.
“Laundry can go there,” Tim said, nodding toward the armchair.
You set the basket down. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for laundry.”
“I’m bringing chaos into your home.”
Conner glanced around. “You think there wasn’t chaos before you got here?”
Tim went to the kitchen counter and picked up his phone. “Keys?”
“Inside.”
“Phone?”
“Also inside.”
“Shoes?”
You looked down at your socks.
“Right,” Tim said.
“I’m not at my best right now.”
Conner leaned against the back of the couch. “I disagree.”
You refused to look at him too quickly. “Do you flirt with all distressed women, or am I getting special treatment?”
“Special treatment,” Conner said immediately.
Tim unlocked his phone. “He flirts with a lot of people.”
“Betrayal.”
“But this is special treatment.”
You looked at Tim.
He was studying his phone like he had not just said something that had no business sounding intimate.
Conner grinned. “See? Tim’s honest. Terrifying, but honest.”
“I regret knocking.”
“No, you don’t.”
You did not. That was becoming an issue.
Tim called the locksmith with the same smooth efficiency he seemed to bring to everything: apartment number, floor, no pets or children inside, stove off. His eyes flicked to you for confirmation at the stove part, and you nodded quickly because your brain had apparently decided that being locked out was the least dangerous thing happening tonight.
Conner drifted into the kitchen. “Tea?”
“That’s okay.”
“It wasn’t a courtesy offer. You’re standing in our living room looking like your door personally betrayed you.”
“It did.”
“Decaf,” Tim said, phone still at his ear. “She doesn’t drink anything with caffeine this late.”
You blinked.
Conner opened a cabinet and took down three mugs. “He remembers things.”
“I said that once.”
“Three months ago,” Conner said. “Mailroom. You had a cup from the cafe on Sixth and said caffeine after five makes you feel like you’re about to receive a prophecy.”
Tim turned slightly away, but the back of his neck went faintly red.
You stared at Conner. “Why do you remember that?”
His grin softened at the edges. “You were funny.”
“That’s your explanation?”
“Do you want a worse one?”
Tim ended the call before you could answer. “Forty-five minutes if the person before you is quick. Ninety if they’re not.”
“Forty-five minutes isn’t terrible.”
Conner put the kettle on. “Barely enough time to be neighborly.”
“Conner,” Tim said.
“What? I’m devastated by the limited window of hospitality.”
Tim set his phone down and looked at you. “Sit down.”
It should not have sounded like anything. It was practical. Calm. Barely even a command.
Your stomach dipped anyway.
Conner’s eyes narrowed with interest.
You sat.
The couch was softer than it looked, and sinking into it made the apartment feel more intimate than it had a moment ago. Tim came back with a folded blanket and held it out to you.
You stared at it.
His brow creased. “Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“You were trying not to show it.”
“It’s July.”
“The hallway has terrible circulation, and you’re in shorts.”
Conner set a mug on the coffee table. “He does this.”
“Hands people blankets?”
“Acts like knowing you’re cold is the same as knowing the weather.”
Tim still held the blanket out. “Do you want it or not?”
You took it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The blanket smelled like them, and that was its own problem.
Conner sat beside you with just enough space to be polite and not enough to be innocent. Tim took the armchair angled toward the couch. For a few minutes, the three of you managed something close to normal conversation. Conner asked how the lockout happened and looked personally delighted when you confessed you had trusted the door not to latch. Tim asked if your landlord kept a spare and looked unsurprised when you said the landlord’s emergency preparedness began and ended with a voicemail inbox no one checked.
Then Conner told you he had once walked into a glass door because he forgot it was closed.
“At speed,” he said.
Tim closed his eyes. “Normal walking speed.”
“Emotionally, I was moving very fast.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, and Conner looked so pleased that warmth climbed the back of your neck.
This was the problem with them. They were easy together. Worse, they were easy with you. Conner made room for you in the rhythm of his teasing as if you had always belonged there. Tim watched the exchange with a private little curve at his mouth, quiet until he said something dry and perfectly aimed. They didn’t make you feel like an intruder, even when you were sitting in their apartment wearing borrowed warmth and waiting for a locksmith to return you to the life you had accidentally left across the hall.
You looked at the bruise near Tim’s collar again before you could stop yourself.
Tim saw.
Of course he did.
Conner saw Tim seeing.
Of course he did.
“You’re wondering,” Conner said.
You looked down at your tea. “I wasn’t going to ask.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” you admitted. “It’s not.”
Tim leaned forward slightly, mug between his hands. “Later.”
The word landed carefully. Not a dismissal. Not an answer either.
You glanced up. “Later?”
“If you still want to know.”
Something about that made the room feel smaller.
Conner’s knee bumped yours. “For the record, his version of later means he will prepare a twenty-slide slideshow explanation and somehow still make it sound like he’s hiding eighty percent of the facts.”
Tim gave him a look. “Your version of later is telling a story out of order and leaving out the important parts because you got distracted by a dog.”
“It was a very good dog.”
“The dog was irrelevant.”
“The dog was emotionally relevant.”
You smiled into your mug. “I’m starting to understand a lot about how this household functions.”
Conner turned to you. “Please explain it to us when you figure it out.”
Tim’s gaze stayed on your face. “You don’t have to make yourself smaller around us.”
The words came so quietly that for a second you thought you had misheard him.
You lowered the mug. “What?”
“You do it when you think you’re interrupting.” Tim’s eyes were steady. “You fold in on yourself and look for an exit. You’ve done it twice since you walked in.”
Conner’s teasing faded, though his hand remained warm near your knee. “You’re not interrupting.”
“I am literally here because I locked myself out.”
“We invited you in,” Tim said.
“Because you’re nice.”
Conner made a face. “Nice.”
“You object to nice?”
“Nice is what people call you when they don’t want to say anything interesting.”
Tim’s mouth twitched. “He wants you to call him charming.”
“I am charming.”
“You’re fishing.”
“I don’t have to fish. I’m right here.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling. “You’re impossible.”
Conner brightened. “That one I’ll take.”
The laughter faded slower this time. Tim still watched you, careful and intent, and Conner was closer than he had been a few minutes ago. Not touching. Close enough that you knew he was choosing not to.
You felt the shape of the silence before anyone spoke.
It had been there all night, under the jokes and the tea and the easy domestic warmth of their apartment. Maybe it had been there for months. It lived in the way Conner flirted like he was daring you to notice that he only did it this much with you. It lived in the way Tim remembered things that should have been forgettable. It lived in the way they looked at each other and then at you, as if they were having a conversation just beneath the one you could hear.
You set your mug down. “You both keep doing that.”
Tim’s gaze sharpened. “Doing what?”
“Looking at each other.”
Conner leaned back slightly. “We do live together. Looking happens.”
“You know what I mean.”
Tim’s expression became very careful. “Do we?”
That was worse than denial.
You could take it back. You could laugh, blame the lockout, say you were tired and embarrassed and unused to being in their apartment after midnight. Tim would let you. Conner probably would too, though he would find some gentle joke to cover the retreat.
But Conner’s flirtation had never felt careless, and Tim’s attention had never felt accidental.
“You’ve been flirting with me for months,” you said, looking at Conner because he was the easier one to accuse.
His grin returned, smaller and warmer. “Yeah.”
Just like that.
No evasion. No joke. No easy escape.
You looked at Tim. “And you’ve been…”
“Flirting badly?” Conner offered.
Tim ignored him. “Carefully.”
Your breath caught.
Conner’s grin softened into something fond. “That was pretty much my reaction too.”
“Why?” you asked, though you were not entirely sure which one of them you meant.
Conner shifted, turning toward you. “Because you’re gorgeous and funny, and you look at Tim like you’re trying to solve him.”
“I do not.”
“You do. It’s very cute. Doomed, obviously, because he comes with too many footnotes, but cute.”
“I’m right here,” Tim said.
“You’re the footnotes.”
“You said gorgeous first,” you said, because apparently your mouth had decided to make a record of the most dangerous part.
Conner’s eyes warmed. “I did.”
Tim leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “Because you’re kind. Because you pay attention without making a performance of it. Because you asked if I needed help before you asked what happened when you saw blood on my shirt.”
You remembered that night too well: the elevator doors opening after two in the morning, Conner’s arm around Tim’s waist, Tim’s sleeve torn and dark at the cuff. You had asked if they needed help. Tim had said no. Conner had looked like he wanted to say yes.
“You said no,” you said.
“I lied.”
The admission sat between you.
Conner looked down at his hands.
Tim’s voice was quieter when he spoke again. “We like you. Both of us. We’ve been trying not to make that your problem.”
Your fingers tightened in the blanket.
Conner looked back up. “And if it is a problem, we go back to tea, and I make fun of your door until the locksmith gets here.”
“You can’t just say that and then insult my door.”
“I can. I contain multitudes.”
“You absolutely don’t.”
“I contain at least three.”
Tim’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed on you. He looked calm, except his hands had gone very still.
You drew in a breath. “I like you too.”
Conner’s face changed.
“Both of you,” you added, because there was no dignified way out now and therefore no point trying to invent one. “Which is probably obvious because you both notice everything.”
Tim’s gaze softened. Conner looked delighted enough to be dangerous.
“You’re not subtle,” Conner said.
“I’m going to leave.”
“You don’t have shoes.”
“You would stop me over shoes?”
“Yes,” Tim and Conner said at the same time.
Then Tim added, “Because of the shoes.”
Conner added, “Sure. Shoes.”
You covered your face with both hands. “This is humiliating.”
Conner moved closer, still not touching you. “It isn’t.”
“It feels like it is.”
“That’s because you’re not used to getting what you want.”
The words landed too precisely, and from Conner of all people, delivered without the grin that usually softened the blow.
You lowered your hands slowly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be perceptive. That’s Tim’s thing.”
“I have depths.”
“You have dimples and poor impulse control.”
“You noticed my dimples?”
Tim’s voice was low when he said, “She notices everything she pretends not to want.”
You turned to him.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
“What happens now?” you asked.
Tim stood and crossed to you. Conner stayed beside you, quieter now, watching Tim with a familiarity that made heat curl low in your stomach. Tim crouched in front of the couch, bringing himself level with you.
“That depends on what you want,” he said.
You looked at him, then at Conner. “I want to stop pretending.”
Conner’s breath changed.
Tim’s hand settled on your knee over the blanket, warm and steady. “For tonight?”
You swallowed. “For tonight. Maybe even after.”
Tim’s thumb moved once. “Good.”
Conner made a quiet sound beside you, almost a laugh and almost not. You glanced at him, and he lifted both hands.
“I’m being very patient,” he said.
“You?”
“I know. Growth.”
Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “Can I kiss you?”
It was a simple question. It still rearranged the air in your lungs.
“Yes.”
Tim kissed you carefully at first.
That should have been expected. Tim had been careful all night. Careful with the blanket, careful with the call, careful with the space he gave you to choose. His mouth brushed yours once, light enough to let you change your mind, then again with a little more pressure when you did not pull away. His hand came up to your cheek, his fingers warm along your jaw, and you made a small sound before you could stop yourself.
Conner exhaled beside you.
Tim heard it. You felt the second he did, the brief pause against your mouth, the way his thumb shifted against your cheek.
Then he kissed you deeper.
Your hand lifted to his shirt, fingers curling in the soft fabric. Tim made a quiet sound into your mouth, and Conner muttered something under his breath that sounded like half a curse.
Tim drew back first, though not far. His eyes had gone dark.
Conner’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “My turn?”
You looked at him. “You’re asking?”
“I can be respectful.”
“That keeps surprising me.”
“And you keep wounding me.”
Tim shifted back enough to give Conner room. Conner turned toward you on the couch, one knee folding onto the cushion. His grin was there, but it shook at the edges.
“You nervous?” you asked.
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
“I’m trying to be supportive.”
Tim said, “You look very brave.”
Conner pointed at him. “That was mean.”
You laughed, and Conner kissed the sound right out of your mouth.
There was nothing careful about Conner’s kiss except the way he held you. His mouth was warm, eager, and smiling for the first second, then hungry when you kissed him back. His hand found your waist, fingers flexing like he had to remind himself not to press too hard. He kissed like he had spent months thinking about it and had decided restraint deserved credit but not loyalty.
Tim rose from the floor.
Conner pulled back just enough to glance at him. “Don’t go far.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Tim sat on your other side.
The couch became too small immediately. Tim’s thigh pressed lightly against yours. Conner’s hand stayed at your waist. You were between them with your mouth wet from both of their kisses, the forgotten locksmith somewhere in the city and your laundry cooling in their chair.
Tim touched your chin, turning your face gently back to him. “Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word went through you.
Conner noticed. Of course he did.
“Oh,” he said softly. “That one?”
Your face heated. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Be smug.”
Conner smiled against your shoulder. “I’m not smug. I’m delighted.”
Tim’s eyes searched your face. “You like praise.”
“Maybe.”
Conner laughed, low and pleased. “That means yes.”
Tim kissed you again, and Conner’s mouth found your neck. His lips moved beneath your ear, teasing at first, then more deliberate when you tipped your head without thinking. Tim swallowed your gasp, his hand sliding to the back of your neck.
“There,” Conner murmured against your skin.
Tim’s voice was calm, but there was heat under it now. “You like him talking.”
You opened your eyes.
Tim was watching you.
“You do,” Conner said, delighted. “That is useful information.”
“You’re not supposed to use it against me.”
Conner kissed your neck again. “Sweetheart, we are absolutely going to use it against you.”
Tim’s thumb moved along your jaw. “Only if you want us to.”
You looked at him. “I do.”
Conner’s hand tightened at your waist.
The words changed the room. It had been warm before. Now it was something else, something focused and charged. Tim’s carefulness did not vanish, but it shifted, turning sharper at the edges. Conner’s grin became more intent.
Tim’s gaze flicked toward the door a second before Conner’s head turned.
You blinked. “What?”
“Elevator,” Conner said, irritation flashing across his face. “Fourth floor.”
A knock came a moment later.
Tim’s mouth tightened. “Locksmith.”
Conner stared toward the door like the man had personally wronged him. “I hate being responsible.”
“You’re not responsible,” Tim said. “You’re annoyed.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Tim looked at you. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t have to pay.”
“I know.”
“Tim.”
“You can argue with me tomorrow.”
Conner leaned toward you as Tim went to the door. “He says that because he knows he’ll win tonight.”
“He will not.”
Conner smiled. “He might.”
Tim opened the door, and his voice shifted into polite efficiency. You heard the locksmith confirm the unit number, then the low murmur of Tim explaining the lockout from the hallway. A minute later, Tim glanced back toward you.
“He needs you to confirm it’s your apartment.”
You stood, setting the blanket aside before Conner could make another comment. “I know. I’m coming.”
Conner followed you only as far as the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded while you crossed the hall. The locksmith was waiting beside your door with a small tool case in one hand and the bored patience of someone who had rescued half the city from its own deadbolts.
“ID inside?” he asked.
“Phone, keys, dignity,” you said. “All inside.”
Conner made a strangled sound behind you.
Tim’s mouth twitched. “Her ID is inside too.”
The locksmith only nodded, apparently unmoved by tragedy. “I’ll get it open, then you can show me.”
It took less than five minutes, which somehow made the whole thing worse. The lock gave with a neat little click, and your apartment opened like it had not caused any trouble at all.
You stepped inside first.
Your phone was exactly where you had left it, charging on the counter beside your keys. Your shoes were by the door. Your laundry basket was still across the hall in Tim and Conner’s living room, because apparently part of your life had already defected to 4B.
You grabbed your phone and keys, showed your ID to the locksmith, and tried not to look too mortified while Tim paid him before you could get a word in.
“Tim,” you said.
He slid his wallet back into his pocket. “Tomorrow.”
“You’re very bossy for someone doing me a favor.”
Conner, still in his doorway, grinned. “She’s learning.”
Then the locksmith left, and the hallway settled into silence. Your apartment stood open behind you. Their apartment stood open across from you. The problem was solved, which should have made leaving simple.
It did not.
You glanced back into their living room, where your laundry basket still sat in the armchair.
“I should grab that,” you said.
Conner picked it up before you could cross the room. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
You took the basket from him, the weight of warm laundry suddenly feeling like the least important thing in the world. Tim said nothing. He only watched you, giving you enough room to choose and making the choice impossible to ignore.
Your fingers tightened around your keys.
“I’m going to put this inside,” you said.
Conner’s expression flickered, though he covered it quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”
Tim nodded. “Okay.”
You looked between them, your pulse beginning to climb again for an entirely different reason. “And then I’m coming back.”
Conner went very still.
Tim’s lips parted slightly, the closest you had ever seen him come to being caught off guard.
You swallowed. “Unless that’s not what you want.”
Conner laughed once, breathless and disbelieving. “Are you kidding?”
Tim stepped closer, stopping just before touching you. “That’s what we want.”
You nodded before your nerve could fail, then stepped back into your apartment with your keys and your laundry basket.
Everything looked exactly as you had left it. Shoes by the door. The kitchen counter empty now except for the charger you had abandoned there. Phone and keys in your hand this time, because apparently you were capable of learning from recent trauma when properly motivated.
You set the basket down in your bedroom without putting anything away because there were limits to how responsible one person could become in a single night. Then you stepped back into the hallway and locked your apartment carefully behind you.
You checked the handle twice.
From across the hall, Conner called, “Proud of you.”
“Shut up.”
His laugh drifted from inside 4B, warm and pleased.
Tim was waiting in the open doorway. He did not lean like Conner would have. He stood with one hand on the door, posture easy only because he was choosing it. His eyes moved over you, slower now, no longer checking for injury or embarrassment.
You lifted your keys slightly. “I brought them this time.”
Tim’s gaze returned to your face. “Good.”
The word was quiet. It still made heat slide through you.
From inside, Conner called, “Was that flirting? Because that sounded like flirting.”
Tim’s mouth twitched. “Come in.”
You stepped inside.
This time, the door closing behind you did not sound like a mistake.
For a moment, nobody moved.
That was the difference, you thought. Before, you had crossed the hall because you needed help. Now your apartment was open, your phone was in your hand, your keys were safely curled in your palm, and there was no practical reason to be standing in Tim and Conner’s living room again.
No practical reason at all.
Conner seemed to understand it at the same time you did. The teasing look on his face softened into something more intent, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before lifting again.
Tim closed the door behind you. The sound was quieter than your own door had been earlier, but it still felt final in a way that made your pulse climb.
Conner broke first, because of course he did.
“He thought you were cute with the laundry basket,” Tim said.
“Tim.”
“He did.”
Conner gave him an offended look. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.”
“You’re exposing me.”
“You were going to expose yourself eventually.”
Conner stopped. “That was either very innocent or very dirty.”
Tim walked past him. “Yes.”
You laughed, and Conner looked at you like the sound was a reward. It eased the tension without getting rid of it. If anything, it made the room feel warmer, because now the joke was not covering uncertainty. It was circling something all three of you had already chosen not to step away from.
Tim stopped in front of you. “Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us if that changes.”
“I will.”
Conner came up behind Tim, close but not crowding. His gaze stayed on you, but his hand slid around Tim’s waist like it belonged there.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asked.
Your pulse climbed. “Yes.”
Conner’s smile softened for half a second before it sharpened into something worse. “Good.”
Tim glanced over his shoulder. “You’re being patient.”
“I’m showing off.”
“For her?”
Conner’s eyes flicked back to you. “Obviously.”
Your breath caught.
Tim did not move away when Conner stepped closer. If anything, he leaned back by barely a fraction, just enough for you to see it.
Conner noticed. So did you.
“You’re helping,” Conner murmured.
Tim’s gaze stayed on you. “Maybe.”
Conner smiled slowly and pressed his mouth to Tim’s shoulder, his eyes still on you. “You like that?”
“Yes,” you said, because there was no point pretending now.
Tim’s pupils darkened.
Conner’s smile sharpened. “Come here.”
You did.
Conner caught your hand and tugged you in, careful despite his obvious strength. Tim’s hand settled at your back as soon as you were close enough, and then you were between them, Conner in front of you and Tim behind you, the heat of both their bodies making the apartment feel suddenly too warm.
Conner bent his head and kissed you.
This time, the kiss knew you had chosen to come back. His mouth opened against yours almost immediately, his hand sliding into your hair, his other arm wrapping around your waist. Behind you, Tim’s palm moved slowly up your spine and down again, his touch firm enough that you felt guided rather than merely held.
Conner pulled back just enough to speak against your mouth. “You came back.”
“Yes.”
“No lockout. No excuse.”
Your breath caught.
His grin softened for half a second before turning dangerous again. “Just you.”
The words hit harder than they should have, because there was nothing accidental left to hide behind now.
Tim’s hand pressed flat against your back, his voice low near your ear. “Good girl.”
You went still.
Conner’s grin vanished, his eyes searching your face. “Too much?”
Your face burned. “No.”
Tim’s voice was near your ear. “You liked that.”
You closed your eyes. “Maybe.”
Conner laughed softly. “Still means yes.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I have been flirting with you for months. I earned this.”
Tim’s mouth brushed your shoulder. “We can use that?”
You nodded, then remembered his insistence earlier. “Yes.”
Conner’s voice roughened. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
Tim’s hand slid from your back to your hip. “And that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word sank under your skin, warm and devastating. Conner watched it happen like he had discovered a new favorite thing.
“You two are going to kill me,” you said.
Conner smiled. “Probably not. Tim would get stressed about the paperwork.”
Tim bit lightly at your neck.
You gasped, and Conner’s smile turned triumphant.
“Careful,” Conner murmured, though he sounded anything but sorry. “You’re going to make him forget he’s pretending to be patient.”
Tim’s hand tightened at your hip. “You talk too much.”
“You love my mouth.”
“I do.”
Conner’s grin softened for half a second before turning wicked again. “Want to show her?”
Tim went still behind you.
Your heart kicked.
Conner’s gaze stayed on Tim, but his hand came up to cup your cheek. “Only if she wants.”
Tim’s mouth hovered near your ear. “Do you?”
You wanted to see them kiss properly, wanted it so badly that embarrassment felt pointless. You wanted to see the proof of them together while standing between them, not outside it.
“Yes,” you said.
Conner’s eyes flicked to yours. “Yeah?”
“Please.”
That changed him too.
Conner leaned past you, and Tim met him halfway.
Watching them kiss from inches away was different from imagining it. Conner’s hand remained on your face while his mouth found Tim’s, and Tim’s arm stayed around your waist. You felt the shift in Tim’s body when Conner opened his mouth against his. You heard Conner’s low hum of satisfaction. You saw Tim’s hand come up to Conner’s jaw, holding him still while the kiss turned slower and deeper.
It made your knees weak.
Conner pulled away first, breathing harder. His thumb moved over your cheek.
“Still watching?”
“Yes.”
Tim’s hand slid lower on your hip. “Bedroom.”
The single word emptied your head.
Conner’s grin returned, but his eyes were dark. “Still with us?”
“Yes.”
Tim’s voice was lower when he said, “Say it clearly.”
You looked at him over your shoulder. “I want you to take me to bed.”
Conner’s hand tightened.
“Both of you,” you added.
Tim kissed the side of your neck once, almost gentle. “Then come with us.”
Their bedroom was down a short hallway, past a bathroom with an open door and a glimpse of more first-aid supplies than any normal household needed.
You noticed. Tim noticed you noticing.
Neither of you said anything this time.
Conner pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder. “For the record, this is going much better than the lockout.”
“Conner,” Tim said.
“What? Important context.”
You laughed, nerves loosening, and let them pull you into the room.
The bedroom was neater than you expected, but not impersonal. That surprised you more than it should have. A large bed sat against the far wall, dark sheets rumpled, two pillows clearly in use and a third half-buried near the headboard. A chair in the corner held a hoodie. One nightstand had a closed laptop and a glass of water. The other held a small ceramic dish with rings, loose change, and something that looked suspiciously like a lockpick.
You did not comment.
Conner noticed anyway. “You’re very polite.”
“I have survival instincts.”
Tim closed the door. “Debatable. You knocked on our door.”
“You invited me in.”
“Also debatable judgment.”
Conner turned to face you, walking backward toward the bed. “Hear that? He’s flirting again.”
“I’m starting to recognize the signs.”
Tim’s eyes stayed on you. “Good.”
The room warmed around that word.
Conner sat on the edge of the bed and tugged you gently between his knees. His hands settled on your hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt just enough to touch bare skin. He looked up at you with all that smug confidence softened by want.
“Can I take this off?” he asked.
You looked at Tim.
He stood a few feet away, watching you with that impossible attention. “You can look at me if you need to,” he said. “But answer him.”
Your pulse stumbled.
“Yes,” you said, looking back at Conner. “You can.”
Conner smiled. “Thank you.”
He pulled your shirt up slowly, giving you time to lift your arms before he tossed it aside. The cool air made you suddenly aware that you had not planned any of this. Your bra was plain. Your shorts were soft and ordinary. You were standing in their bedroom dressed for an accidental night, not a seduction.
Conner’s hands tightened gently at your waist. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to disappear.”
Tim moved behind you, his hands settling on your shoulders. “You’re beautiful.”
You believed he meant it, which made it worse.
Conner kissed your stomach just above the waistband of your shorts. “So beautiful.”
Your hand found his hair before you could stop yourself. Conner’s eyes fluttered for a second, and his smile turned pleased.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can do that.”
You threaded your fingers deeper into his hair and tugged lightly.
Conner’s mouth parted.
Tim’s hand slid down your arm. “He likes that.”
Conner looked past you. “Whose side are you on?”
“Hers.”
Heat twisted low in your belly.
Tim’s fingers found the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
He pushed them down slowly, his knuckles brushing your hips as he went. You stepped out of them, one hand on Conner’s shoulder, Tim’s body warm behind you. Conner kissed your thigh, then your hip, then looked up at you with his hands still at your waist.
“You have no idea how many times I thought about this,” Conner said.
“Conner,” Tim said, though his voice had roughened.
“What? She should know.”
You looked down at him. “You thought about undressing me?”
Conner’s grin flashed. “Among other things.”
Your face heated. Tim’s mouth brushed your shoulder.
“He likes making you flustered,” Tim said.
“I noticed.”
“You get mean when you’re flustered,” Conner said. “I like it.”
“You would.”
“Absolutely.”
Tim’s hands moved to the clasp of your bra. “Can I?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
He opened it with one hand because apparently he believed in efficiency as a personal attack. Conner saw your expression and laughed.
“I know,” he said. “It’s annoying.”
Tim slid the straps down your arms and removed the bra. Conner’s gaze dropped, and his amusement faded into open hunger. The sudden silence from him felt better than a compliment.
Tim’s voice was low by your ear. “Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Your breath caught.
Conner’s eyes brightened. “Oh, she really likes that.”
“Stop talking like I’m not here.”
Conner kissed your stomach again. “I’m talking because you are here.”
Tim’s hands settled at your hips. “On the bed.”
Conner shifted back, giving you room. You climbed onto the mattress with less grace than you would have preferred, and Conner followed, stretching out beside you on one elbow. Tim stayed standing for a moment, eyes moving over you with quiet intensity.
“You still have too many clothes on,” you said, because if you did not say something, you were going to combust.
Conner made an approving sound. “Good point.”
Tim pulled his shirt off.
He did not make a show of it. That made it worse. The fabric went over his head, his hair fell messier afterward, and then he was bare from the waist up, lean muscle, pale scars, and fading bruises visible in the low light. Some were ordinary enough. Some were not.
Your eyes moved over them before you could stop yourself.
Tim let you look.
“Later,” he said again, softer this time.
“I’m holding you to that.”
Conner grinned. “She’s bossy.”
Tim’s gaze returned to your face. “I noticed.”
Conner pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside, and whatever clever reply you had been preparing disappeared. You had known he was built. It had been hard not to know. Seeing him shirtless still felt unfair.
Conner leaned back on his hands. “Hi.”
“Shut up.”
His grin widened. “You’re staring.”
“You have a terrible personality. I’m balancing the scales.”
Tim huffed a laugh. Conner looked deeply pleased with both of you.
You sat up on your knees between them, pulse thudding hard. The plan of the moment seemed to form only when your eyes dropped to Conner’s waistband, then Tim’s. Want moved through you, not neat or patient, but eager enough to make you brave.
“I want to touch you,” you said.
Conner’s expression sharpened.
Tim’s eyes darkened. “Both of us?”
“Yes.”
Conner’s grin returned, though there was strain beneath it now. “That sounded promising.”
You looked at Tim. “Is that okay?”
Tim stepped closer to the bed. “You don’t need permission to want.”
Conner’s voice dropped. “But you have it.”
The heat of that settled low in your body.
Tim sat against the headboard, and Conner stretched out beside him, both of them facing you with an attention that made your skin feel too sensitive. You moved between them, kneeling, and reached for Conner first because he was looking at you like he might die if you did not.
“Impatient,” you murmured.
Conner laughed, but it came out rough. “I have been patient for months.”
Tim said, “He has not.”
“I have been patient by my standards.”
“That’s fair,” Tim allowed.
You tugged at Conner’s pajama pants. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
Conner lifted his hips, helping you push the fabric down. He was not wearing anything beneath them, which made your breath catch. He noticed, of course. He was Conner.
“Convenient, right?”
“You planned this?”
“I didn’t plan for you to get locked out. I did hope.”
“You hoped I’d get locked out?”
“I hoped you’d knock.”
Tim’s voice softened. “Conner.”
Conner’s smugness faltered into something honest. “What? I did.”
Your chest tightened.
You wrapped your hand around him before the moment could become too tender to survive. Conner groaned immediately, head falling back against the pillows. The sound gave you courage. He was hot and hard in your hand, heavier than you expected, his hips lifting slightly into your touch.
Tim watched the movement with dark, focused eyes.
“Like this,” he murmured, reaching over to cover your hand with his.
Conner swore.
Tim guided your grip, adjusting the pressure, the pace, the small twist of your wrist that made Conner’s thighs tense. It was obscene and intimate, Tim teaching you Conner’s body with quiet confidence while Conner tried and failed to look anything but wrecked.
“You look good like that,” Conner said, voice strained.
“Touching you?”
“With Tim showing you how.”
Your breath caught.
Tim’s fingers tightened over yours. “You like that?”
“Yes.”
Conner made a rough sound. “Fuck.”
You leaned down and kissed the head of Conner’s cock, tentative at first. He went still beneath you.
Tim’s hand left yours and moved to the back of Conner’s neck, fingers slipping into his hair. “Breathe.”
Conner laughed unevenly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
You took Conner into your mouth.
His hand fisted in the sheets. Tim’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Conner groaned, low and broken, as you worked him slowly. You were careful at first, learning what made his breathing change, what made his hips twitch, what made his hand lift toward your hair and stop because he was trying very hard not to push.
You pulled back enough to look up at him. “You can touch me.”
Conner’s eyes were dark. “Yeah?”
You nodded.
His hand slid into your hair gently, cradling rather than guiding. For all his flirting, all his smugness, there was something almost reverent in the way he touched you now. It made your stomach flutter.
You drew back, heat in your face. “You’re both impossible.”
Conner’s grin was dazed. “And yet you came back.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No,” Conner said. “Best mistake you ever made.”
Tim’s hand moved from Conner’s hair to your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Do you want me too?”
Your eyes dropped to his sweatpants.
“Yes.”
Conner exhaled hard. “Yeah, she does.”
Tim’s gaze stayed on you. “Come here, then.”
You shifted toward him, and Conner moved behind you, his chest warm against your back as if he could not stand to be far. Tim pushed his sweatpants down, and the sight of him hard and flushed made your mouth go dry.
Tim was quiet where Conner was shameless, but his restraint had cracks in it now. You could see them in the tension of his jaw, the way his fingers curled against the sheets, the intensity in his eyes as you wrapped your hand around him.
He inhaled sharply.
Conner kissed your shoulder from behind. “There.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to him.
Conner smiled against your skin. “Let her hear you.”
Tim looked back at you, then exhaled slowly. When you stroked him again, he let the groan out.
The sound went straight through you.
You leaned down and took him into your mouth.
Tim’s hand came to your hair, careful at first, barely resting there. Conner stayed behind you, one arm around your waist, his mouth moving lazily along your shoulder while you worked Tim with your mouth and hand. The contrast between them was dizzying. Conner was warm and restless against your back, still hard, still wanting. Tim was taut beneath your hands, controlled and quiet until you did something right and his breath caught.
“That’s it,” Tim said, voice low. “Just like that.”
Conner’s hand slid over your stomach. “You look so pretty with your mouth full.”
The words made you clench around nothing.
Conner felt the change because his hand was low enough to catch the movement of your body.
“Oh,” he murmured. “You liked that.”
Tim’s fingers tightened gently in your hair. “She likes you talking.”
Conner’s grin pressed against your shoulder. “I can do that.”
You moaned around Tim, and his hips shifted before he forced himself still.
“Careful,” Conner said softly, and there was no tease in it this time.
“I am.”
“I know.”
The trust in those two words made something inside you ache.
Tim stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Tap my thigh if you need a break.”
You did not need one yet, but you touched his thigh once to show you understood. His expression softened for a second.
“Good.”
Conner’s hand dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. You startled around Tim, and he groaned, his head falling back for a moment.
Conner’s fingers found you wet.
“Tim,” Conner said, rough with delight. “She’s soaked.”
You pulled off Tim with a gasp. “Conner.”
“What?” His fingers moved slowly, teasing. “You are.”
Tim’s eyes dropped to where Conner’s hand disappeared between your thighs. “Because she likes being watched.”
Your face heated.
Conner circled your clit lightly, and your breath broke. “And praised.”
Tim’s hand slid along your jaw. “And told what to do.”
You looked up at him, helpless.
Tim’s control thinned into something darker. “Open your mouth.”
You did.
He guided himself back between your lips, slow enough to let you adjust, his eyes never leaving yours. Conner’s fingers kept moving between your thighs, gentle but devastating, while Tim fucked your mouth in shallow, controlled thrusts that made your head spin.
It was not rough yet. It was more restraint than force, Tim testing your limits while Conner touched you through it. Your body responded as if it had been waiting for exactly this: Conner’s fingers, Tim’s cock on your tongue, both of their voices low and focused around you.
“Good girl,” Conner murmured. “Taking him so well.”
Tim’s breath hitched. “Conner.”
“What? She is.”
You moaned around Tim again, and his hand tightened in your hair.
“Tap if you need me to stop,” he said, voice strained.
You touched his thigh once again, not a stop. An answer.
Tim understood. His eyes darkened further.
“Good.”
Conner’s fingers slowed, then withdrew, and you made a sound of complaint that came out muffled around Tim.
Conner laughed softly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re going to take care of you.”
Tim pulled out of your mouth slowly, his thumb brushing your lower lip. Your jaw ached pleasantly, your breath uneven, your whole body warm and wanting.
Conner’s arms wrapped around your waist, and he pulled you back against him. “Our turn.”
You blinked. “Your turn?”
Conner kissed your neck. “We got your mouth. You get ours.”
Tim’s gaze dragged over you. “On your back.”
Your body obeyed before you could overthink it.
You lay back against the pillows while Conner pulled your underwear down your legs and tossed it aside. Tim moved to one side of you, Conner to the other, both of them looking down at you with expressions that made your thighs press together.
Conner caught the motion and grinned. “Shy now?”
“You’re both staring.”
“Yeah,” Conner said. “We’re going to keep doing that.”
Tim’s hand settled on your knee. “Open your legs.”
You did, slowly.
Conner made a low appreciative sound that nearly made you close them again. Tim’s grip tightened just enough to stop you.
“Don’t hide,” Tim said.
The command was quiet, but it sank deep.
Conner kissed the inside of your thigh, his mouth warm and teasing. “He says that because he wants to look too.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to him. “Conner.”
“You do.”
“Yes,” Tim said, and the honesty made your stomach clench.
Conner looked delighted by Tim’s lack of denial. Then he bent and licked into you without warning.
Your back arched.
Tim’s hand pressed to your hip, steadying you. Conner ate you out like he had been waiting all night to prove a point, messy and eager, his hands hooked beneath your thighs. He made soft pleased sounds against you every time you reacted, like your gasps were encouraging him. You grabbed at the sheets, then at Tim’s wrist, and Tim let you hold on.
Conner lifted his head just enough to look at you. “You taste so good.”
You made a sound that was barely words.
Tim’s thumb stroked your hip. “She likes when you tell her.”
Conner smiled. “I know.”
Then he put his mouth back on you.
Tim leaned down and kissed you while Conner worked between your thighs. The kiss was slower than Conner’s mouth, deep and steady, giving you somewhere to put the sounds you could not hold back. Conner’s tongue moved over your clit, then lower, then back again, learning quickly, greedy when your thighs trembled around his shoulders.
You broke the kiss. “Conner.”
He hummed against you.
Tim’s hand slid into your hair. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
Conner lifted his head, lips wet, eyes bright. “You need more?”
“Yes.”
Tim looked at Conner. “Move.”
Conner’s brows rose. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
Conner grinned and shifted aside. “Yeah, I do.”
Tim moved between your thighs, and the change in him was immediate. Where Conner had been hungry and teasing, Tim was precise. His hands held your hips, his mouth lowered to you, and the first slow stroke of his tongue made you gasp so hard Conner laughed near your shoulder.
“Oh, he found it.”
Tim’s eyes flicked up.
Conner kissed your breast, smiling against your skin. “I’m complimenting you.”
Tim’s tongue moved again, exact and merciless.
Your hand flew to his hair. Tim groaned against you, and the vibration nearly broke you. Conner’s mouth closed over your nipple, his hand kneading your breast while Tim ate you out with controlled, devastating focus.
“Tim,” you gasped.
Conner lifted his head. “Yeah, sweetheart. He’s good, isn’t he?”
You nodded desperately.
Tim’s fingers pressed into your thigh, holding you open when you started to shake. Conner kissed up your chest, your neck, your jaw, then caught your mouth in a messy kiss as Tim pushed two fingers into you.
You cried out against Conner’s mouth.
Conner smiled against your lips, voice rough with approval. “That’s it. Come on. Let Tim have it.”
Tim curled his fingers.
The orgasm hit hard enough to blank your thoughts. Your hips bucked into Tim’s mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair while Conner kissed you through it, murmuring praise against your lips. Tim didn’t stop until you were shaking and oversensitive, his mouth gentling only when you tugged at his hair and whimpered.
He kissed your thigh once before lifting his head.
Conner looked at him, eyes dark. “That was unfairly hot.”
Tim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze fixed on you. “She’s not done.”
Your body, traitorous and desperate, tightened at the words.
Conner saw. His grin spread slowly. “No, she’s not.”
You tried to catch your breath. “I might be.”
Tim moved up your body, kissing your stomach, then your sternum, then your mouth. You tasted yourself on him and moaned, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed.
“You’re not done,” Tim said against your lips. “But you can be if you want.”
Conner’s hand moved soothingly over your thigh. “Your call.”
You looked between them. Conner’s face was flushed, his mouth swollen, his smugness tempered by want. Tim’s eyes were dark and steady, his control frayed just enough to show you what waited beneath it.
“I’m not done,” you said.
Conner exhaled. “Thank God.”
Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “How do you want us?”
The question made your stomach flip.
You knew what you wanted, or at least the shape of it. It had been forming since the couch, since Conner’s mouth and Tim’s hands and the unbearable way they looked at each other before looking back at you. Saying it out loud still felt like stepping off a ledge.
“I want Conner inside me,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Conner went still.
Tim’s eyes sharpened. “And me?”
Your face burned, but you held his gaze. “I want you in my mouth.”
Conner cursed under his breath.
Tim’s hand came to your jaw, thumb brushing gently along the hinge. “At the same time?”
Your pulse kicked hard.
You had thought about it. You had wanted it. That did not make it any less intimidating when Tim said it plainly, careful and controlled and watching for the first sign that wanting had become too much.
“Yes. Please,” you said.
Conner’s hand moved over your thigh, warm and grounding. “We don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Tim’s thumb stilled against your jaw. “Have you done anything like that before?”
You shook your head.
His expression did not change, but the focus in his eyes sharpened. “Then we go slow.”
Conner nodded immediately. “Really slow.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” you said, embarrassed by how quickly it came out.
Conner’s mouth parted, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Fuck.”
Tim’s gaze dropped to your lips, then returned to your eyes. “Stopping and going slow aren’t the same thing. We’ll need a signal.”
That made your stomach twist.
Conner reached for the condom, tearing the packet open with less teasing than you expected from him. His hands were steady when he rolled it on, but his breathing was not. Tim watched him, then watched you watching Conner, and something silent passed between them before Conner moved behind you.
One hand settled at your hip. The other slid down your spine, warm and steady, guiding you onto your hands and knees.
The position made your pulse jump before Conner was even inside you. Tim was in front of you now, kneeling near the edge of the mattress with his hand at your jaw and his eyes fixed on your face.
“Still okay?” Conner asked, his voice lower than before.
“Yes.”
Tim’s thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “Tap my thigh twice if you need me to stop. If you can’t reach me, tap the mattress. Conner will see.”
Conner’s hand tightened at your hip. “I’ll see.”
You nodded, throat already tight with nerves and want.
“Once means okay,” Tim said. “Twice means stop. If I’m not sure, I stop.”
“Okay.”
Conner leaned over you, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “We’ve got you.”
Then he pushed into you slowly.
The stretch made your breath catch. Conner leaned over your back for a moment, his breath rough against your shoulder as he eased in inch by inch. He was thick, and you were already sensitive, but the ache of it was good, deep and full and made gentler by the way he held himself back.
“That’s it,” Conner breathed. “You’re doing so good, baby.”
Tim’s hand stroked your hair. “Breathe.”
You did, shakily.
Conner bottomed out with a low groan, his hips pressed to yours, his body trembling with restraint. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
You reached for Tim’s thigh with one hand and touched once.
Tim’s eyes darkened, understanding. “Okay?”
“Yes.”
Conner’s hand moved over your hip. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
He began to move.
At first, Conner’s thrusts were slow and deep, one hand sliding up your spine. He made soft sounds every time you tightened around him, his hands braced on either side of you. Tim stayed near your head, fingers moving gently through your hair, letting you adjust to Conner before asking for more.
The tenderness of it nearly undid you.
Then Conner found the angle that made pleasure spark hot through your spine, and your hand tightened on Tim’s thigh.
Conner’s grip tightened at your hips. “There?”
“Yes.”
He did it again.
You gasped, and Tim’s hand paused in your hair.
“Ready for me?” Tim asked.
You looked up at him, Conner still moving inside you. “Yes.”
Tim shifted closer, one hand wrapping around himself. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip.
“Open.”
You did.
He guided himself into your mouth slowly, the first slide of him over your tongue making Conner groan above you. Tim watched your face, controlled and intent, feeding you only as much as you could take. Conner’s rhythm slowed as if he was trying not to overwhelm you all at once.
Tim pulled back. “Good?”
You tapped his thigh once.
His expression softened for half a second. “Good girl.”
Conner’s hips stuttered. “Tim.”
Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “You like watching too.”
Conner laughed breathlessly. “Yeah. I really fucking do.”
Tim slid back into your mouth.
This time, he went deeper. You relaxed your throat as much as you could, eyes watering a little as he pressed forward. Conner bent over you just enough for his voice to reach your ear, murmuring praise while his hips rocked into you with slow, grinding thrusts.
“There you go,” Conner said. “Taking both of us so well.”
Tim’s hand held your jaw, gentle but firm. “Tap if you need to.”
You touched once again.
His control shifted.
The next thrust into your mouth was deeper, still careful, but with more force behind it. Conner felt your body tighten around him and groaned, his own rhythm picking up. You were full in every possible way, Conner stretching you open while Tim fucked your mouth, both of them close enough to touch, close enough to speak over you and around you.
“That’s it,” Tim said, voice rough. “Breathe through your nose.”
You tried, and he slowed when you needed it, then pushed deeper when you tapped once again. Your eyes watered. Your jaw ached. Pleasure pooled hot and heavy between your legs, sharpened by Conner’s cock inside you and the sight of Tim’s control cracking every time your throat tightened around him.
Conner’s hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit.
You moaned around Tim.
Tim groaned, his hips jerking before he caught himself. “Conner.”
“She liked it.”
“I noticed.”
Conner circled your clit again, slower this time, then faster when your thighs trembled around his hips. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
You could not answer, but your body did it for you.
Tim drew back enough for you to breathe. Saliva connected your mouth to him for a second before it broke, and the sight made Conner swear softly.
“Say it,” Tim said.
“I’m close,” you gasped.
Conner’s fingers kept moving. “Good. Come on my cock while Tim fucks your throat, sweetheart.”
Your elbows nearly softened beneath you.
Tim’s hand returned to your jaw, thumb brushing the hinge like he was reminding you he was still watching. “Do you want that?”
You nodded as much as his touch allowed, breath catching when Conner pushed deep again.
“Words first,” Tim said.
“Yes,” you managed. “I want it.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, almost tender. “Good.”
Then he pushed back into your mouth.
The rhythm changed. Conner fucked you harder now, his hips snapping into yours with enough force to move you up the bed if Tim’s hands had not held your head steady. Tim’s thrusts into your mouth stayed controlled but rougher, deeper, turning your breathing into something broken and wet. Conner’s fingers worked your clit, and his voice came low and wrecked above you.
“Fuck, look at you. You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted both of us using you like this.”
Tim’s hand tightened in your hair. “Conner.”
“She did.”
Tim’s voice went dark. “Yes. She did.”
The agreement shattered something in you.
Your orgasm hit while Tim was still in your mouth, the sound of it muffled around him as your body clenched hard around Conner. Conner groaned, hips faltering, his hand still working you through it. Tim pulled out just enough to let you gasp, then pressed back in when you tapped once, your own permission eager and trembling beneath his hand.
“Good girl,” Tim said, rough and breathless. “Just like that.”
Conner’s hand slid up your spine, warm and possessive, while he fucked into you from behind. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
He lasted only a few more thrusts. His grip tightened on your hips, his rhythm breaking as he came with a rough, broken sound behind you. He stayed buried inside you through it, body trembling with the effort of holding himself up, one hand sliding up your spine like he needed somewhere to put all of it.
Tim pulled out of your mouth slowly.
You gasped for air, dazed and oversensitive, your arms shaking beneath you. Conner’s hand moved over your back, warm and grounding, while Tim’s thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.
“You okay?” Tim asked, voice rough.
You nodded, then tapped his thigh once.
Tim’s eyes closed for a second. “Can I?”
Your voice was hoarse. “Yes.”
Conner was still behind you, catching his breath, his hand firm at your hip. “Where?”
Tim looked at you.
You reached for him with a shaky hand. “Mouth.”
Conner made a low sound. Tim’s jaw tightened.
He moved carefully, giving you time to take him again, one hand cupping your cheek while the other settled at the back of your head. He was close. You could tell from the tension in his body, the rough edge of his breathing, the way his control had gone thin and frayed.
“Let go,” Conner said softly from behind you.
Tim looked past you at him, then down at you.
You hollowed your cheeks and took him as deep as you could.
Tim came with a low, broken sound, his hand tightening in your hair before he forced it loose. You swallowed what he gave you, eyes watering, body still trembling around Conner’s softening cock. Tim withdrew slowly, thumb brushing your lower lip as he looked at you with something too tender to be only lust.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Conner said, hoarse and awed, “Best lockout in human history.”
You laughed, though it came out weak and breathless.
Tim closed his eyes. “Conner.”
“What? I’m right.”
“You usually are after you stop talking.”
Conner kissed your shoulder. “That felt affectionate.”
“It was.”
You smiled, exhausted and overwhelmed, as Conner carefully pulled out and Tim moved immediately to help. There was no awkward scramble, no sudden distance. Conner disposed of the condom while Tim returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water. He cleaned you gently, his hand steady, his expression focused in that practical way that somehow made care feel more intimate than anything else.
“Too rough?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head, then remembered. “No. It was good.”
His eyes searched yours. “Your throat?”
“A little sore. Good sore.”
Conner came back to the bed and sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your face. “You’ll tell us if that changes?”
“Yes.”
Tim handed you water. “Drink.”
You took the glass and obeyed, because the alternative was admitting how much you liked that tone. Conner noticed anyway and grinned.
“Don’t,” you warned.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I’m showing restraint.”
Tim sat on your other side. “He finds it difficult.”
“I am a model of restraint.”
“You came the second she did.”
Conner pointed at him. “That was private.”
“I was there,” you said.
Conner looked at you, wounded. “You too?”
You laughed again, and some of the intensity broke into warmth.
Aftercare with them felt strangely natural. Tim checked in too much, but not in a way that made you feel fragile. Conner joked, but his hands stayed gentle when he helped tug the blanket over you. Tim brought another glass of water. Conner found your shirt, then decided his was closer and softer, and helped you into it with such a pleased expression that you did not bother arguing.
The shirt hung loose on you and smelled like him.
Tim’s eyes moved over you when you settled back against the pillows.
Conner saw. “Yeah?”
Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “Yeah.”
You tucked your face briefly into Conner’s shoulder. “You’re both staring again.”
Conner kissed the top of your head. “We’re enjoying the view.”
Tim’s hand found yours beneath the blanket. “Regrets?”
“No.”
Conner’s answer came immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Tim glanced at him. “I asked her.”
“I answered for myself with enthusiasm.”
You squeezed Tim’s hand. “No regrets.”
His fingers tightened around yours.
The quiet that followed was different from the earlier silences. Softer. Sleepier. Your body felt heavy and used in the best way, your throat still tender, your thighs pleasantly sore. Conner was warm against one side of you, Tim steady against the other, and the room felt less like a place you had entered by accident than a place that had been waiting.
“My laundry is still in the basket,” you said eventually.
Conner hummed against your shoulder. “Tragic.”
“In my apartment,” you added. “Where it belongs.”
“That part is less tragic.”
Tim said, “We can fold it in the morning.”
You turned your head. “That sounds suspiciously like you offering to help.”
“He likes folding laundry,” Conner said.
“I like things put away correctly.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It’s close enough.”
“You came back,” Conner said, smiling against your skin. “With keys this time.”
“I did.”
“Proud of you.”
“Do not make this a thing.”
“It’s already a thing.”
Tim’s mouth curved faintly. “It is a little bit a thing.”
You groaned, but it came out too soft to be convincing.
Tim’s thumb stroked over your hand again. “You can stay tonight.”
The offer was careful enough that it almost hid the vulnerability beneath it.
You looked at him. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” Tim said.
Conner’s answer came at once. “Very much yes.”
You looked between them, at Conner’s open warmth and Tim’s quiet intensity, at the bed you had just shared and the door across the hall that no longer felt like a boundary so much as a distance easily crossed.
“I want that too,” you said.
Conner’s grin softened. Tim leaned in and kissed you, gentle now, his hand cupping your cheek with the same care as the first time.
After a while, the three of you rearranged beneath the covers without much discussion. Conner tugged you toward the middle like the decision had already been made, and Tim settled on your other side, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours beneath the blanket. It should have felt crowded. Instead, it felt deliberate, the two of them warm around you in a way that made leaving seem even more impossible than it already had.
Conner’s arm slid over your waist. Tim’s hand found yours beneath the blanket.
You turned your head toward him. “So.”
Conner groaned softly. “That’s a thinking so.”
Tim’s mouth curved. “It is.”
“You said later,” you said.
They both went quiet.
You did not push immediately. The room was too soft for interrogation, too tender for demands. But you looked at the cut near Tim’s jaw, the bruises you had seen, the first-aid supplies in the bathroom, the way Conner had heard the elevator before anyone else could. You thought about blood on Tim’s sleeve at two in the morning and the hallway light fixed outside your door the next day.
“I’m not asking for everything tonight,” you said. “But I don’t want to pretend I don’t see things.”
Tim exhaled slowly.
Conner’s arm tightened around your waist. “Yeah.”
Tim looked at you for a long moment. “Our lives are complicated.”
“I guessed.”
“I don’t want you hurt because of us.”
“That sounds noble. It also sounds like a decision you’re making for me.”
Conner made a quiet sound against your shoulder. “Told you she was dangerous.”
Tim glanced at him.
Conner lifted one hand. “I’m on her side.”
“You’re always on the side causing me problems.”
“Exactly.”
You smiled, but you did not let Tim off the hook. “I’m not asking to know everything before breakfast. I’m asking you not to lie to me if this is going to be something.”
Tim’s expression softened at the edges. “This is something.”
Your chest tightened.
Conner kissed your shoulder. “Definitely something.”
“Then don’t lie to me.”
Tim nodded once. “Okay.”
Conner’s voice was quieter. “Okay.”
The simplicity of it felt like a door opening.
You let out a breath you had not realized you were holding. “Good.”
Conner’s grin returned slowly. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
Tim’s thumb stroked over your hand. “We do.”
That was enough to make you hide your face briefly against the pillow. Conner laughed, delighted, and Tim kissed the back of your hand like he was not the reason you needed to hide in the first place.
The building was quiet around you. Across the hall, your apartment door was locked, and your laundry was still sitting unfolded in the basket you had abandoned in your bedroom. Your keys and phone were here, resting on Tim and Conner’s nightstand, proof that you had left yourself a way back and chosen not to take it yet.
In the morning, there would be things to decide. There would be coffee for them and tea for you because Tim remembered. There would be teasing from Conner, careful questions from Tim, and a conversation about what this meant. There would be secrets too, maybe dangerous ones, and the strange truth that the two men across the hall were not ordinary in ways you had only begun to understand.
But tonight, Conner was warm against your back, Tim’s hand was in yours, and nobody seemed in any hurry for you to leave.
You fell asleep between them, with your keys safely within reach and no door left closed between you.
🐦 🔑 ☀️
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and wolfereticinkart for the TimKon fanart ❤️💛
Just a continuation from the first part! Tim and Kon get a little more intimate and try a new position. Hint: It's the ceiling. They fuck on the ceiling. +18 Only below the cut!
Raising a hand to his face, Konner wipes his pointer and middle finger over his chin, scooping up another sample of Tim’s cum before roughly shoving it in Tim’s mouth, not waiting for a response from him before doing so.
Fingers running over his tongue, Tim initially pulls a face as he tastes his own cum but it soon fades when he runs his tongue over Konner’s adroit fingers, happily coating them knowing what’s coming his way.
While wetting on Konner’s fingers, Tim reaches up and starts undoing his boyfriend’s pants, unintentionally scowling as he fumbles with the belt around Konner’s waist as he tries to slip the pants off.
Tim may have been in more relaxed and casual clothing, but Konner wasn’t and now it’s pissing Tim off. He’ll be damned if he’s getting fingered with Konner still fully clothed.
Taking the hint, Konner happily kicks off his shoes and slips his free hands down to tug away his pants and underwear, uncaringly kicking them off to the side as he watches Tim suck greedily on his fingers.
Once happy with how slick the digits are Konner pulls his fingers from Tim’s mouth while he spreads his legs, his knees falling to the bed on either side of Konner’s body while the kryptonian sits on his knees while looking over Tim.
“Ready Tim?”
A soft hmmm in response is what Konner hears first and while he knows that means go ahead, he wants to hear Tim say it.
“Timmy…Say it…”
“Go ah-AH! o-ohhh…Y-you fuck-fucker…”
Smirking the second Tim started talking, Konner pressed his middle finger against Tim’s tight entrance and slipped a finger in, smirking when he heard Tim’s breath hitch and shudder in pleasure.
Slowly twisting and curling while inside, Konner gently rubs his free hand along Tim’s thigh, smirking when he feels the leg kick a little, trying to force away any extra stimulation but Konner doesn’t let it happen.
“K-Konner…Y-you’re a dickhead…”
“Oh shut up…you love me. And you love this too”
Pressing right against his prostate, Tim arches his back again and clenches around Konner’s finger, a shaky moan leaving him as Konner presses in another finger, not caring about the protests from Tim.
“H-hey! Fu-Shit Kon…Gi-Give me a second…”
Another rough brush of fingers against the bundle of nerves has Tim seeing stars and kicking his legs out, Konner using his free hand to spread Tim’s knees apart further just to get a better angle.
Pulling his fingers out before thrusting them back in, Konner wastes little time before pumping his fingers in and out of Tim who has his head turned to the side, biting into the thick blanket to try and hold back his voice. He hadn’t realized just how loud he had been and he’d rather die than have his brother’s in the know about what they’re up to.
Licking his lips impatiently, Konner takes his left aching member in his left hand and gives a few slow strokes, his pre-cum dripping over his fingers as watches Tim wither underneath him.
Despite the overwhelming pleasure being thrust upon him, Tim still manages a glare towards Konner. He always gets like this when they can’t do it for a few days, the impatience and the overcompensation…
Spreading his fingers and quickening his speed, Konner grins when he feels Tim clench around him more and sees Tim reach a hand up towards him. Hand running it’s way through Konner’s hair, Konner plays into it and gives a fake yelp when he feels Tim’s fingers curl into his hair and tug his face forward.
A stern glare and a pointed demand coming from the overstimulated male, Konner drinking in every huff and moan that comes from Tim.
“K-Konner! Hurry…Can-Can't-Don't…wait…”
Ripping his fingers from Tim, Konner presses himself forward and forces their lips together again.
A desperate battle for control, Tim gripping Konner’s black locks in his fingers as Konner ruts his throbbing cock against Tim’s returned erection, their pre-cum mixing as Konner wraps a hand loosely around them.
Needy breathy moans and the sounds of their lips smacking against one another fill the room. Konner pressing Tim further into the bed as he slides his hand over their cocks, squeezing the two together forcing both to moan into the kiss.
Taking the slip up to his full advantage, Tim tugs roughly on Konner’s bottom lip before shoving his tongue in further, trying his best to establish dominance but it’s futile. Konner presses his tongue over Tim’s before forcing his own back into the smaller male’s mouth, grinning into the liplock when he feels Tim moan out in annoyance.
Using his left hand to reach under Tim’s knee, Konner hoists Tim’s leg up and hooks it around his waist, Konner pressing his body closer in the process.
Breaking the kiss, Konner leans down to Tim’s neck and teases his tongue over an already forming hickey from earlier in the night. A sharp bite to the sensitive patch of skin earns Konner another rough tug to his hair and a near beg from the hero under him.
“K-Kon…”
Konner can feel Tim rutting against him more, he can hear the ragged breath struggling in Tim’s throat and feel the heat between the two of them.
“Ca-can I?”
Konner hates how his voice breaks as he slides his hand over their pressed together cocks slowly, thumb brushing against Tim’s swollen red tip.
Tim hooks his other leg up, locking his ankles behind Konner’s back to keep him pressed as close as he can get.
Konner is more than happy to take that as a sign to go ahead. Tim only does that when he’s too proud to beg for it…
Letting go of their cocks, Konner instead just wraps his hand around his own before he shifts his body lower. Tip pressing teasingly against Tim’s entrance as he runs his cock up and down, still trying to pull more moans from Tim.
“God damn it Konner…Quit being a fucking tease or I’ll top tonight…”
“Says the guy with his legs locked around me.”
“Don’t make me get out the kryptonite…”
“Pffft. You need me to fuck you too bad to get the green shit out, TImmy. Don’t make empty threats.”
“I meant the p-pink! One…” Tim’s jeer is interrupted by Konner slowly, too slowly, slipping his cock in Tim’s still slick ass, his pre-cum mixing with the saliva Kon used for prep.
Dragging his fingernails along the length of Konner’s back, Tim bites his lip to quiet any moan that dares threaten their secret rendezvous as he feels Konner slowly sliding in.
Feeling himself stretch at the size, Tim throws his head back with his eyes screwed shut and his back arching. His breathing is ragged, coming out in quick pants intermixed with hisses as he adjusts to Konner’s size.
It never gets easier taking him, but each time it feels better than the last…
Konner drags a hand up Tim’s leg that still wrapped around his side, giving a few teasing squeezes before crossing over and settling on Tim’s hip. Gingerly rubbing a thumb over the bone, Konner tightens his hold when he feels Tim’s body jolt and clench around him.
“There we go…All the way in…” A wicked grin crosses Konner’s face as his eyes focus on Tim’s blushing visage.
Sweat and hair clinging to his forehead, his eyes wide and pupils blown as he looks up at Konner,his lips barely part as a low whine escapes him and his chest is heaving in anticipation.
“Jesus Timmy…You’re so fucking tight even after I had my fingers in you” Leaning forward Konner captures Tim’s lips again before wrapping a hand around Tim’s nearly neglected member, earning Konner a low moan that’s drowned out by the sloppy wet sounds coming from the kiss
Tongues running over one another in a battle for dominance, lips bitten and teeth clanging together as they taste each other for the thousandth time as Konner jerks Tim off, quick rough strokes earning Konner moans of praise.
Breaking the kiss with a string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to Konner’s tongue, Tim digs his nails into Konner’s back when he feels him slowly pull out, only getting half free before pressing back in.
Gasping out, Tim tightens the hold his legs have around Konner as he starts a steady pace.
Rhythmic thrusts soon turn into a breakneck pace, Konner unable to keep his voice low or his strength in check as he brutally fucks Tim into the matress. Pulling all the way out only to slam back into Tim’s begging hole. Each thrust stronger than the last.
Neither could tell who was louder, Kon moaning out as Tim eagerly takes it or Tim screaming out each time Konner bottoms out in him, brushing against that bundle of nerves that has tears springing to his eyes as Konner connects them.
“F-Fuck! K-Kon th-there!”
Only grunting in response, Konner has his head bent down with his forehead touching Tim’s as he bucks his hips faster. He’s determined to have Tim cum again before he does, if nothing else just wanting it for bragging rights…
Headboard banging against the wall in time with the thrusts, Konner manages to open his eyes and watch as Tim squirms under him. An arm thrown over his face, Tim’s mouth hanging wide as he lets out throaty moans feeling Konner slam against his prostate with each movement.
Feeling Tim’s legs struggle in their locked position, Kon knows Tim isn’t too far from his end as he keeps a steady pace with his hand wrapped around Tim’s leaky cock. More and more pre-cum coating Kon’s hand with each pass over the needy tip and the desperate way Tim bucks his hips to try and meet Konner’s hand.
“O-Oh fu-fuck…K-Kon-Kon!” It’s all Tim can do to call out Konner’s name as he gets closer and closer to his second orgasm of the night. Hands ripped away from Konner’s back, instead burying them in the blankets as he struggles with the pleasure he’s getting from Kon’s cock and his hand…
He’s so close he could cry…The coil in the pit of his stomach wound so tight it nearly breaks.
“Fu-fuc..” His voice low and hushed, like he’s forcing himself to try and keep quiet. Burying any moan or whine he can, Tim’s head thrown back as he arches his back again, almost thrown over the edge…
That is until Konner suddenly pulls his hand away and stops all movement.
“KONNER!” Shooting up to glare him down, Tim all but snarls when he sees the knowing smirk across Konner’s face.
He was right there! His orgasm ripped away like it was Konner’s whole plan. Getting him right to the brink of cumming before so meanly pulling him back.
Tim has to focus on Konner’s lips, his mind racing too much to properly hear what Konner says the first time, only understanding when Konner pulls his cock out more before repeating himself.
“Beg me.”
“Wh-what?”
“You heard me…” Head cocked to the side with a sly grin spreading, his bright blue eyes with a flash of mischief in them as he slowly ruts his hips against Tim’s again, earning a needy moan from Tim in the process.
Tim’s eyes narrow as he glares, his lips tighten together when Konner leans closer to him, chest pressed against his own, Tim now trapped against the bed.
“Come on Tim…Beg me…”
Swallowing the lump in his throat and his pride, Tim inhales deeply before speaking.
“P-please Konner….Let me…M-Make-Make me cum”
“You can do better than that…” Pouting, Konner pulls out of Tim more, seemingly fine with stopping dead in their tracks if he doesn’t get his way.
“He-hey! Y-youre stopping?!”
“Nope…Just-”
Konner’s hands wrapping themselves over Tim’s shoulders and pulling him closer, Konner suddenly changes their positions. Konner now laying with his back to the bed, Tim straddling Konner’s hips while being forced down more onto his cock.
The new angle pulling a string of swears from Tim as he adjusts to the new placement.
”-Trying something new…”
Seeing Tim sink down onto his lap, Konner rubs his hands over Tim’s legs as he coaxes his cock deeper in his boyfriend.
“I-Ive..I’ve ridden you b-before…That’s nothing new…”
“No…but this will be…”
His balance shifting nearly instantly, Tim’s eyes shoot open and he has to brace his hands against Konner’s chest as they lift off the mattress. Konner’s arms reaching up and folding behind his head nonchalantly.
“Konner!”
Saying nothing, Konner bucks his hips up again, Tim clenching around him while clawing at the man below him. Tim’s whole body being suspended in the air by nothing more than Konner’s lower body, Tim is fully at his mercy as Konner just lifts them higher.
“K-Kon…”
“Don’t worry Timmy. Kon’s gotcha”
The line punctuated with a soft smirk, Kon internally cheers when Tim trepidatiously lays his chest down against his own. Tim pressing himself down against Konner’s body in an attempt to steady his balance, the whole time feeling Konner’s cock twitch and throb in him.
“I-I’m so-so getting you back for this…”
“Don’t thank me yet Timmy…” The cruel smirk and lust filled eyes should’ve been a warning sign to Tim that Kon wasn’t done here.
One hand moving from behind his head, Konner slowly runs his hand over Tim’s knee and follows the leg down and pulls it up to his hip, Tim takes the hint and, through low moans and whines, brings his other leg back around Konner’s other hip.
The pair still floating higher, now about 6 feet off the air, Tim is struggling against Konner’s chest as he has his weight supported solely by his floating boyfriend.
“Remember our safe word?” Another fucking taunt…what else should Tim expect right now…
“Of-of course I do…Wh-WHY?!”
Before even finishing his question, Tim is slammed against the ceiling of his room. His back and shoulders rubbing roughly against the ceiling, but his head protected with Konner’s hand safely guarding it from the hard surface as Konner slams his cock deeper inside.
Tim’s limbs wrapped around Konner for fear or falling and the intense pleasure of their fucking. Arms scratching at Konner’s back while his legs tighten as Konner forces himself in and out, using the ceiling as leverage as he fucks himself harder into Tim.
Focusing all his attention on bullying Tim over the edge, Konner angles himself perfectly so that each of his thrusts slams into Tim’s prostate, Tim seeing stars with each and every forceful motion.
“K-konner…” With little more than a whisper, Tim buries his face in the crook of Konner’s neck while getting closer and closer, his legs trembling as he hurriedly approaches his climax.
His cock trapped between himself and Konner, the only friction it gets is their sweaty bodies sliding against it as Konner continues.
“Ti-Tim…To-together…”
Konner can feel Tim’s head nod furiously, face still hidden in Konner’s neck as he speeds up.
All rhythm is lost in Konner’s hips, each thrust wild and desperate, both needy as they chase their release.
Biting into Konner’s neck with a pathetic and pitiful moan, Tim shoots his cum onto Konner’s chest and clamps down, unable to move away from the unrelenting pleasure Konner is still forcing onto him.
The sudden intense pressure enough to force Konner over, hot seed rushing into Tim while Konner fucks them both through the orgasm. Another weak moan leaves Tim’s lips as he feels just how much Konner had been holding in the night, and the whole week…
Cum spilling out of Tim’s ass as Konner’s thrusts weaken, the pair melting into each other as they try to come down from their shared euphoria. Instead of getting them down right away, Konner holds them there, against the ceiling, for a few minutes as Tim regains his composure.
Tim’s throat dry and raw from all the moaning and screaming, he instead nips Konner’s ear gently as a sign that he’s done…Just one of the little habits they’ve picked up from each other over their relationship…
Saying nothing, Konner carefully wraps his arms around Tim before lowering them from the ceiling, gently resting Tim on the bed and laying down next to him once they reach the floor.
Looking over, Konner smirks when he sees a small pool over cum right below where the pair had been when they’d finished in the air. Konner’s a little proud of himself for the display, he’s not going to lie…
Hearing a wave of shuddering breaths come from the body beside him, Konner’s focus shifts to looking over Tim’s naked body as he lay over the covers of his bed. His body covered in handprints and bitemarks, his face still flushed and his hair a tangled mess as he rests.
Licking his lips when he sees just how spent Tim actually is, Konner takes the weakened state he perceives Tim is in to try and taunt the hero.
“Was I a little too rough Timmy? I’ll be m-!”
Kon’s line is cut short by Tim roughly grabbing his chin and forcing his head down to look at him, Tim lifting himself to sit up on an elbow while glaring up at Konner.
“I’m getting you a fucking collar for next time…I’m gonna have you begging like the little slut you are.”
Baby blue eyes wide, Konner takes a second to process the threat(promise?) before he melts into Tim’s hand.
The second Tim hears his voice, he lets out a deep sigh, setting down his bagel. He’s been trying his best to avoid Kon but despite how big this house is, that asshole is everywhere.
“Yeah.” He shrugs and starts to put away the cream cheese in the fridge. “So are you.”
Kon chuckles, trying to scoot closer and get Tim to look him in his eyes. Tim refuses. “You didn’t think this was something to mention when we were…” Kon lets out a cheeky little whistle and raises his eyebrows in that same stupid way Bart does when he’s being facetious.
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Oh great argument, Einstein.”
“You’re a little prickly, Rob. Tense, even.” He tries to rub a hand over Tim’s shoulder but he swats it away. “Ouch. That’s harsh. If I remember correctly, you liked my method of stress relief.”
Tim whips around and jabs a finger into Kon’s chest, voice coming out as a hiss. “Shut up! Are you an idiot? Don’t bring that up here!”
“Oh please, don’t tell me no one knows you’re gay.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean but that’s not the point. No one needs to know about our incident.”
“Incident? Why are you talking about it like a kid who wet the bed?”
Tim shrugs. “Equally embarrassing.”
“Ah.” Kon scoffs bitterly. “So I'm your dirty secret.”
“I know you’re saying that like it’s something cute and sexy but you are a dirty secret. It’s not a compliment.”
Kon laughs. “God, you’re stuck up.”
“I am not stuck up.”
“You totally are.”
“I’m just trying to be semi-professional which apparently you’re incapable of.” Tim turns on his heel and walks away.
“I’m just trying to clear the air, Rob. I wouldn't want you to be so hung up on me it gets in the way of your leadership.”
Tim stops. God, that asshole knows how to get under his skin.
“I am not hung up because it didn’t mean anything. Just do us both a favor and keep your mouth shut.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Spoiler alert, Kon does NOT keep his mouth shut.
After SO many requests, I have finally released chapter 2 of my TimKon fic, Ditto. No I do not have any plans for future chapters so feel free to comment or send in asks about it! I love to here from you all.
Kon: “Did you see the way I took out that robot with my TTK. I bet Tim did. He probably is dying for me to fuck his hot, tight, sweet bisexual ass.”
Bart, setting his drink down: “Is there… is there something you want to me tell me?”
CRYING SCREAMING ROLLING ON THE FLOOR‐
Kon, lifting up debris like they weight nothing: I bet Tim is probably having very bisexual thoughts right now about how easily I could just wrap my hands around his tiny waist and lift him up like he's a doll or pin him down to fuck him through the mattress until there's not a single coherent thought passing through that genius brain of his and all he can do is moan my name and beg for sweet mercy–
Tim should call Kon to his room so they can discuss the details of their current mission, only to turn around and use his 'bed voice' to tell him to sit down on his bed. Kon's knees bend down immediately and he flops on the edge of the bed, mouth shutting up from his previous rambling about all the paperwork he had to read in favor of watching Tim as he positions himself between his legs.
"Don't move." He will order as he slowly, seductively remove each piece of cloth from his body to give his boyfriend a show. Kon will do just as he's told (because he knows what he gets when he's a good boy) and just stares with big, attentive eyes as more and more skin is revealed until his pretty, wonderful boyfriend is standing in only his tight boxers in front of him
Then, just as Kon feels all his blood running south and his mouth water at the sight, Tim is already turning around and dressing himself up with his battle suit with a speed that should be illegal to use after a strip tease. Kon has only time to frown in confusion before Tim is already at the door saying "now let's go" and leaving him alone in his room
And superboy can only bury his head in his hands, groaning to himself in self-pity because his super-good-boy-boner will not be rewarded this time
I’m not dyslexic per say, but I do tend to chronically read things too fast, and my brain likes to auto fill stuff before I can even process it and- anyway. I was rereading a fanfic I wrote and…
Here’s what I ACTUALLY wrote for a little sexy scene: “Tim heard the snap of the lube bottle opening, felt as Kon’s hand nudged his thigh. Tim spread his legs accordingly.”
And here is what my brain THOUGHT it said when I reread it as I proofread: “…Kon’s hand nudged his thigh. Tim spread his leg’s accordion”
Anyway, that bit is now ruined for me :)) time to reword it all
