Well, this is hard to introduce.
It's different.
Your reviews have never been more important than at this point, one-shots are pretty challenging for me, and if I'm lacking, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me (:
Maybe you can guess who the impostor is? I've dropped hints.
Goodness, how I love me some Beastie Boy.
-Viva
"Robin?"
He would second-guess himself but his pointed ears twitch, and the beast in him knows that something is wrong. Something is wrong and Robin needs to be protected. He's unaware of it, but soon he's snarling, pacing back and forth in front of the door, mentally preparing himself to possibly kill someone.
"If only they could see me now," he mutters to himself, cataloguing scents and backtracking for flaws in them; feeling that thing in his chest wrench as he imagines what the hell could be the matter with that raven-haired hero. "'Innocent Little Beast Boy', the peacemaker, contemplating murder…"
He clenches his fists impossibly harder, sensing someone else in the hallway, on guard against the alien scent that accompanies a familiar gait. Quietly, so very quietly, (almost as quietly as Robin and he have learned to climax, biting down on shoulders and necks and palms that glow with moonlight while they 'debrief' on the roof) he creeps around the corner, tackling the intruder with both the grace and efficiency that he's always been known for.
What unnerves him is the fact that this person is clad only in a towel, cheeks rosy in a way very similar to Robin's when he's fresh out of a bath.
"W-What's wrong?" The imposter looks so much like Robin, right down to the sometimes eerie shade of goldenrod of his eyes, the nervous way his pointed tongue wets his slightly trembling lips.
Beast Boy frowns, checking the scent of what must be an intruder, nuzzling the soft skin behind the ears, a bit put off by the fact that someone can duplicate the distinct ocean-and-Pear's Soap odor that constantly lingers behind Robin's rose-tinged ears. The pseudo-Robin fidgets underneath his far-from-slight build; his breath coming in gasps now as Beast Boy roughly turns him onto his stomach, burying his nose in the downy hair at the nape of pseudo-Robin's neck.
The beast in him wails in frustration at the unforgettable lightning that bolts through him when his lungs fill with that heady spicymuskoceanbreeze that can only be defined as Eau du Robin. The electricity settles in his cock, and before long, he's kneeling over the ass of this disturbingly good portrayal of his Robin, tearing the towel from his waist and splaying him open, rashly deciding that if someone went this far to imitate his mate, they must want to be treated like him.
The thought saddens him a minute bit and confuses him even more. Who would be jealous of Robin? Beast Boy is the one who doesn't deserve the smart-mouthed, obsessive, technology whore with the body of a dancer, long legged and flexible.
The ragged moan that reverberates because of the poor acoustics of the hallway gets louder as long, slender fingers of jade caress the barely-furred cleft, pressing against the tight, pink, whorl that is a ball-bustingly flawless replica of Robin's pucker.
He wets the digits of his right hand in his mouth, feeding them to the hungry hole, watching them disappear onto a tight heat that has always fit him like a glove. A little farther in, a twist and press there and he's found the nub, smirking at the whimpers and shuddering that encompass the prone form beneath him. Remembering that the hallway isn't really the most private of places, he stands suddenly, tugging on his sac so as not to spurt everywhere at the sight of this wide-eyed wanton mess that looks empty and forlorn without a piece of him inside that pale ass, or in-between those swollen lips.
"C'mon." And he's half dragging, half leading the slender boy to one of the guest rooms that Robin likes. He pushes the boy to his back, the dark blue of the comforter against all that creamy pale skin… The view overlooks the ocean and the light is the almost painfully perfect gold that accompanies the cusp of dusk, hitting pseudo-Robin at the angle that always makes Beast Boy's mouth water, causing the slight blush on the apples of Robin's cheeks to stand out against the dark shadows of his eyelashes, his rosy cock jutting from the thatch of dark curls, curving to kiss dip of heaven that is his navel.
And though he knows it really isn't Robin, he is filled at that moment with an aching tenderness for this imitator, and it bleeds into the way he presses their mouths together, lapping at the insides of cheeks and shuddering when a hot tongue reverently checks the sharpness of his fang, hungrily devouring his lips like it's the last time they'll ever see each other, a hand cupping the back of his head, combing through dark green waves.
"I want you." is whispered as the pale boy nibbles at his earlobe, running his tongue over the pointed tip of his ear and latching that delectable mouth onto his neck, a hitch in his breath as Beast Boy grinds his hips in just that way, murmuring for pseudo-Robin to turn over. Spitting into his hand, he lubricates his cock. He laps gently at the dimples at the base of his spine, smiling at the jiggle of asscheeks and the startled gasp when he smack those gorgeous globes, rocking his dick where his fingers were in the hallway, making a choice to preserve at least a minute sense of his honor along with Robin's virtue.
The sight of his dick passing through the gap between those slender thighs nearly tosses him over the precipice that is the bliss of orgasm, and when pseudo-Robin clenches those thighs together, he shrieks against the nape of his neck, thrusting like his life depended on it. On a whim, he decides to indulge the admirer, reaching under the pillows for the remote that controls the mirror-wall; granting the imitator the privilege of this experience from two angels, providing material for years of late-night wank sessions.
Their reflections are pretty stunning, both of them hypnotized by the fluid grace of Beast Boy's hips and the way they align with Robin's ass, pseudo-Robin moans as he locks eyes with BB in the mirror, eyes almost pure black save for the ring of gold, cheeks flushed and mouth deliciously swollen, a debauched delight that tastes of honey and chamomile.
Simultaneously, they groan and shudder, as the head of a long cock nudges as a heavy sac, grazing across a silk-smooth perineum, one muffled by a forearm, the other by a mouthful of pale shoulder. Then they're spurting, convulsing noisily against each other, both of them slick with sweat and heavy-lidded, Beast Boy motioning for the boy to roll over as he pulls back the coverlet and they doze under crisp white sheets.
"Beast Boy, I—" The boy looks at him in a way that is so timid, so content, so vulnerable, that he knows that not only one heart will be broken in the morning.
"Go to sleep." Wrapping his arms around pseudo-Robin, who then snuggles into his chest, fills him with a painfully acute sense of duty, that he must make this admirer feel as authentically Robin, that when they look at BB in the future, they will blush and look away from the intensity of gratitude that will wash over them. He presses his lips to a pale forehead, and then sleep overtakes him.
WvvWvvWvvWvvWvv
Disentangling themselves quickly, the slender-footed impostor stares at their reflection in the mirror, pressing tentative fingers to the purple bruise on their shoulder that is so like the one they coveted when they saw it on Robin.
Quickly, the fraud makes their way down the hall, turning down passages that only the constructor of The Tower and a select group of others know. The last door on the right is where they can begin to breathe again.
"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!" she murmurs, and allows herself to sink against the cold door. Raven brushes her hand against her swollen lips, and oddly enough, the sense of shame she had anticipated is replaced with the undeniable certainty of knowing that settles deep in her being.
A lone tear trails down her cheek as she smiles, unashamed of the fact that Beast Boy knows it was her.
He knew it was her and he indulged her anyway.
If we were the knights at Arthur's Table, he would be Galahad.
And she sleeps.