I wrote it as an askbox fic for one of my friends on Tumblr, to cheer her up. But I was anon, so I don't think she (or anyone else) caught on to my secret identity yet. Snrksnrk.
Sometimes you need something completely different to stretch your writing muscles. So this happened.
Standard warnings and disclaimers. These two aren't mine, this is probably Pre-Reboot- no wait it definitely is- so Tim and Kon are friends. Actually they're definitely more than friends. If you catch my drift.
Attending to Timmy
After a few years, the two of them had tuned into each other. Not that they weren't- aren't- best friends, but ever since they had gotten together (or had wild, hawt, raucous sex, if you asked Kon about his version of things), they had fined tuned their mutual sixth sense.
So when Tim's handling his fork a little more gingerly than usual, Kon's on the case in seconds. The clone finishes off his mouthful of Ma's apple pie, before he's behind Tim's chair, tucking his chin against the smooth skin of Tim's neck.
"Wass'matter?" Kon's inquisitive, reaching around Tim's arm to gently grasp Tim's slender wrist. Kon can see a flutter of irritation crosses Tim's face before it smooths back into disengaging politeness. God save them, if someone's concerned about Tim; Red Robin's wearer always shirked away from help. It drove Kon nuts, but the meta had long since figured out a couple chinks in Timmy's armor.
"Nothing, Conner," Tim says delicately.
Kon snorts derisively, "Buuuuuullshit." Another flicker of annoyance passes over Tim's expression. Kon softens his tone. "C'mon, 'Boo, tell me," he wheedles, guiding Tim's arm upwards, so he can plant small kisses on the inside of Tim's wrist.
Tim sighs, exasperated but unable to keep the corners of his lips from lilting upwards.
Kon can sense victory, so he grins widely, mouthing along Tim's soft skin, "Sooooo? You gonna tell me, or what?" That earns him an eyeroll. Kon quickly regathers his forces and attacks, his pink tongue languidly traces a couple of Tim's old scars, humming with easy contentment. Tim squirms in his seat, enjoying the attention.
"Promise, it'll be worth it," Kon murmurs, cocking a suggestive look at Tim, tongue sliding slowly along his bottom lip.
A faint blush colors Tim's pale cheeks, reading Kon's implications correctly, before he nods numbly. "My wrists," Tim says vaguely, his breath hitching as Kon continued to lavish his inner wrist with a practiced, eager mouth, lips dragging lazily over the sensitive skin. "Miscalculated a landing... landed wrong." Kon makes a sympathetic noise in his throat before tugging on Tim's arm, pulling the smaller boy to his feet.
"Then you need some R&R," Kon announced. Tim starts to protest, but stops when Kon halts him with a well-timed, wet, sloppy kiss. "For real, Timmy," Kon says, in a more serious tone. "We're taking a break."
"Hardly, Conner-" Tim begins, winding himself up to explain just how many reports need to be filed and how many people are depending on him.
But Kon honks Tim's ass very abruptly, effectively silencing Tim's tirade with a gasp.
rinning widely, Kon hooks his arm around Tim's waist, steering him toward the bedroom. "I hear Egypt is nice this time of year," Kon hints vaguely, smiling, "I promise, no croc will eat your face while I'm around."
Tim sighs, and smiles back.