Work Text:
“And it has to be apple, you know?”
Tim’s kind of ignoring him. Which he does sometimes. Usually when Kon’s babbling.
Kon is most definitely babbling.
“That’s, like, really important. That it’s apple.”
He’s hovering at the edge of the room as Tim moves about the bed. Literally hovering, feet not touching the ground, and Kon can feel himself fidgeting with his hands, like he’s forgotten what he usually does with them when he’s not punching things.
“Normally I like pretty much anything. You know, to eat. But for this, it’s gotta be apple. Go apple or go home!”
Oh God, he sounds like an idiot. Also, that was probably supposed to be an attempt at laughter, but it sounded more like a gurgle.
Tim’s pulling the sheets off the bed. Usually when somebody’s arranging the bed for sex, that’s sexy. Because, well, it’s going to lead to sex. But stripping the bed? That’s actually not all that sexy at all. That’s actually kind of clinical, which is the opposite of sexy.
But also it’s Tim, and it’s long been established that Kon finds pretty much everything he does sexy.
Tim’s working in silence, though, which is totally the reason Kon’s babbling, totally Tim’s fault. And babbling isn’t sexy.
But then, Tim’s stripping the bed specifically because he knows they’re going to get messy, which is right back to sexy again, and Kon’s brain is getting so many conflicting messages it’s basically gone into stand-by mode. Hence the babbling, because that’s usually what happens when his brain switches off.
His brain may be confused, but his body apparently knows exactly what it thinks of the situation, already half-hard and uncomfortable in his jeans.
“‘Cause apple, it stands for something, you know? Like, there’s a precedent there. Or something. Truth, justice and the American way. And what’s more American than apple pie, I ask you?”
He’s starting to sound like one of those hosts he sometimes sees on the local talk shows in Smallville, the ones whose make endless jokes about corn. He’s even got the fake chuckle to go with it, except his sounds weirdly high-pitched and nervous.
“So yeah, it needs to be apple. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I’m not, uh, I’m not trying to push apple on you. If you don’t like it, I mean. I could get something different. Or, uh, something.”
Tim finishes stripping the bed, and if he pulls out a plastic sheet Kon might just give up and call the whole thing off, because that would most definitely be a step too far into the realm of unsexy.
Maybe.
He’s not sure, because the truth is that he really wants this.
But then Tim picks up a stack of three white, fluffy towels, and Kon hears himself start to breathe again. Towels, he can deal with. Towels may not exactly be sexy, but they’re far more preferable to a plastic sheet.
Still, figures the first person he tried to share this particular fantasy with would be a total neat-freak.
“So, um. Do you like apple? Because, like I said, truth, justice, apple pie. So, you know, that’s why I thought of it. But I can still get something else if you want. You know? Um. Tim?”
Tim’s apparently finished smoothing the towels across the mattress so there are no wrinkles, which makes absolutely no sense to Kon, because those towels are going to be a mess in record time. That is, if Tim ever stops fussing.
Kon’s cock gives an impatient throb inside his boxers.
“Conner,” Tim says quietly, before turning to him, arms lightly folded across his chest. “Apple is fine. Whatever you want is fine. That’s the whole point of this, remember? We’re doing what you want.”
Kon starts nodding stupidly enthusiastically.
“So just tell me what you want me to do, and stop freaking out.” That’s totally a Tim smile - the kind that’s more in his eyes than on his lips, because that makes it easier to hide it behind a mask.
No masks tonight. Just a baggy black t-shirt and blue sleep-pants.
“Clothes,” Kon grunts. “Um, clothes off. Please.”
Another Tim smile, and a raised eyebrow as well. But Tim does as Kon asks, pulling the t-shirt up over his head. Probably a little slower than he needs to, which is just perfect, because it gives Kon a chance to stare at the tight, muscled, scarred skin of Tim’s stomach.
His mouth might already be watering. Just a little.
Tim took the time to fold the sheets and place them carefully on his desk in a perfectly neat pile. Possibly because he’s a weirdo, or maybe because he kind of enjoys torturing Kon. But he lets the t-shirt drop messily to the floor. Which is just. Yeah.
It’s good, and Kon’s brain apparently just went into stage two of full operations shutdown.
He’s pretty sure he jumps straight to stage four when Tim hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his sleep-pants and pushes them down his thighs. He’s not wearing anything beneath them, and he casually turns to the side as he bends over to skim them all the way down his legs. Which gives Kon a great view of his profile and, specifically, his ass.
Kon takes back everything he mentally-said about Tim being a neat-freak. Even if it’s true. Because, oh yeah, this is going to awesome.
“What n-”
“On the bed,” Kon interrupts, and his voice has gone from babbling awkwardly high and squeaky to sounding deep and husky. “On your back.”
That wasn’t so much a Tim smile as a flash of something dark and intense, something that makes Kon’s stomach lurch, and he’s gone from half-hard to straining against his boxers before Tim’s even settled on the mattress.
Somehow his hand doesn’t shake as he reaches for the pink box, but it’s a close thing.
It’s not one of Ma’s pies, which is a point against it. But Kon doesn’t really want Ma’s pie for this. Which may be the first time ever he’s turned down the chance to eat Ma’s pie, but he really doesn’t need to start associating it with sex and Tim, or he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to hide potential hard-ons under the kitchen table.
It’s actually from a little bakery here in Gotham. A bakery he and Tim ate at, what seems a million years ago, when they were still adjusting to being Teen Titans and Kon hadn’t gone and died.
He could tell Tim it’s from that specific bakery, but he’s already filled his looking-like-an-idiot quota for the day, just by asking for this. Adding in the potential sappiness of admitting he purposely chose pie from a bakery they once had a date at, an incredibly nice date that still makes Kon smile when he remembers it, would probably be overkill.
Kon slips the slice of pie out of the box. It wobbles a little on its paper plate, which could be because Kon’s hands are shaking now, so he cradles it carefully with his TTK and grabs the fork on Tim’s desk.
“You’re going to sit on the bed, right?” Tim asks conversationally, snapping Kon out of his thoughts.
“Uh, yeah,” he answers, because he hadn’t actually thought about that. Standing or hovering over Tim is a possibility, sure, but sitting would be probably be more practical.
Tim nods and then silently, casually spreads his knees, creating a space between his naked thighs for Kon to sit.
Kon swallows thickly, pie giving another wobble on the plate, and his toes drag over the floor as he floats toward the bed like a dog being pulled by a leash.
“You’re going to stay dressed?” Tim asks as Kon settles cross-legged between his legs, and his tone stays light but it’s like he’s analysing every second, every twitch of expression on Kon’s face. Which is probably is, because this is Tim and that’s what he does when confronted with something new.
Kon never exactly thought that he’d be giving Tim a chance to analyse his fiercely-guarded secret kink, but there’s no way he’s turning back now.
“Yep, staying dressed,” he nods, because he kind of has to. If he’s naked, well, that’s one less barrier between him and Tim’s skin, and he’s not sure he could keep himself from just grinding, rubbing himself all over Tim’s body. He needs control. He also needs for Tim not to be able see how much this is getting to him because, yeah, embarrassing, but he’s pretty sure Tim already knows.
He glances at the plate in his hand, then at Tim’s stomach. “Okay, you’re gonna need to stay still.”
Tim nods and raises his arms up over his head to lightly grip the pillow. It makes his hips push up slightly, making his stomach create a flat, solid surface.
Kon breathes in slowly through his nose and lowers the plate.
It takes a little jiggling and it’d probably be a disaster without his TTK holding it all together, but he somehow manages to get the slice of pie balanced on Tim’s stomach.
Then Tim flinches.
Kon catches the pie before it can fall with yet another application of his TTK, settling it back into place, before he glares up at Tim. “I told you to stay still!” he yelps, dropping the paper plate to the floor, before his heart catches in his throat. “Wait, you’ve changed your mind, haven’t you? You don’t want to do this! Or it’s the apple, you totally hate apple, don’t you?”
Tim sighs, only it’s careful and slow, because he’s trying not to tip the pie again. “And I told you to stop freaking out. It’s just a little cold, is all.”
“Oh.” Kon frowns down at the pie, then back up at Tim. “It would have been warm if you hadn’t spent so long fussing over your stupid sheets.” Which is true, he’d taken great care not to jostle the pink bakery box on the way to Tim’s apartment, keeping it carefully pressed to his chest and covered by his jacket for warmth.
Tim rolls his eyes back at him. “Oh yes, Conner, start bitching at me, that really gets my motor running.” And then his gaze turns a little bit more earnest, a little bit more soft. “I’m fine. I want to do this for you. It’s not even weird - lots of people like eating food off their partners. The fact that it has to be pie doesn’t make you strange.”
He smiles then, a full smile, with teeth and everything. It wouldn’t be a blindingly huge smile on anybody else, but for Tim it’s just that, and it makes Kon’s heart swell in his chest.
“Now eat your damn pie, Conner.”
Kon doesn’t need telling twice.
The slice is deep and thick. Really deep and thick, which is part of the reason Kon remembers the bakery and the date so fondly. Because he remembers Tim’s eyes bulging slightly at the sight of his own slice, how he’d muttered about not being that hungry, only wanting a small piece of pie, but he’d eaten the whole damn thing and then looked ready for seconds.
It’s not often he gets to see Tim just indulge himself, so he tends to treasure those memories, keep them close.
Kon lines up the edge of the fork against the sugar-frosted top of the pastry and presses down.
The pastry gives around the metal, crumbling slightly, and then it’s slicing through the thick filling, and Kon lets the TTK hold fall away so that the juice drips down on to Tim’s skin. The muscles of Tim’s stomach twitch lightly as it begins to slide over the contours of his abs, and Kon hears Tim inhale sharply, hears Tim’s fingers flex against the pillow, but he can’t stop staring at the damn pie long enough to glance up at Tim’s face.
He raises the first bite to his lips and, God, he’s in heaven, this is actually heaven, and it would take nothing short of an apocalyptic disaster to get him to move away from this bed. And even then he’d be bitching about it the whole time.
He might actually take the pie with him to save the world.
Except he’d need a naked Tim to eat it off, and that wouldn’t be very productive, because he’d keep getting distracted, and, yep, his brain is definitely on stage five of full operations shutdown. Kon mentally smacks himself and focuses on what he’s doing. Which happens to be letting the pastry fall apart in his mouth, so soft it almost seems to melt. The apple filling is rich and sweet and when he bites into a particularly thick wedge, it floods his mouth with flavour.
He’s groaning, and he totally doesn’t care.
From then on, his focus stays laser-sharp, determined not to miss a moment. He isn’t entirely sure if he’s wolfing down the pie or eating in slow motion, but either way he savours every bite. Lets the cinnamon tickle his taste buds, brown sugar and the slight tartness of the apples mixing with the soft, buttery pastry, creating the perfect taste and texture.
Bite after bite, feeling his eyelids flutter with each new mouthful, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he lets the flavour wash over him. Careful not to touch Tim’s skin with the prongs of the fork as he slices through the pie over and over, until all too soon all that’s left are crumbs, a long smear of mushed apple and the juice pooling in Tim’s navel.
Kon drags his tongue over his lips and glances up at Tim’s face for the first time since he started eating.
Oh.
Tim is looking at back at him like he’s never really seen Kon before, his mouth slightly open in what could be shock. There’s a high flush on his cheeks, the blue of his eyes dark and stormy, faint sheen of sweat at his hairline and chest rising and falling rapidly at he pants at the air. His fingers are gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles have turned white.
Tim’s totally, completely, beautifully hard right now, cock flushed dark as it curves upward, the swollen head slightly wet with pre-come. Kon stares unashamedly, biting his bottom lip softly, one hand reaching out to rest on Tim’s leg, fingers curling around the inside of Tim’s thigh and squeezing lightly.
Tim shivers and his eyes fall closed and Kon moves as if hypnotised, bending down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of Tim’s hip. He shifts until he’s on his knees, and then his tongue is moving over Tim’s skin, licking at a smudge of soft apple just beneath Tim’s ribs. He moans against Tim’s skin as the sweetness blends with the saltier taste of sweat, and Tim’s stomach muscles jump slightly, trying to press up into the touch before he remembers he’s supposed to be still.
Kon loves Tim’s control, but right now he can admit he has absolutely none of his own.
He chases crumbs across Tim’s skin, draws long paths along the lines of Tim’s stomach with his tongue, nips gently at the flesh of Tim’s side with his teeth. He presses his parted lips to Tim’s stomach and gently sucks the juice from the dip of Tim’s bellybutton, and Tim huffs out a surprised breath and shudders, hips twitching before he can help himself, the head of his cock sliding slightly against Kon’s jaw. And yeah, that’s a great idea, and Kon shuffles back a bit, and it’s possible that noise was Tim trying to say something but Kon doesn’t really register the words as he opens his mouth around Tim’s cock.
Oh God, if he thought the taste of the pie blended perfectly with the perspiration on Tim’s skin, it has nothing on this. The salty-bitter taste of pre-come hits his taste buds, combines with the sweetness of the pastry and sugar, the slight tartness of the apples, and Kon’s totally drooling, he knows he is, but he can’t stop. Tim’s definitely talking now, but Kon isn’t listening, can’t hear properly over the blood rushing in his ears as his hands wrap around Tim’s hips, press him into the mattress. Bobbing his head in an unrelenting, almost cruel rhythm straight away, no more lead-up, no more foreplay, just taste.
Tim groans, low and loud, and Kon swallows awkwardly around Tim’s cock and presses a hand down between his own legs.
Taking in as much as he can, getting it slick and wet, before he starts sucking in earnest. The noise Tim makes is almost a howl, and Kon moans, hears how muffled it sounds, how it chokes off into separate syllables as he keeps fucking his mouth on Tim’s cock. He’s working himself hard through his jeans, palm rubbing roughly, so turned on he feels mindless with it. Still holding Tim’s hip with one hand, holding Tim down, because Tim is trying to thrust up now, feet bracing against the mattress, but Kon won’t let him.
Totally lost in the taste, in the sensation, in the way Tim’s cock feels as it drags over his tongue, over the roof of his mouth. Shoving his own hips up into the curve of his palm, ducking his head and sucking until his nose brushes against dark hair. The scent of apples and musk overwhelming his senses, and Tim shouts something unintelligible, cock twitching against Kon’s tongue, before he’s coming in Kon’s mouth. Rush of more flavour, more taste, and Kon’s still greedy for it, wants to whine for it but he’s too busy swallowing it down. Taking as much as he can, feeling some still slip from the corner of his mouth, slide down his chin, and he pulls back, hands still gripping Tim’s hip and his eyes closed. Swallowing, then gasping, hips thrusting up one last time before they freeze there, pushed against his hand, as Kon grunts, flushing all over, and comes in his boxers.
Swaying on the spot because he’s just that dizzy with it, heel of his palm rocking down against him until it’s too much, he’s too sensitive, until he feels like he could die like that, lost in too much sensation and sex.
When he falls back into himself, he’s awkwardly propped up his knees, shoulders hunched forward and panting weakly.
Tim’s watching him, eyes slightly glassy. He gives a small but sincere smile when he catches Kon’s gaze, knee coming up to nudge Kon’s side, and Kon floats a little higher up the bed until he can slump bonelessly against Tim’s side.
Tim turns towards him, his thumb coming up to carefully brush along Kon’s chin, wiping up the streak of come there. Kon can’t help but groan, and he catches Tim’s wrist, drags it closer until he can suck Tim’s thumb into his mouth, lick it clean.
Tim makes a soft humming noise as he watches, eyes studying Kon’s face.
Kon lets Tim’s thumb slide from his lips and says, “I’m not a freak.”
Tim’s expression doesn’t change. “I know, Conner,” he replies simply.
Kon feels himself frowning. “I don’t get hard just eating food,” he insists.
Tim sighs a little and presses closer. “I know, Conner.”
“I only get hard eating food off you. There’s a difference.”
Tim reaches up and flicks Kon’s forehead lightly, eyes crinkling when Kon makes a quiet, hurt noise despite the fact they both know it didn’t hurt at all. “I know, Conner. We already had this conversation when you first bought up the pie thing, remember? And you may have noticed that I got hard watching you get hard eating off me, so I don’t know why you think I’m in a position to judge you.”
Kon pretends to consider that for a moment. “Yeah, you kinda did,” he admits, and he can’t resist smirking a little. “Freak.”
Tim snorts, and flicks his forehead again for good measure.
“It’s okay,” Kon grins, slipping an arm around Tim and pulling him closer. Tim’s still kind of sticky, but Kon’s boxers are a total wreck, his jeans too, so at this point it doesn’t really matter if he ruins his clothes any further. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed to embrace your freaky food kink.”
“I don’t have a food kink,” Tim admonishes, but he doesn’t really sound defensive at all, and there’s an answering smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I do apparently have a kink for your food kink, or at least for watching you look damn orgasmic as you eat pie.”
“So this means I can totally torture you next time we’re out for dinner, right? Because I’m only taking you to places that serve apple pie from now on.”
“You’re so pleased with yourself for corrupting me, aren’t you?” Tim deadpans.
Kon gives an exaggerated scoff. “You’re a Bat, you were corrupted before I met you, with the brooding and the darkness and the snarkiness. I’m the Super, that makes me wholesome by default.”
“So I corrupted you?”
“Totally,” Kon intones, before grinning broadly and wrapping Tim up in a ridiculously enthusiastic hug, rolling on to his back so he can pull Tim’s weight up on to his front.
Tim pushes up on to the hands braced on Kon’s chest, eyeing him suspiciously when Kon squeaks and gasps and flinches. “What? What’s wrong?”
Kon winces and gives Tim a sheepish smile. “I, uh, I just found the fork.” He fidgets a little as it digs into interesting places.
Tim drops his head to bury his sniggers in the curve of Kon’s throat.