iesika

DCU Fic: New Kings Among Runaways, Family Vacation (continued)

iesika — Thu, 16 May 2013 22:02:48 GMT

Title: Family Vacation
Series Kings Among Runaways
Authors: iesika and glymr
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Surprise Characters
Pairing: Jason/TimSummary:</b> "Do you really think she's going to let me go?"
Rating/Warnings: PG-13ish

This story is also available on AO3.

Because of LJ's word limits, this was split into two sections. The previous part is here.

Waiting sucks.

Jason fidgets around the back of the car for awhile, until Alfred hands him a book of puzzles and a pencil. Crossword puzzles, sudoku, and word finds. Jason looks down at the book, then back at Alfred before accepting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“My pleasure,” says Alfred, and pulls out another book.

It’s hard to concentrate on the puzzles, maybe because he keeps glancing up to look at the house. He leaves the first crossword unfinished. Tim will know the answers to the ones he doesn’t.

He’s halfway through the sudoku on the next page when the huge door swings open and Tim wanders out, head down and hands in his pockets. The locks pop up as he puts his hand on the door handle.

“Hey,” says Jason. Tim slides into the seat next to him and Jason wraps one arm around him, pulling him close for a long moment before leaning back and looking carefully at him.

Tim’s shoulders are hunched. He’s curled in on himself in a way that Jason hasn’t seen since the first few weeks, and his face - what Jason can see of it - is pale.

Jason pulls him close again.

Tim doesn’t say anything for maybe a minute. Jason doesn’t speak either, just watches the digital car clock, the two dots that separate the hours and minutes flashing with each passing second.

“They were fighting over me,” says Tim, breaking the silence.

“Oh,” says Jason. He’s not sure what to say to that. If they’re fighting over Tim, maybe his parents actually want him around.

“Like a favorite toy.” Tim adds, his words flat and quiet.

Jason feels his heart clench. He really, really wants to go in there and scream at Tim’s parents. He tightens his arm around Tim’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “Let’s go for a walk.” Tim looks up at him, startled. “Let’s just take off. Alfred can come and pick us up, right, Alfred?”

“Of course.”

Tim blinks a little. “I...I guess. Bruce stayed in there to talk to them.”

Alfred clears his throat. “Your backpacks are in the trunk, young sirs.”

“Backpacks?” What backpacks?” says Jason blankly. He looks over at Tim, surprising a small smile on the other boy’s face.

“We’ll bring them, Alfred,” says Tim, and slips out of the car. Jason glances at the back of the man’s head, then follows him.

* * *

Bruce waits until he hears the front door close before pasting on a sunny smile and turning back to the other people in the room. "Well, it sounds like Tim's made up his mind, doesn't it?"

"This isn't up to Tim to decide," Jack says. His face is very pink. Janet's, on the other hand, is pale. Bruce lets his smile sharpen a little when he turns to her, and watches her sit back an inch or two further in her chair. Good.

"We're his parents," Janet says. "He belongs with us. Well, one of us." She looks to Jack and reluctantly adds, "He can visit the other."

"Tim doesn't seem to think so."

"Tim doesn't know what's best for him," Jack says. "If he wanted ice cream for dinner every night he couldn't have that either. He's a child."

"Not anymore," Bruce says blithely. He sweeps into the center of the room and sets his briefcase on the desk in front of Janet. "Tim's been fending for himself for rather a while, you know. He's such a responsible boy-"

"Responsible boys don't run away from home," Janet snaps.

Bruce laughs, hollow and smarmy. "Oh I don't know. I ran away a few times, and I think I've turned out okay. Then again, my parents weren't around to notice I was gone, either. Ha ha."

There's utter silence in the room. Janet's eyes are narrowed, but Jack's are wide, now. Bruce opens the briefcase.

"I've taken the liberty of having my legal department draw up some papers. I haven't got much of a head for this kind of thing, but the way I understand it, emancipating the boy could get you out of quite the pickle. Otherwise, someone might press charges of neglect and abandonment." He looks to Jeff and adds, "I think people go to jail for that, sometimes, don't they? Hey, does that phone have speakers? I bet one of my lawyers would know. We could conference them in."

Janet looks at him for a long moment in silence, then reaches for the papers and pulls them toward her and starts to read.

"This is outrageous," Jack says. "You can't just come in here and start making demands-"

"Demands?" Bruce looks at him, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just trying to help you out, Jack. After all, Tim's made it clear he doesn't want to live with either of you. He's already proven himself able and willing to just disappear off the face of the Earth. You wouldn't want the police showing up wondering where he's gone, would you?"

Jeff is leaning over Janet's shoulder, looking at the paperwork. "What is this? Honey..."

"Blackmail," Janet mutters, then looks up at him. Jack goes still at the word.

"That's such an ugly word," Bruce says, and smiles. "Do you need a pen?"

* * *

“So, what’s in these things?” asks Jason after about two miles of walking in silence. He shrugs his shoulders to indicate his blue backpack.

Tim tugs at the strap of his own backpack - red - and shrugs. “I didn’t look inside them. How should I know?” he says, but he smiles a little as he says it.

Tim’s shoulders had been slumped, miserable when he’d come out of the house. When he’d lifted the pack out of the trunk and settled it on his back, though, his spine had straightened, the angle of his chin suddenly proud.

Jason has his suspicions, but decides to play dumb instead, just to see how long he can keep that smirk on on Tim’s face. “Did Alfred pack us a picnic or something?”

Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “You could always just open it and see, you know.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Jason looks at him, wide-eyed. “I couldn’t do that!”

Tim’s smirk widens into a grin, and he bumps Jason with his shoulder.

“I won’t tell if-” He’s cut off by a loud sound from ahead of them. There’s a shriek of tires, then a crashing grind of metal. The two of them look at each other, frozen for a moment, then as one, they start to run.

It’s not far, maybe half a mile further. As they round a curve, they see it: a pickup truck on its side, its cargo of metal containers spilling into the road. Jason starts forward, but Tim grabs his arm.

“Uniforms,” he hisses, drawing Jason back around the bend.

“But-”

“No time,” says Tim, pulling off his backpack and starting to suit up. “They’re fire-retardant and they have our equipment - some of it anyway-” He yanks up the tights, and Jason hurries to catch up.

In under a minute they’re in full costume (uniform, Tim would correct him) and running toward the accident.

It’s bad. The truck tipped over on the driver’s side, and there’s no one in sight, meaning that the driver must be inside still. Jason gets there first and climbs up, pulling open the passenger side door and reaching down into the cab.

There’s blood on the driver’s head. It’s a woman, maybe in her forties. “Hey!” says Jason. “Hey! Can you hear me?” He reaches out and grabs her wrist, feeling for a pulse.

It’s there, fluttering under his fingers. Jason has to swallow hard before he can speak again. “Wake up, lady! You’ve gotta get out of here!” He can smell something hot, like metal and asphalt and rubber...and fuel.

“We shouldn’t move her if we can avoid it.” Tim’s voice comes from above him - he’s holding open the door, looking down at them from the side of the truck.

“We gotta move her, though,” says Jason.

Tim’s head disappears for a few moments, then he pokes it back in and says, “Agreed. I called B and the fire department, but there's fuel everywhere and...”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t have to. They might not get here in time, thinks Jason.

First he reaches over and takes the key out of the ignition. The woman’s seatbelt is on, but Jason has tools in his belt he can use to cut her free. When he climbs in to cut her free, though, he realizes her leg is stuck - jammed into the twisted metal of the side of the cab.

“Fuck,” mutters Jason. “Fuck!” He tugs harder, but there’s no way he’s getting her out of there. He grits his teeth in frustration, then looks up at Tim. “I can’t get her out! Have we got a - a Bat-crowbar or something?”

Tim’s face is in shadow, the light behind him, but Jason can see him clearly enough to know he’s biting his lip. “N-no...nothing like that, I don’t think...”

Jason turns back and gives the woman another tug, but she’s wedged in there impossibly tight. “Hey lady!” Jason shouts, “You got a crowbar or something?”

She groans and stirs, eyelids fluttering, then slumps again. Jason balls his hands into fists in frustration.

“Fuck!” he says again. Tim’s head is gone when he looks up, so Jason clambers up out of the cab. “What are we gonna do?” It might be only a matter of time until a spark catches, and then... “She’ll be trapped.”

Another pick-up pulls up behind them and an older man gets out, hurrying over and frowning as he takes in the situation. He looks at the spilled supplies the woman was carrying and says sharply, “You boys get back from there!”

“The driver - we can’t get her out!” says Jason. “Have you got something, a crowbar or something, anything, please!”

“Get back,” says the man again. “That's fertilizer - ammonium nitrate.”

Jason hears Tim catch his breath, then feels Tim’s hand around his wrist, yanking him away.

“But - but the driver!” says Jason desperately. “We’ve gotta help her!”

“You see if you can find something to give us some leverage,” says Tim, face pale and set. “I’ll see if I can get her out.” He pushes Jason toward the man and turns back to the overturned truck.

“Are you deaf?” The man’s voice is harsh, commanding. “That stuff could explode any second. You boys get away from there!”

Jason freezes. “Explode?” He jumps forward, grabbing Tim and dragging him back. “ Ti- Robin!”

Tim tries to twist out of his grasp. “There must be something-”

“Let me do it-”

“Jay, no!”

“Both of you boys-”

Tim goes still, eyes wide. “Bluejay-” he says, then Jason sees it, too.

Someone...lands next to the truck.

“Superboy!” says the man, relief in his voice. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

The boy looks ridiculous in brightly colored spandex and way too many belts, but Jason doesn’t care, because maybe he can do something to help.

“The driver, she’s trapped-” he starts, but Tim steps forward, putting a hand on his arm.

“The cargo’s potentially explosive,” he says quickly. “You’ll need to get the driver out without doing anything that might make a spark, like ripping the door off.”

The...kid peers at them over his sunglasses (sunglasses?) and smirks. “No problemo!” Turning, he puts his hands on the cab. “I’ve got this. With my TTK-” Jason watches in shock as the truck starts to come apart, to *dismantle*, each piece separating from each other, “-that’s short for Tactile Telekinesis - I can manipulate things just by touching them.” Jason watches in awe as the car seat separates from the rest, the cab opening around it almost like a flower or something. The kid flashes them a grin, then flies over to them, one hand casually on the seat as he pushes it to where they’re standing, then lowers it gently to the ground, the woman still on her back. Tim immediately crouches beside her and starts checking her for injuries.

“Superboy,” says the man.

“Yeah?” the kid looks at the man and then at the two of them, then at the man again.

“Good job, son,” says the man, then goes on, “Can you get the truck’s cargo out of here?”

“Sure! Where to?”

The man thinks for a moment. “There’s an old quarry about two miles East of here-” he starts.

“Got it!” The kid darts forward and puts one hand on the truck bed, the other on the ground. As they watch, the containers lift into the air. One of them is trailing white crystals from a crack in the side. “Oops!” says the kid, and the stream seems to freeze in mid-air, then trickle back into the container.

“Be careful with that, son.”

“You got it Unc- er. Sir.”

The three of them watch as he drifts up, then away across the fields in the opposite direction from the setting sun.

Then the man turns to the two of them and smiles. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, as casually as though they’re not wearing masks, capes and tights. “My name’s Jonathan,” he adds, and holds out his hand.

* * *

They'd been so helpless. If Superboy hadn't shown up when he did, Tim's not sure what they would have done. If Jason hadn't been there, Tim would have kept trying - tried something - but once Jason knew the truck was effectively loaded with explosives, there was no way he'd have let Tim back in there. Then again, Tim would have stopped Jason from doing the same.

It's a shocking thought - a sobering one. They haven't even had a true debut in Gotham yet, and they could have let a woman die on their first trip out. That's not something he ever thought of much when he was playing at being Robin in a bathtowel and his dad's green socks.

He's got top-notch first-aid training at least. If things don't work out with the superhero thing, maybe he'll be a paramedic.

"No, don't move," he tells the woman, grateful to see Jason moving into place on her other side, pressing a bandage over her leg and and helping to keep her still. "You lost consciousness. You need to be very careful."

"Who are you?" The woman asks.

"I'm Robin," he says, and it feels good even through his doubts. "This is Bluejay. We're here to help you. Can you tell me your name?"

"Lady!" Jason interrupts as the woman tries to move again. "If you don't wanna be stuck in a wheelchair for longer than it takes that leg to heal, stop squirming."

Tim's been practicing his "Robin voice" in the mirror whenever he's been alone, working at it for weeks, until he thought he finally had it right. Jason -

Jason sounds like he's scolding Tulio. It's surprisingly effective at getting the woman to actually lie still while Tim stops the bleeding at her hairline and checks how her eyes are tracking.

He feels Bruce's - Batman's - presence before he looks up. Maybe he heard the shift of his heavy cape, or subconsciously noted the change in the light due to Batman's broad shadow. He looks incredibly out of place on a sunny country lane.

"Ambulance is on its way," the old man - Jonathan - says before Tim can get words into his mouth. "It'll be another ten minutes, though. I've got some lumber and canvas straps in the truck that'll do for a backboard and a splint, in a pinch.”

Batman...smirks. "Of course you do."

Jason helps Jonathan grab the boards, and they get the driver properly immobilized. Batman checks her over again, then nods at Tim and Jason, which is when Tim realizes just how tightly he's been holding himself and finally lets his shoulders drop.

"The missus'll be pulling out a meatloaf for lunch in a little bit, if you boys are hungry," Jonathan says while they're all bent over together with their heads close. "What on Earth are you in town for, anyway? Not that you're not welcome anytime, but it's been a while."

Jason shoots Tim an incredulous look that Tim is helpless to do anything but return.

"Personal business," Batman says. And then, "Meatloaf sounds lovely."

"I'll let her know to do up some extra potatoes, then. Oh-" the sound of a siren swells in the distance. "That'll be the sheriff. See you at one?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Batman says, and gives the signal to scatter and reconvene at base.

* * *

They’ve barely gathered their backpacks when the car slides up to them, the doors swinging open as it comes to a smooth stop. They jump inside and Bruce joins them moments later.

“Good work,” he says, and Tim frowns. He opens his mouth to object, but Bruce goes on, “Alfred, we ran into Jonathan. He invited us for lunch.”

There’s a pause, then Alfred says, “I’m afraid I will have to decline the invitation, Master Bruce, if you want these papers filed by day’s end.” Tim’s stomach drops as he suddenly remembers why they came to Kansas in the first place.

Bruce actually hesitates for a moment, frowning, then says, “I’m sorry, Alfred, but the sooner they’re filed, the better. As much as I hate to deprive you of Martha’s meatloaf.”

Alfred heaves a sigh with what sounds like genuine regret. “As you say, sir. I will drop the three of you off and then drive to Keystone and-”

"What's in Keystone?" Jason asks.

"A friend," Bruce says, and smiles slightly. "Someone who can get the papers back to my lawyers in time for filing with the court."

"I'll need to notarize your signature in a few places before I go, Master Tim."

“...of course you're a notary. The papers - they’re about me?”

Bruce nods. “A petition for emancipation,” he says simply. “I want to your parents' stipulation filed before your mother has a chance to discuss the matter with her lawyer.”

For several long seconds, Tim can’t speak. He’s certain the man must be joking, but he can’t fathom why. As he stares at Bruce and Bruce stares back and it starts to sink in that the man is serious, Tim stammers, “Y-you convinced my mother to emancipate me? How?”

Bruce smiles then, a small, dangerous smile. “I told her and your father that, if they didn’t, they would be in a position to be tried for neglect.”

“But-” Tim shakes his head. “You mean, because of the times they went on trips? I wasn’t alone in the house, Mrs. Mac-”

“You were living on your own for months,” says Bruce gently. “That alone would be enough to convict them.”

“But,” Tim says again, some part of him wondering why he’s so intent on defending them, “that wasn’t their fault. I tricked them, made my mom think I was staying with my dad and my dad think-” he stops, because Bruce is shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter. It would be very difficult for them to spin this in a favorable light. They moved away from Gotham and left you behind. That's a lot easier to prove than the nature and extent of your deceit. And you're still a minor - until we get a judge's signature. Good thing I've been so politically active lately, haha.”

Jason snorts at the 'Brucie' voice, but Tim just swallows, leaning back in his seat, staring at nothing. “She’ll fight. She hates being thwarted.”

“She’ll lose,” says Bruce with unshakable certainty.

“Checkmate. Oh god.” Tim closes his eyes. “She’ll never speak to me again.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Silence descends on the car, making Tim open his eyes. Bruce is staring at him with concern. “They’re not filed yet,” he says. “We don’t have to-”

“No! No, I- This is good. This is.” Tim stops and takes a breath. If they could have somehow made his mom think it was her idea- but things are already in motion, they can’t be changed now. It’s done. And it’s probably for the best. His mom won’t be able to take him away, won’t be able to make him do anything he doesn’t want to...actually, she probably won’t want anything to do with him. “This is good,” he says again. “I'll sign the papers.”

“I doubt she’ll want to cut ties with you completely,” says Bruce, his tone mild, “as long as you continue to associate with me.”

Tim feels his mouth fall open. It’s true. There’s no way his mom will sacrifice a potential connection with one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, no matter what her personal feelings may be. Once the situation of Tim’s status is settled, once she calms down and sees that it’s useless to fight, she’ll undoubtedly try to make nice.

“Besides which, I’m sure your father will be eager to have you visit any time you like.”

Tim looks down, hiding a grimace. It’s not that he doesn’t love his father - he does. It’s just that, he never knows what to say to him, and it invariably ends up unbearable and awkward. “Yeah, I guess he will,” says Tim. He feels bad - Bruce has gone to all this work, gotten him everything he could have asked for, and somehow Tim still feels oddly unhappy. “I can’t thank you enough,” he says. “You didn’t have to do this for me. I’m grateful. I-”

There’s an arm slung about his shoulders, and he’s pulled against Jason’s broad chest. “How is it,” says the older boy, “That you ended up so great with parents like that?”

He wants to object, to say that he’s not great, he’s not anything, but instead he finds himself saying, “It wasn’t always so bad.” He presses against Jason, feeling his strength and warmth. “My mom wasn’t always so,” he closes his eyes again, “so selfish. My dad wasn’t always so, I don’t know. Oblivious, I guess. They...when I was younger, things were better. When I started getting older and the business started taking off, they went away on more and more trips. Like I was telling you earlier, when they came home, they would get increasingly snappish and miserable. Things would get worse and worse. I used to think.” He swallows. “I used to think it was me.” Jason’s arm tightens even more. “It wasn’t until recently that I realized that they spent most of those trips apart. My father would go to whatever archeological dig he was working on, while my mother would handle the meetings and contracts and business dealings for the company. It wasn’t until they came home again that they would have to spend time together, and then they’d start fighting again. They really just didn’t belong together. My mom seems happier with Jeff. It’s probably a good thing they got married-” Even if Tim didn’t figure into her plans as more than a prop. Suddenly he wonders who did give her away, since Tim had been “unavailable”.

Tim opens his eyes to see Bruce unclasping his cowl and pulling it over his head. When it’s off, he sets it aside and starts removing his gauntlets. Tim supposes he should change out of uniform, too, but he kind of wants to stay Robin for a little while longer.

“I meant what I said earlier,” says Bruce, changing the subject. “Both of you did very well today. That woman likely would have died if you hadn’t been there.”

Tim scowls. “We didn’t do anything,” he says, more bitterly than he means to. “If it hadn’t been for Superboy-”

“Superboy?” The word is quiet, but something about Bruce’s tone makes Tim look up at him. The man has gone still, one gauntlet half-off. As they watch, he starts to draw it back on. “Superboy was there?”

“Yeah,” says Jason. “He got rid of the cargo after that old guy said it was explosive and wouldn’t let us get near it. He got the woman out of the truck, too.”

“I see.” Bruce starts putting the other gauntlet back on. “I suppose that explains the destruction of the cab. I’ll want a full report later, but I’m afraid that this means we’ll have to attend dinner in uniform.”

Alfred makes a small, disapproving noise at that, but Bruce doesn’t seem to hear it.

Tim glances up at Jason. Jason looks as confused as he feels, so Tim opens his mouth to ask Bruce who exactly they’re going to be eating lunch with. Before he can speak, though, Alfred says, “We’re here, sir,” and brings the car to a stop in front of a big, pleasant-looking farmhouse.

Tim closes his mouth, shrugs at Jason, and follows Bruce - Batman - out of the car.

* * *

If Batman looked out of place on a country lane, he looks alien next to the old farmhouse, Jason thinks. It doesn’t seem to faze him, though - he just lifts a black gauntleted hand and raps on the wooden part of the screen door. Jason catches a whiff of something that smells delicious.

“Come in!” calls a woman’s voice, not even checking to see who they are first, and Batman opens the screen and gestures to them to precede him. Jason hears the sound of Alfred driving away behind them.

Without hesitating, Batman turns left.

Jason hangs back to whisper to Tim. “What’s going on?”

Tim just shrugs. “I have no idea,” he whispers back. That makes Jason nervous. Throughout all the weird things that have happened to them - from the first time Batman picked them up - Tim always knew what was going on. Sometimes it drove Jason a little crazy, but at least Jason knew that one of them understood what was happening.

But now...even Tim doesn’t know, which is in itself pretty weird. Tim glances around at the neatly arranged knick-knacks and the fresh flowers on a small table in the entryway, carefully wipes his feet, and follows Bruce into the kitchen. Jason sighs and follows Tim.

They end up in a kitchen, big and airy and full of sunlight. Jason sniffs appreciatively. It’s been a long time since breakfast.

An older woman is peering into an oven, but as they come in she straightens and closes it, wiping her hands on her apron. “Br- Batman!” she says coming forward.

“Martha,” he replies as she kisses him on the cheek.

“But why the uniforms?” she asks. “You know you don’t need to wear them here!”

Bruce clears his throat. “I wasn’t sure if you were expecting anyone else at lunch.”

“Just Superboy. He should be here any minute.”

Bruce nods. “Ah. We’ll want to stay in uniform, then.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “He’s a nice boy, Bruce!” Both Tim and Bruce tense.

“He’s...young for his age,” says Bruce.

She sighs and shakes her head, then turns to Tim and Jason with a warm smile. “And you are?”

Tim clears his throat and holds out his hand. “I’m Robin, and this is Bluejay.” The woman shakes their hands in turn.

“It’s very nice to meet you!” she says, beaming at them. “You must remind Nightwing to come and visit as well. We miss him.”

Jason glances at Tim, but Tim just blinks and says, “I’ll tell him, ma’am.”

“Oh please, call me Martha,” says the woman.

“Martha,” says Tim. He hesitates a moment, then starts, “So, how do you know-”

“I’m back!” calls a voice from the other room, and the door to the kitchen swings open with a whoosh. “Boy, that smells good. I took that stuff to the quarry like you said-” Superboy floats into the kitchen, still garish in his red, blue and yellow costume, and stops short in the doorway. “Uh-” he says.

“Superboy,” says Batman flatly, and the kid swallows. His feet hit the floor abruptly and he takes a step back.

“Uh, hey. I didn’t know- um.”

Batman doesn’t say anything, but he looms at the kid, and Jason kind of feels sorry for him. “Hey,” he says. “Thanks for your help back there.”

Superboy’s attention turns to him, and the kid grins, though he still looks nervous. “No problem,” he says. “I mean, that’s what we do, right?”

“Batman said that woman probably would have died without help,” says Jason, and holds out his hand. “I’m Bluejay.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Superboy, shaking his hand. “I’m Superboy. But, uh, I guess you knew that already.” He turns to Tim and holds out his hand.

Tim’s face is totally expressionless as he accepts the proffered hand and gives it a quick shake. “Robin.”

“Yeah?” Superboy looks impressed. “Cool.”

“Lunch is ready,” says Martha, and herds them, even Batman, toward a table set for six. “Jonathan!” she calls. “Lunch!”

Jason hesitates. He doesn’t like to leave Tim alone in weird situations, but Bruce is there, and Superboy seems like a good guy, and Martha seems nice enough, so when he doesn’t sit down right away and she says, “Did you need something, dear?” he nods and quietly asks where the bathroom is. “Down the hall and to the left,” she says with a smile, and for a brief moment she somehow reminds him of Rosa.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and adds, “Be right back.”

After he does his business - which is kind of a pain in tights, there’s gotta be a better way - and he’s heading back to the kitchen, something catches Jason’s eye that makes him stop short in the middle of the hallway.

The wall is lined with photos on either side. Jason turns and looks more closely at them. Most of them are of a dark-haired boy with younger versions of Jonathan and Martha. The boy grins out at the camera, his expressions seeming to range between a bright grin and wide-eyed delight.

Slowly, Jason turns back to the first photo that jumped out at him. In this one the boy’s grown up, and his face is...familiar.

Jonathan comes down the stairs and into the hallway. He stops next to Jason, looking at the photo. “That’s our son, Clark,” he says.

Jason just stands there gawking. Finally he manages to blurt out, “You’re Superman’s parents?”

He’d known the reporter from Kansas gig was a cover, but he hadn’t really thought it was more than that.

Jonathan looks surprised, then chuckles. “Batman didn’t tell you?”

“No! He didn’t tell us anything!”

“Now isn’t that just like him,” says Jonathan, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s have some lunch. Trust me, you don’t want to miss Martha’s meatloaf.”

Jason follows Jonathan into the kitchen, still feeling stunned, when something else occurs to him. This is probably the first time he’s figured something out before Tim.

He feels his mouth stretch into a grin as he takes his seat at the table.

Tim is sitting there stiffly, not making eye contact with anyone but occasionally darting a glance over to Batman. He looks as awkward as Jason's ever seen him.

"So how do you get to be Robin?" Superboy is asking as he forks mashed potatoes onto Tim's plate. Way more than Tim is ever likely to eat, so Jay will just have to steal some so they won't go to waste. "You Batman's kids, or..."

"That's confidential," Tim says, in his weird, flat "Robin" voice. Jason snorts and plops down next to him, letting the side of his calf press casually against Tim's leg. It feels good, with the tights. Almost as good as skin.

As he's loading up his plate, he leans over casually to grab a roll from the basket, watching Tim from the corner of his eye, “Thanks for having us to lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Kent,” and feels a warm glow of satisfaction when Tim drops his fork with a clatter.

“You’re quite welcome, Bluejay,” says Martha, unfazed. “Please, do call us Martha and Jonathan.”

Jason just nods and smiles and takes a bite.

It is good meatloaf.

DCU FIC: New Kings Among Runaways, Family Vacation, Tim/Jason

iesika — Thu, 16 May 2013 21:57:20 GMT

Hello, everyone. First, a PSA - If you can't post to LJ right now but you are not on one of the affected clusters, it is because you have posting access to a community on one of the clusters and LJ doesn't know what to do so it's freaking out.

There's a work-around for this - post using semagic or another client, which is what I finally figured out to do to get this post out.

Now, for the good stuff.

It's only been two years since the last update to Kings Among Runaways ^_^; Hopefully the length of this one will make up for it? A little? If anyone is still interested... Unfortunately, the length and LJ's post limits means this is broken into two sections.

This story is also available on AO3.

They're in Bruce's private jet - though not one of the the private private jets... This one's got a big WE logo painted on the side. The cabin is probably meant for about fifteen, but there's only the two of them in it. Jason's beside him despite all the empty seats, trying to pretend like he's asleep. Tim takes his hand - gently enough that he can preserve the illusion if he wants.

It's Jason's first time in an airplane. Tim had thought Jason was going to vomit, when they'd first lifted off, but wonder had taken over by the time they got far enough up to stop seeing individual people on the ground. Jason had been thoroughly bored by the time they crossed the Mississippi.

It could be a metaphor, really. Bruce's intervention in their lives, bringing them to the manor... Jason had been positively sick with fear. He'd tried to hide it, of course. He always does, when he's afraid. Tim's not sure if that's a holdover from his life on the street or something deeper about Jason, but it makes him lash out at things that frighten him.

Sometimes that means Tim. But...he thinks they're mostly over that now. They're past the moment of liftoff, and Jason isn't just letting Tim hold his hand so that Jason can quietly steady himself. Jason's never really going to be sappy, but... He's sweet.

Even when he was fighting for their lives every day, protecting them both behind a shield of bravado and the threat of violence... he's always been sweet. Sweet to Tulio, sweet to Rosa, and even sweet to Tim. So sweet to Tim, now that he's stopped fighting their attraction. As long as no one else is looking. Tim smirks down at him and bends his head to kiss him on the cheek.

Jason's face twitches slightly, and his breath hitches, but he doesn't open his eyes. Maybe he really is asleep then. Tim carefully disengages their hands and leaves their little couch, headed for the galley.

It feels strange to be walking freely about the small aircraft, even though Bruce's piloting is so smooth that they might as well be parked on the runway. Tim had flown a few times with his parents, always first class, or business at the worst. Still, this absolute freedom... Tim could do a cartwheel in the wide aisle if he felt like it. He could go sit in the cockpit. Bruce would probably show him the controls, maybe let him play copilot. It would give him something to focus on that wasn't the looming specter of the American Midwest.

Alfred is making coffee when Tim steps into the small galley. He always seems to read Tim's mind, anticipate his cravings. Sometimes he wonders if the old man is a telepath. There are weirder things out there. Tim needs to get used to factoring for them. "That smells amazing."

"Of the many benefits of avoiding commercial flight," Alfred says as he pushes down on the plunger of a small French press. "...avoiding commercial coffee is not the least." He pours the coffee into three cups, drops two spoonfuls of sugar into one, stirs it, and hands it to Tim.

Heaven in a cup. There was a time, not too long ago, when Tim would sometimes walk half a mile from their squat for the free coffee in the lobby of a branch bank. Alfred's coffee doesn't belong on the same planet as that memory. Tim blows on it, too hot to drink, and just breathes in the smell of it. "Thanks, Alfred."

"My pleasure, sir." When Alfred says things like that, he always sounds like he really means it. Unless he sounds like he's laying into Bruce for bad behavior. Tim can't help smiling, despite his nerves. The china cup, warm in his hands, is a comfort. Alfred's smiling eyes are even more so.

They stand there companionably waiting for their coffee to cool. Alfred spoons sugar into the third cup, tops it up with milk... Bruce and Jason, somewhat ironically, prefer their coffee the same way. Tim's not sure who the cup is for. "Do you really think she's going to let me go?"

The words spill out before Tim knows they're even in his mind. It's possible that's because he's been thinking of little else for several days now.

Alfred takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes closed in appreciation, or maybe thought. "I think," he says, setting the cup carefully aside, "that Master Bruce will assure that you have the best life possible, with the kind of care that you deserve."

Tim swallows. That was pretty politic, even for Alfred, but Tim thinks he can read the meaning under it.

If his mother wants him to stay...Bruce might think Tim should.

Well...crap.

Tim doesn't doubt for an instant that if he runs away again, Jason will come with him. They've come that far, at least. What he doesn't know is what will happen if Bruce makes Tim stay with her. Would Jason stay with Bruce in Gotham? Would he bolt? Would he find a way to get to Kansas. Maybe...maybe Tim could make a condition to his cooperation - he won't run away again if Bruce sets Jason up with an apartment close to his mother's house? Gets him into Tim's school?

They've agreed that Jason won't be there when he meets his parents for the first time in most of a year. It would be hard to explain. She might blame the other boy, somehow, for getting Tim into trouble... no. Better to keep him clear of things until Tim knows what the outcome will be. If she won't give up custody, if she tries to press some kind of charges, better for her never to know Jason's role in things.

Tim almost certainly shouldn't tell her that he's homosexual.

"Master Timothy," Alfred says, interrupting his thoughts. When Tim looks up from the dark mirror of his coffee, the man's eyes are soft, understanding. "Perhaps you could take Master Bruce his coffee while I finish preparing lunch."

A distraction, just when he needs it most. An excuse to invade the cockpit. A reason to talk to Bruce.

Alfred probably is telepathic.

"Sure," Tim says. What he means is 'thanks.' Alfred inclines his head as if he'd heard the word.

Jay is snoring slightly when Tim walks past. He pauses and sets the cups down while he finds a blanket to cover him with, and then he carries them up to the front of the plane, knocking with his toe at the base of the open door before slipping inside. Bruce looks up from the instrument panel as Tim enters, giving him - or perhaps the cups in his hands - a slight smile. "I thought I smelled coffee."

Tim slips into the copilot's seat and hands Bruce his cup. Apparently flying a plane does not require the use of hands, because Bruce sort of leans back in the seat and breathes in over the cup before taking a sip. Tim mirrors him, watching the stick move without guidance. "Autopilot?"

"Mn." Bruce agrees. He communes with his coffee for a little while. Tim sits there, staring out at the blue, blue sky, unsure what to say.

What finally comes out...he wishes he could take back.

"Not all parents are good parents." Tim doesn't turn his head, so he's not sure if Bruce is looking at him or not. He can feel his face heating, but he's already committed, so he plows on. "I know yours... I know it might be hard. To, um, put yourself in my place. And you probably think I'm...ungrateful, or something. I know...I know you must wish you could get yours back."

Bruce isn't saying a word. Not even one of those enigmatic humming sounds he likes so much, the ones that Tim's noticed himself starting to use. Which of course drives Jason absolutely crazy...

Tim...looks.

Bruce is watching him. A movement catches Tim's eye, and his eyes dart down to where the milky liquid in Bruce's cup...shakes. It's barely perceptible, and over quickly. Tim doesn't know what it means. He tries to read Bruce's face, but the man is like a wall. He's pretty much the expert at poker faces.

Until, suddenly, he isn't. Bruce's eyes go soft, and he shakes his head, his lips curling into a slight, rueful smile. "I'm aware that parents are fallible, Tim. I don't expect them all to be perfect. I know that yours haven't been."

Tim swallows. "But you want me to give them another chance."

"I want..." Bruce pauses and sips his coffee, dragging the motion out to give himself time to think, to phrase. "I want what's best for you."

A sudden flash of anger burns its way through him, and Tim has to set his cup aside so that he doesn't spill hot coffee on himself or crush the fragile china. "And you don't think I can judge that for myself." It comes out bitter, hot, louder than he'd intended. "I've been taking care of myself just fine for months. I've been - I thought you were going to treat us like adults? You offered us training. You said we're almost ready to start working the streets. You- I don't understand! How you can say that, and do that, and still think I can't make this decision for myself?"

Bruce's eyes are steady on him, soft, still, but unreadable. He sits quietly until Tim's breathing calms, until Tim starts to feel queasy in the passing of that wave of sudden fury and hurt.

"On the contrary," Bruce finally says. He takes another interminable sip of coffee. "The purpose of this trip is to allow you to make that decision. You, Tim. Not the boy you were a year ago."

Tim blinks. He feels his lips part. "Oh." He looks down, staring at the floor.

Bruce sets down his own coffee and reaches out to lay one big hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim glances up at him. Bruce opens his mouth as though to say something else, then closes it, smiling ruefully. He gives Tim's shoulder a little squeeze and lets go. "Why don't you go wake up Jason? We'll be landing soon."

Tim nods and beats a hasty retreat.

Jason's yawning and blinking when Tim comes back through the door to the main cabin.

"Hey," says Tim. "Want some coffee?"

Jason stretches, arching back until his shirt rides up and his joints pop. Tim watches, letting himself be obvious about it, earning a smirk. "Nah, thanks. I'm good."

Tim shakes his head. "I don't know how anyone could say 'no' to Alfred's coffee."

Jason just grins and shrugs, scratching the back of his head and yawning again. "That's - ah - more your thing than mine."

With a nod, Tim settles next to Jason on the couch. "We'll be landing pretty soon. We should probably fasten our seatbelts." Jason's brows draw together, his shoulders tensing a little. "Ah...I think you'll find landing even easier than taking off. Especially with Bruce flying. He's an excellent pilot."

Jason's expression turns thoughtful. He glances at Tim, then gets up and crosses the cabin to settle into his seat and fasten his seatbelt. Tim takes the seat next to him and fastens his own.

"You've flown a lot, huh?" Jason's staring out the window.

"Uh...a few times. My parents used to travel all the time." Tim's quiet for a moment. Jason knows he ran away when his parents got divorced, but there's a lot Tim's never told him. He takes a breath. "Most of the time they left me at home. It was...kind of a pattern. They'd take a trip somewhere, for a month or two. When they came back, they'd both be in a good mood, cheerful and pleased with themselves and each other. After a week or so, though, they'd start fighting again. After two weeks they would be sniping at each other constantly. After about three weeks, they would leave on another trip, and...I was usually glad, by that point. It was always kind of a relief." He slides his eyes sideways. Jason's not looking out the window anymore, but he's not looking at Tim, either. He's staring straight ahead, frowning slightly.

"When I was twelve, they took a trip to Haiti." Tim closes his eyes. "They were kidnapped."

Jason jerks next to him. "Holy shit!"

Swallowing, Tim goes on, "The police tried to track the ransom, but..." he shrugs. "Nobody heard from my parents for about a month."

"So...you were all alone?"

"It wasn't really any different from what I was used to, except I didn't know if they would be coming back."

There's a long moment of quiet between them. "And your parents...?"

Tim opens his eyes and focuses on the back of the seat in front of him. "It took them a long time to make it back. By the time they did... their company was going under, partly because of the bad publicity, but mainly because that's where the ransom money came from. Dad poured their personal savings into trying to save it but..." He shakes his head. "They lost everyth-" He stops himself and looks at Jason for a moment before correcting himself. "They lost a lot. No real income, and all their property got foreclosed on. Things got messy. My Mom..." he thinks back to her coming home late from a party, giggling and tipsy in her designer dress while Tim ate ramen noodles and went over his notes on the latest sightings of Batman and Robin. "I think she didn't want to admit it was all over."

Jason's quiet, listening. He's got a sort of...puzzled look on his face, like he can't quite understand the story, but Tim can tell he's trying. He forgets, sometimes, what different worlds they come from.

"They lost their jobs," Tim says in summary. "Lost all their money, went into debt. Mom found some guy who would buy her nice things." Jason grunts. That sort of thing is familiar at least, Tim supposes. "Dad pretended not to know about it, but he found a job in Europe and never said a word about mom coming with him. And then they split up, and I pawned the last of my camera equipment and took off. It didn't even seem like a hard choice, at the time - just something I had to do."

Jason looks serious. "You know that's not normal, right?" Tim's heart starts to flutter in worry, but Jason goes on. "They must have been terrible, if you wouldn't stay with them."

Tim shakes his head. "They weren't that bad. They never hit me, or anything. They never even yelled at me."

"Because they weren't there," Jason says. He squeezes Tim's hand, and there's a...hard sort of light in his eyes. It makes Tim swallow and look away. "It's probably a good thing Bruce wants us to wait for you. I'd hate to have to punch your mother in front of you."

Tim can't help the sharp laugh that bursts out of him. "Jason!" He swats him on the arm. Jason turns, grinning at him, and then his face goes rigid as the jet starts to descend more rapidly. Tim holds onto his hand. "Hey. I have an idea."

"What?" Jason says, and if Tim didn't know him so well, he probably wouldn't have heard the tension in his voice.

"Bruce is flying. Alfred's buckled up in the back." Tim leans a little closer. "Kiss me. Until we land. Just kiss me."

Jay takes a deep breath, looking at him with his eyes unguarded. He leans to close the distance between them, pressing his lips softly to Tim's.

It's another fifteen minutes before they land. Bruce takes them down so smoothly that it's not until Alfred clears his throat behind them that Tim realizes they're on the ground.

***

Tim would have expected to catch a taxi, or maybe to head for the rental car counter. Instead, there's a car waiting for them on the tarmac. Alfred just nods once at the driver, and the man steps away from the car and lets Alfred take his place, engine still running. Bruce puts his hand on Jason's shoulder to stop him from getting in until Alfred gets out of the car again and opens the door to the back for them. Tim's not sure if it's part of the Bruce Wayne act or just security procedure.

The ride is quiet, tense. Tim sits with his knees together, hands in his lap, staring down at the torn cuticle on his right thumb. Jason is next to him, shoulder against Tim's despite the wide back seat, which probably means he's not buckled in. Tim's too grateful for the touch to lecture him, and anyway, the road is mostly empty.

They pass an occasional farmhouse or barn, most of them a little run down, some of them just abandoned. Occasionally they see a group of men working in the morning sun. Tim can't imagine his mother living here.

The houses start to get closer together after a little while, and he realizes they've got to be approaching a small town. Tim feels sicker and sicker the bigger the houses get. This was what his mom had talked about. Land was so cheap out here, she could have the house of her dreams, big enough to throw parties and fill with all her antiques. And there was Jeff's new job, of course.

Tim can't even remember what his mother's boyfriend does for a living.

"Maybe I should go with you," Jason blurts into the silence. Tim is too surprised to say anything, but he turns to look at Jason, who is biting his lip and searching Tim's face. "Seriously, Tim, you don't... you don't have to do this by yourself."

"Jason," Bruce starts to say from the front seat, "we all discussed-" but Jason just talks over him.

"You don't have to do this at all. I still don't get why you couldn't just dye your hair or something, get some glasses-"

Tim cuts him off with a hand on his arm. "I'll be fine." When he says it, it starts to become true. It's more important to reassure Jason right now than it is to fall apart quietly in his seat from an overdose of nervous tension. "We're going to end up on the news or something eventually. People are going to take our picture. We're going to start school. Bruce has people working for him that used to work for my parents. Wayne Enterprises pretty much ate the R&D department. Someone would recognize me sooner or later."

"Superman puts on a pair of glasses and nobody knows who he is," Jason argues.

"There's a change of context," Bruce says. "Clark Kent is a reporter, with a relatively unknown face. Tim would be going from one prominent Gotham business family to another. That makes it much harder to hide in plain sight."

"I still think you could have done something!" Jason insists. "You're good at disguises and things. You could make him a new name and everything-"

Tim squeezes Jason's shoulder and turns to him, putting his other hand on Jason's thigh. "It doesn't matter. I need to do this. I have to. If I keep hiding, running away, I'll be hiding forever." He realizes the truth of what he's saying even as he hears his voice shaping the words. "I've been worrying every day that they'd find me and make me go back. And if I get found out now, Bruce will be in a lot of trouble. They might even charge him with kidnapping. It would be way more attention than he needs."

"Fuck that," Jason snaps. "He loves attention."

"-the wrong kind of attention, then."

He hears Bruce laughing, and turns to the front, to see Bruce watching him in the mirror. "Tim," he says his smile fading. "Don't worry about me. Jason's right. If you don't want to do this, we'll find a way to deal with it."

Tim stops to think, looking up periodically at Bruce's eyes reflected in the mirror, over to Jason frowning beside him. "No," he says. "No, I need to do this. I need to see them. To say goodbye, if nothing else."

"I could still go with you," Jason says, sullenly.

"Then who would help me with the bags?" Alfred pipes up suddenly. He's been so quiet that Tim had almost forgotten he was present, even though he was driving the car. "Master Jason, I am very, very old. Surely you won't leave me to haul your suitcases up the stairs on my own."

"You got them in the car just fine, you manipulative old-"

"Jason!" Tim says, scandalized, but he can't help smiling. In the mirror, Bruce's eyes are sparkling.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred says primly.

***

The house is...well, it’s huge, of course. But more than that, it’s ostentatious. Which isn’t actually a surprise, Tim supposes.

He can feel Jason tensing beside him. The other boy leans across him to peer out the window, tilting his head back to stare up at the house.

Tim tenses, too. In Jason’s world, people that came from houses like this were either the enemy, or someone to be taken advantage of...or both. They still are, in many ways, for all he’s living in a mansion himself these days.

Tim knows that Jason doesn’t class Tim in with the...the kids born “with silver spoons up their asses”. It doesn’t change the fact that Tim *was* one of those kids.

Jason draws back and wraps his hand around Tim’s, squeezing it.

Tim takes a breath and makes himself relax. “It will be all right,” he says, answering the unspoken question in Jason’s eyes. He leans forward and kisses Jason, quick and light and daring, then lets go of his hand and opens the door before Jason can react.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he hears Jason say just before the heavy door closes, its mirrored windows cutting them off from each other and leaving him facing his own reflection.

I know, Tim thinks.

He walks up to the door - it’s a huge, double door in an ornate style, and pushes the doorbell, Bruce a reassuring presence at his side.

A distant chime rings out. Moments later, a woman Tim doesn’t recognize answers the door. She nods and gives them a small smile. “Just through here, please,” she says politely, escorting the two of them through the wide front hall and across the marble floor. There’s no sound but the quiet tapping of their shoes as she leads them to a large wooden door and swings it open, gesturing for them to precede her inside.

Tim steps into the room, his feet suddenly sinking into the soft pile of the carpet. The room is a study - his mom’s study, he decides. He recognizes some of the pieces on the desk and shelves.

Also, his mom is sitting behind the dark wooden desk.

“Tim.” She rises and comes over to him. She puts her hands on his shoulders and looks down at him for a long moment. He forces himself to look back, to meet her eyes steadily. After perhaps ten seconds of this, she pulls him against her in a hug.

Tim stiffens, unsure. She smells like her favorite perfume, and the cold metal of her necklace presses against his skin. “Thank goodness you’re all right,” she says, and then, “How can we ever thank you?” She releases Tim and turns away, all her attention now focused on Bruce Wayne. Tim takes a step back as Bruce steps forward, shaking his head.

"It was the least I could do, Janet."

A voice to his left calls his name quietly, and Tim looks up to see another occupant of the room, one he hadn’t noticed before. If this were a test of his observation skills, Tim thinks distantly, he would have failed.

His dad comes forward, and then Tim’s being hugged again. He hardly has time to register the impression of his father’s suit before he’s let go, his dad looking down at him seriously. “Are you all right, son?”

Tim swallows. He manages a nod, and a relatively normal-sounding, “I’m fine, dad.”

His dad sighs. “What made you pull such a stunt, Tim?”

Tim looks at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not.

He's been in the same room with his parents for all of a minute and he's already back to keeping secrets.

“Well, it’s over now. You can come home.” Tim glances up at that. His father isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s frowning a little and looking at the wall. “My flat is pretty small, but I’m sure I can find something-”

“What are you talking about?” his mom cuts in. “Tim’s going to live here, with us.”

His father looks across at his mother. “What? You can’t be serious.”

His mom’s eyes narrow. “And why not?”

“Janet, if he’d wanted to live with you, he would have come with you in the first place.” His dad’s voice is almost pleading.

“Well, he’ll want to now,” says Janet coldly. “We’re going to California next week. And the week after that-” she hesitates for a moment, then goes on, “South America! He always wanted to come with us on our trips, and now he’s old enough to take care of himself-” she smiles down at Tim, “unless of course he wants to stay in the house on his own. We can put in a darkroom for him. And I know when I was a teenager-”

Jack looks at Tim a little helplessly. “But wouldn’t you rather come to Europe with me?” he says. “I know you don’t know the language, but-”

“Jack!” Her tone is annoyed.

It’s all so familiar, and at the same time, utterly surreal.

“Coffee, anyone?” The door swings open and a man comes in carrying a tray laden with a pot, cups and a tray of expensive cookies. He’s tall and blonde and good-looking in a movie-star kind of way. Tim only met him a few times before... before.

“Jeff!” Janet’s voice is still exasperated, but now there’s a warmth to the tone. “I keep telling you to leave that kind of thing to the maid.”

“And I keep telling you,” he says, putting down the tray and sliding an arm around her waist to casually kiss her on the cheek, “that we don’t need a maid. We’re hardly ever even here-”

“You knew I liked to travel when you married me-”

“Married?” The word is out of Tim’s mouth before he can stop himself, and then he wishes he could take it back as all their eyes turn to him. “You’re...” He looks over at Bruce. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” says Bruce, his voice subdued.

"No, I - " It shouldn't be such a shock. His mother had been with Jeff for... well, he isn't sure how long. Probably at least a year and a half? They'd been living together for nine months or so. There's really only one thought in his mind, now, and it comes out before he can stop it. "When? I talked to you in November, and you never mentioned..."

He knows his mother. He knows she and Jeff didn't have a whirlwind weekend in Vegas. She had probably started planning the wedding before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, and she'd never even once mentioned it to Tim.

"Valentines Day," Jeff says with a warm smile down at his new wife. Tim has to remind himself that it would be wrong to label the man as an idiot just because he's missing some of the undercurrents here. His mom must be feeling it, though, because she's watching Tim now instead of looking up at her new husband.

Can't let a little thing like a missing son ruin all that planning. They'd probably already paid the caterers.

"I was going to ask you to give me away," his mom says softly. "Before-"

"Before you noticed I was gone," Tim says. How like his mom, to plan on Tim’s presence at her wedding but not actually bother to discuss it with him. He shakes his head, turning to look at Bruce. Something tightens just slightly at the corner of the man's eyes. It's that more than anything else that makes him realize he's made the decision he needed to, today.

Jack’s voice is harsh. “So you’re planning on dragging Tim with you on your extended honeymoon all over the world?”

Janet raises an eyebrow at him and leans into Jeff’s side. “As if you didn’t have that pretty little French girl-”

His dad’s face turns a dull red. “She’s hardly a girl, she’s older than you!”

“Well thank you for the compliment-”

“She’s a Professor of-”

“I’m sure she’s very accomplished-”

“At least I waited until the papers were signed!”

“So!” Jeff’s voice cuts through the bitter words. “It's good to see you again, Tim.” He steps forward and holds out his hand. A sudden silence envelopes the room as Tim’s parents very obviously remember that he’s there.

Tim shrinks in on himself a little more, then makes himself meet the man’s eyes and shake his hand.

“I know we’ve met before," Jeff says, "but that was awhile ago.” He gives Tim a small wink. “You want to go out back and toss the ball around, get to know each other a little while we let these two fight things out?”

Tim blinks. It takes him a minute to realize that the man is giving him an out. “I-” he says, then stops. The instinct to escape, to flee, is strong. “Thanks,” he says, and means it, “but I’d better wait until they figure out who should get me.” His mom will probably win. She almost always did. On the other hand, once in awhile his father would be stubborn and dig his heels in-

“Well, which one do you want to live with?” Jeff asks, his tone reasonable.

The question catches him off guard. He looks up at the other man, startled. “What?”

“Which one do you want to live with? With your dad in Europe, or with your mom and me?”

This is it. Tim looks up at him and takes a breath. “I...Neither. I want to go back to Gotham.”

The room goes silent.

“I - I have friends there. People I care about. People that...care about me. Gotham is...my home.”

The words sound thin in the silence. It goes on for another several moments. Tim holds Jeff’s eyes, not daring to look at his parents’ faces. Jeff looks surprised.

“Absolutely not.” His father’s voice is angry. “You’re our son, Tim. We love you. You can’t just-”

“Your father’s right,” his mom cuts in. “As much as we appreciate Mr. Wayne taking you in-”

“Mom-”

“You need to come home, Tim. You’re our responsibility. You-”

“Dad-”

The last time he remembers them fighting like this - one of the very last times they’d fought, as far as he knows - they were arguing about who would HAVE to take him. Tim gulps back the hysterical laughter that wants to rise to his lips and looks at the floor.

“Tim.” Bruce’s voice is gentle. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car? I have a few things to discuss with your parents.”

“Or I can give you a tour of the place,” adds Jeff. He leans forward and adds in a stage whisper. “We can get into your mom’s stash of Ben and Jerry’s. I won’t tell if you won’t.” His breath smells like onions.

“I...” Tim looks at Bruce. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather wait in the car.” He turns away from them, from his mom and his dad and Jeff. Bruce follows him to the door of the study and opens it for him. For a brief moment, his hand is on Tim’s shoulder, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. It’s all done with such swift grace that Tim’s a little in awe. The other three people didn’t even notice.

Tim stares up at him and Bruce gives him a small smile before shutting the door and leaving Tim standing alone in the huge, empty hallway.

He really needs to see Jason, right now.

* * *

Continued...

DCU FIC: Irresistible (4/?), with glymr

iesika — Sat, 04 May 2013 22:47:11 GMT

And it's not even pornday.

Title: Irresistible
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Tim, Dick, Bart, Cassie, Kon
Pairings: Tim/Dick, Tim/Bart, Tim/Kon/Cassie
Rated: Smut
Authors: glymr and iesika
Summary: Tim never realized how much losing his virginity would change things.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

When Tim wakes up, his cheek is pillowed against Cassie's breast in a puddle of warm sunlight. It feels so nice that he decides not to move, even though his arm is asleep.

The second time he wakes up, someone is petting his ass. That's nice, too, so he snuggles down against his breast pillow.

"-kinda can't believe this actually happened," Kon is murmuring. His hand strokes up from Tim's ass, along his spine, and back again. "I never would have thought either of you would go for this. Never thought he could be like that, so open and...just...god."

"Are you complaining?" Cassie's voice is rough and low from sex and sleep, and it's that as much as Kon's fingertips on his thigh that makes him groan and start to wake up properly.

Kon's hand disappears as soon as he opens his eyes. "Mm," Tim grumbles as he kisses Cassie's right nipple good morning. "I want waffles."

"Unf," Cassie grunts. "Gods, yes. I'm starving." She yawns and stretches, squeaking slightly in the back of her throat. The motion makes her breasts shift enticingly and Tim forgets about waffles to shove his face between them.

Cassie laughs, making her sternum flutter under his lips. Her fingernails scratch lightly over his scalp, and then she pushes at him. "Food first, and I need a shower." She stretches again and Tim raises his head to watch her. "And a back rub or something." She smiles up at him. "Bring me breakfast in bed and I'll let you pour syrup anywhere you want."

Tim sits up and starts looking for his pants.

“Is this... going to be a thing?" Kon asks, sounding strangely tentative. He sits up, too, and the sheet falls away to puddle on his thighs. "Like, all three of us?"

Tim tears his eyes back up to Kon's face. "God, I hope so." He licks his lips. "Can I blow you again while the waffles are cooking?"

Kon's eyes widen, but he gets up. Once he's reasonably dressed, he bends to kiss Cassie. She's fallen back to sleep, though, so he ends up just brushing his lips over her cheek.

The tenderness of the scene makes Tim's stomach tighten. "Or I could blow you first and then we could make waffles."

"Guh," Kon says, straightening up to stare at Tim with eyes glazed faintly pink. "I. Jesus. Don't think I'm saying no, here, but we need to talk before we do anything else."

Trying not to roll his eyes, Tim turns and heads for the door. "About what? This doesn't have to be awkward unless we make it awkward."

"Yeah, but is this like... you moving into our room, or us just doing this all together sometimes, or is it okay to do it with just you while Cassie's sleeping, or what?" Kon follows him out into the hall, keeping his voice hushed. "Are we going to tell people?"

"This can be whatever you want, Kon. I love you." Kon sucks in a breath, and Tim turns to smile at him. "You're my best friend. And I love Cassie, too. But I know you're happy together, and if you don't think this should happen again, I won't push-"

"I didn't say that," Kon mumbles. He steps closer and reaches out slowly, fingertips brushing Tim's cheek. His hand is warm, hot even, and Tim turns to push his face into the touch like a cat as he narrows the gap between their bodies. "God, now that I know what you're like- fuck, Tim, I wanna do you all the time. That's kind of the..." Kon stops mid-sentence and closes his eyes, swaying slightly in place.

"As long as Cassie's okay with it, I don't see a problem here, Kon," Tim says, smiling. He steps back, starting to walk backward toward the kitchen and hoping Kon will follow. It will just be more efficient to fuck in the kitchen while the food is cooking, so they can get back to Cassie faster and get a head start on thoroughly ruining the sheets. If he asks nicely, maybe Kon will fuck him while Cassie rides his face-

Kon takes a step toward him, and then stumbles.

Tim freezes. "Are you okay?"

"I dunno," Kon mumbles. "I feel weird. Last night got me all...off balance, I guess."

Kon really looks distressingly wobbly. Tim watches as Kon puts a hand to his head, still swaying in place. "Are you sick?"

"Can't be. I don't get, like, Earth diseases." Kon waves the idea away with the hand not pressed to his temple. "I'm just tired or something. Heh. You guys wore me out, I guess."

"Tim!" There's a rush of air, a blur of motion, and Tim is being pressed against the wall with Bart's tongue in his mouth. "Mmph, I waited forever for you to wake up. Completely patient. I need a reward."

Before Tim can answer he's being kissed breathless again.

"...dude!"

Tim shivers under the onslaught of Bart's lips and tongue and wandering hands, grasping at Bart's ass for something to hold onto and trying to get a little oxygen as Bart starts to hump his thigh. "Oh," Bart says suddenly, which gives Tim the chance to suck in a breath. "Thank you for the cookies." He presses his mouth to Tim's and buzzes all over, making Tim's teeth rattle and his cock spring to full attention. After a second or two of that, Bart gasps and shudders to a stop, leaving a hot, wet spot on the hip of Tim's pajama pants.

Tim can kiss him better now, with the first rush of urgency past. He cups his hand to Bart's neck to hold him there so that Tim can suck his tongue.

And then Bart is abruptly gone.

"What. The fuck. Is going on?"

Tim opens his eyes to see Kon holding Bart several feet off the floor. He's staring at Tim, though, with his "shit-has-hit-the-fan" superhero game-face on.

"Way to be a giant cock-block," Bart grumbles, struggling against his hold, his pants around his ankles.

Later, Tim will be ashamed that this was what it took for him to realize something strange was going on.

This has to be the most awkward meeting that has ever taken place in Titan's Tower. More awkward than "I knocked up a supervillain." More awkward than "On Earth, we tend to cover certain parts of our bodies in public." Probably more awkward than, "Batman fired me," but Tim's not entirely sure about that one.

"It could be like Poison Ivy," Kon is saying. "Maybe we were exposed to something yesterday?"

"I don't think I was exposed." Vic is leaning against the far wall - the furthest place he could possibly be leaning, actually, without leaving the room. He's got his hand on Gar's shoulder, as if he doesn't trust him not to get close enough to be contaminated.

"Do you still have all the parts, though?" Bart asks. "Or is that one of the bionic pieces?" He looks...entirely too intrigued by the idea.

Tim reaches out and gets his hand around Bart's wrist just as Bart starts thrumming, forestalling closer investigation. It might not have been so bad if Tim could stop where his own imagination was trying to take him after that question. "If you haven't already been exposed, I think the two of you should leave the room. We can have this conversation via the video communication system."

"About that," Gar says, and coughs. He looks at Vic's hand. And then he looks at Bart.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Kon shouts, throwing up his hands. Vic jumps away from Gar at the same time, looking down at his robotic arm and flexing his fingers.

"Tim was asleep!" Bart protests.

"I'm going to go disinfect," Vic mutters.

"And I was really curious!"

Gar is rubbing the back of his neck. He's flushing darkly, and it looks...really nice on his green skin. "He was definitely 'really curious.'"

Tim has to shake himself, then, for more than the flush disappearing down Gar's throat. 'Curious' could imply...so many things here.

"I can't believe you had sex with Bart," Kon mutters from his chair in the corner. "Either of you! That's just-"

Tim loses his grip on Bart's wrist as he zips over to stand in front of Kon, hands on his hips. "Finish that sentence."

Kon blinks and swallows and seems unable to say anything, his eyes fixed on Bart as he stands over him.

"For the record," Gar says as Vic slips out of the room, "...he can vibrate. All over."

Kon continues to look a bit like he's staring at an oncoming train. "Um."

"Blame and recriminations later," Tim interrupts, because he's pretty sure if he doesn't get things under control this is going to end in some kind of orgy. "So does everyone agree that the symptoms started after the battle yesterday?"

There's a chorus of agreement from the guys. Cassie shakes her head, though. "It started Friday, when we got here."

Tim turns to look at her. She's been much quieter than the boys, sitting near Kon with her fingertips against her lips and listening while the rest of them talked. "Do you think the tower itself is contaminated somehow?"

She shakes her head and bites her lip. Tim really, really wants to go over there and bite it for her. That would probably be counterproductive, though. "No. I think. I think it started when you got here, Tim."

The words hit him like a blow. He's not sure it's intended as an accusation, but that's how it feels. Everyone has turned to stare at him.

"Did you do anything weird this week?" Gar asks. "Out of the ordinary weird, I mean. Fight any magic villains, or I don't know, Superboy could have been right about Poison Ivy."

"No," Kon says, "This isn't like Ivy. It's more like... I don't know, Knockout. Or-"

"Nightwing," Tim says, feeling something tighten in his chest. "I had sex with Nightwing. Monday, after patrol."

It's quiet for what feels like a full minute, and then Bart clears his throat. "So, is that a normal thing for you, or..."

"No," Tim interrupts. "No, it. That was the first time I ever...did that. With anyone." He thinks back to his perfect whirlwind week, all the wonderful sex, all the time he's gotten to spend with Dick, who's usually so very busy. "That's when I... I mean, I thought it was...normal. To want it so much. After that."

"Tim..." Cassie says, sounding tentative. "Were the two of you exposed to something that would, ah, cause you to act irrationally, or..."

"I don't know," Tim says, and he hates how his voice sounds. Was everything that happened between them, everything Dick said over the last week, a symptom of some kind of poisoning or curse? Is the only reason Dick ever touched him because he was drugged?

"I don't blame you, man. I'd do Nightwing," Bart says. From his tone of voice, Tim can tell that he's trying to be helpful. "He's fucking hot."

Gar...coughs again. "Flexible, too."

Tim sits down and puts his head in his hands.

“H’lo?”

“Dick, it’s. It’s Tim.”

“Hey. Having fun?” The words are innocuous enough, but the warm, intimate note that creeps into his voice makes them something else. Something private.

Tim swallows. “Dick, we need to...I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

God, Tim doesn’t even know what to say. “I-” He swallows again, takes another breath. “When you...when we...”

Dick waits patiently for him to go on before finally saying, his tone gentle, “When we what?”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, glad he told the others that he wanted to talk to Nightwing alone. “When we had sex last week - when you kissed me after patrol that night - did you, were you feeling...weird? Had you been, um. Exposed to something, maybe?”

“Exposed?” Dick’s tone is confused. Tim can hear him frowning. “Exposed to what?”

“Um. Ivy? Or...or someone like that?”

There’s a long pause. “Not as far as I know,” Dick says eventually. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I-” I just had sex with most of the Tower. “Why did you kiss me?” he blurts out.

“I...I just wanted to.” Dick sounds almost lost. “You looked amazing, and it felt right...Tim, what’s wrong?” There's a pause, and when Dick speaks again, his voice is very quiet. "You wanted it, too, didn't you? I didn't... I never wanted to push you into anything you-"

“No," Tim says quickly, "That's not it. I-” How can he even tell Dick? “I had sex with Bart and Kon and Cassie. Yesterday.”

There’s another long pause. “...So?”

“Don’t you think that’s just a bit...” Tim doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

“Are you feeling guilty? I *told* you, I wanted you to go have fun with your friends-”

“Dick-”

“It’s okay, Tim! When I was at the old Tower with my Titans, I used to-”

“Dick! That’s not what I’m talking about!”

“Then...what are you talking about?”

Tim blows out a breath and opens his eyes. Maybe he should have had this conversation in person after all, but he can't risk breaking quarantine. He gazes out the Tower window, staring at the city beyond the water. “Look,” he says. “I’m not...I’m not acting like myself. It’s not just the sex-” Well, okay, it’s mostly the sex. “I’m not...noticing things I should. And it started.” Tim makes himself say it. “It started after we had sex that first night.”

"I knocked you off your game?" Dick's tone is obviously joking, but under it, Tim thinks he sounds worried. “It's only been a week, though. Maybe you're just tired? Or maybe you're coming down with something? I don’t know what to tell you, Tim. I feel normal. I feel fine.”

“Have you been...” Tim hesitates. He's not sure if he's got the right to ask.

“What?”

“Have you been having sex with anyone else?”

“Just Kory. Oh, and Roy, we just-”

”Dick!”Tim interrupts. If Dick gets going about threesomes and redheads, Tim will get distracted by phone sex and never figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

“Are you jealous?” Dick’s tone is mildly surprised.

“No!”

Well, maybe a little. Despite the fact that it makes him the most awful hypocrite on the planet. “I just. When we. When we...” Tim sinks down, leaning back against his bed. “I-”

"Tim...seriously, are you okay? You can tell me anything."

Can he, really? What if he fixes whatever happened to him and Dick doesn't want him anymore? But it would be wrong to keep putting others at risk because of something so selfish...

"Something's wrong," Tim blurts. "I'm turned on all the time, now, and I thought it was just because I've been around you all week, but it...it isn't just you, anymore. And whatever's wrong with me, I think I passed it to Bart, and Kon, and maybe Cassie. And Gar, I guess- I mean, I didn't - Bart slept with Gar. I didn't."

"Nothing wrong with it if you did. There aren't a lot of ways to experiment with consensual bestiality-"

"Dick!"

"I'm listening, I promise. You really think you're being affected by something?"

“I. I think I must be. I’m not acting like myself. I’m acting like...” you. He stops short, then says quickly, “It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with being...being...”

“Horny?” supplies Dick, amusement creeping into his tone again.

“Promiscuous,” Tim snaps back, then adds more quietly, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, Dick. But something’s wrong with me. And. And the others think so, too.”

The frown is definitely back in Dick’s voice. “Really? This isn’t just...” He trails off.

“It’s not morning-after regrets,” says Tim. "And I think it's communicable. You should isolate yourself and send me blood and semen samples. Warn Starfire and Arsenal as well."

"Jeeze. Are you sure-" Dick sounds worried. Maybe Tim's seriousness, his worry, is finally getting through.

"Wouldn't you rather take the precaution? If you can get samples from them, too, that would help. I can run ours against the blood samples on file to see if anything's changed. If there is, it gives me something to look for with the others, to see who's infected."

There's silence on the other end for a long moment, and then Dick sighs. "Yeah. Okay. I'll go tell Kory and Roy we need to lock ourselves up and masturbate for science. Keep me posted?"

"Of course," Tim says, because even if Dick isn't an epidemiologist, he's got a good scientific background, and he's not an idiot. He might have insight that could be useful. "Oh, and Dick - "

"Yeah?"

Tim swallows. "I think I am going to need a list of your sexual partners. Just. You know. In case." Not that he's looking forward to seeing all the names laid out like that, with his tacked on to the end like an afterthought.

Monthly well-check blood tests, tests after significant blood exposures, after knife wounds, after they get vomited on, after chemical and biological weapons exposure, after every trip to space and fight with aliens - when Alfred lands the jet on the roof and drops off the little vials and slides Bruce has been keeping in the cave's cold storage rooms, he leaves behind several stacks of insulated crates. Tim waves at him through the window before he takes off again.

Tim has Kon help him get the crates down to the lab, but he has to throw him out again when they end up dry humping each other against the workbench. Alfred sent along a consolatory tupperware of cookies with the biological specimens, so he at least has something to give Kon in exchange for the help and the fresh stain on the front of his blue jeans.

Time to start gathering data.

Tim starts with a drop of his own blood under a light microscope, because you should always start with the obvious. He's hoping for something visible - an amoeba, a bacterium, even ruptured cell fragments or deformed cells that might indicate a viral infection. Nothing shows.

There's an immune response of some kind going on, though. Kon and Gar have significantly elevated levels of interleukins 2, 3, and 12, indicating that they're responding to some kind of infection. Tim's own blood is showing just enough interleukin 12 to make him consider the connection, even though it’s still within normal levels. Bart, Cassie and Vic come up clean. Interesting. So Kon and Gar are showing an immune response - and maybe Tim was, but he fought off the pathogen? If that's the case, Bart could have completely cleared the infection by now, with his accelerated metabolism. Was Cassie never infected? Tim did have pretty close contact with her. On the other hand, she’s technically a demigod, and Tim’s not sure exactly how that affects someone’s immune response.

One of the nice things about being a superhero with virtually unlimited financial backing and access to both alien tech and some of the best computer programmers on the planet - there's basically no end to what one can do through sheer brute force computing. He'll run whole-genome sequences of the samples - all the samples, including the ones from Bruce's storage. It will take time, but he's borrowing computer power from several satellite batcaves, Barbara's back-up systems, and a bit of what the Watchtower can spare. Once he's got actual data to work with, he'll be able to run comparisons. Six billion letters of code to work through for each sample, and hundreds of samples, but he has time and processing power. He'll be able to find the pattern. He can figure this thing out. He can-

Bart's arms are wrapped around his waist. Tim straightens up from the stance he'd adopted at the amplifier and feels the grip tighten. There's an erection pressed against Tim's ass. "I thought I locked the door."

"Gar-threw-me-out," Bart says, as if that's an explanation, the words coming out as one continuous whine. "And Kon got-tired and held-me-down-and-fell-asleep and then-Cassie-tied-me-up-but-I-got-away."

Tim presses his palm against his face. This is his fault. His carelessness. His inability keep his goddamned pants on in the face of Bart's warm skin and deft fingers, which are currently working their way under his lab coat.

"Stop brooding," Bart growls against his ear. "You can brood after you fuck me, and then I'll help you with the science until Kon wakes up."

Well. Tim should be taking periodic breaks anyway, shouldn't he? To prevent eye strain.

Or something.

DCU FIC: Flannel Over Silk

iesika — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 01:45:15 GMT

Title: Flannel Over Silk
Author: iesika
Fandom: Pre-boot DCU
Characters: Tim Drake and Dick Grayson
Note: A short piece for mithen, who gave me an invitation to AO3 so I wouldn't have to wait for ever and ever. <3 Thank you!
Prompt: Dick/Tim fluff or h/c, flannel sheets

Tim's sheets back at his parent's house are plain white cotton. The sheets on his bed at the manor are silk, and probably very expensive. Mrs. Mac changes his sheets every Monday, and Alfred changes the ones at the manor every Wednesday and Sunday if Tim has been napping or sleeping over there, folding them into crisp hospital corners. The sheets at both houses are always clean and always smell faintly of detergent or fabric softener.

Dick's sheets are soft blue cotton flannel, and he probably hasn't changed them in weeks. They're wrinkled, one corner pulling up from the bottom, and faintly stained with old blood from the last time Dick had stitches to pull. They smell like him, like his bodywash and his sweat, like kevlar and ozone and chemical smoke and just a little like sex, and Tim doesn't want to be anywhere else in the world.

Tim burrows down face-first into the pillow and breathes deeply. He doesn't get this chance often. Dick would probably be willing to put up with Tim sleeping over more often if Tim asked, but...he can't. Right now he's only here because his parents are out of town again and they were up fighting crime until dawn. After scrambled eggs and toast eaten in half-uniform, Dick gave Tim the first shower and insisted Tim take the bed. Tim has been laying here for almost ten minutes listening to the sound of Dick's humming and the faint patter of the shower through the wall beside his head.

It's nice. Comfortable. Dick is right there, on the other side of the wall, and his smell is all around, and the sheets are warm and soft, and Tim is only a little bit hard. Eventually Dick will come out of the bathroom and crash on the couch, and in a few hours they'll wake up and maybe order a pizza and lay around for a few more hours before Tim has to go back to Gotham.

The water cuts off, but Dick keeps singing softly, the sound only stopping to be replaced with toothbrush noises. A few minutes later, Dick comes into the bedroom in just a towel (draped unhelpfully over his hair), and puts on a pair of boxers from a basket by the closet door. Tim feigns sleep to watch him from his nest of warm sheets and blankets, lids barely parted. In the dawn light, he watches Dick run through a few simple stretches, twisting his spine and rotating his arms in his shoulders.

Tim is something of an expert at birdwatching, and to him the motions look...not quite right. A little too stiff. Not quite the right range of motion. He sits up in the bed, letting the blankets fall down to his lap. "Rotator cuff?"

"Nah," Dick says easily, rolling his shoulder. "Just the trap. I kinda strained it a few days ago. It's fine, just a little stiff after all that linework."

Tim frowns. "Why did you challenge me to play tag if you had a pulled shoulder. That was unnecessary strain."

The shrug Dick gives him isn't as fluid as Tim is used to. "Having fun with you is never unnecessary. We don't get to play enough."

"We can play when you're better," Tim insists, though the simple way Dick says that is making him warm inside. "Here-" He kicks the sheets aside and swings his feet out of the bed. "I'll take the couch. You're hurt."

"Not enough to <i>matter</i> Dick argues, but he comes over to the bed anyway and sits down. Tim is about to get up when Dick catches him around the waist, pulling him along as Dick lays down. "We'd both fit."

It's a terrible idea. Just laying in Dick's sheets was enough to give Tim's penis ideas. There's no way that the two of them sharing a bed for the entire morning won't result in utter embarrassment. But Dick is warmer than the sheets, and he smells good, and the skin of his back is soft and smooth under Tim's hand.

"You smell good," Dick mumbles against Tim's throat. The vibration of it makes Tim's whole body quiver just slightly.

"Okay," Tim says. They're turned awkwardly on the bed, and his feet are still sticking off of the side, and Dick is on top of most of the blankets, but Tim doesn't want to move. After a bit of wrangling, he at least gets a layer of sheet over their legs. By that time, Dick is snoring faintly, still half on top of Tim.

In a few hours, Dick will wake up and hopefully pretend not to notice that Tim is hard. Tim will probably have dozed off at some point in between, and he'll be comfortable and warm and wrapped up in Dick's arms. Maybe Dick will fumble on the nightstand for his phone and order that pizza, and they'll fall back asleep for half an hour to be wakened by the knock on the door.

Maybe Tim will be groggy enough to confuse reality with a very good dream, and lean up to kiss Dick softly on the mouth. Maybe Dick will kiss him back.

It's a good dream. Tim closes his eyes and drifts off, his breath slowing to match the rise and fall of Dick's chest against his side.

AO3 invitation?

iesika — Fri, 23 Nov 2012 07:46:36 GMT

Anyone have a spare invitation for AO3? The queue is long... I have a long weekend ahead of me so it would be a good time to tackle uploading my stuff.

I wish they had the option to donate a certain amount and get an invite code. I think a lot of people would be willing to pony up to skip ahead in line.

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 3/3)

iesika — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 01:53:54 GMT

Title: Never a Hero
Author: iesika
Fandom: DCU
Rating: Mild
Pairing: None (unless you squint)
Summary: Sometimes, if a man is lucky, he gets a second chance to do the most important thing he's never done.
Notes: This is for floranna, who's been unbelievably patient. I'm sorry this took so long, and I hope it was worth the wait. This was written with utter disregard for continuity beyond about the start of Red Robin, which is when I stopped reading new DC comics. Thanks to kirax2 for a great deal of inspiration and repair work, and to batstalker for title help.

Part One here.
Part Two here.

He doesn't actually fall asleep when Superboy leaves. Instead, he ends up staring at the bunk above him and thinking about the things he's learned.

Dana is dead.

That's the one he keeps coming back to. Dana is dead, and Tim is another man's son. Jack...doesn't know what to do with that.

He gets up after a while and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He puts too much ice in it and ends up giving himself a headache.

He can see a light under Tim's door when he passes it, so he knocks. "It's open," Tim calls in his new, too-deep voice, so Jack lets himself in.

Tim's room doesn't look like a dorm room. It looks like a laboratory office that happens to have a bed in the corner, full of computers and scientific equipment. Tim is in pajamas with his back to the door, hunched over a desk spread with papers, and strangely enough, potsherds. He stiffens and turns when Jack steps inside and shuts the door. "Oh, hi. I thought you were Kon."

"That's Superboy?" Jack asks.

"Oh. Yeah. KF doesn't knock and Wonder Girl doesn't come in my room anymore, so I thought it was him. Weren't you tired?"

Anymore? Jack has a few stern, parental feelings, then decides not to think about it and shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep."

Tim smiles just a little. He hasn't shaved yet, and there are shadows under his eyes that Jack doesn't like. "Yeah, I know how that goes." He gestures toward a very expensive looking ergonomic office chair that matches the one he's sitting in.

Jack sits down and tries not to bump the microscope by his elbow.

"Since you're awake, we can start setting up your new identity," Tim says after a moment. "You're legally dead. You can't go back to Gotham. You should think about where you'll want to live."

"With you," Jack says without having to think about it. Even if he could step back into his old life, his old house and job, he'd rather be where his son is, especially with Dana gone. "Or nearby, I guess, if that cramps your style." Tim's all grown up now, after all, with girls that don't come in his room anymore and everything. College age. "You're not in school, are you?"

"Ah..." Tim looks sheepish. "I dropped out."

Jack hurts a little for that. Tim's always been so smart. There's a part of him that's always wanted to see Tim fall for the academic world Jack had to give up when Janet's little business venture took off. He shrugs, though. "You can always go back. What university did you-"

"No," Tim says, cutting him off with an embarrassed flush. "High school. I left in the middle of senior year. There were things I had to do."

Jack opens his mouth. Shuts it.

"I've got training equivalent to a few master's degrees, Dad. Everything but the paperwork. Stop making that face."

"Sorry," Jack says, reflexively, and then, "you can't tell someone that at a job interview, though."

"I own Wayne Industries," Tim says, and it's time for Jack to be speechless again. "Well, the controlling share, anyway. It's a long story and it doesn't matter right now." He pulls a laptop toward himself and starts doing something on the computer. "Now where do you want to live? I'd love to put you in Kansas, honestly, but I remember you saying how much you hated Keystone."

"I told you," Jack says, "I want to live near you. Where are you living?"

Tim blinks a few times as if the question has caught him off guard. "Nowhere," he finally says, and then shakes his head. "It wouldn't matter anyway. You can't live near me."

"I can't?" Jack frowns.

Tim's hands still on the keyboard. "You died because of me once already. Once you're recovered from your ordeal I'll set you up somewhere with a low crime rate that's also within the range of one of the faster heroes. Kansas would put you close to the Flashes and Superboy, and Superman has an investment there too. Or M'Gann promised she'd watch out for you if you want to go to Australia. You always liked Australia."

"No," Jack says. "I want to be where you are. If you're traveling, I can travel, too. I've missed far too much of your life to-"

The laptop hits the wall and bounces back, clattering across the desk and to the floor. Jack almost bites his tongue from the shock, but it's the anguished look on Tim's face that makes him shut up. "You're not going to see me again!" Tim says, sounding close to tears. "You're going to be somewhere I'll know you'll be safe, whether you like it or not. I'm giving myself forty-eight hours before I send you away."

"Tim..."

"Don't try to argue with me! You - you don't have any other options, okay? You're legally dead. You've got no money, no credentials, no connections, nothing. I'm. I'm going to put you somewhere safe and you're going to stay there if I have to refit the League's old moon base!"

Jack swallows. Swallows again. "Was Dana somewhere safe?" He asks quietly.

Tim goes white. "Dad... I'm sorry. I swear, I thought she'd be-"

"I'm not blaming you," Jack interrupts, quickly. He scoots his chair closer so that he can put his hand on Tim's arm. "I'm not. But Tim, bad things happen to the people we care about even when that's got nothing to do with somebody being a superhero. I could walk out there tomorrow and get hit by a bus-"

"No."

"I could. Hopefully, I won't. Hopefully, I'll get nice and old and crotchety. And I pray to god every day that you will, too."

Tim's face crumples, but he lets Jack pull him closer as he starts to cry.

*

Jack doesn't go back to his room. When Tim finally cries himself to sleep, Jack tucks him into his bed and goes back to the desk to rest his head in his hands.

He feels like such a failure. Tim is obviously hurting, but there's nothing Jack can do about it. He doesn't know where he'd even start. He and Tim have always been so awkward around each other, even back when he'd still thought things were good. He's tried to be a good father, but everything keeps catching him off guard. It's never like the parenting books, or like movies or tv shows. It's never been anything like what he remembers from his own childhood, or the stories his friends told around the watercooler about their own families.

Tim has always been exceptional. Intimidatingly bright, and so strangely mature even from childhood. He'd never gotten in real trouble at school, always did his homework without being told, always made good grades. Never had a big party at the house while he and Janet were away, never talked back, never cursed or dressed funny or got anything pierced. He was...low maintenance. Like a cat, or something. The boy had potty trained himself, for god's sake.

Jack has always been proud of him. Burningly, fiercely, proud of him. He loves his son. He's loved him since the day that little line had shown up on the cheap plastic pregnancy test. Janet had wanted to - Well, she hadn't planned on having a child until the business was better established, and maybe not at all. Jack had argued and wheedled until she finally came around about keeping the baby, and he knows she was glad she changed her mind.

He's loved Tim more and more with every year that's passed, every change they've weathered together. His pride in his son has grown with every challenge Tim has risen above, every report card, every A+ exam, every... everything Tim has ever done, practically. But deep down, Jack knows...

He can't take credit. Jack had given Tim a safe home and a good school and all the material things a child needs to grow, but everything else...Tim has done himself.

It was always so shocking when Tim disobeyed him. Always something big, like running away from home for a month at thirteen, or leaving his family behind in Keystone to return to Gotham. Jack knows now why he'd done those things, of course. Tim had been doing the right thing, even then, with Jack not even knowing what the stakes were. He thinks maybe he still doesn't know what the stakes are.

But he wants to learn. He wants to get to know his son, for real this time. He wants to be the one Tim turns to when he has a bad day out there. He wants to know who Tim is running off to fight, and what he's saving the mere mortals from this time. He wants to help.

Which is stupid. Tim is surrounded by a network of people with superpowers and with minds like Tim's own, with training and discipline that might as well be superpowers all by themselves. And Jack is one old man whose greatest legacy is a handful of academic papers and a company he ran into the ground.

No. That's wrong. His greatest legacy is snoring softly a few feet away with his arm thrown over his face. He's kicked the covers away from his feet, so Jack gets up and tucks him in again. At least he can do that much.

He sits back down with a sigh and picks up the laptop from the floor. He's shocked to find it still running. He sits it down on the desk and opens it up, thinking to browse news sites or something, to refamiliarize himself with the world, but he doesn't recognize the operating system at all and can't even figure out how to get to the internet. He gives up after a few minutes and pushes the thing aside.

The potsherds catch his interest, and he plays with them for a bit, wondering why Tim has them. The pieces look like they were once Jōmon cordwork pots, probably two or three of them from variations in the glaze. When he turns over one of the pieces for a better look, his hand goes still.

There's a familiar stylized bat carved into it. Not after firing, like an ostrakon, but under the glaze, so that the fine scratches are smooth to the touch.

Hm...

He puts the sherds back where he got them from and starts looking around the mess on the desk for clues. Most of Tim's notes, if that's what they are, seem to be in some kind of code. He opens a waterproof plastic envelope and finds a Mayan codex inside, hand-painted on hunn bark-cloth paper, añil-blue and red, vegetable ink worn and faded where the pages have been handled for unfolding.

Jack frowns at the faded glyphs and illustrations, thinking. He opens Tim's laptop up again.

Yes, he was right. One of the open documents is a...rather poor attempt at translation. Jack looks back and forth between the page and the screen, but he can't figure out what Tim wants with this. Maybe he's tracking international antiquities thieves.

It's so strange, though, because Jack hasn't seen this codex before. There are only so many out there, and most of those in circulation are forgeries. This one, though... Jack hums to himself and digs in Tim's desk for a pencil. There's a box of latex gloves in the bottom drawer, so he takes a pair, and clears the center of the desk before carefully opening up the accordion-folded book.

It's just a fragment - a few pages, and mostly damaged. Most of it is completely illegible.

Jack gets to work.

*

"TimyourDad's- Oh, hi," Kid Flash says, waking Jack with a start. There's a piece of paper stuck to his face, so he peels it and puts it back with his notes, rubbing at his cheek in case the ink smudged. Tim is already on his feet and looking ready for a fight, knees bent slightly and his arms half-raised. "Sorry. I went to see if he wanted pancakes but he was gone."

Tim relaxes and slumps back down onto the bed. "No, that's - you did the right thing."

"So," Kid Flash says, "pancakes?"

"Did you make them?" Tim asks. There's an edge of humor in his voice that lightens Jack's heart a little.

"No, Cassie did. But I picked the berries. M'Gann reminded me they were in season in parts of the Southern Hemisphere right now."

"Oh, in that case, sure," Tim says, and flops onto his back, stretching. He turns to look at Jack. "Did you stay here all night?"

"Uh, yeah. Got carried away, I guess." Jack yawns and scrubs his face with his hands.

"With what? Ohhh, cool. Tim, you never told me you can read Mayan."

"I can't," Tim says, and sits up abruptly, looking serious. "Dad, that stuff is important, you can't-"

"I was careful," Jack assures him. He'd put the codex back inside its plastic sleeve before he'd fallen asleep over his notes. "What is all this, anyway? A bat symbol on ten-thousand year old pottery, a Mayan codex about Camazotz and medicine..."

"What?" Tim says, eyes wide and jumps up to stand next to him, leaning over Jack's shoulder.

Jack thumbs through the pages in front of him. "It's some kind of myth about the bat god teaching the people about healing herbs. Tree bark for fevers, that kind of thing."

Tim's face lights up in sheer delight and he starts laughing. Kid Flash looks as startled as Jack feels. "Oh god. Oh -"

"What's going on?" Superboy says from the door, sounding wary. Maybe he thinks Tim's snapped.

When he's done wiping his eyes, Tim turns to grin at him. "Apparently Bruce invented quinine."

Superboy seems to knows what this means, because he barks out a laugh. "Well, fuck, he would, wouldn't he. You pin him down?"

Tim turns back to Jack quickly, looking eager. "Could you get a date from that? A location?"

"Ah...very generally. Tim, what's going on?"

"Batman's lost in time," Kid Flash says matter-of-factly. "Tim's trying to find him. If he can get the time and place right, I can use the Cosmic Treadmill to go get him and bring him back."

Everything falls into place in an instant, and Jack knows what he has to do. "What else do you have?" he asks. "Do you have more clues?"

"Yeah," Tim says. He straightens up and turns to look at Jack, and it's clear he's making the connections too. There's something bright and hopeful in his eyes, under the exhaustion and the frown-lines on his brow.

"I could help you," Jack says. "I mean, I know Mesoamerica better than anything else, but I know people all over. Specialists in just about everything. I can send you to the right people. Hell, I know a guy in Dresden who would kill for the opportunity to properly date that codex for you."

"Dad..." Tim says, with a sound in his voice that Jack hasn't heard since Tim was just a little thing. Since Jack could pick him up and make him fly.

"I'm going to help you," Jack swears. "We're going to do this. You and me."

The sudden grin that breaks over Tim's face is enough to make Jack feel like maybe he could fly, too.

*

The guard at the door doesn't so much as glance twice at Jack Draper's identification as he lets him through the staff door at the Royal Museum. "Doctor Verhoeven's expecting you," he says, and gives Jack directions to the man's basement office.

He hasn't been here in a long time. Hopefully no one will recognize him.

Verhoeven's office is small and cramped, in the way of curator's offices everywhere. There are books and papers and a computer so old that Tim would probably burst out laughing if he could see it. Jack adjusts his glasses and turns his head that way for a moment, just to be sure he gets the chance. "Good evening, Doctor," he says with a little bow when the man looks up from his work. "We spoke on the phone about-"

"Ah! Yes, yes, the artifact," Verhoeven hops out of his chair, excited to finally have someone interested in his pet project. His paper had been rejected during peer review, and if Jack's old email account weren't still getting digests from the review board, he's not sure they ever would have heard of it. The man has begun to develop an entirely undeserved reputation as a crackpot. Jack listens to him babble as he follows him down the hall.

"You were right, Dad," Tim says in his ear, sounding amused. "This was a better option than than breaking and entering."

"Or kidnapping," Jack mutters under his breath, since it's obvious Verhoeven is going to be much easier to get information out of than the objects themselves.

"Or that," Tim agrees. In his mind's eye, Jack can see him grinning as he crouches on the roof, watching the feed. It's so clear in his voice that Jack can't help smiling, himself. Verhoeven takes the smile for encouragement, and he's off again, talking about advancements in the dating process that helped him pin down the origin of the ornaments, and nevermind that no one's ever found para-aramid synthetics in an Adena burial mound before.

"This is all very exciting," Jack says, loud enough this time that Verhoeven can hear him. The man grins at him almost manically, bobbing his head in agreement. "I'm so glad to be a part of this research."

Tim's whisper in his ear is so soft that he almost doesn't hear it over Verhoeven's talk of Pre-Columbian textile production. "I'm glad you are, too, Dad."

Jack Drake has never been a hero, but sometimes, for a little while, every father gets to feel like one.

The End. I hope you liked it!

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 2/3)

iesika — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 01:48:44 GMT

Title: Never a Hero
Author: iesika
Fandom: DCU
Rating: Mild
Pairing: None (unless you squint)
Summary: Sometimes, if a man is lucky, he gets a second chance to do the most important thing he's never done.
Notes: This is for floranna, who's been unbelievably patient. I'm sorry this took so long, and I hope it was worth the wait. This was written with utter disregard for continuity beyond about the start of Red Robin, which is when I stopped reading new DC comics. Thanks to kirax2 for a great deal of inspiration and repair work, and to batstalker for title help.

Part One here.

He's not hungry when lunch comes, either, pacing around the cell as the servant comes in and sets the dishes down. The smell of garlic and lemon makes his stomach roil. He does drink some water, while it's cold, and then he covers the dishes so he won't have to think about food.

Knowing what al Ghul wants from him makes the situation a little more terrifying than it was before. He's having weird flashbacks, and he can't stop thinking of Janet. He's always done his best not to think about Janet - about what it was like there at the end. Jack mostly tries not to think about Haiti at all. When he'd gotten home, when he'd woken up, he'd thrown himself into his recovery, into his relationship with Dana, into being a better father. It'd been so awkward, getting involved in Tim's life, but he'd chalked it up to missing six or seven months. Dana had been so sure that he just needed to give Tim some time, to keep reaching out...

Why Tim, anyway? Jack knows his son is smart and strong, and... and a lot of things, but... well, not that much of it can be genetic, can it? Tim got his nose from his dad, his eyes from his mom, but he sure as hell didn't get his ...hero-ness from his parents. He learned that stuff from Wayne, and it's kind of stupid for al Ghul to think something like that would carry over genetically. If it did, Wayne wouldn't keep recruiting other people's kids - he'd just have some of his own.

He's been thinking that the worst thing al Ghul could do would be to kill him. Torture is a different kind of threat, and so is making him an accessory to his son's...to Tim's... rape. Just the thought is making him sick. He won't be the reason Tim gives in to al Ghul's crazy demands, that's for damned sure. He passes by the bed on his circuit of the room and grabs the jump rope from his pillow, tugging it between his hands and twisting, pulling at the handles.

This will hurt Tim, but it will hurt him less than the alternative. Tim is strong. He survived Janet's death, and he was just a kid then. He's almost a man now. He's a superhero.

And he has another father figure. The one he chose when Jack just...couldn't cut it.

He gets the handles off the rope and starts twisting the thing into a knotted loop. His hands are shaking, though, and it's not coming out right. He moves to the door, to tie the rope through the bars on the window, to anchor the loop - but just before he can do it he sees the servant coming back down the hall to get his dishes.

Jack jerks back and rushes to sit on the bed, shoving the rope under his blanket and picking up a book as the door opens. He doesn't look up as the man lets himself in, turbaned head bowed in humility. He can see the dark-robed figure at the edge of his vision around his book as the man crosses to the table and hesitates before stacking up the still-full dishes.

Maybe... maybe Jack can take him down. He can get the key. He can make a break for it. If he's killed in the attempt, so what? It feels a little less like giving up. Maybe he can take a few of the bastards with him, and Tim won't have so many to fight.

He reaches under the blanket and closes his hands around the rope, pulling it into his lap without looking up from his book. If he can get the guy from behind...

A warning klaxon sounds.

Jack jumps, eyes jerking toward the door. The servant keeps cleaning the table, head bowed. Jack glances at him for only a moment before moving to the cell door, looking down the hall to the guard station.

There's only one man there still on duty. Jack is just in time to see two more disappear around the corner. On the security screen is the familiar rocky beige landscape, with one significant difference. Wonder Girl is standing on the largest boulder, dangling three men in dark masks over the desert floor. She's shouting something, but if the video has sound, Jack can't hear it over the sirens. Superboy swoops in a moment later dangling someone by his wrists - someone in a red and black with a cape and cowl.

"...Tim..." Jack stares at the figures hungrily as Superboy flings his son into the middle of a crowd of gunmen. This is obviously a full-frontal assault, then. His son brought some big guns. He can't help grinning as he watches Tim brain someone with his staff and then turn to kick someone else in the stomach. It gets harder to see after that as the heroes and bad guys get closer to the camera, moving in and out of the frame. Jack finds himself biting his lip as he watches, his whole body tense.

Something hard presses against Jack's back, just between his shoulderblades. "Don't move," a gruff voice orders into his ear.

The servant! He'd forgotten that the man was even there. Jack resists the urge to turn around, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to curse at himself, instead, until he can't stand not looking at the screen anymore. Tim and the others are still fighting. There are far fewer bad guys on the screen, now.

The man behind him presses his weapon harder against Jack's spine, forcing him flat against the door. Jack slowly raises his hands and grips the bars, trying to show how very compliant he's being. "Not trying to go anywhere. I'm just watching the show."

He's expecting threats or demands. Maybe the man will move him to a new cell with more security. Maybe he'll tie Jack up, or make him go sit in the corner away from the door. He's not expecting the question that's growled in his ear. "What was the last thing you said to your son?"

The question catches Jack completely off guard. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember how he got here, or what happened the day before he was captured. He doesn't remember any of it.

But... something about the way the guy says it - "the last thing" - it reminds Jack of what he's been trying not to think about. Of the pain he'd woken to, days before, like his body was being torn apart and put back together. Of the dead taste in his mouth, and the things al Ghul had said about graves and worms and keeping people alive. Ra's al Ghul has beaten death.

Beaten death.

"I hope..." Jack chokes up, and holds on tight to the bars to keep himself up on buckling knees, watching Tim whirl with his staff in hand. "I hope I told him how much I love him. How proud I am of him." There's no response, so Jack adds, "If you have any ounce of mercy in you, you'll kill me now before they can use me against him. Please. If you have a kid, you've got to understand..."

On the screen, Tim spins, raises his weapon -

A bullet rips through Tim's shoulder. Jack can actually see the spray of blood. Superboy swoops in but he isn't quite fast enough, and two more bullets catch Tim in the stomach and in the thigh. "No!" Jack shouts. He yanks stupidly at the door, trying to get out there, to get to his son -

"Dad, it's okay." The pressure on his back is gone, and someone is pulling him backward by the shoulders, trying to pry him away from the door. The voice is still kind of rough, and a little too deep, but... but...

"Tim?" Jack can't believe it. He turns in place.

The man in front of him is too tall to be his son. He's got too much stubble shadowing his jaw. He's too broad in the shoulders and too lean in the cheeks, skin too tanned and chapped, eyes too old and tired.

"Oh my god," Jack says, and lunges forward to wrap his son in an embrace. "Oh my god. What-"

"It's okay," Tim says, squeezing him back with painful strength. "It's a diversion. She's fine."

Jack is so, so confused. "She?"

"I'll explain once we're out of here."

There's a sharp, startling breeze, and then someone else is in the room with them. When the blur comes to a stop, Jack realizes it's Kid Flash. "So is he the real deal?"

"Yeah," Tim says. Despite his outward calm, he sounds just as choked up as Jack feels. "Take him back to base and meet me in five for extraction."

"Got it," Kid Flash says with a sunny smile and a salute, and then before Jack knows what's happening, everything is a blur for something just less than a heartbeat, and he's standing in a kitchen full of shiny steel fixtures. "Welcome to the Tower! I'm really glad you're the real Tim's-Dad, because if you weren't I was going have to drop you off a cliff or something so Tim wouldn't have to fight you." Despite the smile with which the words are delivered, Jack finds himself shivering at the undertone of menace. "Makeyourselfathome, I'llbebacksoon!"

And then Kid Flash is gone, and Jack is alone, and still very, very confused. He decides that sitting down would be an excellent idea, and finds a dining chair to fall into.

There's a clock ticking somewhere in the room. It seems far too loud. Jack hadn't realized just how used he'd gotten to the silence of his cell.

Kid Flash blurs back into the room, sparks flying off his heels, and leaves Wonder Girl standing next to the counter island. "Tim says he's for real," he tells her, and then he blurs away again. Wonder Girl just...stares at him, her expression wary.

She's very attractive, though far too young for him to be thinking that. The look she's giving him is also kind of terrifying. He watches her reach to the side without looking away from him and grab some paper towels. When she rubs them against the backs of her hands, they come away red. "Hi," she says.

"Hello," Jack says back, and swallows. "Ah. Thank you for helping to rescue me."

She snorts and rolls her eyes, then walks away to the sink to wash her hands properly and splash water on her dusty face. "If you're a shapeshifter or a body snatcher, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Um," Jack says after a moment, because he can't think of anything else.

The woosh and crackle of Kid Flash's arrival is getting to be familiar. This time he's dragging Superboy along, and Superboy is carrying...

"Tim-" Jack says, and jumps to his feet, but the man in red and black sort of...shifts. Melts. And Superboy is setting a very green, very unharmed girl onto her feet. "Oh."

She's really rather pretty, too, in a Star-Trek-alien-princess kind of way. Jack is starting to have stern, fatherly feelings about all the times Tim spent the weekend at this place.

Jack's line of thought is cut short when Superboy stalks over to him and grabs him by the shirt, using it to lift Jack off of his feet until they're eye to faintly-glowing red eye. "I'm not a fake!" he shouts defensively, grabbing at the man's wrist and pulling, twisting, trying to get down.

"Put him down," Wonder Girl says, sharply.

"I want to hear it from Tim," Superboy says. And then he just stays...right there. Holding Jack up. Staring at him. Promising violence.

The woosh and crackle passes again, stirring Jack's hair. Superboy doesn't so much as blink.

"Kon, put him down!" Tim says, and then his hands are over Jack's on Superboy's wrist, and Jack is being lowered to the ground. He's not sure how they got so high up. "You don't think he's had a rough enough day?"

"Did you run DNA tests or whatever yet?" Superboy asks, still not looking away from Jack's face. Tim tugs at his hands, but Superboy seems determined to keep his grip on Jack's shirt.

Tim makes a frustrated noise. "Did I run any on you? I think I know my dad, Kon. Please."

The glow fades out of Superboy's eyes, and he stops looking like an alien and starts looking like some kid. He lets Jack's shirt go and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he steps away, toward where Kid Flash seems to be making sandwiches. "Sorry, man. Just...had to be sure."

"No hard feelings," Jack makes himself say. He realizes he means it. "Thank you for looking out for my son."

"Someone had to," Superboy mutters without looking up from the bread he's buttering. It's hard for Jack to be sure, since it happens so fast, but he thinks that Kid Flash elbows Superboy in the ribs.

"I'm sorry," Tim says beside him, sounding embarrassed. "Everyone's kind of grumpy, I guess. I've been dragging them all over trying to find where he took your- where he took you." Jack turns to stare at his son, trying to process the changes he's seeing. He watches as Tim wipes a smudge of soot from his cheek with the back of a gloved hand, looking down at the floor. It's such a...a young gesture, something he'd seen Tim do a hundred times when he was caught waiting up for his parents to get in from the airport. There's only one thing Jack could ever do back then, and it's the only thing he can do now.

He puts his hand on the back of Tim's shoulder and presses, putting his son closer as he steps forward and wraps his arms around him, holding on tight. Tim gasps and squeezes him back just a little too hard to be comfortable. The only sounds in the room now are the ticking clock and Tim's suddenly ragged breathing.

"Dad," Tim says. He sounds about twelve.

Jack can't help holding on a little tighter. "Thank you for coming for me," he says.

"God," Tim chokes, "how could I not? Ra's knew. He knew the perfect f-fricking bait. Dad, I missed you so much."

Jack looks up, over Tim's shoulder. Everyone has left the room but Superboy, who's leaning against the sink eating his sandwich and not looking directly at them. Jack decides that if Tim doesn't mind that the boy is there, Jack won't let it bother him. He presses his lips to Tim's hair and rubs his back. "I'm here now. Everything's okay, son. I'm here."

Tim sobs just once before going so quiet he must be holding his breath.

Jack just holds on.

*

He feels a lot better after a shower and a shave, and a change of clothes. Tim and Kid Flash give him a brief tour of the main parts of the tower - the kitchen, the common room, a gesture toward Tim's door, and finally an empty bedroom about the same size as his cell but furnished like an upscale dorm room, with bunk beds, a desk, and a bean bag chair. Superboy follows along just behind them, not saying much. Jack doesn't know much about the boy, but he has vague memories of him being a lot more talkative, on TV. Maybe it's a sort of stage persona.

After the tour, Kid Flash says something about pizza and vanishes between one blink and the next. Jack is exhausted, and the bed is all but calling his name, but he finds himself staring out the window. "Can we go out in the garden?"

"Oh! Of course!" Tim looks like he's mad at himself for missing something obvious. Jack finds himself wincing. "We can walk around to the other side of the tower, if you want, by the ocean."

Jack smiles, trying to be reassuring. "That sounds great. I always did like California. Your mom and I talked about moving out here, once, but she decided she couldn't handle all the hippies."

Tim chokes, as if his own laughter had caught him by surprise. Jack decides to count that as a victory. They take an elevator down to the ground floor, Superboy standing in the back corner of the tiny space with his arms crossed over his chest. Jack is starting to feel like he's being chaperoned, but Tim doesn't seem to mind the other boy's presence.

The sun is just starting to set when they step outside. They walk a curved path around the base of the tower, through grass and trees and flowers and other things that smell like heaven after several days in a closed cell with no way to bathe properly. He breathes deep of the green smells and the ocean breeze and feels a little bit more like himself again.

Once they get to the western side of the island, Jack finds a rock to sit on and watches the golden evening light dance and shimmer on the water. "It's beautiful here." He rubs at his arms as the sea-chill starts to sink in, but it's not enough to make him want to go inside again.

"You could live here," Tim says. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack see's Superboy's startled glance at them. "Not here, here, I mean," Tim corrects himself. “But, maybe California. It's a lot nicer than Gotham."

There's so much in that statement that leaves Jack floored. Al Ghul had said Tim wasn't Robin anymore, but... wanting to live this far from Gotham? Their home is there, and their friends, and Janet's grave. And... "Dana loves Gotham."

Superboy reacts first, his spine straightening as he turns to Tim who...just bows his head.

"What?" Jack asks. How long was he... stupid question. Tim is a grown man. "She moved on."

Tim shakes his head without looking up.

Something cold shoots through Jack. He rubs at the goosebumps on his arms and watches Superboy step closer to his son, until their shoulders brush. "I tried to find her," Tim says, and... he sounds almost exactly like he had when he broke the living room lamp playing superheroes, back before Janet had made him stop.

"I'll tell him," Superboy says.

"No, I should-"

"Tim."

"You weren't even there."

"It's okay," Jack interrupts, cutting into the argument. "I believe you. You tried. I know you tried your best." Dana is dead.

Dana is dead.

He'll never see her again. It's like Janet all over again, but it's also not, because-

He'd loved Janet. He had. She'd given him Tim and he will always love her for that, despite all the fighting, and the way they'd drifted apart over the years. But Dana had been his...his best friend. His partner.

"I'm tired," Jack hears himself saying. "Do you mind if..."

"No, of course," Tim says quickly, sounding relieved. "I'll-"

"I'll take him up," Superboy says. "Go eat something before you fall down."

There's a staring contest between the two boys that leaves Jack feeling like an outsider, but Tim eventually nods. "Goodnight, Dad. I'll see you in the morning."

Jack nods and watches his son walk away. Tim turns to look back once before he reaches the doors. Jack is both relieved at the reprieve and angry at this kid, this stranger, for putting himself in between Jack and his son.

"Let's go in, then," Superboy says, offering Jack a hand up off of his rock. "We need to talk."

Jack hesitates, looking up at the boy and remembering the way he'd been dangled earlier in the kitchen, and the way Superboy has been following him ever since he got here. "I really am Tim's father."

"I know," Superboy says. "That's why we need to talk."

*

"I don't suppose this can wait until tomorrow?" Jack asks as he watches Superboy sprawl in the beanbag chair beside Jack's borrowed bed.

"No." Despite his relaxed posture, Superboy's voice is completely serious. "Look, I'll be upfront here. Tim's an emotional wreck right now. A lot happened after you died. Bludhaven was utterly destroyed. Like, the crater is still radioactive."

"God," Jack whispers.

"That's where Tim's stepmom was. She had a breakdown after you died and Tim sent her to some place to get better. The whole city was rubble by the time the Titans got there. Superman put Tim in charge of evacuation and containment, but I know he went looking for his stepmom himself, because he's Tim." Superboy sighs and runs his hand through his short hair. "I wasn't there. I died the same day-"

"What?"

His shock earns a smile. "You and me are in the same club. I only got back a few weeks ago. Kid Flash, too. Tim's lost a lot lately, but he's finally getting people back. Things are rough, but I think they're fixable. Tim says Batman isn't really dead-"

"Batman's dead?"

"No. There was a thing," Superboy waves a hand like this isn't important. "Space tyrant. Superman says Batman died, but Tim says he didn't, and I believe Tim. Nightwing doesn't. He's Batman now, and he fired Tim as Robin and put the grandson of the guy who dug you up into the tights, so they're not really talking much. Tim was running around looking for the real Batman until he found out what the ghoul did."

He has been wandering the world, heartbroken, lost and alone.

"What...was that, anyway?" Jack asks. "It sounded like he wanted Tim to..." He can't finish.

"Marry his daughter and take over the family business, yeah," Superboy says with a shrug, as if that's perfectly understandable. "He's a creep."

Jack nods in wholehearted agreement.

"Anyway, if you've got questions about stuff that happened, ask me first. I wasn't here to keep the bad stuff from happening, but I can keep him having to live through it again."

Oh. Jack sits down on the bed and looks at the boy, who seems tired. When he's not flying and his eyes aren't glowing, he's just a kid. A good kid. "Superman raised you well."

Superboy snorts. "Superman didn't raise me. If anything, Tim kind of did. He's been the most solid thing in my life since I was eight months old. He's been there for me through...a lot. Anything I can do to help him, I'm going to."

"Thank you," Jack says earnestly. Tim's life will never stop terrifying him, but if Tim has people like this looking out for him, maybe he'll be okay.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," Superboy says, sitting up from the beanbag. "If you hurt him, I'm going to...to do really bad things to you."

"You said you believed me about really being me," Jack says, surprised.

"No," Superboy says, frankly. "I believe Tim. But if you're really his dad, that gives you even more power to hurt him than if you weren't. He told me a lot, after you died, about how lonely he was as a kid. He made it sound like it was because of something he did wrong." Jack swallows back an automatic defensive response. "And I saw him after you made him give up Robin, and after that got his girlfriend killed."

The shock is so intense, after learning of Dana's fate, that Jack finds himself speechless again. "Stephanie?" He manages, his voice a creak. She was such a sweet girl, if a little crass. Jack hadn't noticed that she wasn't coming around anymore until he hadn't seen her for months, and then it had been too awkward to ask Tim when they'd broken up.

"Oh," Superboy says, quietly. "I guess he didn't tell you."

"She-"

"She's back, too," Superboy says quickly, cutting him off. He hesitates, then adds, "you probably shouldn't mention her, though. It got ugly."

Jack puts his head in his hands. "Anything else world shattering I should know about?"

It's quiet for a long minute. When Jack looks up, Superboy has a strange, uncertain look on his face, like he's bracing for Jack to react badly. "His last name's not 'Drake', anymore."

Continued here.

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 1/3)

iesika — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 01:41:54 GMT

Title: Never a Hero
Author: iesika
Fandom: DCU
Rating: Mild
Pairing: None (unless you squint)
Summary: Sometimes, if a man is lucky, he gets a second chance to do the most important thing he's never done.
Notes: This is for floranna, who's been unbelievably patient. I'm sorry this took so long, and I hope it was worth the wait. This was written with utter disregard for continuity beyond about the start of Red Robin, which is when I stopped reading new DC comics. Thanks to kirax2 for a great deal of inspiration and repair work, and to batstalker for title help.

He doesn't know what's going on.

He's cold and he can't stop shaking, but his skin feels like it's on fire. There's an overwhelming chemical odor in his nostrils - something wrong that makes his skin crawl and his stomach churn. When he vomits, the liquid that comes up tastes like rotting. Like death. His lungs burn, and he coughs up something thick and terrible that burns like bile. He thinks there's something moving in it, and he ends up vomiting again, until there's nothing left.

His muscles are spasming painfully all over his body, but he can't make them move under his control. His spine hurts, nerves raw like the world's worth toothache, and he can feel the pain of it from his hair down to his toenails. Something is holding him down despite his convulsions, holding his arms and legs firmly in place. He can't move, but his muscles won't stop twitching.

He can't see anything - until he can, and everything is too bright, and his eyes burn. There are shapes moving around him, things being said, but none of it makes sense. It takes him a long time to figure out that the screaming is coming from him.

It takes a long time after that for him to make himself stop.

Eventually, though, he does stop, and there's nothing left inside him to expel. The voices around him still don't make sense, and he still can't move, but his skin only feels like someone had set him on fire instead of maybe doing that and then dousing him with acid.

Maybe he's gone crazy. Maybe he's dying.

"Quite the opposite, actually," a voice says nearby - a man's voice, cultured and deep - so maybe that means he said that out loud. He doesn't understand what the voice means. The last thing he remembers...

What is the last thing he remembers? Something... Something... Pain. Fear. Or maybe that's now? He remembers... the sound of someone's voice. Not this voice. It had been a young man's voice. It had been frightened. He hadn't wanted that voice to be frightened, so he... what?

Something...

What's his name?

Tim. That's the first name he thinks of. But it's not his, is it? It's someone. Someone... important. The most important person. If he can just remember...

If he can remember who Tim is, he'll remember who he is.

"You're really taking this remarkably well. I was a bit concerned. The process can be... rather stressful, particularly the first time. particularly for one so far gone."

That voice again, closer this time. "Where's Tim?" Where is he for that matter? He opens his eyes again, and they barely feel like they're on fire at all. He thinks the wall - or maybe that's the ceiling - is made of rough stone, like a tunnel or maybe a cave. The light is strange, greenish and shifting.

"In due time. I'm sure he'll be here shortly." The voice sounds amused, pleased. He tries to turn his head, but he can't move that, either. "After all, that was rather the point, wasn't it?"

The point of what? What the hell is going on? What is his name?

"There will have been sensors in the grave, of course, after that last...nasty business with the rings. I'll be quite disappointed if I'm not at the top of his list of suspects."

Grave? Rings? Suspects?

There's a mechanical noise, creaking and old-fashioned, and then he's tilting, head rising and feet falling, or maybe it's the other way around. The owner of the voice comes into view, tall and brown-skinned, hair thick and black but tinged with silver. Something about the man sets his teeth on edge. The man smiles, and it makes him think of sharks. "But forgive my rudeness. We haven't been properly introduced. I am called Ra's al Ghul."

Something about the name is familiar. He thinks...maybe he's heard it before. He doesn't remember meeting this person, though. He thinks the word "demon," and he doesn't know why.

"And now," Ra's al Ghul says, "we shall wait for your son to arrive."

*

Jack. His name is Jack. He repeats that to himself inside his head, so he won't forget again. He thinks...that he's getting better. Still, the feeling of not knowing who he was lingers strong in his memory.

Tim is his son. Dana is his wife. So was Janet, but she's dead now. It's Tim his mind keeps drifting back to. He's starting to remember a little, bits and pieces. He thinks Tim was the one crying when he-

Not died. If he'd died, he wouldn't be sitting here on this bed, staring at the wall. It's really not a bad room, all things considered. He's pretty sure he's a prisoner. He's pretty sure he's bait. Tim will know better than to fall for a trap like this, though. He thinks, for a little while, that maybe Batman will be the one to come and save him. He did in Haiti, after all.

It takes some time for him to remember how much he'd hated the man for taking his son from him, leading him into danger and deceit, how it had felt to hold the gun in his hand, to point it at a face he thought he knew. When Bruce Wayne had narrowed his eyes at him, in that moment, Jack had realized he didn't know the man at all.

Maybe not Batman, then.

Surely someone will come, though. Tim's a superhero. He's spoken more times than Jack can count about how tightly knit that community is, how they depend so strongly on each other. Maybe Superman owes his son a favor. The thought makes him laugh, until he realizes what his own voice sounds like. Then he stops.

Jack. His name is Jack. He has a son named Tim. Tim is Robin. Robin is a superhero.

Someone's going to rescue him from this place eventually.

*

They bring him food three times a day. It's pretty decent food. Like the room, with its bed and table and wooden chairs, it's an unexpected luxury. Jack never spent much time before now thinking about what it would be like to be held hostage by a proper supervillain, but even if he had, he wouldn't have pictured it like this. It's a far cry from Haiti.

On the second day - or at least he thinks it's the second day, but his only real clue is the food cycle - Ra's al Ghul is standing behind the guy who brings the food when the door opens with lunch. "Mr. Drake," the man says, somehow making it sound like he's addressing Jack across a board table instead of the door of a prison cell. "I trust the accommodations are comfortable?"

"Much better than the last time I was kidnapped, thanks. I especially appreciate the toilet. I don't suppose you've got any books you could lend me, though?"

Al Ghul looks at him levelly for a long moment. Jack gets the feeling the man is amused. "The reading selection in your tongue might be rather limited. I haven't used this base in some time."

Jack shrugs. "What have you got?" He takes a stab, based on the man's name and things he's heard said in the hallway as people have passed his door. "My Arabic's passable, but I'm a bit out of practice at reading it. I'm afraid my Coptic is really pretty rusty, though." And that was a shock, hearing a mostly-dead language being spoken conversationally by the men who inhabit this place. He hasn't really bothered with the language since grad school, when he decided he'd rather study the new world than the old. From the language, and from the desert air and all the sandstone, Jack feels reasonably sure that he's in Egypt. Or Sudan, maybe but... probably Egypt. He's been in tombs that looked like this place. "Spanish or French would be really nice. Or Latin."

Now the man is definitely amused. He waves a hand toward someone or something out of sight without turning his head. "I'll see what I can do."

It's on the tip of Jack's tongue to ask for some way to exercise, but a more pressing question comes out instead. "What do you intend to do to my son?"

Al Ghul just smiles. He steps back as the servant or whatever he is finishes setting the table and returns to the door.

The lack of answer is chilling, though it's not like Jack ever thought the guy wanted to lure Tim over to have tea. "I said, what do you want with my son," He tries to put more force into the question this time despite the way his heart is thumping.

"That will depend," al Ghul says as the door clanks shut and locks, "entirely on the young detective."

*

Jack frets for a while, pacing and tugging on his hair. Eventually he decides that if he's going to be a prisoner for very long, he can't just sit around and slowly go insane.. He does jumping jacks and push ups and squats until he's tired and sore all over. It takes a distressingly short amount of time. Dana would tease the hell out of him, if she could see him.

Dana... It would be really nice to see her right now. He lies on his back once he's tired, thinking of the soft curves of her body over runner's muscle and sinew. It's a nice diversion, but his mind keeps coming back to his situation. He's not sure if Tim can, or will, tell Dana what's going on. She might think he's dead.

Try as he might, he can't remember being kidnapped. Maybe he was drugged - or a head injury could explain the memory loss and fuzzy thinking. Either one might account for all the weird pains and vomiting he vaguely remembers. He's not sure how they got him out of Gotham, out of the country, without anyone realizing it. Then again, supervillains probably have their ways.

He tries to think of everything he knows about Ra's al Ghul. The man had been active in Gotham a time or two, and Jack had seen it on the news or read about it in the paper. He never used to pay too much attention to that kind of thing, except to bemoan that he was raising his son in a city full of psychos and criminals. After he found out about Tim's...secret... well, he paid more attention to the news after that.

The man was some kind of terrorist, wasn't he? Not a religious nut - or rather, not a nut following some religion. From what he's seen since he came to, al Ghul seems to be at the head of his own little cult of personality. Does he have powers? Jack can't remember. Lightning breath or acid touch or gamma ray eyes... All that stuff always seemed so stupid before he knew it was being pointed at his son. Try as he might, though, he can't pin something that showy onto al Ghul.

They bring him books with his supper. The volumes are old, but the dry air and minimal handling have been good for them. Two volumes in French, three in Latin, one in Greek. Well, it will give him something to do besides stare at the walls at least.

It's the books that give him his clue. The longer he looks at them, the older he realizes them to be. Not the French books - one of those even has a date written inside the cover, from the turn of the nineteenth century. That reinforces the idea that he's probably in Egypt, since Napoleon was running the place at that time. The other books are much older. He runs his fingers over the vellum, the leather, the glue at their bindings. The words on the pages are faintly imprinted with the force of the press on which they were made.

"Huh," he says, and turns a Latin volume over in the light.

I haven't used this base in some time.

Ra's al Ghul is immortal, or close to it. He remembers now.

Wow.

He really hopes Superman owes his son a favor.

*

If Tim were captured by a supervillain, what would he do?

The thought occurs to Jack while he's waiting for that servant to set the table again. Tim could probably overpower the man and make a break for it.

Maybe he would have found something in the room to use as a weapon. Broken a chair to use the leg like a club, or made a garotte out of the bedsheets.

If Tim got out of the room, what would he do? There's a guard station at the end of the hall; Jack can just see it from his door if he cranes his neck. He watches the guards watch the security feed sometimes, but mostly the screen shows nothing but some rocks. There was a goat herder, once, though. That was exciting.

So, a servant in the room, two or three guards at the end of the hall, and...Jack doesn't know anything else. He thinks they're probably underground - the air temperature is pretty constant and fairly comfortable, so they're out of the sun. Tim could probably take out those first few guys, but who knows what's up ahead? How big is this place? Big enough to hold a stable temperature underground, at least. Big enough to hold an army? Ra's al Ghul was that kind of villain, wasn't he? Not one crazy guy, like the Joker or Two Face, but an organized crime kind of guy. Or something like that, anyway. He probably should have paid more attention, but he doesn't think the guy has done much lately, so he hasn't been in the news since Jack found the secret compartment in his son's closet.

He's not sure if Tim could escape from a place like this, but he does know that he can't. Jack has been an archeologist, a gentleman adventurer, a businessman, a husband, a father. He's never been a hero.

"Excuse me," he says, as the servant is leaving. "Do you think I could get some stuff to exercise with? Maybe a jump-rope or something?" He pantomimes in case the man doesn't know the words, hopping in place and twirling his hands. "I'm going stir crazy in here."

The servant doesn't answer, but he watches Jack's little show before he turns to leave.

*

There's commotion in the middle of the night. Jack wakes up with a jerk and rolls out of bed, crouching on the floor and staring at the square of light from the door's barred window as men run by. No one opens the door, though. After a minute or two he gets up and goes to look out through the little barred window, to the guard station.

There are several men crowded around it in various states of dress. He wasn't the only one caught sleeping, then. One of the men moves, and Jack catches a glimpse of someone dressed in red and black moving across the security screen. His heart leaps, and he starts to get excited, but he realizes after a moment that the background is all wrong. The man is somewhere else, in a city made of grey concrete, not here.

Still, for the guards to be so agitated, something important must be going on. He presses himself flat to the door, craning his neck, trying to get the best view he can. The men are all jabbering at once, and his Coptic really is terrible, so he can't understand what they're saying to each other. It's supposed to be a dead language, outside of the church, and he thinks it's really not fair that his captors can't just speak Arabic or something else he'd have a chance at.

He concentrates and catches a word or two. The one he's hearing most often is "red." Well, the man's shirt is red, yes, but-

"Bird." "Red" and "bird", and the man on the screen is using a long white staff to send someone in body armor to his knees. "Robin," he whispers, staring at the tiny, distant figure.

Eventually, the excitement ends. The monitor reverts to security footage of a pile of boulders, and all but a few of the men disperse. There are four guards at the station, now, instead of two.

Tim is looking for him. Jack goes back to bed with a smile on his face.

He wonders why Tim changed his costume, though.

*

When his breakfast comes, the servant puts a jump-rope on the table without looking in Jack's direction. He leaves a bucket and a cloth, and as soon as he's gone, Jack strips down to wash himself. His breakfast is shakshouka, and he eats it with quiet enjoyment, sopping up egg yolk and tomato sauce with freshly made flatbread. It's the kind of fast, easy food one might get from a street vendor in Cairo for a few pennies - probably the same thing the guards are eating. In Gotham, though, he'd pay twenty bucks for a meal like this at a specialty restaurant, so he decides to think of it that way, even if he does have to refill his cup from the pitcher himself. He does miss having ice in his drink, but the water is cool enough.

After breakfast he does his push-ups and crunches and squats, and then he picks up the rope to examine it. The handles are wood, but he thinks he could get them off pretty easily if he had to. He's not sure if he remembers his knots, or if the kind of knots one learns for yachting would even be the kind of knots for this... but he's sure he could figure out something that would work.

Captivity is wearing. He'd really like to shave, and to wash his hair properly, and to see the sunlight. Still, the food is good. The bed is... comfortable enough, and there are no bugs in it. No rats in the room. It doesn't get too hot, or too cold. No one's hurt him, since the first day, or even threatened him. Even al Ghul was polite enough, for all that he set Jack's skin crawling and probably wants to murder his son.

Jack twists the rope between his hands, trying to make it into a loop. He gets something that looks serviceable and doesn't pull apart when he yanks on it. There's no way he can see to attach it to the ceiling, but he could tie it to the bars on the window, if he started on his knees.

Tim is looking for him.

He unties the jump rope. It would be a shame to use it if he doesn't have to. But at least now he has the option. He might not be able to escape, but there's a way out. That helps a little with the trapped feeling.

He can stay here for a while. He can wait for Tim, or one of Tim's friends. He should try to think of it as a vacation.

He jumps rope until he's exhausted, and then sits on the bed to read for a while.

*

Someone is in the room when Jack wakes up. He lays there very still, feeling his heartbeat and trying to keep his breathing even, but he suspects from the way the chair creaks under his guest that he's already given himself away. After a few seconds, he rolls onto his back and sits up, turning to see who's in the room.

Ra's al Ghul is sitting in one of the two wooden chairs, legs crossed, just looking at Jack, ignoring the silent servant who is setting the table for two. Jack squints his bleary eyes and runs his hands through his hair, hating how greasy it feels.

"Now is a good time for the two of us to have a chat," al Ghul says. He nods absently at the servant without looking away from Jack, and the other man pours mint-infused tea from a silver pot into a pair of little gilded glasses.

Jack swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares back at him, not answering. He's not awake enough for this yet. The tea smells amazing, though, and Jack hasn't had any caffeine in... how long has be been here? A week? More? He should have been keeping better track, scratching tally marks into the wall or something. Tim probably would have. He gets up when the servant starts uncovering dishes.

It's a surprisingly simple meal, considering al Ghul seems likely to be sharing it with him - just soft yogurt cheese topped with olive oil and herbs, flatbread and some kind of tomato salad. The other man seems to be waiting for him before he starts, so Jack moves to the table and sits down. "If I thought I had any information you'd want from me, I'd be getting suspicious right now." He's suspicious anyway. "Sleep deprivation and suddenly friendly behavior..."

Al Ghul smiles. "Ah, but you may have information that I need after all. Timothy has already worked his way through all of my bases which were wired to the computer network he compromised. He's found two more since then. He could be here today." Jack's heart leaps, but al Ghul shrugs as if this is inconsequential. "Or it could be a month. I am a patient man, and if I had left him deliberate clues, he wouldn't have trusted them."

"There is absolutely nothing you could say or do that would make me work for you against my son," Jack says with conviction. He looks at the cup sitting in front of him, but decides not to touch the food until the other man does.

"Oh, honestly, if I intended to poison or drug you I'd have done it by now." Al Ghul sounds...miffed. Jack picks up a date and takes a bite. He watches as al Ghul sips his tea. "I had hoped to speak with you as one father to another. I have no sons, I am afraid, but I do have two rather...spirited daughters. That is why you are here."

"I'm here because you kidnapped me," Jack says, and rolls his eyes. "What do your daughters have to do with that?"

He watches as al Ghul suppresses a smile. "Is that what you think? Hm. Mr. Drake, I shall be blunt. My descendants will be heirs to a vast empire. What I am proposing is that yours should be as well."

It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together. No sons, but he has daughters; talking to Jack "father to father" about descendants... "Holy shit. You can't be serious."

Al Ghul's smile evaporates and his face darkens. "I assure you that I am most serious. My only grandson is a...terrible disappointment. Bruce Wayne took him from me, as he took your son from you. The boy was not ready to meet his father. Perhaps he never would have been." His expression and tone become more philosophical. "Though he did at least have the sense to immediately recognize your son as a significant threat and attempt to eliminate him."

"W-what?" Jack says, even though he saw Tim on the monitor just the night before, even though al Ghul has been talking as if Tim would show up any minute now.

"They are rivals for the affections of the current Batman. Your son is no longer Robin, Mr. Drake. He has been wandering the world, heartbroken, lost and alone. He no longer has a home, or a family. I propose to offer him one." He gestures in Jack's direction with a graceful turn of his wrist. "A father. And a bride."

Jack can only stare in stunned amazement.

"You see now, I hope. You are less a hostage than an offering. I went to considerable effort and expense to cause you to be here."

"Because you want grandchildren?" Jack sputters. Even Janet's mother had never been that bad.

"It is the purpose of every being on this earth to secure a place for its progeny. The wasp pierces the living grub so that her children will start their lives with sustenance. The songbird makes himself a target of hawks and hunters to win the most desirable mates. Man is no different. If your line and mine are joined, a Drake will one day rule the world."

Jack can only stare at the man, open-mouthed, trying to understand the words coming out of his mouth. "My God. You're completely insane, aren't you?"

Something fiery flashes in the other man's eyes, and Jack can suddenly understand how the man got a name like 'Head of the Demon.' "Perhaps it was foolish of me to attempt to speak to you as an equal. Let me make this plainer: when your son arrives, either you will convince him that a liason with my daughter is in both of your best interests, or I will be forced to do the convincing myself. If it is necessary to use you as leverage, you will be tortured until your son complies. The process will repeat until I am fully satisfied that I have a suitable heir. I can keep you and your son alive indefinitely, in constant torment, until I have what I want. And when I am through, I will return you to your grave, to the worms and the rot, without the courtesy of first ending your life.”

"Jesus," Jack whispers, his body pressed flat against the back of his chair. What was the man even talking about? Torture, okay, terrifying yet comprehensible. What was that about graves supposed to mean? A madman's ranting, or... or... Jack finds his skin crawling, his hands shaking. He hugs himself. "I'll think about it."

"Indeed," al Ghul says, and it sounds like a threat, a curse, "you will think of nothing else." He stands and leaves the table, and the servant hurries to unlock the door for him. When al Ghul wrenches the iron door open, it creaks loudly under his hand.

The servant hurries after him, locking the door and leaving Jack alone with his breakfast.

There's no way he can eat another bite.

Continued here.

Fic crossposting

iesika — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 08:10:29 GMT

Hi there. Long time, no post. All appearances to the contrary, I am not dead! That's cool, isn't it?

DC hurt my feelings and I stopped wanting to think about it, so I kind of faded out of the fandom. I had a lot of other stuff going ton, too (still do), and my job now isn't as conducive to writing on the clock or staying up all night.

I went more than a year without writing, y'all. What the fuck is that?

Anyway, it is apparently Pornday on tumblr now. glymr just posted two chapters of an epic porn fic she and I had been collaborating on, so I'm linking them here. I also wanted to let people know that I'm kind of going to come back, at least in a limited capacity. I'm trying to figure out the tumblr thing. I just finished a draft of a fic I've been trying to write for over a year, so that will be going up soonish, once it's edited.

In the meantime, have some smut:
Title: Irresistible
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Tim, Dick, Bart, Cassie, Kon
Pairings: Tim/Dick, Tim/Bart, Tim/Kon/Cassie
Rated: Smut
Authors: glymr and iesika
Summary: Tim never realized how much losing his virginity would change things.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

wooooow

iesika — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 17:06:16 GMT

Holy shit, the internet has exploded. faile_neume , are you the one who dropped kirax2's name to Gail Simone? XD Because she wants to meet up with her this afternoon!

Anyway, kirax2 has flocked her journal for a bit, until some of this dies down. She's posting instead as kyrax2 on...everything. Tumblr, twitter, dreamwidth, lj... She's getting into costume in my living room right now, after getting something like 400 messages and reblogs since 7am. She left her netbook at home on Friday before all this exploded and my laptop is huge, heavy, and only works when plugged in, so one or the other of us may be checking in periodically on my kindle in short awkward sentences.

http://dcwomenkickingass.tumblr.com/post/7985599811/panels

http://clownyprincess.tumblr.com/post/7996458381/gail-simone-wants-to-meet-batgirl/

Going to Comicon! Woo!

iesika — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 17:37:22 GMT

Thanks to the awesomeness of kirax2 's little sister, I am GOING TO COMICON. I didn't even attempt to buy a ticket when they were (oh so briefly) available, because I thought I wouldn't be moving until August. Said little sister safed the day with a four day pass for a guest. SUPERHERO!

So, if you will be at Comicon this weekend - so will I! So let me know! I'll be running around with kirax2, who will be dressed in a fabulous Steph - Batgirl costume and probably continuing to harass DC about gender issues. <3 (She's (more) internet famous now, btw. Check it!)

An internet of my very own!

iesika — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 16:34:06 GMT

Guess who just finally got internet access at home!

Aw yeah... it's gonna be a good weekend.

another sporadic update

iesika — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 19:24:02 GMT

I'm sitting in a Greek restaurant in Pacific Beach - I went out garage sale shopping this morning, and then when I'd gotten about as much furniture as I could reasonably buy in one day, I went exploring. My swimsuit went mysteriously missing during the move (it may still be at T's house!), but I needed a new one anyway, so if I can figure out where to find one (I'm plus sized, which makes it harder) at a reasonable price, I'll go swimming in a bit! If not...I'll just walk and wade a bit, I guess, and then go home to refinish furniture.

I got a window box and planted some herbs outside my kitchen window. I've finally got my bed all set up (I was sleeping on an air mattress) and it's super comfortable. Today I got a leather recliner with ottoman, two matching end tables, and a crazy round table with multiple tiers. I bought two bookcases the day after I got here, and the place already has a dining table and one recliner, so I'm about set for now, at least until I start wanting to have more than about two people over at once, and I've got more stuff put away (I'm only about...60% done with that - I refinished the inside of the cabinets, and that had to cure for a bit before I could start putting things into them, but I should be able to put my kitchen stuff away this weekend!)

Did some writing last weekend - about 4000 words of it, which I haven't done all in a rush in a while. I'm going to try for some more tonight, I think.

I MISS EVERYBODY! Until I have internet at home, feel free to comment here or email me to let me know of anything interesting or important going on. My flist is big and crowded, and it can be hard to catch up on several days of posts at a time. I'm trying to read personal updates at least, but it's hard to keep track!

iesika — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 03:48:15 GMT

Oops. I just realized I forgot to update that I made it here safe and sound. ^_^; Well, now I'm moved in, have worked a full week at my new job, and am sitting at kirax2 's watching a movie!

minor disaster...

iesika — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 23:49:44 GMT

I had a blowout and some kind of mysterious radiator explosion outside El Centro, California, about 100 miles from my destination. The bad news is, they definitely can't fix it until tomorrow, and I'm about about 600 bucks all together for towing, repairs and replacement parts (unless my mysterious radiator problem turns out to be a hose or something, which is what I am really hoping for, rather than needing a new radiator.) The good news is, my new employer has an office in El Centro with a kitchen, a fold out couch, wifi, and some very nice people, one of whom drove out and rescued me from the desert (I was only ever 9 miles from town, and was able to sit in the shade until she and the tow guy got there. I had plenty of water and emergency supplies in the car, so I was never in any real danger).

If something like this had to happen, at least it happened in a good place. Such a downer, though... I was supposed to be hanging with kirax2 right now, unloading my poor car. Hell, we were supposed to be done by about now (I had it all planned out, lol).

1600 miles, and this happens in the last 100. WTF life?

iesika — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 22:26:47 GMT

There comes a time in every woman's road trip across southern Arizona when it is time for her to check into a cheap motel and stand naked in front of the air conditioner.

On the upside I'm more evenly burnt today? DESPITE THE SUNSCREEN,

I listened to the first Earthsea novel today - about 10% of it left to go. It's pretty good - but I don't think I'd have enjoyed it nearly as much if it weren't read by Harlan Ellison. His delivery mixed with Le Guin's high-flown style is ridiculously perfect. A standard fantasy novel reading would have put me to sleep.

Phew, naptime, now. CALIFORNIA TOMORROW!

Trip spam

iesika — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 09:24:13 GMT

In the wee early hours of the morning (woke up and couldn't sleep), I am about to leave Fort Stockton, TX and continue west - after I find somebody that will feed me at four am. There are at least 8 motels at this exit, and not one 24 hour drug store/mart. Sonic it is, I guess.

I am slightly sunburned down one side. I noticed it yesterday afternoon and dug out my emergency sunscreen. The sun is just enough to the south of me that it became an issue, lol. I look pretty silly. Hopefully it will have faded by the time I get to California.

Is there anyone between West Texas and Tucson? I made such good time yesterday that I might could allow myself a break for a meet-up.

I'm only having little panic attacks, I swear...

iesika — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 03:09:52 GMT

Okay... I'm all packed. Going to leave in the morning before dawn. I'll be stopping to have lunch with a cousin outside of Houston. And driving. And driving. And driving. And driving....

Any interest in a comic "book club"?

iesika — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 03:55:35 GMT

Okay, this reboot thing is managing to terrify and frustrate me - retconning Babs back into Batgirl? And who the hell knows what else? Presumably deleting younger characters I love all along the way? I can't even throw my hands up and say "AAARGH! DC I AM NOT BUYING YOUR BOOKS ANYMORE, TAKE THAT" because I did that when Lian was fridged, and they barely had any books running I would have wanted to buy anyway. .

I've been threatening to do this for ages... but for real this time:

Once I'm settled into my new place and new job in a new city (I leave on Tuesday!), I'm going to start up a book club for reading old, good comics. My intention is for readers to recommend older runs or series that were especially good but haven't been read by enough people to get a good fandom buzz going, and try to all read the same thing during the same week or month or however long the book will take, with discussion and possibly fic and art or whatever anyone feels like contributing.

Publicly announcing my intentions makes me a bit more likely to actually follow through on this. ^_^; Discussion of the subject would do even more. What book(s) have you always wished more people had read? What's your favorite older run on an established book? Did you love Green Arrow V2? Do you wish there were an actual fandom for Starman? Where's the love for Manhunter? How about indie comics? Do you wish there was more Love and Rockets in our lives?

I want to read good comics - comics that don't make me rage and tear out my hair. I want to still get to hang out with all my great comic-fandom friends even if I'm not buying new books anymore (as opposed to filling in my back-issues and TPB collection). I want to share the things I love with people I love.

Com'mon, people. I can't be the only one.

Fic: Heels Over Head (Tim/Kon, Adult)

iesika — Tue, 31 May 2011 04:50:56 GMT

Title: Heels Over Head
Author: iesika
Fandom: DCU
Characters/Pairing: Kon/Tim
Rating: Adult
Summary: In which tables are turned and couches are broken. For pornday.
Contains: m/m slash, oral, anal, rimming, biting
Words: 6900

It took Kon several years to get up the nerve to ask Tim if he maybe wanted to try going on a date sometime. Tim’s always been hot, but at first he was was creepy and intimidating, and then he’d been frustrating and intimidating, and then he’d been...

Kon’s best friend. His confidant. And this super competent, terrifyingly vulnerable human being under the mask - with a girlfriend. And Kon’d had Cassie. And then Tim didn’t have a girlfriend, or a dad, and Kon had died, and Tim had, by all accounts, decided to try for creepy, frustrating, and intimidating.

But then eventually they were both Titans again, and both single, and one night they’d both been hungry. And Tim was still competent, and still hot, and still human, though maybe it wasn’t so terrifying anymore. Kon had broached the question, and Tim had sat there in silence for a full minute before he’d shrugged and said, “sure. Thai or Italian?”

It had taken Kon several dates to get up the nerve to try for a kiss. When he did - careful, slow, and tentative, Tim had been so surprised he’d actually jumped when their lips met. Kon had been an absolutely perfect gentleman, keeping all appendages to himself. Ma would have been proud, even if it took sitting on his hands to do it.

It had taken a lot more of those chaste and gentle kisses before he’d tried for tongue. More before a hand up Tim’s shirt, and a hand on on his ass, and...

Kon’s jeans are really, really uncomfortable. He’d like to do something about that, but he’s afraid that if he moves too much, Tim will stop...rubbing up against him like that. Like Kon’s leg feels really, really good. And Kon would like to tell him he’s got other body parts that would feel even better, but the truth is, Kon’s been terrified since the first time they made out that Tim is going to spook like a shy horse and buck Kon right off.

He thinks Tim’s a virgin. Really a virgin, because he never does anything until after Kon’s done it first, like he’s learning what kind of touches are okay. Kon’s tried to even the scales a bit, maybe set him at ease, by confessing that he’s never been with a dude before now, but he’s pretty sure that made everything worse for some reason. Made Tim even more shy, more tentative in his touches and, mmm, kisses.

Hot kisses, because hey, at least they’re over whatever invisible roadblock means he can suck on Tim’s tongue and get moaning in return. Tim really knows how to use his teeth, too, and Kon shouldn’t be so surprised that he’s got a bit of a dangerous streak in him, but he honestly never expected it in this context.

This is, after all, the guy who dated Stephanie Brown for years and apparently never went for it. Kon is pretty sure he could have managed that for, like, a month. Maybe. But then again, he’s been thinking about this practically since he was born, and this is the very first time he’s rubbed a thumb over Tim’s nipple. Not for lack of planning, though. Tim would be very proud of the level of planning he’s put into this moment. This - oh god, Tim’s hand just slipped into his back pocket. Kon makes an embarrassing noise and almost manages not to hump Tim’s leg. “Jesus.”

Tim’s hand withdraws suddenly when Kon speaks, but Kon catches it before it gets far and puts it right back where it was.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay. I want-” wait, that sounds pushy. “You can touch me anywhere you want?” He hates that it comes out so unsure. Tim lets his head fall back and looks up at him, eyes searching. Kon swallows hard and looks down. He can see his hand under Tim’s t-shirt. The fabric is stretched up around his wrist, baring Tim’s stomach. There’s a faint line of dark hair under his navel, and Kon’s seen it a few times before, but, again, context.

He moves his hand - first forward, rucking up Tim’s shirt a little further, and then down, mesmerized by the sight of his hand on Tim’s skin. When his fingertips circle Tim’s navel, Tim’s belly jumps, ticklish, and it makes Kon smile. He glaces at Tim’s face.

Tim looks... really turned on. Fucking score. He’s staring at Kon’s hand, too, apparently just as hypnotized. Kon drags his thumb down the little happy trail and hooks it into the waistband of Tim’s pants. His fingers curl around Tim’s belt buckle, but he doesn’t go any further than that.

And he’s been worried about Tim bucking, but when Tim really does buck it’s the hottest thing Kon’s ever seen - slim hips arching off the couch in a small, sharp thrust, and that's definitely an erection outlined clearly when his pants pull tight. If Kon’s other noises have been embarrassing, this one is downright humiliating, and it makes Tim go still. Kon wants to punch himself in the face. He wants to apologize. He wants-

He wants to rip Tim’s pants off and rub off against his abs. He wants to suck him until he screams and sink into him balls-deep and fuck his mouth and roll over for him and kiss him again and. The messages are mixed but they all mean the same thing anyway.

And then Tim’s hips move again, just slightly, shifting so that the hold Kon’s got on Tim’s belt pulls his pants tight again. Kon has to fight of the urge to just dive face-first for Tim’s lap. “You’re so hot,” he says, as a alternative. It’s inane but it’s true, and it seems to startle Tim. “What, nobody ever inform you of that fact?”

“Not you,” Tim says, matter-of-factly, and then he’s - fuck - sitting up a little and moving - leaving? No, he’s taking off his shirt. His nipples are flat and small and brown, and Kon is bent halfway to Tim’s chest with his lips parted before he realizes what he’s doing. He slows, moving carefully, looking to Tim for permission and reassurance, and kisses Tim’s sternum.

Tim’s fingertips come to rest in his hair, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer, either, so Kon sort of stays where he is, lavishing attention on Tim’s skin and oh fuck god yes getting to taste him. The skin under his tongue is smooth, but studded with scars, and covered in a fine, fine sheen of salt that tastes absolutely delicious.

When Tim makes a little sound, high in his throat, Kon pulls back to look at him. “Is this okay?” He bites his lip and waits. Tim sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. His fingers shake minutely when he puts both hands on Kon's chest, stroking him through his shirt. Kon groans and presses against his hands until Tim takes the not-so-subtle hint and firms his touch.

“You want to take yours off, too?” Tim asks. Kon swallows hard and nods. Before he can move, though, Tim's hands shift, rucking up Kon's shirt, hard-callused hands stroking up the skin underneath. Kon sits up all the way and and uses his telekinesis to yank off his shirt so that his hands can get back to what they want to be doing. When the shirt comes off his head, Tim is staring up at him with wide, wide eyes. Kon's hand has managed to end up on Tim's belt again. Kon pries his fingers loose and tries not to whimper.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he feels Tim's fingertips on his cheek. Kon opens his eyes and and looks down.

“Do you...want me to take my pants off?” Tim asks, quietly, and Kon’s head explodes.

Jesus fucking H. Christ bareback on a motherfucking pogo stick yes! “If-If you want,” he manages to stammer, totally cool. “That would be nice.”

Tim smiles, and the hand on Kon’s cheek squeezes gently before stroking over his ear and into his hair. Then he lets go to reach between them and put a hand on his belt buckle.

Kon floats up to watch as he opens it, deft hands quick on the buckle. The leather makes a whispering sound as it drags against the cloth, loud and pregnant as thunder to Kon’s hearing.

“You are so fucking hot,” he mumbles as he watches. Tim’s hips arch a few inches as the belt tugs free, and Kon falters in slack jawed-lust and drops, like a sex-crazed stone. Tim’s hands get caught between them, and for a few blistering seconds, his wrist presses against the front of Kon’s jeans. Kon’s not proud of himself, but he absolutely humps it.

Tim’s hand jerks away, and for a moment Kon thinks he’s ruined everything, but no - hot hands press to his bare back, arms around him, skin on skin, and Tim hisses through his teeth and grinds back. Kon licks those bared teeth until Tim’s mouth softens just enough.

Oh god, it feels good. Kon should be content with this. Kon could easily get off like this, but when he manages to stop biting Tim’s mouth, what comes out is, “maybe we could both take our pants off?” It sounds so stupidly, blatantly hopeful that Kon immediately squeezes his eyes shut and knocks his head against Tim’s shoulder. “Fuck, don’t listen to me.”

Tim’s body stills.

Kon thinks he might cry. To get this far, and then screw it up with his big mouth... He bangs his head against Tim a few more times.

“Kon, stop it.” Tim’s voice is soft, and doesn’t sound panicky or anything, so Kon does what he asks. “Look at me. Here, scoot up.”

They maneuver around until they’re both sitting upright on the couch. Kon sits facing the muted television with his hands in his lap. Beside him, Tim kneels, facing him.

“Kon...” Tim puts his hand on Kon’s shoulder. “We can take this as slow as you want to, okay? You don’t need to force yourself.”

Kon blinks. “Force myself?” He’s so shocked that his stupid tongue runs away with him again. “Dude, the only forcing myself I’m doing is not ripping your pants off.”

Tim opens his mouth and closes it again, his hand on Kon’s shoulder suddenly full of tension. Kon is ready to just fly off and pretend he was been possessed by...something. Maybe he can blame Ivy? Eventually Tim stands up, and Kon’ knows that this is it, he’s lost Tim forever, he’s scared him away, he’s REALLY fucked up this time-

But Tim is taking off his pants.

Taking off his pants with fast, efficient movements.

Briefs. Plain white, and it should be dorky, but there’s an erection in those tighty-whiteys, and it’s Tim’s, and Kon put it there, and Kon’s brain shorts out. “What?”

“Pants off. That’s what you wanted? Do you want to do this on the couch or the bed?”

Bed? Kon thinks his brain is still broken. “Are we really going to have sex?”

Tim pauses in the middle of folding his jeans, and turns back to look at Kon, suddenly, strangely, tentative again. It’s a weird look, paired with the hard on. “Do you want to?”

“Yes!” Shit. That wasn’t how he meant to say that, but fuck it, it’s out there. He watches in dull amazement as Tim pulls a handful of condoms and a tube of lubricant out of the pocket of the jeans and drops them onto the couch before setting the pants neatly onto the chair. The tube is clear, and half empty. “You want to?”

Tim looks at him strangely. “Of course I want to. I’ve been waiting for you to get more comfortable with the idea.” He hooks his thumb in the band of his briefs and then pauses. “This is okay? It’s just... well, the idea of your date having a theoretical penis is one thing. I know you’ve never been with a guy before.”

“Dude, I have been hot for your theoretical penis for like-” oh god, down go the briefs. Kon licks his lips and finishes on a whisper. “ever. Please, please say I can lick that?”

Tim stills for a moment, and then steps out of his briefs. The movement makes his cock bob, pretty in pink and … wow. Bare. Tim shaves? Kon’s brain has been smashed into so many pieces tonight that it has to resemble a fine powder. Guh. He watches, transfixed, as Tim takes himself in hand, stroking lightly a few times and then touching his sack, which is. Mmm. Smooth. He’s thinking about licking again.

“You really think you’re ready for that?” Tim asks. He approaches the couch and crouches, resting on the balls of his feet, knees spread. He puts his hands on Kon’s knees. “There’s no rush, Conner. Really. I can be patient. This is all new for you. We could just...” He slides his hand up Kon’s leg, and strokes a thumb lightly over Kon’s fly. “Touch each other. Learn each other’s bodies. There’s no shame in taking things slow.”

Kon swallows hard. “Do you want to take it slow?”

Something dark and hot flickers through Tim’s eyes. “Whenever we start moving forward, you pull away. I don’t want to pressure you, or make you uncomfortable. I’ve had a long time to think about what I want.”

That causes an odd feeling of wounded pride. “I’ve been thinking about it, too!”

The chuckle Tim lets out is low and smooth. It does things to Kon’s insides. “I’ve been daydreaming about homosexual acts since before you were ‘born’, Conner. As far as I know...” Tim trails off and bows his head a little. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, considering how close he is to Kon’s lap, but the proximity also makes it inappropriately hot. “I’m the first guy you’ve ever shown any interest in.”

“Yeah, but, like... For a long time,” Kon protests. He reaches out, carefully, and lets his fingers rest on Tim’s neck. “I used to think about...this spot right here. Right at the edge of your old collar.” Tim sucks in a breath, so Kon goes on, warming to the subject. “I’d sit behind you on the Supercycle and kind of...stare at it. Think about teeth. About.” He swallows again. “About biting you there, while I was...”

Tim’s head comes up. He stares at Kon, eyes dark, intense. The way Kon always imagines them behind the mask. “Fucking me.”

And Kon opens his mouth to answer, but he never gets the chance, because Tim surges up from his crouch and forward, naked, into Kon’s arms, pressing their mouths together. They’ve kissed like this, mouths tangling, tongues...tongues. But somehow this is different. Tim is different. There’s no coaxing, no gentleness. It’s not even the teeth - they’ve done teeth - it’s something else.

Something else that might just be Tim’s cock against his stomach, hard and hot and - Kon gets his hand between them and grasps it, gentle, at first, learning the shape, the feel of smooth skin. The touch makes Tim thrust, hips punching, and Kon can’t help the hand on his ass. He has to feel the muscles move under Tim’s skin.

He feels familiar. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but in a way it kind of is, because Kon’s been thinking about this so long, and how touching himself couldn’t prepare him for it. And even though it makes Tim groan, makes him grip Kon’s shoulder hard enough to bruise a normal person, Kon has to let go of Tim’s erection and bring his hand to his mouth, breaking the kiss to lick his fingers and try the taste, to suck the pad of his thumb because it just feels good.

Tim gasps and brings their mouths back together, licking the back of Kon’s thumb, biting it. His cock is wet against Kon’s stomach, leaving a sticky trail as Tim thrusts against his abs. Kon was just thinking of doing this, and it doesn’t seem fair, until his fingers find the heat of Tim’s cleft and the soft - soft - skin over his balls.

Until Tim pulls back enough to kiss the back of Kon’s hand, bite his wrist, and say, “do you want to really taste it?”

God, fuck yes. He doesn’t say it out loud, though - just gets a better grip on Tim’s ass and boosts him up, until he’s kneeling high on the couch, legs on either side of Kon’s. Because of the way Tim’s legs are spread, Kon has to bend a little to bring their bodies into the right alignment, but it’s totally worth it, because Tim grabs the couch on either side of Kon’s head and gasps in surprise.

The gasp becomes a moan when Kon’s tongue flickers over the head, over skin smooth and tight and slick, slightly bitter because Tim is so hot that he’s leaking, and Kon made him this way. He learns the shape of the crown with his tongue and lips, little sucking kisses and quick laps, slow slide of the soft flat of his tongue as he goes down, taking a few inches into his mouth.

Tim gasps again. And then he moves. Kon has to draw back just a little, taken by surprise by the sudden thrust. He’s not sure if Tim did it on purpose until he hears Tim panting. “S-sorry. Oh god, that feels good.”

Kon hums and goes down again, bobbing his head, trying to keep his teeth out of things and sucking lightly as he goes. He gets a groan for it, and another thrust, this one much more shallow and controlled. An echoing groan rumbles in Kon’s chest. He tries sucking a little harder, and pressing with his tongue.

This time the thrust is deeper. He’s got Tim right on the edge, then, between just enough and not enough. If his mouth weren’t full, he’d grin. Instead, he pulls back to lick the head again. “It’s okay,” he says. “Invulnerable, remember. You just startled me the first time.”

“I don’t want to ch-oke you!” The last becomes a yelp as Kon goes down again, pressing his lips tight to the shaft and sucking hard. Tim pulls himself up, knees lifting from the cushions, his weight on his toes, arms rigid. “Oh god.” By the second bob, Tim is moving with him, thrusting deep into his mouth. Kon keeps his grip on Tim’s ass, stopping him from going too far, too deep, and just goes for it, forgetting to try and be fancy with his tongue, because just the slide against his palette - until Tim’s weight shifts, and there’s a hand gripping Kon’s ear.

A few more thrusts - and Kon really does have to hold Tim back, now, invulnerable or not - and suddenly Tim is pushing at him and gasping. “S-stop! Stop, Kon!”

Kon stops. That feeling is back - the one that says he’s gone too far, too fast, pushed Tim too hard - but when he relaxes the grip of his power enough for Tim to move back, Tim lets out a high whine and slides down Kon’s body, cock leaving a hot, wet line down his chest and stomach. He presses his mouth hard to Kon’s, tongue taking over where his cock left off, fucking Kon’s mouth, and that whine the whole time, that thrust of his hips against Kon’s body.

“Why-” Kon pants when Tim pulls away to breathe. “Why’d you make me-”

“I was going to come,” Tim pants back. “Conner, that was- You’re-” He kisses him again, wet and good, and then he just lets gravity take him, sliding down off the couch to the floor, his hands scrabbling at the button of Kon’s jeans, utterly graceless and eager.

“Whoa, are you-” If Tim’s belt had sounded like quiet thunder, Kon’s is a whipcrack when Tim yanks it free. Kon can’t help gasping for air, gasping from the shock of it, and then his pants are open and Tim is pulling and he can either rise up from the couch or get yanked right off.

“Off,” Tim says, only it’s more like a growl.

Kon can only nod and try to help. It takes him entirely too long to remember he has superpowers, but once he does, he has the jeans pulled down and off in about a second flat. “You know, you were-” He stops to gasp as Tim shoves his knees apart. “-supposed to come, right?”

This time it’s a pull instead of a shove, Tim’s strong hands hooked around the backs of Kon’s knees. Kon’s back sticks to the leather couch as he slips down, legs spread because Tim is kneeling between them.

“Are you gonna-”

“Yes,” Tim interrupts. He spreads Kon’s legs wider, just...looking, apparently. Breathing on him.

“I didn’t even say what I was-” Oh god, mouth. On his. Kon arches his back, until he’s barely touching the couch at all anymore. Tongue on his balls and oh fuck that’s barely even something he’d thought about, really, so maybe Tim’s right about having had more time to plan. The squeak he lets out is pretty undignified.

“Everything,” Tim fucking purrs against the base of his shaft. “I’m going to...everything. Everything you’ll let me.” He sucks there, lingering, pressing with his tongue, and then he turns his head and mouths his way up toward the tip.

It feels amazing, and it looks just as good, Tim’s darkened eyes looking up at him from under heavy lids, his mouth red from kissing, tongue darting out to caress the head, soft and so, so sweet. Kon reaches up and grabs the back of the couch in one hand, so that he won’t just shove. He slaps the other hand over his mouth and throws his head back.

It’s stranger when he can’t see it. There are soft, wet touches, and he can’t quite be sure what’s lips and what’s tongue and...that was teeth, just a little. Just a touch. Kon shouts behind his hand. He shouts again when the suction starts, and, god, so hot and wet. Teeth again, just a scrape, and tongue and oh god, something soft against and around the head and it gives as Tim goes down. Tim’s throat and he’s -

Kon has to look. He has to see Tim’s mouth stretched tight, his nose in Kon’s dark curls. It’s probably the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen, and it takes everything Kon has not to do something that would probably break Tim’s teeth.

The couch cracks.

Kon feels the beam at the back give way under his grip, hears it - and Tim must have heard it too, because he pulls back, up and off, coughing, and he looks at Kon, and the expression that’s probably on Kon’s face, and he has to look past Kon’s ridiculously eager erection to do it, and...it’s just a few seconds before Tim starts laughing.

“Did you really just-”

“I’m sorry!” Kon wails, and smacks himself in the face. “Oh god, don’t stop.”

“You broke my couch.” And Tim’s still laughing, but there’s something else there too, under it. He sounds proud of himself. “Well, the bedframe’s iron, at least. If worst comes to worse you could probably bend that back into shape, after.”

Kon stops hitting himself. “Bed?”

“Later,” Tim says. He gets a grip behind Kon’s knees again and pulls, up this time instead of down. Kon lets himself slide, not entirely sure where this is going but pretty sure he’s going to enjoy it. Tim’s got Kon’s legs spread wide now, and the stretch is starting to burn just a little. It makes him wonder what kind of freaky positions Tim can bend himself into. That’s a good thought.

Good like the touch of Tim’s mouth on his balls again, press of his nose and soft swipe of his tongue. This feels a little safer than the cocksucking, so Kon lets himself thread his fingers into Tim’s hair. God, that tongue.   He arches and presses against it, humping up. His cock aches from neglect, and he reaches for it, only to get his hand caught.

“Here,” Tim says, and wraps Kon’s hand around the back of his own thigh. He shoves. Kon takes the hint and lifts his leg - he’s not even sure why but it feels good to have something to pull against that he can’t accidentally hurt, so he goes with it. Goes with the teeth on his sack, just a press, a threat, and Tim’s hand cupping his ass, thumb in his cleft, thumb pressing against his-

“Holy fuck,” Kon gasps. Okay, not where he thought this night was going but okay. He can roll with this. He can roll his hips right up off the couch, pull his leg up to his chest, bare and spread and shit that is Tim’s tongue, and this is the dirtiest fucking thing Kon has ever experienced.

Tongue around the hole. Tongue in, wriggling and wet and fucking hot and Tim makes this noise and Kon realizes he’s pulling his hair.

“S-sorry,” he gasps. “Fuck. Fuck fuck, Tim. Oh god.” Thumb working its way in, and the tongue’s not stopping, circling, pressing, thrusting beside it, until Kon can’t tell exactly what’s going on down there - just that it feels amazing. “You’re gonna kill me!”

The tongue stops, and Kon whimpers, scooting down the cushions to thrust his ass toward the missing sensation. “Not my intention,” Tim says, sounding amused, and then there’s a thin, cool stream of air. The shock of it makes Kon clench. The clench apparently makes Tim happy, because he hums and Kon gets a quick, soft, press of a kiss just there. “Can you reach the lube?”

Kon’s eyes cross. “Are you gonna-”

“Everything,” Tim repeats softly, “you’ll let me.”

Fuck, yes. Kon flails, flinging his arm around on the couch, but he can’t quite reach, and he’s really not going to move, so he extends his aura, grasping, stretching it - there - he can just...

Knock it to the floor and curse loudly, ignoring Tim’s little laugh. “I’ve got it,” Tim says, and Kon lets out a little sound of dismay when the tip of his thumb slips out. He can hear Tim laughing, and he lowers his leg so that he can twist enough to see him, but just like that, Tim is back, and shoving again at his thigh. Kon takes the order for what it is, and gets his other leg up too, for good measure - except Tim catches his ankle when he’s halfway there and pulls it back and out and hooks it over his shoulder as he and his amazing, wonderful tongue go back in for more.

The couch is already broken. Tim didn’t seem too mad about it. Tim’s rich, anyway, so as long as Kon promises to carry the new couch home it’s barely an inconvenience at all, right? So it’s totally okay for him to crush the wood under the padded armrest into splinters. Tim’s tongue feels that good, and the slick finger he’s working in - okay, there’s a little burn, he’ll admit, but it’s so fucking hot that it doesn’t feel anything but good. Kon’s touched himself there - mostly thinking about how Tim was right there in the next shower over wearing nothing but a mask - but never deep like this, fucking like this, the whole length of Tim’s finger sliding in and out, crooking and bending, stroking him in places he’d really never connected with the concept of stroking. How the hell had he never noticed how long Tim’s fingers are? How slim and strong and perfect?

“I really like your fingers,” Kon babbles, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back. “Like, really, really like. Like maybe-in-love-with-like.” And maybe Kon’s not just talking about the fingers, and maybe Tim’s not an idiot and probably knows that, because he picks that moment to slide the second finger in to the first knuckle and lick a hot stripe from Kon’s balls all the way up to the tip of his cock.

“They like you too,” Tim says, and it should be cheesy, but Tim’s got two hands, and when the fingers that aren’t knuckling his perineum or lovingly violating his asshole wrap around Kon’s cock again and squeeze, Kon lets out the kind of shout that makes the neighbors call the police if your boyfriend hasn’t bought out the top three floors of his apartment building. “Too much?”

“No!” Kon assures him, because what if he decides to stop? “Not too much, just fucking right, oh god - You’re gonna do me, right? Because I really think you ought to-” he gasps as Tim gets the second finger all the way in and thrusts. It’s weird and it’s new and it makes him wriggle. By the third little stab, he’s decided it’s wonderful. “Do it, fuck. If your fingers feel that good-”

“You’re still so tight,” Tim protests, but he’s panting. Kon’s not even touching him, but the shake in his voice makes him sound dangerously close to the edge.

“Don’t you fucking come before you fuck me, you - ow-” Something - oh. Another finger. “Ah! more lube.” He knows, objectively, that Tim can’t hurt him this way without, like, a kryptonite dildo or something, but Tim’s fingers feel so big.

There’s a pause, and then the cold of the lubricant in his cleft makes him shiver. “Push back,” Tim orders as he presses in again, and Kon tries humping back against his hand. “No, like - god that’s hot. Push. Like you’re pushing me out.”

“I don’t want you out!” Kon protests, but Tim lets go of his cock to slap him on the ass, so he concentrates for a moment on something other than not coming and gives it a try. Tim’s fingers slide right in on the next good push, deep, and with no more burn than there’d been with two. Kon’s so surprised that he forgets to concentrate on not clenching up again.

“Oh god,” Tim mumbles. His head drops against the back of Kon’s upraised thigh, and he waits until Kon gets his muscles under control before moving his fingers again. “This is going to feel so, so, so-” and maybe more ‘so’s, but Kon can’t really tell because Tim is biting Kon’s leg.

“No coming!” Kon protests. He can - he can get the hang of this. But Tim’s not moving his hand anymore, so Kon wraps his aura around his wrist and tugs. It’s easier than moving his whole body, and it makes Tim make noises against his skin. A few seconds later, though, he feels Tim struggling against his aura, so he stops and lets him go.

Tim pulls his fingers out - it feels kind of weird, and Kon feels kind of open in a way he absolutely has never thought about before. He’s just about to comment on it when Tim pries his mouth away from Kon’s leg and licks over his hole with the soft flat of his tongue. It feels different, now that he’s - well - open. Hotter and... more. The way his lips feel when Tim’s been biting them for a while - sensitive and tender, until he can feel the texture of Tim’s tongue, just slightly rough. It feels...intimate.

“Bleh,” Tim says. A moment later, he licks Kon’s thigh. “Remind me to buy the kind you’re supposed to lick, next time.” Another lick - getting rid of the taste, Kon guesses. It’s funny, somehow, that Tim’s had his tongue in Kon’s ass, but lube on his tongue has got him making faces, and Kon can’t help laughing. Tim stops scrubbing his tongue and looks up, smiling back. Something swells in Kon’s chest, and it’s only got a tiny bit to do with the casual way that Tim said ‘next time’.

Tim’s smile changes, subtly, and he pushes Kon’s leg off of his shoulder and stands. He looks down at Kon in a way that makes Kon’s laugh falter and his breath catch. He seems so smoothly confident, prepared, totally in control of this partnership and one hundred percent aware of it. Kon doesn’t know how he ever thought this could be any other way. The quirk of Tim’s lips makes him feel young and new again, fresh out of the tube and desperate to impress. “Rob.”

“Kon.” It’s like the thing with Tim’s fingers. There’s so much going on under the words, things Kon’s not sure either of them are ready to say. He can feel it, though. He can feel Tim feeling it. He brushes Tim’s bare leg with his ankle and uses the touch to haul Tim down for a kiss.

Okay, the lube really does taste pretty awful. Like plastic and vaseline. He keeps kissing Tim anyway, until the taste fades. Tim hums softly into his mouth, smiling, and Kon pulls back for long enough to mumble against his lips. “Fuck me, Tim.”

A sharp hiss of breath in response, and a sharper kiss. A moment later, Tim is standing up again, pushing on Kon’s knees - and he knows what that means, now, so he lifts, spreads, his hands braced in the hollows behind his knees. Tim’s eyes dart down and he licks his lips - a simple motion that sends a shock of fresh arousal through Kon, just from knowing how bare he is, how spread, how much at Tim’s mercy.

The couch dips slightly when Tim braces his knees against the edge - maybe Kon did something to the frame, too, and he just didn’t notice. He’s been distracted, after all. He’s beyond caring now anyway, completely focused on Tim’s fingertips spreading his cleft, on the sight of Tim gripping himself, guiding himself, the drag of his smooth head against Kon’s slick and tender skin. “God.” It comes out soft and shaky.

“Yeah,” Tim whispers back, and presses in, breaching him.

It’s a strange feeling. He can feel his body resisting, at first, until he remembers the way Tim taught him to relax those muscles. Once the head is in - god, in - it gets easier, but Kon can still feel his hands shaking. Or maybe that’s his legs. Maybe it’s all of him. The slide of it, the cool lube and hot skin, leave him shivering with sensory overload. Tim moves so slowly that the press seems to go on forever. Kon is suddenly aware of how Bart must feel when time around him starts moving like molasses.

Tim’s eyes are closed, not squeezed, but resting lightly, lashes fluttering. He opens them with a gasp and a tiny thrust that makes Kon gasp too. He’s in all the way. “You feel...” He shudders and falls forward, bracing himself with a hand on the couch, beside Kon’s hip. He pulls his hips back just a few inches and thrusts in again, slightly faster this time. Kon lets go of his own leg and clutches wildly at the air until Tim catches his hand.

Another short thrust, and another before Tim has to let go so that he can brace with that arm, too, gripping the back of the couch. Kon holds his wrist instead, and wraps his leg around Tim’s waist, using it to urge him on. The way Tim is bent over him means his stomach is dragging over Kon’s erection as he moves, and Kon is torn. There’s so much sweet, slick friction going on that his lizard-brain can’t decide what to focus on. His awareness flickers. Stretch and burn as Tim thrusts in, rocking him. Glide and drag as he rocks back, picking up speed. Kon moves with him as best he can, but his mind and body are so shaken that he can barely hold the rhythm.

Tim doesn’t seem to mind, though. His eyes are dark and boring into Kon’s, his mouth open, breath coming in ragged pants. “Kon,” he says, barely more than a whisper. It sounds almost pained in its intensity.

“Me too,” Kon pants, responding to what isn’t said. His mind is so shot that he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking nonsense. “Always. Tim.”

That’s okay, though, because Tim seems to be in the same state. “Yeah.” Tim’s eyes close again and his head drops, forehead resting on Kon’s collarbone. “I want to make you come.”

Kon’s fingers spasm on Tim’s wrist, but he manages not to squeeze. “You too.” He closes his eyes and concentrates, flexing and tightening, enjoying the way Tim gasps and pants and fucks him faster. His eyes fly open again when Tim’s hand wraps around him, and he bucks into the touch. They find a rhythm, then, between Tim’s thrusts and his strokes, that makes Kon writhe and toss his head back, makes Tim moan and bite at his shoulder. Kon can feel his orgasm building. “So good. Don’t stop.”

“Good,” Tim echos, but that seems to be all the speech he’s capable of at the moment. He squeezes and strokes Kon with one hand, his hips moving smoothly. His teeth dig slightly into Kon’s skin, a sharp pressure that would be pain if Kon were more vulnerable. As it is, the sudden stimulation is just what Kon needs, and he shudders all over, convulsing with a wordless shout. Tim makes a strangled sound, his thrusts becoming ragged, frantic. He strokes Kon a few more times, gentling him through it, and then drags his sticky hand up Kon’s chest, bending his head to lick, to bite his own fingers and Kon’s skin between them.

“Come for me,” Kon orders - no, begs. Definitely begs. He wants to feel that - wants to hear what kind of sounds Tim makes, see if he holds his eyes open or closed. Tim loses his rhythm completely, moving over and into Kon wildly, moaning low.

Kon turns his head, and catches Tim’s cheek in his palm. He tugs him close enough to kiss, and gets his lip bitten. That’s when Tim stills inside him, shaking all over, completely silent. Tim holds his breath for several long seconds and then lets it out in a quiet rush before kissing Kon in earnest, hips moving shallowly, languidly, the slide so much easier now, and slicker.

“You just came inside me,” Kon says when he can speak again. It sounds stupid once his mouth has formed the words, but that doesn’t make the feeling any less profound.

“I did,” Tim says. There’s wonder in his voice, and Kon is glad. As long as they both feel this way, there’s nothing stupid about it.

Kon gives in and lets the sappy smile take over his face. Slowly, Tim’s face falls into a mirror of his own expression. “That was really good.”

“Mmhmm,” Tim agrees. He pulls out and flops onto the couch beside Kon. Kon lets his feet fall to the floor and leans sideways until he’s laying on top of Tim, who doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

“You were really good,” Kon clarifies. “You were...where did you learn to do that?”

“Mmm...” Tim sounds so sleepy and content that Kon isn’t really expecting an answer. He just closes his eyes and concentrates on the brush of Tim’s fingers through his hair. “Books,” Tim says after a long moment. “The internet. Practice with toys. Nightwing.”

Kon is upright before he even decided to sit up, looking down at Tim with wide eyes. “You had sex with Nightwing!?”

Tim chuckles. “No. Calm down.” He reaches for Kon, who reluctantly lets himself be tugged back down to lay with his head on Tim’s chest. “He gave me advice. Lots of advice. More advice than I wanted, actually, but most of it actually came in pretty handy.”

Such a relief. Not that it would be fair for him to get jealous about a past lover - Tim and Cassie are perfectly good friends, after all. Still, he’s glad not to have to compete with Nightwing. And too cool to admit that. “Heh. 'Handy'.”

Tim snorts. When Kon looks toward his face, Tim’s eyes are closed. The room is a little cool, but Kon shifts his aura to hold their warmth in and nuzzles against Tim’s chest. He feels happy, warm, and sated. The stress and fear are gone. This is Tim - his best friend. He’s not sure why he was so worried to begin with, and there isn’t anything left in him to be worried about the future. Whatever happens, Tim will still be Tim. They’ll make it work.

The thump of Tim’s heart beneath Kon’s cheek is reassuring, and his eyes start to drift closed. The bed would be more comfortable, but that would require too much effort. Instead, Kon rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. He has to tuck his legs up instead of stretching out, but what the hell. It’s actually pretty nice and cozy.

Until the couch leg snaps and tips them onto the floor.

end

Pornday

iesika — Tue, 31 May 2011 00:10:07 GMT

pornday is happening!

I should have posted this last night when saphire_dance Declared, but I was half asleep already and didn't even think about it until I realized no one else seemed to know it was Pornday. Oops.

The good news is, she Declared on a Sunday, so we get an extra 12 hours for Pornday Observed. Since I didn't approve the post until 1:14 am CST, that means Pornday will last until 1:14 pm CST tomorrow.

eeeeeeeeee

iesika — Wed, 18 May 2011 00:34:17 GMT

So, it's official.

Second week of June, you guys. I am packing everything I own in one Honda sedan and driving one thousand, seven hundred and forty-two miles to San Diego, California. To stay.

So much to do! Car repairs next week, giving notice at both jobs, selling most of my books, mailing the rest ahead, paring down my clothes and kitchen stuff, selling my furniture (B is buying most of it, which saves a lot of trouble! I'm giving several pieces to mom and sister, too - sister is closing on a condo on Monday). I need to buy proper work clothes, too. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF so much to do!

Floranna is awesome!

iesika — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 21:56:31 GMT

The first round of help_japan auctions just finished up, and floranna won mine, with a bit of $150 bucks for 10,000 words of fanfic. <3

You are a fantastic person, and I can't wait to get started!

Auction reminder

iesika — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 19:18:51 GMT

Just a reminder, for anyone interested, or anyone who maybe didn't see my post before.

I'm auctioning 10,000 words of DC fanfic for help_japan . The bidding is currently up to $150!

My auction

I'm thrilled and flattered XD. I didn't expect the bid to go so high! (I was kind of scared that no-one would bid at all, actually.)

The bidding closes on the 31st, just in case anyone's looking to challenge the current bid-holder...

*flails around a little*

help_japan auction (please, please pimp me!)

iesika — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 23:30:11 GMT

Quick, someone tell me I'm not insane.

I've been meaning to post to help_japan, and didn't get around to it until just now. In a moment of bravado... I offered 10,000 words of DC fanfiction for auction.

My Auction

That's right, folks. I am offering 10,000 (up to 15,000!) words. I would much, much appreciate it if, if you're not personally interested in placing a bid, you help me get the word around to those you think might be.

User Name: iesika
Email address: jessie.iesika#gmail.com
AIM: jessieiesika
Gtalk: jessie.iesika
MSN: iesika@live.com

You can see things I've created at: My fic list.

I am offering: 10,000 words (This is a lot. It may take me a while ^_^;)

Fandoms (if appropriate): DC Comics (NOT movies, or animated, except Batman: Under the Red Hood)

Additional Info: Het, Slash, Femslash and/or Gen, I will pair pretty much anybody with anybody if I feel I am familiar enough with their characters. That includes anything from Morrison's Batman & Robin, because I'm not reading it ^_^;. Obscure characters/pairings okay. Porn highly encouraged (I won't do outright rape, slavery, blood or scat, or characters under 13)

What I know best: Batfamily, young DC (YJ, Titans, etc), JLI, Starman, Manhunter, Birds of Prey.

Starting Bid (in USD): $20

SPECIAL BONUS: If you donate through a matching partner (Crunchyroll, an employer, or other) I'll throw in 5,000 more words. This can be the same fic, or another, shorter one.

iesika

DCU Fic: New Kings Among Runaways, Family Vacation (continued)

DCU FIC: New Kings Among Runaways, Family Vacation, Tim/Jason

DCU FIC: Irresistible (4/?), with glymr

DCU FIC: Flannel Over Silk

AO3 invitation?

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 3/3)

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 2/3)

DCU FIC: Never a Hero (Part 1/3)

Fic crossposting

wooooow

Going to Comicon! Woo!

An internet of my very own!

another sporadic update

minor disaster...

Trip spam

I'm only having *little* panic attacks, I swear...

Any interest in a comic "book club"?

Fic: Heels Over Head (Tim/Kon, Adult)

Pornday

eeeeeeeeee

Floranna is awesome!

Auction reminder

help_japan auction (please, please pimp me!)

I'm only having little panic attacks, I swear...