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LIttle Crushes	By : scyllablue Category: DC Verse Comics > Teen Titans Views: 4965 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-LIttle Crushes
- 1
Little Crushes
By Scyllablue
Pairing: Superboy/Robin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Nor is any profit being made. Comments are always welcome, but I rarely have time to respond though I would like to write back to everyone. I do not care if anyone were to wish to re-post this elsewhere; just please send me an e-mail letting me know.
***

For early March it was unseasonably warm, for which Robin was grateful. Thermal underwear worked all well and good, but the short sleeves on his uniform did nothing to keep his arms warm. He shuddered to think of the original Robin’s costume, pantless. Through the whole of winter he shivered, envious of Bruce’s full body regalia. Tonight, however, held the promise of spring, warm and brisk, like how he dreamed these months before the swelter of summer should be, and Tim Drake huddled a little less forlornly under his cape atop the First National Bank of Gotham.

“So, are you going to float up there all night or what?” He said calmly, not lifting his eyes from the street below. An attempted robbery, two corner street drug deals, and a purse snatching, all with the back of his ears itching. At first he’d thought it was Spoiler, with her own itch to re-hash their break-up. Then he suspected Secret, come to moon over him with her childish crush. But neither girl could have resisted interceding when the one robber had pulled a gun at his back, not trusting him to take care of himself. An enemy would have attacked by now, surely. Not Secret, Spoiler, and Wonder Girl couldn’t have kept her yap shut this long, so who?

He felt rather than heard the other person settle to the roof top behind him, confirming it was a flyer. Definitely not Spoiler. “Busy night.” Casual, like they both weren’t standing out in public dressed in spandex.

“Not really. It’s still cold enough to keep most of the crime off the streets and indoors.” Outwardly, he focused on flippant, but inside he jittered, nervous and uncertain. He wasn’t good at this, casual chhat,hat, and had little opportunity to practice. Imagined asking Bat’s about the weather or the Sunday football game and felt his lips twitch at the mental image of cold indifference he’d generate. Most of the time, Bruce was like everyone else in his life, barely tolerant. Friendly banter was a little beyond their relationship, though to treat himself fairly, he had to admit it was a little beyond Bruce. What else to say? “Why are you here?” Suave, Drake. Real subtle.

“Wanted to see you.”

That was new. He stood up and stepped away from the ledge, the body behind moving accordingly. “Why?” he asked softly, turning slowly on one foot to stare up into dark blue eyes. God, he couldn’t wait for his next growth spurt. Superboy shrugged, looking away, a subtle blush highlighting his cheeks that could have been blamed on the nip in the air. Except that SB didn’t feel the cold. Tim frowned, though he doubted the other teen could tell, and waited.

What happened next shook him. Before he could block the contact a callused thumb stroked the corner of his mouth, warm and slightly abrasive. “Hey, none of that,” SB grinned. The touch was quickly gone, but he could still feel the imprint, a spot of cooling heat on his chilled face.

“Wh-what?” he stuttered and cursed himself for it, bracing himself for the teasing, the punchline of the joke. SB’s eyes glowed brighter, but the humiliating words remained unvoiced. Tim’s confusion increased.

“Just missed you is all. Wanted to see how the nightlife was treating ya.” Answering his earlier question, his former teammate stepped closer, and Robin struggled to simply stand where he was. “So. How’s the nightlife treating ya?”

“I don’t understand,” Tim whispered, and he didn’t, not at all. He hadn’t seen the arrogant, impetuous superhero in weeks, not since he quit Young Justice. Their lack of faith had wounded him deeply, but Kon-El’s betrayal had stabbed deepest of all. The other teen had grounded him, defined and directed his place on the team with his constant friendly bickering and challenges to his authority. Until Apokolips, SB had been his unacknowledged rudder, keeping him on course. But up there in space, something had broken and SB’s decision to physically overrule him had nearly gotten them all killed.

Yet he’d been the one cast out, tainted by his mentor’s paranoia. It had been his decision to leave, but the choice had been forced by Kon’s hostility. This affectionate behavior was extremely perplexing. It reminded him of how adults acted when they had tell children horrible news, and he felt his stomach clench. “Did something happen to one of the others?”

“No!” Kon exclaimed, somehow picking up on Robin’s increased tension, hands making soothing motions in the air. “Everything’s good. Everyone else is doing good. Miss you being around, but okay. No, can’t I just want to see how my,” and his lips pursed as he struggled to name exactly what Robin was to him. No longer teammate, certainly not a friend. Friends didn’t treat each other the way Kon had treated him, did they?

Tired of playing the taller teen’s game, Tim expelled his breath in his first real show of emotion and stepped around the obstacle in front of him. He’d promised Oracle surveillance on a downtown pawn shop; might as well start tonight. He’d left his bike in a warehouse six blocks away; barely a distance across roof top.

A bruising hand caught his arm, long fingers near encircling his bicep. “Rob’, wait, will ya?”

“Let go of my arm, SB.” Calmly spoken, but his whole body was tense, preparing to strike out. He wondered who had twisted SB’s arm to get him out here. Did it matter? Krypton’s gift to girls everywhere couldn’t apologize to save his life, or what could have been a friendship.

His request was ignored and the grip tightened, pulling him back. Kon-El was physically enhanced, could punch an opponent into the next state, but Robin was a rigorously honed weapon, body and mind. He was what Batman had brutally and efficiently created, and he didn’t need alien DNA to defeat his enemies or admit his mistakes. In a series of moves so smooth he danced, he broke and spun into SB’s hold, palmed two handfuls of red and blue material, and threw the larger teen away from him. Seconds to execute over a dozen moves and he hadn’t even lost his breath. Didn’t wait to see where SB landed but dashed to the edge of the roof. He knew he couldn’t outrun Kon in the sky, but the next building over had a rooftop accessible elevator.

Rubber soles slapped hollowly against the tarmac, the tempo increasing as he readied himself to jump. Foot to the ledge, muscles bunching, and he cried out sharply as he was borne upwards, hands in his hair, the collar of his cape. He twisted and fought, but SB easily wrestled him into an inescapable clutch. Long arm around his chest, pining his arms, and he was back on Impulse’s ship, SB fueling the mutiny with his passionate words, taking possession of the ship, the team, the mission, Robin.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Why, so you can make an impression on the street?” He was right; during their struggle SB had kept climbing until now Robin could see most of Gotham between his feet. A fall from this height would be messy. Damn him anyway, and he twisted violently, turning himself enough to drive a knee into SB’s groin. They all wore cups, but sufficient force drove the plastic into the soft flesh, painfully biting.

Kon hissed, “Not nice, Rob’.” Chest to chest now and Tim wiggled to try another shot at SB’s crotch, but there was a hand cupping the back of his skull, fingers clenching hunks of hair, dragging his head back, and SB kissed him. SB kissed him. Full on the mouth, wet and hot, and Tim’s brain shut down. He thought he protested, tried to shove the invasive mouth away, but he found instead his arms twined about thatculacular neck, his lips and teeth parting in invitation to Kon’s questing tongue. Little greedy noises were mewling up from the back of his throat, spurring Kon on, pushing them higher. Literally. A hand grabbed his slender hip, pressing them crotch to crotch. The air was too thin and he couldn’t breathe, not with Kon’s tongue shoved down his throat. Tim ripped his mouth free, gasping and fighting the black spots even as he tilted his head to give SB better access to his throat.

Too much, too fast, and Tim cried out at the hard impact with his bedroom floor, entangled sheets pooling about his trembling body. A dream, just another maddening dream, and he pressed his face to the cold wood flooring, struggling to control his breathing and his traitorous libido. His erection protested the chilly hardness, but he just flattened himself further, refusing to jack-off to a wet dream of Superboy. Superboy! The guy hated his guts, a feeling he assured himself was completely mutual.

With a groan, he crawled back into bed, dragging his sheets behind him. This marked the third time in two weeks he’d woken up from erotic dreams about SB, and he curled himself into a tight ball around his pillow, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him? Superboy, loudmouth and asshole, would beat him to a pulp if he ever found out. And Tim wasn’t sure he wouldn’t deserve it. The guy was straighter than any of Arrowette’s arrows, and why the hell couldn’t his sub-conscious fantasize about Tempest or Arsenal, two guys he at least knew swung both ways from Grayson’s teasing stories.

He needed to talk to Dick. The dreams were so real, he was worried he’d let something slip the next time he did see Kon. He’d dealt with his infatuation when he was with YJ; so why was it now plaguing him? Maybe that nonsense about absence making the heart fonder had a grain of truth, because this exile was driving him insane. First thing in the morning, he promised himself, hugging the pillow tighter, he’d call Dick, ask if he could come hang out. Reassured, he drifted off, the empty silence of the palatial estate lulling him into dreamless sleep.

YJ*YJ

Another night without Bruce, but Robin didn’t mind. Nightwing had told him it was best he learned independence early on, and he had. Batman was somewhere a world away, on JLA business, but back-up was only a button push away, Oracle too mother hennish to leave her charges unprotected. If he needed them, Huntress and Batgirl were somewhere in the city, on their own hunts. He’d have to be in dire straits, though, to get his finger anywhere near that button. If psycho mute girl could take care of herself, so could he.

Of course, he was starting to doubt which one ofm wam was psycho, but he shelved that thought as he finished restraining the last of the gun dealers. The sound of sirens was growing louder, his cue to vamoose. Retracting his bo stick, he jogged to where he’d hidden his bike, mind already ten steps ahead. Slipping into the alley, he stumbled to a stop at the sight that greeted him, Superboy perched on the back end of his bike, flipping through a comic book. The ebony haired teenager looked relaxed, like he staked out motorcycles all the time. Robin shook his head, but the image didn’t change.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, not moving forward, refusing to retreat.

Kon looked up at the sound of his voice and grinned, rolling the comic book closed. “About time! You done playing with your trigger happy friends? I’m starved!”

Oh God, he was dreaming again. He squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten, but SB was still there when he opened them, staring at him quizzically. “Rob’, you okay? I figgered you wouldn’t want me buttin’ in on your action, but you’re not hurt are you?”

“I am unhurt,” he responded automatically, incapable of saying “fine” since that would have been an out and out lie. Waking up seemed impossible, and he knew from past dreams, that if he ran, Kon would only chase him, so he resigned himself to playing along. Theamseams all ended at the same time anyway, right when he’s about to get laid, so maybe he could hurry it along. Nightwing had said his unconscious was trying to tell him something; if that was the case, he wished it would just realize he was too dense to figure it out and tell him already. “I can spare a few hours. Where do you want to go?”

Kon’s grin flashed again and he stuffed the rolled comic into his jacket. “Hey, it’s your town. You pick a place. Gonna give me a ride?”

Well, he was already on the bike. “Sure. Gie roe room to get on.” SB nodded and floated up into the air, handing Tim his helmet when he reached for it. Sliding into place, he tried not to tense at the unfamiliar weight settling behind him. Strong arms wrapped around his slim waist and he kicked the bike to life. Police cruisers were just turning onto the street, lights and sirens creating a chaos Robin’s slender motorcycle easily disappeared into. After a moment’s hesitation, he headed towards Chinatown.

An hour later Kon flopped back onto the tarmac next to Robin, a satisfied grin splitting his face as he rubbed his belly. “Boy, you sure know how to piem, em, Rob’! That was great!”

Tim took in the emptied cartons littering the area around the other teen and allowed a small smirk to break through his cool exterior. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Hell, yeah! And that little guy didn’t even blink when we walked in! Like superheroes drop in for takeout all the time!”

Small shrug. “Mister Lin was having some problems with the Chinese tongs a year back. Batman and I helped him out.”

Though he kept his attention on the chow mein he’d poked at for the last hour, Robin caught SB rolling towards him out of the corner of his eye. “Still, pretty cool. So hey, where is the brooding bat?”

Another shrug. “JLA.”

There was silence for a full minute. Then, “Rob’, I know we’ve settled that whole Apokolips thing and me being an ass about what Batman did, and I’m cool with you not wanting to come back to the team just yet, but why stick with Batman?”

He forgot his foraging to turn a confused stare on the teenager next to him. They’d resolved Apokolips? Wait, they had, hadn’t they? His last dream, after the Gotham Bank, and he’d let Kon touch him, night chilled hands under his spandex and Kevlar shirt. Probably would have let him do a lot more if he hadn’t woken up. Well, that was a small comfort; the dreams were sequential, like chapters in a book. Too bad he couldn’t just skip to the last page and read what this was all leading up to. “I wouldn’t be Robin if I left, would I?” he mumbled, jerking his eyes back to his single carton of dinner.

“So change your name! Look, I know a lot doesn’t make sense right now, but he isn’t good for you!” Tim tensed at the heated words, fingers whitening around his chopsticks as he squeezed his eyes shut. Why did these dreams always have yelling? Why couldn’t it just be sweet and romantic? He gasped as fingers gripped his chin, forcing his face into SB’s. “Look at me!” Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. “He’s making you cold inside, Rob’. He’s everything you don’t need, not anymore. Wake up! If you can’t choose Young Justice, choose me!”

“What? What are you talking about, Kon?”

“Just say it, please, Rob’!”

“No.” Kon had betrayed him; he couldn’t choose him over Bruce. Bruad mad made him, gifted him with the mantle of Robin.

Kon’s eyes darkened to nearly black. “Aw, fuck this, the psycho alien was right. There’s only one way to get you out of here.” It was barely a warning and left Tim unprepared for Kon’s attack. His carton went flying as he was tackled to the ground, a hot hungry mouth sealing over his as hands tore at his clothing. He fought back, but Kon’s superior weight and strength easily overcame him. Slowly, one tongue probing kiss at a time, he let himself be gentled, wooed into returning the kisses. Hands stripped him to bare skin and caressed every inch they could reach. Tim moaned and arched into touches. Pleasure turned to discomfort, however, as the rough surface of the roof top abraded his backside. He whimpered and heard Kon’s answering chuckle, hands slipping under him, lifting. “Gods, this is what you were made for, Rob’, for me to fuck you. Just stay with me, okay? Don’t fade out.”

No clue what he was talking about, but Tim nodded anyway. None of the other dreams had moved this fast and he wrapped his slimly muscled legs around SB’s still clothed waist, squeezing. They were off the rooftop, drifting higher, Kon’s hands stroking and supporting as he righted them. “You’re perfect, baby, you know that?”
Tim nodded, hands tightening in black hair as the other teen bent his head to mouth an already pert nipple.

“Please, Kon. If I wake up now it’ll kill me.”

Another deep chuckle, and hands cupped his ass, fingers sliding along his crack. “Made for you,” he murmured, and Tim gasped as he felt a thick finger slide through his opening, stretching virgin muscles. Then Kon’s tongue was in his mouth again, distracting as a second finger was added, less smoothly than the first. They thrust and scissored, not painful, but discomforting. Whimpering, he tried to lift himself off, but gravity was against him and Kon was kissing the lines from his face, whispering nothings that calmed him.

A hand left his ass for a brief second, then he was being angled up, ass cheeks spread wide as fingers slipped out and something larger pressed in. Pain flared up his spine as he was seated on Kon’s cock, slickened and fig hig him completely, grounding him to the realness of the act. They stayed that way for a long time, Kon’s hands caressing his flanks, his clenched thighs, his stretched hole, until finally Tim moved, needed to feel Kon moving inside. “Kon, please,” he gasped and hands were there, on his hips, lifting and lowering him. Kon almost slid completely out and Tim whined, tightening his muscles to keep him in. A thrust back in hit his prostrate and he screamed, Kon shifting to stroke that spot over and over, harder and harder.

Close, so close, and he reached a hand in between them to fist his own leaking erection, but Kon’s snatch at his wrist stopped him. “Choose me, Rob’.”

“Kon, I, I,” he shuddered, so close, but he needed to be touched. “Please, Kon.”

Long fingers lightly brushed over him, too light, teasing. “Choose me, Rob’. End the dream.”

Was that all it took? “You, Kon, please, I choose you.” SB’s grin was as savage as his impaling thrusts, rocking Tim’s body with his pistoning hips. A caed hed hand closed around his neglected cock and he erupted, screaming his orgasm.

“Yes, yes, good boy,” Kon panted, “me, always me. Mine.” A few more thrusts and he came, warmth spreading inside Tim’s body as Kon emptied into him. Arms around him, dry lips on his temple, but Tim barely noticed, floating in an euphoric haze. A clothed shoulder was under his cheek and he let his eyes close into blackness, Kon’s words wrapping securely around him. “Always mine.”

YJ*YJ

Sheets were cool against his skin and Tim stretched, yawning. That had to have been the most satisfyingly erotic dream of his life and he grinned into his pillow, yawning again. He even ached at the memory, his body feeling oddly worn out.

“You sound like a cat when you yawn like that.” Amused voice, very close to his right, and Tim stiffened, recognizing the arrogant, indulgent tone. Slowly he turned his head to see Superboy propped on an elbow, his naked body disappearing under the same sheets that covered Tim. A moment of frozen panic, and then he exploded from the bed, taking a sheet with him as he retreated to the nearest corner, wrapping himself from sight as he took in his surroundings. Not his room, not any room he recognized. Sterile, all the furnishings made of silvery metal, the bed clothes white. The only color was SB’s costume discarded at the foot of the bed. No sign of his own clothing.

“What the hell is going on and where the fuck are we?” He was trembling and he cursed at the show of weakness, but for some reason he could barely stand. What was wrong with him?

SB sighed. “How about the second question first? We’re on Impulse’s ship, remember it? As to what’s going on, remember when we were captured by Darkseid’s whack jobs?” He waited for Tim’s jerky nod. “Well, we couldn’t wake you up.”

“No, Empress freed me,” Tim disagreed, “and we got the rest of you loose.”

“No, Empress freed Wondy.” SB sat up, the remaining sheet pooling in his lap as he raked his hands through his hair. “Gods, this is hard to explain. I barely it understand it myself.”

“Try,” Robin snapped.

Dark blue eyes narrowed at him, but SB thought better of it and pursed his lips. “That fat bitch Granny said humans, unmodified humans like you, are very easy to manipulate. She fucked with all of us by putting this lie in your head, that we fought and that you left the team. She trapped you in this reality where everyoeft eft you and you’re fighting alone, but out here, you’re body slept on, getting colder and colder, shutting down. Eventually, you’d of just died. She thought it was a riot.” He reached behind him and pulled a flat clear stone from under his pillow. “She used this go into your head and play, forcing the rest of us to watch on this big screen as she killed off your parents, broke it off with that cowled chick. When we escaped, I snatched the stone. After a couple tries, Empress figured it out, that sticking with Batman somehow kept you trapped, and that you had to accept one of us to get out. ‘Course, you were pretty pissed over what really did happen before Apokolips, so it wasn’t easy.”

“So it was all a dream,” Tim whispered, feeling a numbness spreading through his limbs.

“Yeah.”

“So why were we naked in bed together?”

“Because you love me? Don’t look at me like that, Rob’! You’ve been a vegetable for two weeks! Do you know how many times Igonegone into your head, trying to get you out? As your body got weaker, the dream sequences would get shorter, and you being a virgin sure didn’t help! I eventually caught on you had an unrealized crush on me, took me near a week to work on, and then every time I’d get close to you saying the magic words, you’d chicken out! Talk about frustrating a guy!”

It would have been funny, if it wasn’t so humiliating. He’d heard what Kon had said, and what he hadn’t. “I suppose I owe you a debt of thanks,” he ground out, ducking his flushed face, “for . . . for,” and he couldn’t say it. The infatuation was as real as the soreness, and it was all the selfless act of a friend for Kon.

“Hey, payback hurts, I know, but it’s about time you’ve felt a little of my torture.”

“What?”

“Rob’, I know you don’t realize this, but you are fucking gorgeous, and I’m not just talking about that tight little ass of yours or those baby blues. I was scared shitless of you dying, my tactile-telekinesis not able to do a damn thing to save you, but when I found that little crush, I’ve never been happier. That you could feel the same thing . . . hell, Rob’, you know I’m not selfless.”

Tim fought a wave of dizziness. “So you?”

“Yeah. Madly, deeply, all that rot.”

It didn’t solve everything, not all their hateful words had been imagined, but it was a place he was willing to start from. Fighting another rush of vertigo, he geregered to his feet and back towards the bed. His fingers slipped on their hold of the sheet, letting it loosen and fall to the floor. The appreciative light in Kon’s eyes was reassuring and he smiled. “Good,” he husked, tumbling into strong waiting arms. With a snap of sound, the sheet billowed over them, Kon hugging him tightly to his side. “You can nurse me back to health.”

Pale whiteness over his face like a shroud, then Kon was there, leaning over him, wide mouth stretching wider. “Not a problem, babe. I’ll make sure you get plenty of fluids.” Tim narrowed his eyes suspiciously at that, but Kon was all guilelessness, his kisses sweet and light, and Tim sighed.

“Ouch! What the hell was that for?”

“Just making sure we’re both awake.”
The End.
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LIttle Crushes