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For too long, objects have been wrongly portrayed as matters-of-fact. This is unfair to them, unfair to science, unfair to objectivity, unfair to experience. They are much more interesting, variegated, uncertain, complicated, far reaching, heterogeneous, risky, historical, local, material, and networky than the pathetic version offered for too long by philosophers. Rocks are not simply there to be kicked at, desks to be thumped at. (Bruno Latour)
Robin might be in love. He might be in lust, the victim of adolescent hormones buzzing crazily through his endocrine system. He might out of his mind.
He's certainly having an affair.
He just doesn't know what to make of it. He makes a list of three columns -- pros, cons, comments -- and then annotates that list with further reflections.
Is he happy? Yes, in the moment. But for the duration? In the long term? Perhaps not.
Is he comfortable? Certainly, but again -- only in the moment.
Is he doing wrong? Possibly, but who is to say? There are issues of consent, issues he has yet to work out fully.
Is he committing a crime? Nothing that could be prosecuted, but he knows very well that not all crimes exist within the courtroom.
He ought to be better than this. Stronger, able to resist temptation, capable of focusing on the mission without unnecessary distraction.
It's possible that he has doomed himself. He has become so well-versed in such focus that, perhaps, he is *more* susceptible to temptation than he might otherwise be.
Is this how Bruce feels around Selina Kyle? This helpless, almost *gasping* need for escape? This urge to rush toward her and leave everything important, everything *vital*, behind in a wave of pleasure and surrender?
The first time they met, she embraced him and would not let go. No one's ever gotten under his defenses, *at* him, like that, not in a very long time. She promises him adventure and rewards him with more than he's ever dreamed.
She understands him in a way no one else ever has -- effortlessly, responding to his thoughts as if he'd voiced them aloud, joyously, beautifully. Only Dick has come remotely close to the level of, of -- *sympathy* which she shows toward him. When he comes near, she warms palpably and nudges closer; when he departs, she seems to shrink.
*
"Technology," Batman said once, early in their partnership, "is one of our greatest allies."
He handed Robin the prototype of a new back-mounted gyro.
"After all, we don't have the luxury of physical...talent that others enjoy," Batman added while Robin tested the prototype's shoulder straps.
"Plus, tech can be really *cool*," Robin said as he hoisted the gyro onto his back.
Batman may have smiled at that. In retrospect, Robin winces at his geeked-out enthusiasm. Not the *content* -- he still thinks tech is amazing -- but the expression of it.
He shares with Batman a love for gadgetry, a deep appreciation for intricate engineering and finely-tuned mechanisms. They enjoy everything, from the foldable gyro to laser scopes and low-frequency surveillance buttons, from the roar of the Batmobile to the steady purr of the Redbird.
When Batman met the Super-Cycle for the first time, the sweep of his hand over its hood and steady squint of his eyes at its controls told Robin everything. Batman admired the Cycle almost as much as Robin himself did.
He realized, watching Batman study the Cycle, that he had been anxious about the meeting, worried that the Cycle's alien tech might be a point of criticism or dismissal. When Batman straightened up, resting the fingers of one hand on the hood, and nodded, Robin struggled to hold in the sigh of relief.
It's more than simply a matter of augmenting human frailty; technology affords Robin means of exploration, reconnaissance, and *knowledge* that he could not otherwise achieve.
And, like he said so long ago, it's just plain cool.
*
In southern Tennessee, the Aristasian Sisterhood has staked out a campground and declared it a separate nation, free of patriarchal taint and federal authority.
Empress and Wonder Girl take point under Maggie Sawyer -- "We've got this, mon," Anita says and grins. "You big nasty mon." -- while Robin, Impulse, and Superboy retire to the Pennsylvania headquarters.
"I don't get it." Impulse is shaking his head and crawling around the backseat of the Cycle. "Why don't they like guys? Guys are cool!"
"Dunno," Superboy says, yanking Bart back from the edge. He catches Robin's eye and licks his lips. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on *that* wall, you know what I'm saying?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Robin says and urges the Cycle faster through a bank of cumulus clouds.
"What?" Impulse shakes Superboy's arm. "What are you saying? Fly?"
"Because they're, uh --" Superboy squints, then draws a curvey silhouette in the air and smacks his lips. "You know. Girls. With girls."
"Riiiiiight, of course!" Impulse nods hurriedly, then stops short. His frown contorts his entire face. "Wait, what?"
Groaning, Superboy yanks Impulse into his lap and whispers into his ear.
Long after Superboy has finished, Impulse sprawls there against him, like a tangle of spilled yarn. Superboy's hand runs lazily back and forth over Impulse's hip.
Robin averts his eyes, glad when the ramshackle headquarters comes into the view.
Secret blooms in a giant petalled cloud out the front door. Impulse and Superboy amble into the building, Superboy swaggering and nookie'ing Impulse's hair every chance he gets.
After greeting Secret, Robin cloisters himself in the big garage.
His portable surveillance monitor, concealed in the Cycle's dash, flickers to life. It is motion-sensitive, and the screen shows Impulse -- Bart, now, the goggles and jersey lost behind him, tackling Superboy in an upstairs room, kissing him even as he gestures wildly.
Robin sets to work cleaning the Cycle's tires with a chopstick.
He supposes he's happy for Bart and Kon, though just what "happy" entails remains unclear. At any rate, *they* seem happy -- almost annoyingly so.
It's more amusing than anything that they also seem convinced that their relationship is a secret. Neither of them is any good at dissembling at the best of times; in the first flush of adolescent attraction, they are hopelessly transparent.
Kon has emerged from the paralysis of his grief for Tana louder, more *expressive*, than ever, while Bart fairly glows with even greater ebullience.
In his civilian life, Robin has grown accustomed to observing the clatter and confusion of teenagers' emotional imbroglios with a slightly bewildered detachment. To transfer that sense to his interactions with his *teammates*, however, is proving to be something of a struggle.
He's certain that members of the JLA do not have to deal with ignoring teammates' hickeys, for example.
Well. Not since Green Arrow died, anyway.
*
Robin is much better at keeping secrets than either Bart and Kon, whether individually or together.
It started almost innocently. If Robin's reading is to be believed, this is almost always the case with such things. Affairs.
He was on his way back to the cave in Happy Harbor after a successful battle with the self-styled High Lords of the Geekerati. Superboy and Wonder Girl had teamed up to knock out the HLotG's mechas' kneecaps, while Impulse ran circles around the hulking things, wrapping them with electrical wire from a nearby construction site. Robin had stayed near the Super-Cycle, issuing orders, while Arrowette trained her aim on the geeks stumbling out of their overturned, homemade contraptions.
He thought, at first, that the flush creeping over his chest and down his spine was merely the result of pride in, for once, a job well-done. But as his cheeks tightened and mouth dried, as his erection grew, Robin had to consider the possibility that he was feeling something more than pride.
Something a little closer to -- something quite a bit like desire.
Unbidden, certainly ill-timed, desire, but for all that, it was not entirely *unwelcome*. He shifted in the capacious seat, spread his legs and tugged his cape down, and hoped for the best.
The grunt he gave when his erection was stroked firmly, unmistakably, was, thankfully, lost to the wind and the noise of Superboy's latest quarrel with Impulse.
When the team reached Rhode Island, Robin remained behind. He kept his eyes tightly shut. The heat shrouding his face had grown, his dick was aching in his tights, and then -- there were several strokes, a squeeze and twist, and he could have sworn he felt breath down his neck, in his ear, across his face, just as he came with a groan smothered against his gauntlet.
He chalked the entire experience up to exhaustion.
When it happened again -- over Metropolis this time -- and then a third, in the garage at Happy Harbor, he could no longer deny what was happening.
Most of the time, she gives him exactly what he needs -- quivers underneath him, holds him around the waist and tugs down his tights, grasps his dick firmly and pulls him off just like he does himself. Sometimes, she makes him ache for it, holds him down so hard he can barely breathe but leaves his cock trapped in the cup while she moves, *bounces*, trembles over him. Over him, under him, all *around* him.
Sometimes her touch is wet, warm and tight and *so wet*. The suction's better than any hand, endless and never quite enough, and he'll push into that moist grip with everything he has.
Lately, she's started teasing his ass. Little rubs, almost casual strokes down his crack, movements that could be accidental but...*aren't*.
She knows what he wants.
She knows well before Robin can acknowledge what he wants; she knows what he *needs*.
*
This situation is not without its dangers. Robin is careful, of course, to protect himself and keep his secret; such behavior is as familiar to him as dressing in the dark or, well. Lying to his father.
There have been some close calls.
At the end of one weekend, he found himself blushing rather overwhelmingly when Impulse and Superboy started to tease him about his *special* relationship with the Cycle.
"He has to say goodbye to his lov-*ah*." Superboy elbowed Impulse and grinned obnoxiously at Robin, who was, actually, simply retrieving his spare utility belt from the Cycle's trunk. "It's like they're joined at the hip!"
"More like the crotch," Impulse said sagely. Helpfully demonstrating his meaning, he circled his hand over his own crotch, then reached behind himself and grabbed his ass. "Or the butt! Get it?"
They both cracked up, far more than seemed, really, required for such a lame observation. Belt in hand, Robin tried to slide past them to the door, only to be knocked off-balance when Bart rolled into his legs.
"Watch it," Robin said mildly, banging into the Cycle's bumper, but Kon had launched into a flying tackle after Bart, grabbing and tickling him.
"See you soon," Robin added in a whisper, addressing the Cycle, patting her left front wheel gently. She shivered under his touch, then stilled. Her front bumper seemed to curl, almost like a smile, as her midsection arched and shimmied, spitting Superboy and Impulse out. Shouting, they knocked against the wall and rolled to the left.
Robin's departure went unremarked.
*
He doesn't intend for anything to happen this afternoon. When he finishes digging out gravel and dirt from the Cycle's treads, he washes his hands and leans against the sink.
Originally, this garage was a horse stable; the stalls are still in place, though they lack their doors. When the resort was in business, this building must have been full of tailfinned-cars and sleek roadsters.
The Super-Cycle is the only vehicle here now. Robin brought the Redbird, once, when neither Nightwing nor Alfred were available to take him back home. As soon as he parked the 'Bird, however, he knew something was wrong. Across the stable, the Cycle drew in on it--on *her*self, shivering like a wet dog, and emitted a low, wracking rumble.
Luckily, Robin was alone, so there was no one to question why he got back in the Redbird and drove it all the way across the grounds to park under the old oak tree, the roots of which Impulse had been using as a fort. He left the doors and sunroof open, though, so if anyone asked, he could say he was airing out the car.
The Cycle remained a little off, however, unresponsive, sluggish, and clumsy, until Robin sent the Redbird home.
The day outside is alive with the sounds of crickets and birds. Robin pulls a fresh chamois from his toolbox and sets to polishing the Cycle's front end.
She is voluptuous, reminiscent from certain angles of an old Maserati. He loses himself in the motion and hums something his mother used to sing to herself. At her vanity, dressing for an evening out, while Tim sat on her treasure chest and handed her her jewelry.
He can nearly smell the facepowder in the air. His hand curves over one headlight and the Cycle shivers delightedly. He squeezes the light and she arches toward him.
Still humming, moving in with almost dreamlike certainty, Robin bends over her hood, dropping to one knee, opening his arms to hug her hood and pressing his mouth to the grille.
The grille changes its appearance according to the Cycle's whim. Today it is round, almost as protuberant as one of the headlights.
At this point, the texture of the Cycle's treads is enough to get him half-hard.
The scent of facepowder vanishes, replaced by something sharper, almost acrid. Above the Cycle's pleased hum, Robin hears a sharp gasp, then the bang of the garage door.
He doesn't want to turn around. He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, then forces himself to rise and turn.
A last wisp of Secret's cloud floats in the beam of light shooting through the open door.
The Cycle knocks querulously against his thigh and Robin pats it, hoping for reassurance. From him, or for him?
He's loath to check the surveillance feed -- Secret has to be fairly dense for the motion-sensors to pick her up -- but his...*feelings* are not important. Not right now.
The screen reveals Secret, formed into a small, dense cannonball, rocketing up the headquarters' main staircase, careening down the long hallway, bouncing off a series of doors until she finds --.
Robin covers his face with his hands. He doesn't need to watch the dumbshow as she circles around Impulse and Superboy, he doesn't need to translate what must be wild gestures and stamping feet.
He knows what's coming, and by the time Superboy and Impulse skid to a stop in the garage, kicking up dust, he's ready for them.
*Mostly* ready, that is. Nothing could prepare him for the sight of Impulse, sections of hair pulled back in butterfly barrettes, wearing a pink chemise hastily stuffed into his khaki cargo pants.
"Bart, what are you wearing?" Robin says before he can stop himself.
Superboy looks equally rumpled -- though his supersuit is as...*snug* as ever on his large, rangy frame, the jersey is on inside-out and his hair is tumbling into his eyes. He puts his arm around Bart's narrow shoulders, fingers curling around the chemise's strap, and says loudly, "What the hell are *you* doing, Rob?"
"It's an experiment!" Bart says as Kon shouts. "Oh, right. Not important."
"Secret's all kinds of freaked out," Kon says. "What're you *doing* in here?"
Robin smoothes the chamois over the Cycle's hood. "I'm sorry...?"
Kon shakes his head and takes a dangerous step forward. "What. Are You. *Doing*, man? She's *freaking*, screaming about you and the Cycle?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Robin says tightly.
"You want to try that again?"
"I..." Robin presses his lips together and takes what he hopes is an unobtrusive breath. "What did Suzy say?"
"Not important." Kon's voice is rough and low. Robin restrains himself from taking a step backward. "What's important, *Robin* --" The emphasis is like a warning, like a slap. "-- is that you answer the question. What are you doing?"
Mentally, Robin quickly riffles through the contents of his utility belt. He doesn't have anything on him that would stop Superboy, should Kon decide to launch a physical attack. He smiles thinly at Bart and says, "What's it look like I'm doing?"
Too late, he realizes his hand is still curved around the headlight, cupping it, his thumb pressed to its center.
Kon cuts his eyes over to the Cycle. "Huh. Polishing the bike."
Robin snaps the chamois. "Exactly."
Tilting his head, Kon adds in a drawl, "Touching it, rubbing it, fondling it..."
Now Robin does step back. Fractionally.
"You like that, huh?" Kon follows him forward.
"I don't know --" Robin won't let himself look away. He can't think clearly. Why can't he think?
"Don't know, huh? World's Greatest Detective, comma, protegé of and you don't know?"
Superboy's eyes are fixed on Robin. They're very blue, much bluer than his suit. Alien.
"Are you finished?" Robin's chest is very tight; he doesn't know for quite how long he's been breathing so shallowly. He should know.
Kon glances at Bart, who's fiddling with the hem of his negligee and casting anxious looks at the two of them. "Am I finished? He wants to know if I'm *finished*."
"Guys --" Bart bites his lips when they both glare at him.
Kon rolls his shoulders and cocks his head as he turns back to Robin. "Am I finished, Rob? No. I'm just getting started."
Robin tilts up his chin and meets Kon's eyes. "Maybe you could hurry it up, then."
As they stare at each other, Bart grows ever more agitated, a bronze-and-pink blur in the corner of Robin's vision. He's raking his hand through his hair, clipping and unclipping the barrettes, bouncing on his toes, darting around the garage.
"Well?" Robin asks when Kon blinks and looks away.
Kon pounds his fist into his palm. "Jesus, Rob, this is --"
"You're molesting the Super-Cycle!" Bart claps his hand over his mouth, as if he's startled even himself.
The breath leaves Robin's chest in a slow wheeze.
"Point to the loudmouth speedster," Kon says and shakes his head. "Us, one gazillion. You? *Zero*."
"I didn't know this was a competition," Robin says as mildly as he can. He's leaning most of his weight on the hand that's still resting on the Cycle's hood. He hopes his cape is concealing that fact.
"It's not!" Kon shoots seven feet into the air, then zooms back down. "It's just -- you! You're a -- *freak*, Jesus --"
"We're worried about you!" Bart shouts over the noise of Kon landing.
"Ah." Robin nods slowly. "I have to say, I'm getting mixed signals here."
Bart zips around Robin, making his cape lift and float. "We are! You're --"
"Bart, let me handle this," Kon says, grabbing Bart's -- bare, bony, *golden* -- shoulder and hauling him back.
"This ought to be good," Robin says.
Kon gestures vaguely, menacingly, in Robin's direction before folding his arms across his chest. Every so often, almost despite himself, he manages rather alarmingly to resemble Clark at his most...*Super*. He's giving Robin that Kryptonian glare of befuddled disappointment; the image could only be more perfect were he floating a few feet above Robin, toes pointed down.
"It's just *wrong*, man," Kon finally says.
Robin makes a noise at the back of his throat. "As wrong as fooling around with a male teammate in a dress?"
"Hey!" Bart stops short, bare feet kicking up dust, and tugs at the chemise's straps. "It's not a dress, it's --"
"Wronger," Kon says coolly.
Robin starts to shift his weight, but stops when the intensity of Kon's glare seems to double, then triple. "What?"
"Shut up and *listen*," Kon tells him.
"As a matter of fact," Robin says, "I'm not saying anything."
"Shut. Up." Kon begins to pace, increasing his speed until he begins to blur at the edges. Robin wonders if he's picked that up from Bart. "Okay, so -- *somehow*, you found about, um. Me and Imp --"
"I didn't say anything!" Bart puts in.
"I know, man. I know." Kon's voice gets a little softer, gentle as the hand he lays on Bart's shoulder. Robin swallows and shifts his stance, preparing himself.
Just as he expected, Kon turns back to him, voice loud and rough again. "You! You're -- with the *Cycle* -- and --. Christ, Rob. How much of a freak *are* you? What the hell is *wrong* with you?"
He can outlast just about anything Kon tries to pull. Robin *knows* that, so why is he swallowing again? *Gulping*, even?
"Huh?" Kon closes the distance between them. He pokes Robin's shoulder, hard enough to be a successful nerve strike. If he knew what a nerve strike *was*. "Huh, freak?"
"Nothing," Robin says finally. He looks away. "Nothing."
Kon looks like he wants to hit Robin. Like he wants to spit. His grip on Robin's shoulder slides to his neck, then tightens, squeezes hard, and Robin's not breathing well *anyway*.
They're back to staring at each other.
Bart is -- where *is* Bart? Zooming around somewhere Robin can't see; a breeze lifts the hair off Kon's forehead, knocks him backward, and that's Bart, tugging on Robin's arm, wrapping his own arm around Robin's neck.
"You're our friend," Bart says -- *insists*, and Robin rocks back on his heels, watches Kon pull himself in and go still.
"I --." Robin shakes his head and his chin brushes Bart's hand. "I know. I, I --"
Bart's looking over his shoulder and Kon is -- relaxing. His shoulders loosen and he nods a little.
When Bart looks back at him, all Robin is able to make out are the streak of his eyes, lightning bright, and swipe of his smile, even brighter, before Bart's kissing him.
Kissing him, and Robin's against the wall, away from the Cycle, overcome.
Bart's mouth moves -- well. *Fast*, of course, and that's startled laughter streaming up Robin's chest, out his own mouth, into -- into *Bart's*, who gives him a pleased little groan and tightens his hold on Robin's waist.
"And we *like* you," Bart says, as if he's completing a thought, as he pulls away and rolls his forehead on Robin's shoulder. He kisses Robin's neck, the side of his jaw, trails lightning with his *tongue*, and Robin kisses him back, automatically, without thinking, and --.
He's kissing his teammate. Not the one he --.
His hand finds the side of Bart's face, angles him right, and the kiss goes deeper. *Wetter*, and Robin is dimly aware that the light is changing, that he's sliding down the wall a little, protected by his cape, and --.
"Hey," Kon says, and *that's* the difference. He's tall, blocking the light, and his mouth is twisting up.
Grace is not a term Robin would ever have associated with Bart, but it's the *only* word for how Bart twists away from him, toward Kon, and even if he's tripping over his huge feet, he's graceful, *purposeful*, kissing Kon.
It doesn't matter that Robin's watched them doing this on the security feed; seeing it on the feed is like riding his old red bike compared to riding the Cycle. The feed fades to nothing compared to seeing it -- watching it, *being here* -- now.
They fit together very nicely.
"I'm sorry," Robin says. He might be talking to Kon, he might be talking to the Super-Cycle. He is unsteady on his feet, his face feels fiery and *tight*, and he says it again. "I'm sorry."
"That's stupid," Kon replies, and Bart claps loudly when Kon leans over and wrestles Robin away from the wall, kisses him loudly and *enthusiastically*. His mouth is bigger than Bart's, stronger, and Robin licks his lips when Kon takes a breath and says, "For a genius, you're really, really stupid."
"No, he's --" Bart shrugs, not finding the word, and twines his arm through Robin. "Rob."
"Yes?" Robin's not usually this close, for so long, to *people*. They're very warm, particularly Superboy. Warm and jostling, and it's -- odd. Pleasant, though.
"No, that's the answer," Bart says. He stops in front of the Cycle. "Cycle, can we -- *may* we sit down?"
She could growl, or emit a photon blast. Even just shudder and turn to the wall. But the Cycle's grille expands, as does the front seat. There's more than enough room for all of them, and Bart clambers in, pulling Robin after him. Kon brings up the rear, hand on Robin's waist, steady and firm.
Part of Robin would like to know what his teammates believe they're accomplishing with this...display.
That part, however, is fairly distant and receding ever-farther. His lips are a little sore, Kon's hand is squeezing his waist, and now Bart's kissing him again. Kissing and *giggling*, casting quick glances at Kon, then kissing harder.
"Dude, *slow down*," Kon says and pushes Bart away. Not too far, and he twists his hand in Bart's hair in what Robin has to assume is an affectionate gesture, but --. Kon's smiling against Robin's mouth now, whispering, "Freak. You are *such* --"
Robin suddenly understands what Bart has been doing. Short of kryptonite or magic, the surest way to distract and *disable* Kon is to kiss him.
The Cycle bounces a little when Robin does that, though that might be from Bart. Robin's not sure, not sure of much of anything, because Kon's pushing him back, lying against him, holding Robin's hand in his face and kissing him deeply enough to qualify as --.
Breathtaking, but that's --.
"Which is why we came down, see, because we're worried about you and then you and Kon got all mad at each other, stupid macho posturing, and that's *stupid*, you two always do that, like it's alpha night at the zoo or something, and --" Bart continues the monologue, butting closer, nosing into the kiss, and Kon's the first to laugh. Robin can't help it, he *shouldn't* laugh, he has no breath left and his brain is -- gone, unreliable, *stupid*.
His limbs are heavy and rubbery all at the same time, the Cycle's seat is wide, almost infinitely capacious, and his -- his friends are laughing at, with him. Robin sits up, unlatching the cape's gorget, disarming the uniform before starting to unlace his tunic.
Kon's eyebrow shoots up. "Fast little thing, aren't you?"
Robin smirks. "Hot."
"Why, yes. Yes, I am, thanks for noticing --"
Bart elbows Kon and kneels forward, hands flying on Robin's tunic, pushing it back off his shoulders. "There! All better!"
Robin nods slowly. "Yes."
"So, like, what's --" Kon scratches his belly, bats Bart's hands away, then sits up and tugs off his jersey. His skin is flushed, a long Rohrshach blot down his chest that Robin touches, then again, finally pressing his hand against it and leaving it there. Kon bites his lip, watching him. Even Bart stills. "Oh."
"Hm," Robin says and his fingers curl against Kon's skin. Bart's touch flutters up his back, plucking at his undershirt, tickling him. "You were saying?"
"Uh --"
Bart's breath is hot, sudden, against Robin's ear. "He likes that."
"I can tell," Robin whispers back, and Bart pulls himself against Robin's side, sharp little chin on Robin's shoulder. He's vibrating in place, spreading more heat around them, breathing fast.
"I --. Uh?" Kon shakes his head and hitches his hips up, pressing back against Robin's palm. "What's she do for you?"
"Not important," Robin says, and kisses Kon. Bart follows him, arms around Robin's waist, hugging and *buzzing*, chuckling to himself.
"God." Kon bites his lip again, shakes his head a third, a *tenth* time. His eyes are heavy-lidded, stormy, and Robin spares a thought to be grateful that the heat-vision hasn't yet manifested. "Jeez, *Rob* --"
Kon pushes Robin's hand down, over the cup of his tights, and rocks his hips up to meet him.
"This is okay, right? Is this okay?" Bart's pushing his hand down the back of Robin's own tights, fingers scrabbling for purchase under the tight fabric.
Robin kisses Bart, bites down so Bart makes just *that* little squeak, and nods as he pulls back. "I think so. Superboy?"
"Uh," Kon says and rolls his hips again.
"That's a yes!" Bart says. "*Cool*."
"Imp, do that --" Kon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he tugs down his tights with the other. "Do that thing you do."
"What thing?"
"You know. Thing." Kon starts to gesture, but his hand falls heavily on Robin's thigh. "Behind. With the...bouncy. Thing." He hits Robin again. "You should like this."
"Ah?" Robin kneels up when Bart nudges him forward, and finds himself between them, tights around his thighs, then tugged off over one foot with Kon's TK. Bart slides in behind him, mouth wet and hot on the back of his neck.
"Tell me if I should --" Bart wiggles, pulls Robin down, and he's hard. Right there. "Stop, okay?"
"Um," Robin says, and he *knows* he's been reduced to Superboy-level incoherency, but he can't seem to care. Because Bart's sucking on the skin below his ear while Kon touches his thighs, his belly, with trailing fingertips. "Okay?"
"Okay," Kon says. "Very okay."
"Okay!" Bart bounces once, twice, and --. He's naked, his pants lost somewhere in the speed force, as he rubs and slots himself right at the small of Robin's back. "Hold on!"
And so, as the Cycle purrs lowly, Robin feels Bart's dick vibrating against his ass, rubbing and just -- *blurring* in a hot, thick line, as Kon wraps his hand around Robin's own cock and pulls, and --.
"Oh," Robin says. Kon's grinning at him, he can feel Bart's smile painting hot rainbows down his back, and he starts to move -- forward, backward -- with clumsy hands and anxious hips. Moves and gets moved, in every direction, kisses that smear and vibrations that cloud and spark, until Bart's biting his shoulder, he's pumping Kon's dick and sucking a hickey right where the S-crest usually rests, and Kon is barking laughter, groans, curses high and ragged.
Robin goes up on his knees, changes his grip and rocks into Kon's hand. There's too much, floods and storms through him, over him, and he sees white, then *green*, and white again as he comes, snapping back and up, and Bart bites harder, rubbing faster than light, until --.
"Ho-lee *crap*," Kon says later, poking at the sticky mess on his stomach.
Robin thinks about licking him clean.
Bart giggles. The motion sends a wave of aftershocks through Robin, down his spine and up his chest, and he almost jumps.
He thinks about Bart inside him, all those vibrations buried deep.
He thinks -- he thinks that --.
"That was *awesome*!" Bart says and high-fives Kon.
One good thing about losing his virginity to the Cycle, Robin realizes, is that *this* -- Bart and Kon naked and grinning, pinching and kissing him -- is almost normal.
As close as he's probably ever going to get, anyway.