
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/115827.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse, The_Flash_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Bart_Allen/Valerie_Perez, Bart_Allen/Tim_Drake, Bart_Allen/Valerie_Perez/
      Tim_Drake
  Character:
      Valerie_Perez, Tim_Drake, Bart_Allen
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome, Threesome_-_F/M/M, Virginity, Identity_Porn
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-01-31 Words: 7874
****** Participant Observation ******
by gloss
Summary
     "I'm having sex! Regularly, in lots of different positions!"
Notes
     Setting/Timeline: FLASH:TFMA #8, ROBIN OYL.
     Anti/Warning: This is not your mama's conduit_fic.
     Thanks to Katarik and Jube for assorted inspiration and handholding.
     This is for Kater, who is much loved and whose comments on FLASH #8
     inspired this; one of them forms the epigraph.
I always sort of put [Bart and Tim] the same category as being Weird Quasi-
Gendered Virgin Things, but now the world's gone all topsy-turvy.
Studying superheroes has not prepared Val - in any way whatsoever - for living
with one. Her research is quantitative; her dissertation will suggest a new
calculus for the Speed Force. She understands probability and vectors, and
spends hours mucking around in SPSS and visualizations.
Bart is, for lack of any better word, pretty intensely *qualitative*. He
doesn't measure anything, he can't *be* measured. He simply moves and loves and
shifts again.
Everything he says surprises her.
Today, when she leaves the lab, she stops at the slightly skeevy hair salon
that a fellow grad student recommended. She returns to their apartment with a
cut that makes the back of her neck itch. She can't stop touching the fall of
hair, asymmetrical and jagged, on the right side, nor the neat, almost
landscaped, hair on the other.
"Wow, you look gorgeous!" Bart's on his feet, grabbing her hands, spinning her
around before the door closes and her backpack has thumped to the floor.
Considering the fact that last month, when she had the flu and pink eye at
once, he *also* thought she was gorgeous, Val can't really credit his
objectivity.
The collision of "objectivity" and "Bart" makes her head hurt, to tell the
truth.
"Is it butchy?" she asks as Bart runs his fingers through her hair. "I can't
tell."
She shouldn't care if it is butchy. It's not like she's ever exactly been the
girliest girl anyway. But Los Angeles' smog seems to contain some kind of
hyper-feminizing force that has begun to get to her.
"Really butchy!" Bart nods vigorously. "It's so butchy, it's amazing!
Groundbreakingly butchy, I'd say! I love it!"
Val opens her mouth. She doesn't get a chance to say anything, though, because
Bart's tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.
"What's butchy again?" he asks in a small voice.
*
She never expected to be living with someone. Not this young, not when she
hasn't even started her career yet, not for a lot of reasons.
Bart has a way of making disruption feel like a gift.
The way she's settled into this highly *domestic* routine - Sunday mornings
spent with the papers Bart runs across the country to buy, curled up with
waffles from Copenhagen and fruit from Mali - should surprise her. Maybe take
her aback.
Instead, she just kind of likes it. Her mother would roll her eyes and say
"Valerie, no one needs a man to feel comfortable".
Why, yes, thank you, Mother. And the sky is blue, and Bart can run fast. Tell
me something I don't know.
"What's so funny?" Bart slides down the back of the couch and ends up upside
down in her lap. The Guardian crumples beneath his head.
"Hmm?" she asks, leaning over to pluck the City section of the New York Times
from the top of the pile. "What?"
"You were doing that -" He traces her lips with his index finger and cocks his
head. "Where you don't really smile, but I can tell you're smiling because
there's something about your eyes and what's so funny? Did I do something?"
"No," she assures him.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Bart sighs gustily and grins. "Good, because sometimes, see, I used to do stuff
and no one told me why it was funny, they just laughed, and I'm not sure if I
still do that? Or maybe they were just being mean, I don't know. Probably not
mean, because they were my friends and I'd hate to think they were actually
secret jerks -"
Val pushes his hair away from his forehead and smiles. For real this time.
"Just thinking."
Bart does a backflip that turns into a messy somersault. He ends up crouched,
arms wrapped around his knees, watching her.
He watches her a lot; she thinks she might be starting to get used to it. It
started - well, probably after the first time they kissed, but the first time
she really *noticed* the energy of his gaze was after their first night
together.
It's nothing like the sparks that fly off the Speed Force when they're making
out. Somehow, the light in his eyes when he's watching is *more* alien, more
exciting, than even those are.
"Now you're thinking," she says gently.
Bart grins and starts to bounce in place. "It finally came to me! You know how
I've been racking my brains, really *freaking out*, because -"
"No, really?" Val sets aside the paper. "You've been upset?"
Bart waves his hand. "Not any more! I was trying to figure out who you reminded
me of, and I couldn't make it make sense in my head, and then it all came
together BLAM, you know? And now I'm -"
"Blam?"
"BLAM!" he shouts and jumps to his feet. He kisses her at speed, a hummingbird
pressure of heat and moisture, before drawing back. "Holy crap, Val! You're
just like Robin, you know that! Same hair and everything!"
Over the course of her background research, Val has of course read about and
seen photos of the various Robins. She's fairly sure Bart doesn't mean the
pretty blonde one. The *girl* one.
"I look like Robin?" she asks carefully, navigating the reefs and shoals and
sudden currents of Bart-logic as best she can.
Bart rolls his eyes and waves *both* arms. "Yeah, yeah, you're both really
*hot*, but it's not just that - it's like, you're a *scientist*, right? And
he's a *detective*, and that's pretty much the same thing, you both build
models of dynamic systems in order to understand and improve them and -"
Val shakes her head. Bart is almost *terrifyingly* open about desire and
sexuality these days. Perhaps it just makes sense that he was far more shy
about such things when they first met - after all, she's certainly opened up a
lot since then, too - but there's more to it than that. Bart seems to *relish*
every chance he gets to talk about his libido, what he likes, what *she* likes,
what he'd like to do.
The sense of having opened floodgates has not escaped her.
She says, a little hoarsely, "You think Robin's hot?"
But Bart's off on another vector altogether, pacing the living room until the
carpet starts to smoke under his Converse and he's blurring at the edges. "He's
the smartest person I know! Until I met you, and now he's a got a rival, and
boy is *that* funny, if you think about it, because Robin's an *original*,
despite being the third *and* fifth person to wear the uniform, he's really
made it his own, and -" He takes a deep, rattling breath. "- then there's also
the fact that I feel like there's a big dog sitting on my chest whenever I look
at you."
Val straightens each section of every paper before she can reply. When she
does, all she can do is make a joke. "Maybe you should get that looked at."
"Huh?" Bart's back in front of her, down on one knee, *watching* her.
"The dog..." Val slips her fingers through Bart's and squeezes. "Bad joke."
"Oh, the dog! Yeah, and the thing is, I never felt like that before except
maybe twice." He shakes his head. "Three times. No, four." Now he's counting
off on the fingers of his free hand. "When Max left, yes. When I kissed Carol,
yes. When I saw my mom in the future, that's four."
"That's three."
"Right, three! And the fourth is when I used to be around Robin. So, see? It's
totally obvious."
Val's cheeks are starting to ache a little from grinning. "Explain it to me?
What's *it*?"
The crackle of reality wrinkling around her as Bart grabs her and starts to run
is becoming almost familiar. She should probably think that fact through sooner
rather than later, but she's too busy feeling the quantum winds break like
music over her skin.
"You totally have to meet Robin!" Bart shouts into the sparking, symphonic
*hum* of the Speed Force. "You're perfect for each other!"
No one told me why it was funny, they just laughed. Yet Val's laughing harder
than ever.
*
Bart grips the handlebars on the Cosmic Treadmill tightly and rests his chin on
the crown of Val's skull. "So what I'll do is work this thing, which I'm pretty
sure I know how to do, whatever else anyone said that time in the creepy future
and -"
Insecurities have a way of spilling from Bart's mind like snowflakes.
Snowflakes in *Arizona*, because they disappear just as soon as they appear.
Nevertheless, Val covers one of Bart's hand with her own, marveling, as usual,
at just how much longer his fingers are. "It's okay."
He nods, without removing his chin from her head, so Val finds herself nodding
with him. "I know, I was just filling in some backstory for you, that's all."
"Thanks?"
"You're very welcome." Bart kisses the part in her hair, then continues. "So
I'll take you back to Happy Harbor - no, the Catskills - no! The *Poconos*, and
you can meet Robin, and you're going to *love* him, he's so cool and freaky,
really, really freaky, and -"
"Bart." She uses her mother's voice, quiet and firm, and winces. "Bart?"
"Yeah?"
"Why don't we just go to Gotham?"
His sigh sets her hair moving, tickles her forehead. She tries to turn around
but Bart squeezes her waist with his elbows to hold her in place.
"We could do that." It sounds almost *grudging*.
If that's possible - Bart gets quiet sometimes, but never sounds resentful,
even when he talks about the previous Flash.
"It just seems...simpler." Val tips back her head so she can see, even just a
little, some of Bart's face. She smiles at him. "You know what I mean?"
"Oh, sure, sure," he says quickly. "Parsimony, totally. That makes a lot of
sense, I don't -"
"Or we could just go home," she adds. It's clear as *day* that Bart doesn't
want to go anywhere near Gotham.
Or is it the present he's avoiding?
*
Val employs logic, both inductive and deductive, in order to make her
decisions. Many times, she's influenced in her choice by her emotions and
needs, but she has, recently, learned to accept that.
Bart's decisions, on the other hand, are made outside of logic.
Retrospectively, it is sometimes possible to descry the outlines of a logical
progression, but not always. And in the moment, his decisions occur
spontaneously, almost as confusingly and contradictorily as the behavior of
particles without observation.
So, thanks to Bart's split-second decisionmaking, she ends up here.
Somewhere. She finds herself perched on the edge of an eight- or ten-story
building, as Bart flickers in and out of view, overlooking a tangled urban
mess. The streets and alleys are cris-crossed by wan shadows and nauseated neon
- the Gotham familiar from every pop-cultural reference, as familiar as *Vegas*
or London (neither of which she had visited before Bart, either). The only
thing that feels off is the fact that she should be seeing this place for the
first time at night, not late in the morning.
She doesn't like heights very much, so she edges back on her ass before pulling
herself to her feet. Bart has changed her clothes for her, removing her Sunday-
morning pajama pants and tank top, replacing them with a black sweater and snug
dark jeans.
Val crosses her arms over her chest and waits.
While time passes, slowly, she calculates vectors in her head.
Bart's the first person who failed to make fun of her for this habit when he
heard about it.
Soon enough, a stiff breeze from the south-southeast rocks her back on her
heels, followed almost instantly by a blur of red.
"Found him!" Bart announces, spinning around with one arm outstretched, like
Vanna White.
He's pointing at a *kid*.
Well, not exactly a kid. A young guy of medium-height with short dark hair and
an odd, quiet set to his expression. He's wearing clothes like the ones Bart's
been favoring lately - old-man grampa sweater vest and jeans - but on him, they
look *right*, somehow.
"Hi?" Val tries.
"Hi," the kid replies and shakes her hand. His palm and fingers are rough, a
strange contrast to the smoothness of his face, the *youth* of everything about
him. "Valerie Pérez? You can call me -"
"Not Alvin!" Bart shoves a shoulder between them, flinging his arms around
their necks. "Anything but Alvin."
"Robin," Valerie says and smiles. It's easy, sometimes, to forget that Bart
aged while in the Speed Force, but confronted with a kid about her height, she
has to remember.This is Robin?she thinks,*Really?*. "Hi. Um -"
"Call me Rob." There's a movement in the corners of his mouth that might almost
be a smile. "I've heard a lot about you." He glances up at Bart and the corners
deepen, briefly. "In the nanosecond I had between pulling on my sock and coming
here, that is."
"He didn't even have time for a disguise!" Bart says proudly.
He tightens his arm around Rob's neck, releasing Val to wrap the other one
around his shoulders. Rob remains still, his face hidden against Bart's chest,
as Bart rocks from one foot to the other and back again.
Val suddenly feels as if she should not be here. It's one thing to have Sunday
dinner with the Garricks and watch Joan shoot fond, inquisitive looks at Bart,
see Jay squeeze Bart's shoulder whenever he passes - that's what families do.
Or so she's heard from television.
But the way Bart's holding Robin, with Robin almost folded up against his body,
crumpled and bent, dark - that's beyond family, well beyond friendship.
*
Rob takes them to a safehouse, explaining, "So we can talk -" He glanced at
Bart and stressed the next word, "- *relatively* freely." The word "safehouse"
made Val picture a narrow bolthole, stocked with canned and freezedried
survival fare, but the nicely-appointed apartment in an old Beaux Arts building
is nothing like that.
No one actually lives here, but the illusion - framed snapshots on the mantel,
squashed throw pillows, coats in the hall closet - is almost enough to make her
doubt that. They order in Malaysian curries and coconut rice, six for Bart and
one each for Val and Rob, and settle in the living room.
She slowly loses her initial shock at meeting *the* Robin. The longer he talks
to her, charming and as intelligent as Bart always said, the less she can
believe that he's actually sixteen or seventeen. Like the gap between Bart's
apparent age and actual time spent alive, Robin's maturity does not map to any
calendar.
He can discuss the relative strengths and irritating flaws of *Matlab*; he
questions her about her research, neatly diagnosing her supervisor's criticisms
of her modelling as hide-bound and overly reliant on an outdated adherence to
the principle of parsimony - which, as he points out, neatly plucking three
grains of rice off the table with his chopsticks, is "understandable for
someone trained at CalTech - I presume that's her background?"
Val nods and lets Bart take her unfinished bowl from her hands.
"Told you he knew everything." Bart's own chopsticks are flaking and peeling as
he wields them. "*Especially* about superheroes and everything like that."
Rob ducks his head fractionally when Val looks at him. "I was something of an
amateur at one time."
He isn't a kid, Val thinks. She's not sure *what* he is, but a child is
definitely not among the possibilities.
When the food is gone, when even the profiteroles Bart dashed down to New
Orleans to pick up are polished off, Val leans back against the sofa's arm and
groans softly.
"Still getting used to cuisine a la Bart?" Robin asks with another of those
tilting non-smiles.
"I cook a lot!" Bart pauses in his whirlwind of clean-up and pushes his bangs
out of his eyes, "And not just Interlac stuff, either. There's a whole slow-
food movement going on and it's got some really interesting -. What?" When
Robin snorted, Val's giggles got going. Bart looks back and forth. "You like my
cooking!"
"I do," Val says between the giggles. She can't explain why she's laughing -
not at Bart, she knows that, but with Robin. The difference is clear, if
impossible to define.
"Does it really count as cooking if it results in charcoal?" Robin asks.
She doesn't say anything else, as Bart tries to tip Robin out of his wing chair
and wrestle him to the floor. Every time the conversation slides near the
*fact* that she and Bart are a couple - a fact that even she doesn't quite
comprehend, not fully - she feels the urge to duck. Cut her eyes away, to
apologize.
Robin, however, has not done what most people do - he's not treating them as
some kind of two-headed unit. He's also been talking to Bart about his forensic
research - that Robin knows a lot about forensics isn't a *surprise*, exactly -
but it's gratifying all the same that he's talking to both Val and Bart as
individuals; he has not shown any of that social anxiety that Val's observed
from a single person confronted with a couple.
So it's her issue, really, this slight discomfort about being a couple. It has
everything to do with how guilty she knows Bart feels about Superboy's death,
with his strange reluctance to come visit the person he calls his best friend,
with facts about Robin she probably should not know. According to Bart,
everyone Robin knew has died, save for someone who's his foster-brother.
Robin extricates himself from Bart's attempt at manic tickling, smoothes down
his shirt and hair, and perches on the couch - near Val, but with a cushion's
length between them.
Bart's face blurs as he looks back and forth between them, grinning. It's an
optical illusion, Val knows, simply the persistence of vision, that suggests
that Bart's grin is independent of his face, floating brightly before them. And
yet she can't help but grin back.
"You guys *rock*!" Bart says, flopping down into the wing chair. "*Such* a
relief that you like each other, you know? Big-time relief."
Rob glances at Val. "You're not here to ask for my permission, are you? Bart's
hand and all that?"
Bart shakes Val's arm to get her attention as he hoots with laughter. "Rob was
*always* the dad, so that'd totally work!"
"These days you're a little too big to put over my knee," Rob says lightly.
Bart goes quiet at that, his cheeks pinker than usual, and looks away. Val
swallows, trying to think of something to say, but Bart's already recovered.
"Anyway, we're totally living in sin, so it doesn't matter. I - we - Rob!"
"I'm listening."
"I had sex!" Bart's leaning over, one hand braced on the coffee table, shaking
Robin's left knee for emphasis. "*Sex*."
Robin unfolds his arms. His hands stay at his sides. "So I gathered."
"It's amazing! I mean, the whole *thought* of sex used to totally gross me out,
you know, like all the *stuff* that Kon would -" He stops short and grabs at
the nearest thing within reach - a throw pillow - and hugs it to his chest.
"Um."
Robin clears his throat and says, softly, "Girls are wonderful creatures,
chum."
The sudden rigidity passes from Bart's face and body. "*Exactly*. Remember how
gross Kon could be, like - oh, man, that time he dared Gar to turn into Big
Barda and -"
"Kon," Robin says to Val, not turning his head, "was Superboy - Superboy's
name."
"One of them, anyway," Bart puts in. "And Val knows, I told her lots -"
"Of course you did," Robin says. Tonelessly.
As she stands up, Val rubs her arms against an imaginary chill. "Bathroom?"
"Down the hall, second door on the right." The look Robin gives her is almost
*naked* - shining blue eyes, pale face - with gratitude.
Val hasn't made it out of the room before Bart throws himself on the couch
beside - partly on top of - Robin, talking all the while. "...and sex is just
amazing, it's like I can feel my whole body, and someone else's body, too!
Intimate, right? A real kind of connection and..."
She waits in the bathroom for as long as she can, drying her hands on a velvety
towel, poking through the medicine cabinet that no one uses. There's toothpaste
and gauze, a few prescription bottles for muscle relaxants and anxiety in the
names of Robert Malone and Cathy Whippes, a box of condoms and unwrapped soaps.
She doesn't think she's hiding in here - not quite, anyway. When it feels like
she's given them enough time alone, Val eases open the door and pads back down
the hall.
She hears Bart's high, excited voice well before the living room comes back
into view and stops there.
"- got to thinking, hey, Tih-*Robin*'s never gone all the way -"
"How do you know that?" Robin asks quietly.
When he replies, Bart sounds offended. "You *told* me."
"I...when?"
She hears a muffled fabric sound and realizes it's probably Bart socking Robin
in the shoulder. Or the ribs. Maybe the thigh. "The campout! Remember?"
"Bart, that was -. A really long time ago."
"I *know* that," Bart says, impatient and affronted. It's been longer for him
than anyone.
Val remains in the hallway, looking blankly at pictures of people who don't
live here, pictures in heavy silver frames of affluent white people, dark-
haired and smiling.
Bart adds, "But if it had changed, you would've told me, and you haven't, so -.
Rob! You would've told me, right?"
There is a long pause, during which Val traces the floral damask on the
wallpaper, making a loop of an entire bouquet, before Robin clears his throat.
"Of course."
"Same as I'm telling you *now*. Because you're my best friend, always will be,
you and Val and -"
"That's what friends do." The way Robin says it, it's not a question.
Bart, however, seems to think it is. "Yeah!" He must be shifting on the couch,
getting more comfortable, because it's a long moment before he says, a little
shyly, "So."
"So." Robin sounds as calm as ever.
"So! So I had sex! I'm *having* sex. Regularly, in lots of different
positions!"
"I'd heard as much, yes." Robin might be amused; Val doesn't know him well
enough to decide if he is. But she shares with him, she suspects, the fond
exasperation that comes from following Bart's loops and knots and *whorls* of
logic.
"You did? Wait, did *Val* tell you?"
In the hall, Val opens her mouth to protest, but Robin snorts and says, "We've
covered this, Bart. And, anyway, when you show up with a pretty girl who you're
calling your girlfriend, it's fairly easy to assume that -"
"But *you* had girlfriends," Bart says. Val can see as clearly as anything the
mulish set to his jaw and his eyeroll.
"Yes."
"But *you're* a virgin."
"Yes," Robin says. Val *knows* she shouldn't be surprised at that, but -. Well.
She is.
"So it's not a given, Tim! You can't just *assume* things without, without -
*evidence* and confirmation and all of that. Kon was right, you know, you -"
Bart just said what must be Robin's real name.
Val's head swims a little at that, the *fact* somehow more shocking than the
virgin thing, more than - let's be honest, Valerie, shall we? - eavesdropping
on her boyfriend's face-burningly clumsy attempt to seduce his best friend.
Maybe the Batman has a pill to make her forget. Maybe there's some kind of
self-hypnosis she could do...
She knows better than that, however. Once Val *learns* something, she can't
give it up; she needs, in fact, to know more, learn more, *acquire* more.
Everything's quiet out in the living room. Val steps forward, coming up to toe
the light from the far window, and the first thing she thinks when she sees
Bart splayed over Robin, hand on his hip, kissing him enthusiastically, is,Hey,
go you!
Sometimes hanging around so much with Bart makes her feel all of twelve, right
down to the diminution of her vocabulary.
Robin's hand is in Bart's hair; at first, that's all Val can see of him, before
he grips Bart's shoulder and eases him back. "Your girlfriend -"
"That'd be my cue," Val says, then feels about as cheesy as Hugh Hefner or
something. She shoves her hands into her back pockets. "Hi, guys."
Bart is breathing heavily - she knows, bodily at this point, just how intensely
worked-up he can get in the space of a heartbeat. She tilts her head, smiling
at him, getting that same *fizzy* sensation down her back and up her chest that
she gets when they touch, then glances at Robin.
He's pulling himself back up, straight-spined and alert, one hand combing back
his hair. His preppy button-down shirt, however, is pushed up on one side,
where Bart's (fast, insistent) hand had been, and his mouth looks redder than
it had been.
"I -" Robin starts, presses his lips together, then tries again. "This feels
like a set-up."
"It totally is!" Bart crows at the same time that Val says, "No, no, I -"
Until Bart clapped his hands just now, Val is sure she had no idea where this
was leading. A good percentage of Bart's ideas, once voiced, flare out like the
speed force's sparks; it's never easy to tell when they might catch and take
hold.
Bart drags her across the room, her toes snagging in the carpet, and pushes her
down onto the couch, right up against Robin. "It's not like -" she tries to
say.
"I think you'll like it," Bart says loudly, over her own words. He's sitting on
the edge of the coffee table, one hand on Robin's leg, the other, mirroring
perfectly, on Val's thigh. "I *know* you'll like it, sex is just mindblowingly
*fun*, and it's way past time that you let yourself go. So, here's what we're
going to do -"
Robin holds up his palm. "Do I get a say in this?"
"Do *I*?" Val asks.
Brow furrowed, his jaw working restlessly, Bart looks back and forth. "You want
to *discuss* this? What, like negotiate boundaries? I don't think we'll need a
safe word or anything, even if Bats *are* freaky, your first time out, I
wouldn't recommend -"
"Bart," Robin says.
"Yes?"
"This isn't a good idea." This close to Robin, Val can feel his thigh tense up
against her own, rock-hard and immobile. His elbow is sharp when it brushes her
waist. "No offense, Valerie, I -"
"It's all right," Val says and turns her hand palm up to grasp Bart's wrist.
"Bart, it's -"
"It can work!" Bart insists and reaches over to them, pushing their shoulders
together. "Wow, you two look *great* together, I mean - I *imagined* it, but
there's nothing like -"
"You imagined what, exactly?" Robin's voice sounds - not hoarse, nothing so
obvious, but dry. Dry around the edges.
Bart huffs and starts to draw back his hands. He seems to think better of it,
though, and brushes Val's hair behind her ears as he runs his knuckles down
Robin's jaw. "You know," he says dreamily. "Like, *you*. And Val. And me with
you. And I miss -"
Val thinks that there's a moment, a half-moment, during which Robin looks at
her. She can't be sure, however, because Robin's leaning forward, like a
*blaze*, small white hands gripping Bart's knees, spreading them apart, as he
cranes forward and up to kiss him.
"Mmph," Bart says. One arm flails free, hitting the couch cushions, the corner
of the coffee table, the couch again, before Val can grab his hand and squeeze.
Robin's shirt is hitching up in the back, exposing pale, scarred skin, as his
shoulders tilt and twist. She catches a glimpse of one of Bart's eyes, shocked
and wide, *shining*, before the lid drifts closed. At the same moment, he laces
his fingers through Val's.
Robin shudders, briefly, when Val touches the small of his back. She's not sure
what she's doing, nor why, or - *anything*, really, but her hand casts mercury-
dark shadows on his skin, and she traces the scars with her nails to feel him
shudder again. She pulls one knee up to her chest and slides behind Robin until
he's between her legs and she's got one hand on his back, the other on Bart's
thigh. Under her mouth, the nape of Robin's neck is cool, much smoother than
the scarred skin of his back. The bristles of his cropped hair buzz against her
lips.
He doesn't seem to mind her touching him, holding him like this, but when she
slides her palm around his waist and pets his chest - so much *narrower* than
Bart's, with so many more scars that it makes her eyes sting - Robin tenses.
The tension is a minute shift, a change in the rhythm of his breathing and a
stiffening of the muscles under her hand, but it's notable all the same.
He relaxes again when she touches his arm instead, then Bart's, her palm
curving around Bart's neck.
Bart breaks the kiss, eyes unfocused and mouth hanging open. "Oh my *god*," he
breathes, and drops a peck on the tip of Robin's nose. "You, Rob - *wow*. Val!"
"Here," she says, resting her chin on Robin's shoulder. He's breathing heavily,
too, and she's torn between wanting to kiss him and sensing that he needs a
massage, a cuddle, and a gallon of good hot soup.
But Bart's the cook here, and he's rubbing his face against Robin's other
shoulder and squeezing Val's hand almost painfully.
Robin turns his head, mouth finding her ear. "This - this doesn't feel right."
"It's okay," she whispers back and can't stop herself from wrapping her arm
around his waist and squeezing. He tenses again, then exhales, and she's almost
sure he's *willing* himself to relax. "I - yeah. It's okay."
"What're you talking about?" Bart's still breathless, so his voice is high, as
high as she remembers it being when he was Kid Flash. "Also, you two should
totally kiss. You're both really good at it!"
Against her cheek, she feels Robin's eyes close, and she squeezes him again
before saying to Bart, "I don't think -"
But Bart's leaning back, pulling off his shirt and sweater, tossing them behind
him. "C'mon, c'mon," he mutters, plucking at Robin's shirt and Val's pants.
"*C'mon* -"
The topology of this is all wrong: Robin between them, one point with two
links. She can't help seeing this as a graph that needs to be redone,
rearranged, for optimal efficiency.
Nor would it be better if she was in the middle, bracketed by the guys; though
that's been her experience before - one man, bracketed by two women,
admittedly, but the graph is the same, whatever the genders - because Robin is
not *interested* in her. Responsive, yes, and polite to a fault, and he looks
*lovely* with his cheeks flushing and lips a little swollen, but he isn't here
for her.
Like Robin, Val cannot reasonably expect Bart to understand that. He's pulling
off Robin's shoes, tugging Val's shirt off, and, in his eyes, everyone probably
is as flexible, as full of affection and desire, as he is.
She wishes, for Bart's sake, that the world was half as good as he believes it
is. Despite everything, every loss and pain he's ever known, he cannot seem to
help believing that everyone loves as purely and thoroughly as he does.
And this is where the graph is Val's mind falters, starts to break down and
flake away, because Bart's *not* a point, cannot be reduced to a single datum.
"Here, let me help," she says and leans back, tugging Robin's shirt over his
head. "Bart? C'mere, okay?"
"Sure!"
He's shirtless, a little sweaty already, his tanned skin pulled tightly over
the long cords of his muscles. She pulls him close, kissing him as she pushes
his hair back, biting his lower lip when he gets one knee on the couch between
her leg and Robin's.
"Oh," Robin breathes, and she's not sure what he's responding to, but she feels
his hands on Bart's waist, skating up his chest, and knows this arrangement is
better.
Between them, Bart's arching and grunting a little, his lip caught in his
teeth, his hips moving jerkily but aimlessly. He doesn't seem to know where to
go, whether to butt against Val's hand or back into Robin's chest.
He settles, eventually, for kissing Val while he grinds back against Robin's
chest. He's *gulping* in the kiss, murmuring in the speedster language, cupping
her breasts and gasping. When Val tugs open his fly, in the single space of a
break for breath, she considers grabbing Robin's hand and pushing it inside.
She doesn't like herself very much for ignoring that idea, but then Bart
shimmies his hips and the pants slide down his thighs anyway.
She has limits, just as Robin does, and she can *aspire* to be like Bart -
though the idea terrifies her - but she's not there, not nearly, not yet.
Bart doesn't curse, even in the heat of the hottest moment; what he does - as
he's doing now, when Robin *does* touch him - is throw his head back and babble
in Interlac and kind of *gasp* with his entire body. Val licks down the long
prominence of his collarbone, then around one nipple -I don't know why they say
men shouldn't have nipples! That feels *amazing*, do it harder!- watching
Robin's white fingers wrap around the base of Bart's dick. Swollen dark as
beef, it stands out hugely against the narrow, pale fingers, even the pink
thumb as Robin strokes the head.
He catches her eye and gives her one of those tilting non-smiles, before his
gaze flickers away. Bart throws his arm around Robin, yanking him close,
kissing him hungrily as he tries to shove his hand down Robin's pants.
Val can't stop thinking. She can't, quite, lose herself entirely, even during
sex, even when it's just the two of them. She's always *studying* Bart, even
against her better instincts, and she's watching them, *analyzing* them, now.
Robin is made up of sharp angles and white lines, like origami, intricate and
*secret*, against the golden, flushed expanse of Bart. She knows Bart's body
very well, but that familiarity hasn't seemed to dull her love for it, her
interest in its responses and capabilities; she doesn't know Robin's body,
except as a collection of nearly-untouchable turns and joints, and that novelty
makes her fingers itch and mouth dry.
She doesn't want to be the director here, and she definitely doesn't want to
retire gracefully and leave them be. Not with her groin already throbbing -
every time she shifts, she rocks a little against the gathering wet, and her
clit's got to be swollen *already* - not for anything.
Bart has twisted around, flopped back between them; even with his mouth latched
to Robin's, their hands on each other's cocks, he finds Val with his free hand
and tugs her closer. She swallows against the rush of heat and *gratitude* and
peels off her pants. She can hear Bart suck in a breath and giggle against
Robin's mouth when she straddles his arm and his palm curves up against her
crotch.
Bodies, especially *genitalia*, make him giggle; he's never going to get over
that. She doesn't want him to, not really.
Val braces one hand on the back of the couch and touches Bart with the other,
as the boys - she should really think of them asguys, lest her old cradle-
robbing guilt return, but they *are* boys right now, flushed and grinding
against each other, their lips and cheeks bitten and shining red as washed
apples. Bart's thumb buzzes against her clit's shaft as two fingers twist and
cross inside her, and she's very glad - as she always is, just a thousand times
more so - for a boyfriend who's also a human vibrator.
He's blurring at the center of her vision, his hand moving fast enough that the
friction spreads into a flare inside her, up into her gut, spilling out from
her mouth in gasping cries, in *Spanish*. Bart arches off the couch, almost
floating - though that, too, is an optical illusion; he's simply thrusting so
fast that she can't see - and he comes in a heaving series of slowing jerks.
"Oh. Oh. *Oh*," Bart says, kissing Val and working his fingers deeper, then
kissing Robin and staring down at his dick. "Oh, *guys*, see -. That was -"
"Ssshh," Robin breathes, as Bart sucks a line down the side of his throat, and
he catches Val's smile.
Bart's always a little lost, gobsmacked and intensely, almost painfully,
*grateful*, just after orgasm. *She's* usually the one who shushes him, pets
his back, but she just nods at Robin and slides off Bart's hand. She rubs a
little, fast, against the heel of his hand before sliding back.
She's good and buzzed now, her nipples aching as she brushes her knuckles
against them and works her hand between her legs.
"Rob!" Bart whispers urgently, from a point about eye-level to Robin's sternum.
"Rob, I -"
Robin spread his legs and stretches out his neck. He glances at Val, one
eyebrow sliding up interrogatively, and she shrugs. "What, Bart?"
"Can I, I want to, see -" Bart tries to catch his breath, and looks back at
Val. His chin planted on his shoulder, his back twisting and sweaty, his hair
falling in his eyes, he looks like - well, like *Bart*, excited and ablaze and
nearly incoherent with lightspeed thought and emotion. His tongue flicks the
corners of his mouth and a red, twisting *sizzle* runs down Val's back, arching
it and twisting her hand, at the sight. Bart's eyebrows jump up in surprise and
he grins before looking back at Robin. "Rob, I gotta. I *have* to, I want -"
She's half-surprised at how gently Robin brushes his fingertips over Bart's
cheek. Then she's all the way surprised - and not a little turned on - at how
Bart goes up on all fours and *bites* Robin's index finger.
"If you can't say it," Robin says drily, "you shouldn't -"
Bart shakes his head like a dog with a bone and pushes Robin back into the
corner of the couch. For several moments, all Val can see is Bart's much
bigger, more muscled body pinning Robin's, and then Bart slides all the way
down until his face is in Robin's lap and Robin's head is thrown back, exposing
his throat as his chin works and he groans.
Val tries quietly to shift onto her knees, behind Bart; there isn't much room,
but neither of them notices her changing places, not Robin, his torso extended
and bone-white, hands clamped in Bart's hair, and not Bart, murmuring and
*slobbering* as he opens Robin's knees wider and bobs his head.
Bart has been very *oral* from the start; that night in Vegas, he spent what
had to have been, for him, a decade between her legs, tasting and giggling and
trying different methods, until she was so sore and *tight* from coming that
she had to push him away. And then she spent half an hour explaining that she
wasn't *mad* at him, just that there were many other things they could try.
She crouches behind Bart, head resting on his back as it heaves and moves, arms
wrapped around his waist. Her feet are digging into the space between the
couch's arm and the cushion, and she's starting to fear for the poor couch's
springs. Bart shines under, before, her, and he's already hard again - an
adolescent at super-speed's refractory period is, really, nothing less than
astonishing. And frequently exhausting.
Bart pushes into her hand, rubbing himself on her and the upholstery, as Robin
drops his head forward, his eyes narrowed and intent. Intent on Bart, his lips
a little parted as he works his hips up and down, breathing raggedly.
Val stretches as far as she can, until she can whisper to Bart, her teeth
grazing his earlobe. "He likes it, sweetheart. He likes *you* -"
And Robin couldn't have heard that, but he's nodding and his hand is clumsily
petting Bart's hair and now Val's, and he's saying, "Yes" and "Oh", and Bart is
- humming. A hum that turns into a giggle as he shifts around, bringing one
hand to his mouth and sucking his fingers before returning to Robin's cock.
Val pulls back when Bart looks up at Robin and says something in Interlac,
something that Robin understands, because his eyes go wide, his breath
catching, before he pulls one knee up to his chest and exhales slowly as he
lies back.
Val speeds her strokes on Bart's dick, twisting up to the head, as she pushes
up onto one knee. She wants to see, she wants to *feel* it, as much as she can.
The muscles in Bart's arm stand out like naval ropes; she can't see his hand,
but she knows he's running his fingertips around Robin's hole, the way he's
done to her several hundred times, vibrating slowly as he sucks and enters and
Robin *yowls*.
Bart bucks, knocking her back against the arm of the couch, almost *over* it,
and Val ends up with one foot on the floor, the other leg extended in the well
of the couch, toes tickling Robin's waist every time he twists in that
direction. She scissors her first two fingers around her clit, soaking her
entire hand, rubbing and watching and rubbing harder, watching more closely.
You're the best de-virginizer *ever*,Bart gasped to her when they woke up in
Vegas. She'd laughed then, because the word made her sound like a professional,
or a machine. She's pretty sure now that, as she's watching now as the flush
spills and deepens down Robin's chest, as Bart's head stops bobbing and slows
into an intense suck, it's *Bart* who excels at this.
She comes against her hand once and keeps rubbing, curling her second finger
into her hole, fucking herself with what she thinks of as Bart's rhythm.
"Christ, *Bart*, I'm -" Robin's words shatter and he tries to hold himself
still, but Bart is nothing if not *diligent*, and soon enough Robin's body
starts to fold up like a jack-knife before extending again and shuddering.
Val has come three times before she pulls her hand away, and by that time, Bart
is trying to worm his way up Robin's body, patting him and kissing in a random
pattern.
"Did you like that? Was that good? I think that was pretty good, it was a hard
time finding the prostate, but I did it, I think I found it -"
Robin's eyes flutter open, and his gaze lands on Val first. "Yes," he says,
hoarsely, then works his jaw until it pops. "You, um. Found it."
"Good! I couldn't find Val's G-spot the first couple times I tried, that's a
tricky little thing, but when I did, it was -"
Val kicks her leg free from under Bart and Robin's combined weight, then pokes
Bart in the waist with her toes. "It's not *that* hard to find."
Bart sticks his tongue out at her. "Says you."
"Says me," Val replies.
Robin's watching them and she can't begin to read the expression on his face.
There's no expression, or a very intense one, but whichever it is, there's no
middle ground.
"I should wash up!" Bart rolls over Robin to the edge of the couch and jumps to
his feet. "You guys talk, okay? I'll be right back."
Val smiles vaguely at Robin, who returns the close-mouthed, almost *shy*,
expression. Digging his elbows into the cushions, he hauls himself backward
until he's sitting opposite her, one leg drawn up, arms folded against his
chest.
"I -" he starts to say, then looks away. "'Thank you' sounds. Weird."
"Nah, not weird." Val bends over to pick up the scattered clothing. She hands
Robin his shirt, but he's still not looking at her, so she drops it against his
leg. "I feel like I should apologize, so -"
The hinge of his jaw shifts under the skin. "For what?"
Val snorts and shrugs one shoulder. "Don't know. For being a girl, or
something."
"You -"
"But I'm not," she says quickly. "Sorry about that."
"Back!" Bart announces as he skids off the parquet floor in the hallway,
getting tangled up in the edge of the living-room carpet. He puts his hands on
his hips as he *beams* at both of them. God bless him, but he's already half-
hard *again*. "This is *way* better than I thought it'd be! And I had pretty
high expectations to start with."
"Good," Robin tells Val, finally looking at her. His eyes look almost hollow
for a moment before she nods. He glances at Bart. "Hey."
"Hey!" Bart bounces onto the couch between them, then grimaces. "Eww, wet
spot."
Robin swings his feet onto the floor and retrieves his pants. He knew, Val
realizes, exactly where they'd fell. "I should get to work pretty soon," he
says, pulling them on.
"Really?" Bart asks and sounds so forlorn that Val links her arm through his
and kisses his bare shoulder. "That sucks."
Robin zips up his pants and pulls on his shirt. Before he starts buttoning it,
however, he tilts his head and stares at Bart. "You're welcome to come, you
know."
"On patrol?"
Robin nods. "On patrol."
"But what about Batman? I'm not allowed in Gotham, am I? I'm pretty sure I'm
not."
Robin sits down on the coffee table. "You're already *in* Gotham."
"True, true." Bart's vigorous nod makes Val's cheek slide up and down his arm.
"And he's been asking about you, so -"
Bart pulls away from both of them, and blurs out; he next appears on the far
side of the room, at the front door. "Get out! What's he want to know? What did
you tell him? You didn't tell him anything bad, I hope, because I've changed *a
lot* and -" Another blur, and he's suddenly on his knees in front of Robin.
"You're not going to tell him about this, are you?"
For the first time, Val sees Robin laugh. It's a real laugh, showing teeth,
sounding right, and she joins in. "Not about this, no. But he's -. Supportive.
Of you."
*
Val takes a nap in the apartment's nearly-untouched master bedroom. The Flash
and Robin left via the fire escape soon after dusk fell; she ordered dinner,
poked around the apartment, and ended up crosswise on the bed, coverlet wrapped
around her.
Without Bart around, it's always a little too quiet. But she needs that,
sometimes, the quiet to think and remember who she is. Now, she's sleepy and
too full and she's not remembering much of anything. Just luxuriating on her
back, flipping through the television - who pays for premium cable in a fake
apartment, anyway? - and dozing.
Other people get jetlag. She has Flash-lag, and it's just one more thing she's
gotten used to without even trying. Nothing makes the kind of sense she's used
to, but, right now, that's less a worry than one more datum.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
