Eighteen
- DC Universe, Kon-El (Superboy) and his personal problems
=====
 

What jerking off with his TTK was good for, he eventually discovered, was doing it in public. Both hands on a magazine or flat out on the table or on the video game controller and still totally doing himself, didn't even need to undo his jeans--the TTK even kept the mess off his clothes until he could excuse himself and go clean up, and man, what could be better than that? After a couple of experiments he'd even done it while talking to Robin, and he'd come with only a twitch of his eyebrows and a grunt, and he'd managed to time it so it sounded like he was just agreeing with whatever it was that Tim had been saying (he didn't quite remember), and if Tim had noticed or sensed anything, he hadn't said as much. Hadn't even looked at Kon oddly. Well, more oddly than usual.

He was a ninja. A ninja of jerking off. Masturbator-sensei. After a while it got to the point where he was doing it almost every day, getting cocky about it--pun ever so very much intended thank you--staring at one or another of his teammates just as he'd grunt and come and basking in the knowledge that no one had any clue at all what he was doing when he looked at them like that. "What?" they'd sometimes say, or in Bart's case "What, something on my face?" and Kon would just shrug and smile a bit and say "Nothing." and that would be that.

The last time he ever did it was on a Friday evening, after they'd all come back from patrol and fallen to playing poker for matchsticks around the tiny kitchen table, too keyed up to go to bed, too tired to actually go back out.  Bart was losing--Bart always lost, for obvious reasons--and Tim was winning--Tim always won, for obvious reasons--and Cassie was mostly just playing to be doing something but occasionally raking in a big pot when Tim played too conservatively, and Kon was devoting about a quarter of his brainpower to playing poker and three-quarters to shifting casually in his seat until his cock could jut upright in his jeans. When it was done Kon glanced over the top of his cards at Cassie, who was sitting opposite, and tightened his telekinetic grip on himself. It drew a deep breath and a sigh out of him, nothing more, and he hid it behind a yawn. Hell, they were all yawning.

With a thought he made the grip ripple, stroking upwards, and he stared at his cards without seeing them and then discarded two. That was the best thing about using the TTK for it, it fit him like a glove--well, okay, like a condom, really--everywhere at once, nowhere was ever neglected even for a second--he stared at his cards again and shifted in his chair. "I fold," he said, and he put his cards down and steepled both of his hands over his mouth and went to town, glancing down at the pile of matchsticks in the center of the table and up at Cassie's face and over at Tim and over at Bart and all the time he was pulling hard at his cock and no one even knew.

Then, right when they'd dealt out the next hand, something warm slid up along the inside of his thigh and pressed quivering to his cock, and he enjoyed it for about a second before he realized that that wasn't him. He made a little noise and belatedly turned it into a sneeze. Someone was totally groping him under the table.

Picking up his cards--and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from flushing--Kon let his eyes flick over the other three. Tim had folded and had both his hands clasped on the table, Cassie was holding her cards to her chest with one hand and checking her hair with the other--the hand on his cock squeezed him hard through the denim and Kon's eyelids flickered--and Bart had his cards held up in both hands and was chewing on his lower lip.

So someone was playing footsie with him. That was okay, Kon was a man of the world, he could totally deal with that.

He disguised a little groan as a cough, and ever so casually brought his cards to his face to screen his quick glance downwards. Nothing there. Nobody's foot in his lap. There was nothing there but he could feel something. It was rubbing hard against the underside of his cock, giving him all this great friction from his underwear, and he wanted to--ought to--make it stop, grab for it, bring his shield up, but God...

He was going to come. He was going to come, and it was only half his doing, and worse yet, this meant that someone else had noticed what he was doing, and maybe they'd known for days, and maybe that meant they all knew... only belatedly did he think that if it wasn't Cassie, and it wasn't Bart, and it wasn't Tim, then who was it? Something in the back of his head made a jittery comment that maybe it was some telekinetic supervillain fucking with him, doing him, but that was... that was... that was actually pretty damn okay with him right now but also it was just silly.

There was a little sound from his left, a little flick like someone snapping a playing card with a fingernail, and Kon glanced over at Bart. He just barely had time to notice that Bart's right hand was suspiciously blurry around the edges before he came, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning and giving the whole game away.

Whatever it was stroked him one last time, hard, and then it stopped, and Bart's hand stopped blurring.

Kon stared at Bart until Bart noticed him staring, and eyed Kon over the top of his cards, and he kept trying not to grin while he said "What?"

"N-nothing," Kon said, and turned his furious attention back to the cards in his hand, belatedly noticing that he'd pulled a straight.