So I started writing these drabbles. Next thing I know, there's lots of them. If I write any more I'll add them to the bottom.

"To the left."

These are Saturdays at the tower, now. Kon doesn't know what they were like with the old team. Luckily, he doesn't really care, either.

"No, dude, farther left."

A heel hits that knot of muscle, a pressure point, and the whole thing releases. His hand tingles. "Ohhhhh, yeah."

Someone snorts. When he speaks, Kon recognizes Gar. "You guys sound like you're doing something naughty in here. Are you doing something naughty in here?"

"You know we'd invite you if we were, Gar," Kon says into the carpet. He hears Tim breathe a laugh.

"Aw. You're so sweet."

"How'd the audition go?"

Leave it to Tim to know about Gar's personal life.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That bad?" Kon asks. He doesn't really care about that. At that moment, Cassie could come in naked screaming, "Take me, I'm yours!" and he wouldn't care.

Okay, maybe *that* would get his attention.

"Dude, stop talking and walk s'more," Kon mutters when Tim stops moving. Tim starts moving again.

"What the heck did you do to your back? I thought the force field--"

"Keeps me from getting hurt. But, fuck, I lifted the plow and wasn't paying attention, and next thing I know I'm trying to use muscles instead of the TK, and--" he stops talking when he hears Tim laugh. It isn't funny. It's annoying.

"Hey. My turn."

And speaking of Cassie... okay, he wasn't, but still.

"It's still my turn," Kon says into the carpet.

"You wish. My turn." She sprawls on the floor beside him.

"Go 'way." He doesn't care if she *is* his sorta-girlfriend. Tim's feet are his. At least for the moment. And he'll fight for them. He's underhanded and sneaky enough to win, too. Okay, no he's not, but he's strong enough to make it happen.

"You need to learn to share," Cassie says to him, and sticks out her tongue.

"I don't share well," Kon grumbles. But Tim's got one foot on her and one foot on Kon, and it's not as good as it was, but it's close enough.

"You guys both look like you're about to orgasm," Gar says.

"Yeah, well, let's just say it's a good thing I don't have to get up right now." Kon grins.

"You're awful," Cassie snorts. "Oooh, there..."

"I think we need to keep Tim."

"We are keeping Tim," Cassie reminds him.

"No, I mean locked in the basement."

"Try," Tim says, and he's only partly kidding. Kon's learning to tell these things.

"Oh, man. I bet Mom would let me keep him. He can sleep on the foot of my bed..." Cassie groans.

Kon peers at her. "I'm not so sure *I* like that idea..."

Cassie smiles without opening her eyes. "You don't have to. I'd throw you over for these feet."

"I'd throw you over, first," Kon answers.

"I'd rather go with Cassie," Tim interjects. "She's cuter."

"You don't get a vote," Kon mutters.

"What are we talking about?" The speed means it's Bart.

"Keeping Tim."

"I'd make a special bat-proof room so he couldn't escape, and then I'd feed him cake!" Bart announces. The room falls silent. Kon twists to peer at the young speedster. "Why are we keeping him?" Bart asks.

"You're really random sometimes," Kon says, and lets his head fall back to the floor when Tim starts walking again.

"I'd go with him," Tim says thoughtfully. "I mean, cake."

"I wouldn't let you," Kon mutters.

The feet stop moving. Kon feels weight shift, and opens an eye to see Tim's face near his. "He's the one with the bat-proof room," Tim says. "You don't have one of those. You couldn't keep me."

Kon snorts a laugh and closes his eyes. "Okay. Well. Keep doing that foot thing, and I'll feed you cake, too."

"Deal."

The feet start to move again.

These are Saturdays in the Tower, now. Kon loves Saturdays.

Sunday Mornings, Titan's Tower

He really doesn't remember Sunday mornings at the Tower being like this. There was no cake, for one thing.

Dick leans against the kitchen table and peers at Tim, who's currently eating cake and reading Oracle's notes about one of the prisoners at Alcatraz. "Are you eating cake for breakfast?" Dick asks, just to clarify.

"Uh huh," Tim says without looking up.

He's going to say something about health. Really. But-- "What kind of cake is that?"

"German chocolate."

"Looks good."

"Mine." Tim still hasn't looked up from the computer screen.

"What did you do to earn a whole cake on your own? Wait, tell me you didn't do--" he stops when Tim finally looks up at glares at him. Dick smiles. "The football team?"

"No football team here," Tim says.

"I was thinking Kon was the football team."

Tim looks vaguely annoyed. As annoyed as he gets, anyway. Dick loves flustering him. "Look, you wanna do Kon, do Kon. I'm sure he'd say yes. But stop trying to live vicariously through me. Pervert."

"What would I say yes to? And why's Dick a pervert?"

"Dick's a pervert because he's trying to live through me, and you'd say yes to doing him." Tim still hasn't looked up.

Dick puts on his bland face to keep from cringing, and glances up at Kon.

Who looks hopeful.

Dick laughs. "No. Kid, you're like, sixteen."

Kon sighs and rolls his eyes. "But I've been sixteen for like, two years! I mean, I'm growing *now*, but shouldn't that make me eighteen or something?"

"Or two," Dick points out.

Kon glares at him. "Spoilsport."

"Have you ever done a guy?" Dick asks Tim. "I mean, you shouldn't knock it if--"

"No," Tim mutters, and taps a series of keys.

"Have you ever done a girl?" Kon asks slowly, leaning on Tim's other side.

Tim sighs and blushes, but is obviously trying to pretend like he's NOT blushing. "No."

"Have you ever done a dog?"

The room falls silent. Everyone looks at Bart, standing in the doorway.

"Wait--what are we talking about?" Bart asks.

Dick shakes his head. On second thought, Sunday mornings in the Tower used to be *just* like this.

Monday morning, Outsider's HQ

Roy leaned against the door frame. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He was getting a kink in his back.

"What are you looking for?" he asked finally.

Nightwing, battered, his suit near tatters from the fight they'd just returned from, sighed and flopped into a kitchen chair. "I thought this place was fully stocked?"

"It is," Roy said, easing forward and sitting with a cringe. His tailbone hurt. He thought it might be bruised. He hated when that happened.

"Ha." Dick glowered at the tabletop.

"What are we missing?" Roy asked.

"Cake."

Roy just stared.

Dick fidgeted. His chin came up defiantly. "Well, the Titan's Tower has cake. That used to be ours. Why can't our new HQ have cake?"

"You've lost your mind," Roy told him solemnly.

"Can't lose what you never had!" Grace shouted, striding into the room. She wasn't even bruised. Damn woman.

"Very funny," Dick muttered.

"What's he whining about?" Grace pulled out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off.

"The lack of cake," Roy said blandly.

"I just think that if they're going to call this place fully stocked, it should be fully stocked."

"You're *really* weird," Roy told him.

"He's right. We should have cake."

Roy stared at Grace.

"What? Cake could be important. What if one of us was suffering from low blood sugar?"

"We could feed them Gatorade."

Grace rolled her eyes.

"You guys sound like Lian!" Roy laughed disbelievingly.

Dick leaned on his forearms, pinning Roy with one of those uncomfortably intense stares. "Think about it. Cake. Any kind you want. Like a reward for a job well done. Sweet and moist and chocolatey."

"Never pegged you for a chocolate guy," Roy muttered. "And I'm not moved."

Dick sat back, sprawling in the kitchen chair in a way that shouldn't have been possible. "Robin got cake," he sulked.

Roy snorted a laugh. "Is that what this is about? 'Batman! *That* Robin got cake, so I want some too!'" he mimicked.

Dick glared at him.

"No chips around here, either," Grace noted, digging through cupboards.

"What? There's no chips?" Roy yelped.

Grace shook her head.

"Now that's just sacrilegious."

"So we should do something about this, right?" Dick asked hopefully.

"Absolutely. I mean, you can't relax without chips," Roy agreed.

Grace just shook her head. "You guys are pathetic."

"We're bachelors," Dick defended. "We need someone else to find food for us!"

Grace had already left.

Dick shrugged. Roy grinned. Then he heaved himself out of the chair, heading toward the door.

"Where're you going?" Dick asked.

"To call the caterer, or whatever they call him. We need chips."

"And cake," Dick added.

"Right. Chips and cake."

Monday, JLA Watchtower

Wally planted both feet, flinging his weight back and trusting to momentum to keep him from falling. A line of smoke flared from under his boots as the specially-made rubber started to give out and melt. He stopped three inches from Nightwing.

"Everything okay?" he asked, purposefully slowing his speech.

Nightwing's eyes widened. His face twitched, running through oh-shit,-caught,-not-doing-anything-wrong and then into Bat-mode. If not for the superspeed, Wally probably wouldn't have seen it. He looked at Dick suspicously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"What have you got on your face?"

"*Nothing.*"

He stepped back, then reached up and wiped something brown off Dick's mouth. He sniffed it. He tasted it. "Is that icing?"

"No!" Dick snapped.

"It is icing."

"It's not. I just--I was--it's really complicated, okay?"

"You're eating cake," Wally said.

Dick studied the far wall. "Well. Yes."

"That doesn't seem complicated."

"I had a craving."

"What are you, a girl?" Wally ducked the punch and came back up, grinning. "Okay, explain to me why you felt the need to come all the way up to the Watchtower for cake?"

"Why do you even have cake?" Dick countered.

"J'onn."

Dick stared.

"Don't ask. Now, why did you have to come up here for cake?"

If Dick ever squirmed, Wally thought this might be what it was like. "There was none in my house."

"They sell cake at grocery stores."

"They *do?*"

Wally just shook his head. "You're really oblivious sometimes, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Nightwing muttered darkly. "It's Kid Flash's fault, anyway."

Wally's eyebrows rose. Then he paled. "Oh, lord. Tell me they didn't give him cake. All that sugar..."

"He gave Robin cake."

Wally stopped. Thought about that. Frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know!" Nightwing wailed. "I keep thinking there could have been something I could have done to have gotten it..."

"You're contemplating stealing a kid's cake."

"It's Robin. He's hardly innocent."

"He's a kid!"

"Oh, come on. It's not like he hasn't done it."

Wally opened his mouth. Then closed it again. "That made no sense."

"Sure it does. I bet he and Superboy--"

Feet landed in the hall. There was nothing quite like the sound of a human landing; a double thump that couldn't be imitated by jumping.

"Wait," Wally heard Superman say, "I heard something about Robin not being innocent and he and Superboy--*what* are Robin and Superboy doing? What kind of "it" are we talking about, here? The capital I it?"

"I'm not sure anymore," Wally said, turning, hands up placatingly. "I'm confused."

"Stealing cake! Geez, you two. Keep up."

Wally glared at Dick. He hoped Superman was glaring, too.

"Have you been eating cake?" Superman asked.

Dick fidgeted. "Maybe."

"That's frosting on your mouth."

Dick licked it off. His innocent look was rapidly deteriorating.

"He's blaming it on our wards," Wally said, glancing at Superman.

Superman had a very odd look on his face. "What did they do?"

"They gave Robin cake."

Superman looked confused. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"And this made you eat our cake because...?"

Dick sighed. "I had a craving."

"They have cake at grocery stores."

Dick looked at Wally. Wally looked smug. "So I've learned," Dick muttered.

"Was there anything else you needed?" Superman asked, honestly polite.

"Milk, maybe?" Wally suggested innocently.

Dick glared at him some more. "No, thanks. I'll just be going now."

Wally nodded. Superman nodded. They watched Dick walk away, pretending like he wasn't holding a peice of cake behind his back.

"I really respect Batman," Superman said finally. "He's done a good job with Gotham. He's a very impressive human. His wards have always been good people."

Wally nodded.

"But I will never understand any of them."

Wally shook his head. "It's the obsessive streak."

"Huh." There was the sound of jets as Nightwing's craft took off.

"You should see them when they get really obsessive. I could tell you stories about the old Teen Titans..."

Superman looked at him, horrified. "Isn't the current Robin there now?"

"They're all back in school."

"Holiday weekend," Superman said, dread in his voice.

Wally looked at him.

"He's still at the Tower. With Kon and Kid Flash."

Wally hesitated. He looked at Superman. Superman looked at him.

"Crap," Wally said. Together, they zipped toward San Fransico.

Monday Afternoon, Titan's Tower

Cassie looked up. Superman and the Flash were standing at the door, looking... well, she hadn't thought it was possible for Superman to look awkward--he was, after all, Superman--but apparently he could.

She suspected, upon meeting Superman, groveling would normally be in order. Instead, she found herself asking, "Can I help you?"

Superman cleared his throat.

"Yes,well,yousee,wewerejustwondering--" Superman elbowed Flash. Flash stopped speaking.

"Hey!" Bart shouted before he vanished again. Cassie smoothed hair out of her face. "Whatareyoudoinghere?" he asked, running by with iron bars under his arm. Cassie pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

What passed was a flurry of conversation much too fast for anyone NOT a speedster to understand. Cassie blinked and looked at Superman. She wondered if he understood it.

"Robin's in the den," Flash said, finally.

"If you'll excuse us..." Superman smiled hesitantly and edged inside.

"Is Robin in trouble?" Cassie asked, alarmed.

"No, no, nothing like that. We just wanted to check on some things." Superman smiled weakly. Cassie didn't know he could do anything weakly, but apparently he could both look awkward and smile weakly, too.

Cassie followed the two men into the den.

Robin was sacked out on the couch with Kon, where they'd been all morning, discussing the finer points of morning cartoons--Robin had even downloaded old cartoons off the internet so Kon could have a basis for comparison.

Robin looked up. Wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, he didn't look terribly formidable.

Kon looked up. He had stubble. Cassie hated the stubble, and refused to sit next to him until he shaved.

"Hi," Kon said. "What's up?"

"We were just, uh, seeing if everything was okay," Superman said.

"Is that cake?" Flash asked suspiciously.

Tim looked at his cake. "Yeah. Did you want some?"

Cassie stared. Tim *must* be awed. He'd told Dick to leave his cake alone.

"No, we just, uh, wondered..." Flash looked at Superman. Superman looked at Flash. "You're not... obsessing over anything... are you?" Flash asked.

Tim looked at Kon. Kon shrugged. "No," Tim said, looking back.

"And that's not alien cake or something, is it?" Superman asked.

Tim looked at the cake. Then back up at Superman. "No..." His face cleared suddenly. "Wait a minute. This is about Nightwing, isn't it?"

Flash cringed. "No, no, nothing like that. I mean, okay, he was after cake, but--well, we just wanted to make sure everything here was okay."

"Everything's fine," Cassie said.

They jumped. Apparently even Superman could forget someone was there.

"Oh. Right. So. You kids...up to anything? Fun?" Superman asked.

"Anyone know where we put the shackles?" Bart asked, zipping into the room.

"Kory's room," Tim said without blinking.

Bart left.

Superman's smile looked forced. "Shackles? Why does he need shackles?"

"The Bat-box," Kon said. Both boys were still staring at the two men. Cassie couldn't blame them. On the television, SpongeBob Square Pants danced. On the laptop, Wile E. Coyote fell off a cliff.

"The Bat-box?" Flash echoed.

"To keep Robin in," Kon said.

Tim nodded helpfully. "And feed me cake." He took another bite, slowly, almost as if he'd forgotten about it.

"You're building a Bat-box," Superman said carefully.

Both boys nodded again.

"Why don't we have a Bat-box?" Flash asked in an undertone.

Superman glared at him.

"What's going on in there? You kids having another orgy?" Gar called.

Cassie winced. Kon sighed and shook his head. Tim did nothing. Garth walked into the room, and stopped dead. "Oh. Hi."

Superman was very red. Flash was very pale.

"Not an orgy," Gar said. "It was actually just a group massage session. With Robin doing all the massaging. But it was better than it sounds--"

"Much better," Kon agreed. Tim kicked him.

"I mean--Robin's really good at--I'm not helping here, am I?" Gar finished.

Superman shook his head.

"It's platonic," Tim said clearly.

Bart zipped into the room. "I found the shackles, but I was looking for a collar. Every Bat-box needs a collar. Do you know what happened to the one Krypto was wearing?"

"My room," Robin said.

Everyone looked at him.

"It's a Bat-thing." That seemed to be a good enough explanation.

"Right. And, Robin, did you want the fur-lined bed or the silk one?"

Robin sighed and closed his eyes.

"What? What'd I say?" Bart asked. "Nevermind. You guys are weird. I'm using fur." He vanished.

"It really is platonic," Gar said again.

"I also put up cameras, so next time Robin does Kon we can study his technique!" Bart shouted.

Robin dropped his head. Cassie was pretty sure she heard him whimper.

"But Robin has to do me next, or I'm taking away the cake!"

Gar cleared his throat. "It really is better than it sounds."

"Much better," Kon sighed.

Robin kicked him.

(because Heatherly asked.)

DISCLAIMER: I do not know how to spell refridgeorator.

Bruce stopped in the kitchen doorway. Neither of the two men sitting at the little table looked up.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked after a minute.

Alfred looked at him expectantly.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating cake, Master Bruce," Alfred pointed out calmly.

"Oh. Right." Bruce hesitated, then started toward the refridgorator. Behind him, sounds of cake-eating went on. He paused and looked at them again. "Dick, did you--"

"Just came for the cake," Dick said between mouthfuls.

"Oh. Right." Bruce opened the fridge. He heard Dick lick off the damn fork. Okay, it wasn't possible to hear that, but he was pretty sure he heard it. He turned around. There was an extra plate. Bruce smiled. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, pointing at the chair.

"Mine," Tim said from the doorway. "Jeez, a guy gets up to use the bathroom and his cake gets stolen..."

Bruce's smile faded. Tim's. Right. He looked back in the fridge. Behind him, he heard Tim pull out the chair and sit. Then the clink of a fork on a plate. He tried not to think about cake. Cake wasn't good for you anyway. It meant they'd have to work extra hard to make sure those calories didn't turn into fat. Yeah.

"This is way better than the Manhunter's cake," Dick said.

"I still don't get why he had cake." The words were muffled. A full mouth. A mouth full of cake. Bruce sighed softly.

"Swallow before you speak, Master Tim," Alfred chided gently.

"Sorry, Al," Tim said, truly sounding contrite, even though his mouth was still full.

Full of cake.

Chocolate cake.

"Yeah, I thought that whole excuse for needing it for a bake sale seemed kinda off," Dick said. Bruce could hear scraping. He could just bet Dick was getting icing off the sides of his plate, like he'd done as a boy. "Why does the Manhunter join bake sales anyway?"

Bruce knew that chocolate cake. He'd had it for his fifteen birthday. And his sixteenth birthday. And his seventeen birthday, which took an act of God, because he'd been in Japan at the time.

Maybe there was cake for him that he hadn't noticed. He looked surreptitiously around the kitchen. No plates. He glanced at the table. The only chair left was occupied by Dick's backpack. Bruce deflated. Obviously, they didn't want him there.

He didn't need cake. He glared at the milk. Besides, it was good for the others to talk. Lord knew Dick didn't talk to him much anymore. And with Tim in Bludhaven--

Tim had come all the way here for Cake? Surely Tim had come for advice. Or--something.

Bruce turned around. "Did anyone need anything?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Just cake," Dick said.

"Maybe some milk," Tim said thoughtfully.

Bruce turned away before anyone saw him look upset. Even thinking in Bat-mode wasn't helping him school his expression.

They came for the cake. They didn't even give him any cake. It was his favorite cake.

He closed the fridge. "Well, if no one needs anything," he said slowly. He paused. For a really. Long. Time. No one jumped in. "I guess I'll just head up to bed, then," he mumbled. Slowly, he started for the kitchen door.

He could smell the cake. But they didn't want to share. He understood that. Alfred's cake was the best. And sometimes, younger Wayne-types (and Alfred) just needed a chance to talk. It was fine. Really.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said steadily.

"Yes?" Bruce asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Your slice of cake is sitting in the oven, waiting for you."

Bruce grinned. Then he quickly looked like he'd known that all along. "Oh, well, of course. I mean, since you kept it warm... I'll just... um... eat that now." He hurried to the oven, pulled it out, and glanced at the tiny table. Dick shoveled cake into his mouth, then scooted his bag off the last chair and put it on the floor.

Bruce settled on the small rickety chair with a heartfelt sigh.

"Milk?" Tim asked, pushing his chair back and standing.

"No, thanks," Bruce said, reaching around to pull a fork out of a nearby drawer. He took a big bite of his cake and chewed slowly, closing his eyes to better savor the chocolate. It practically melted on his tongue. It was perfect. He opened his eyes and smiled.

Tim grinned back at him, setting a glass of milk down.

"What are you doing up still, anyway?" Bruce asked, feeling like he should at least say something about the impropriety of this. "Isn't it a school night?"

"Bruce," Tim said solemnly. He pointed at the table. "Cake." As if that explained everything.

Bruce looked around. Actually, it did explain everything. He took another bite.

****

What started it: Teen Titans
Saturday Night Movies

I'm not sure when it started, really. It's almost a tradition now. All right, I'm not sure if you can have a tradition this short, but if you can, it's tradition.

Wait. I lied. I *do* know how it started. It started with Alcatraz, and Cassie sitting on the floor in front of the couch, trying to give herself a neck massage even though everyone knows that doesn't work. So, dutiful (and mightily handsome, if I do say so myself) boyfriend that I am, I tried to help out. It didn't work so well. I mean, I'm not used to giving neck massages. Or any kind of massages. Frankly, people don't ask the guy who can bend steel if he'll work the kinks out of their muscles. I think it has something to do with being afraid I'll turn them to mush.

Not that I would, of course. TTK doesn't work that way.

But I'm getting off topic. Cassie batted my hands away finally and said I couldn't do it. There's Tim, sitting on the couch next to me, so he reaches over with one hand and absently starts rubbing.

I'll never forget the look on his face. I mean, Cassie. Wonder Girl. *Super-strength.* Also means super-dense muscles. Next thing we know, she's flat on her stomach on the floor, and Tim's *walking* on her. He didn't have the arm-strength to get the knots out, so he used his weight and heels to hit pressure points that I'm sure Batman's drilled into him. Cassie looked like she was in seventh heaven.

That's how it started.

Everyone thinks there's this set of rules about the Bat-clan. One of the rules everyone seems to accept as truth is "Thou Shall Not Touch." There are rules, actually. But that's not one of them. Really, the rule is "Thou Shall Not Touch Unless The Bat-person Touches First."

Now, when applied to Batman, that means you'd just better not get within a ten foot radius. But have you *watched* the rest of them? Honestly? Nightwing is one of the touchy-feeliest (touchiest-feeliest? Touchiest-feely? Whatever) people I think I've ever seen. And, okay, Tim's not like that. But he certainly touches. He just does it sorta absently.

So Saturday night movies became tradition, and shortly thereafter the Saturday night massage session. I'm not sure Tim's even aware of it, to be honest. He never seems to notice who he's working knots out of, or even that he's doing it. He just keeps watching the movie while we all (yeah, me too) line up at his feet like puppies waiting to get petted. Even Gar. Sometimes as a puppy. Once, Tim just spent like, ten minutes rubbing puppy-Gar's belly. That was pretty funny.

Back to the Batcave
Back to the living room