Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/205604.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Titans_(comic)
  Relationship:
      Bart_Allen/Garfield_Logan
  Character:
      Bart_Allen, Garfield_Logan
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, sexpollen
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-05-29 Words: 3121
****** Instinctual ******
by MsSolo
Summary
     Sexpollen!
Gar is doing a little snooping in Kid Flash’s room. Nothing sinister, just
looking for a CD he knows Bart borrowed. And trying to find the kid’s porn
stash, because he’s nosy and he feels it’s his turn to borrow something without
asking.
He’s under the bed in rat form, looking for anything with glossy pages, when he
hears the door open and close without a pause in between. He debates whether to
come out and change when a pair of jeans land with a heavy thump on the ground
next to him. Even with his more sensitive hearing he can’t make out the sounds
above him. The speed sends everything up several octaves, and on impulse Gar
changes to bat form, just in time to hear the last fast gasp.
Now, Gar decides, would be a really bad time to come out. Far better to wait
for Bart to leave again. He’s sure it won’t take long.
But then there’s a moan from the bed, and some very rapid swearing, and sound
of a hand pumping at superspeed begins again. Gar isn’t entirely surprised that
the kid’s got a quick recovery time, but this seems a little ridiculous. Now
he’s worked out what’s going on he’s not comfortable listening to it, and
changes to a snake, in the hope that having no ears will help. Unfortunately,
the bed is vibrating with Bart, and he can feel every jerk and thrust.
It’s no good. He has to get out of here, some how. Sure, it’ll be funny later,
especially once he works out who set Bart off like this, but right now he needs
some private time himself.
He slithers out from under the bed, using the jeans as cover. He figures Bart’s
probably too distracted to notice. The jeans are very warm, and his snake brain
tries to talk him into staying curled up under them. He flicks his tongue out
and tastes something.
If it were physically possible, his eyes would be widening. He knows that
taste. He changes to mouse, and sniffs it, changes to a bee and gets a really
good look.
No wonder the kid was on his third round. The pollen had been known to kill a
man with exhaustion. Gar, in bird form, had helped Kory put up mesh fences
around the plants to save all the poor hapless mammals that kept mating until
they died.
Gar is struck by a very strong urge to help the kid. Too strong. Pollen strong.
Mouse. Mammals. Shit.
Gar changes to human as fast as he can, hoping he didn’t get enough to affect a
larger form.
“Gar!”
Shit. He’d forgotten. And to compound the mistake, he turns around.
Bart’s lying on the bed, knees bent up and hand between his legs, looking
thoroughly debauched. There’s purple pollen decorating his face and chest. He
looks like he’s been rolling in the stuff. Gar feels his legs weaken.
He swallows, hard. He has to be the responsible adult here. He has to help
Bart.
“Sex pollen,” he says, almost growling. Bart shivers at the sound of it, which
doesn’t help Gar’s resolve at all. “You need, uh, need....” He can’t think.
Every time Bart moves the pollen come up in clouds from his t-shirt. He’s still
fondling himself too fast for Gar to watch.
Gar doesn’t understand how the pollen works. Kory explained it to him once. It
had something to do with premature ejaculation, and kept to its own schedule.
It could only defend itself from the body for a certain length of time,
dictated by the pollen, not the body. It was safer to keep it inside until it
was broken down than to try and get rid of it through sex, since even a single
sniff of the stuff was enough to last twenty orgasms or so.
Something clicks in Gar’s head and he starts moving towards the bed.
“You need to take your clothes off,” he purrs. “You’re just getting more of
it.”
Bart brings himself to completion before complying. The part of Gar that was
raised by zoologists is comforted to note that he’s still ejaculating properly.
Gar has no idea what happens when a guy runs out of semen and keeps coming, but
he’s pretty sure it’s not good in the long run. He knows blood is a really bad
sign. How many times is this now for Bart? Three? Four? Kid’s got no stamina.
Bart pulls off the t-shirt and chucks it aside with the jeans. Gar grabs both
items and shoves them under the bed. Considering the amount of dust that was
under there, they’re not going to be disturbed for a while. Bart still has
purple streaks on his face, though. Bart who is lying on the bed, naked, with
those absolutely huge gold eyes, just slightly teary and irises ringed with
purple, a wobbling bottom lip and the musculature of a male model.
Gar just can’t think on a human level any more. He’s had more than a few snorts
of that pollen, and blood is very definitely being diverted elsewhere. Animal
instincts start kicking in.
He pounces on Bart, leaping onto the bed and straddling the younger teen, who
is hard yet again. He pins Bart’s hands against the sheets and looks down at
him. Bart’s eyes are even wider, if that’s possible, and his mouth is open.
He’s panting so quickly it sounds like he’s purring. Gar lowers his head and
opens his mouth. Bart squirms. Gar presses his open mouth to Bart’s cheek, and
begins licking. Long, slow licks. As great as the purple looks against that
golden skin he laps it up, tongue running along Bart’s jaw, along his
cheekbones, over his eyelids. Bart’s eyes are still streaked with purple, which
won’t fade until the last of the pollen is out of his system. Gar knows his own
eyes are much the same.
Bart’s hips buck beneath him, and Gar presses down. He’s wearing far too many
clothes in comparison, but some small part of his brain insists this is a good
thing. He doesn’t have the patience or coordination to take the skintight suit
off, which will stop him doing the few remaining things that could make him
hate himself even more in the morning.
Bart twists his hands in Gar’s hair, manoeuvring his head for a kiss. It’s as
fast as Gar
had imagined it would be. Gar lets his tongue change slightly to something
longer and more flexible. Bart moans, and his control begins to slide. He’s
vibrating beneath Gar.
“Oh, Gar,” Bart hiccups. “Oo-oh.” He thrusts against Gar. “Please.”
Gar moves his head to nip Bart’s shoulder.
“I’m so hard,” Bart groans, squeezing his eyes shut.
Gar rolls sideways and wraps his hand around Bart’s dick, jerking him off in
short sharp pulls. Bart tries to move faster, hips bucking up and down, but Gar
uses his other hand to hold Bart against the mattress.
“Faster, please!” Bart whimpers. “Please, Gar, please.”
Gar still can’t focus on what Bart is saying. He recognises the urgency, but
his brain is still starved for blood. He knows there’s a reason for what he’s
doing. He tries to communicate this, but all that comes out is a strangled mew,
and a thrust of his hips against Bart’s side.
Bart tries and fails to get into Gar’s clothes. Perhaps after several orgasms
and the slower pace now Bart’s brain is a little clearer than Gar’s. He rolls
over, on top of Gar, and sits up. Gar still has his hand around Bart’s dick,
but now Bart is sitting up on top of Gar’s thighs and running his fingers over
Gar’s body. Gar groans loudly. Bart presses his hands to Gar’s crotch and
Vibrates.
It isn’t long before Gar comes. His uniform is sticky and hot and Bart is
looking down at the stain with wide-eyed wonderment. Gar’s brain begins to
clear. The pollen was only affective when inhaled, not ingested, so the few
grains that had actually triggered the reaction were wearing off. Bart,
however, was still affected.
“Gar.” Bart’s voice is high and strangled. He’s in a lot of discomfort.
“It... it has to be slow,” Gar remembers finally. “It’s about stamina.”
Bart lets himself fall forwards and buries his head in Gar’s chest, groaning.
Gar strokes his hair and tries not to notice how flexible Bart is with his back
curled like that. Bart slides his upper body forwards until his mouth meets
Gar’s. The kisses are fast and pleading. Gar runs his hands up and down Bart’s
sides, hot and smooth and quivering like a frightened animal. He can hear
Bart’s heartbeat and it is one long continuous buzz, almost out of human
hearing.
Gar rolls them over again, careful to stay on the bed. He takes Bart’s hand and
presses it to the pulse in his neck. Bart understands and as Gar listens his
heart beat begins to slow down, until they match. It would be better if Gar was
a little calmer himself, since they’re both still a long way above normal, but
it’s a significant improvement. When they kiss again Bart has gained some
control that Gar would never have attributed to him.
Gar makes a point of keeping things slow. Bart writhes beneath him, apparently
enjoying the feel of Gar’s semen socked crotch against his hard dick. He’s not
thrusting or bucking like he was before, just undulating slightly so he slides
back and forth across the slippery material. His eyelids flutter and Gar can
see the purple beginning to break down. The colour is high on Bart’s cheeks and
his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat. His mouth is slightly open and
every now and then his tongue flicks out to lick at the beads to sweat on his
top lip. He’s smiling slightly, and making the most breathy moans Gar’s ever
heard.
Gar wants to cry with lust.
He settles for kissing and nipping at Bart’s exposed neck, eliciting little
squeaks and whimpers. He’s hard again, and he’s sure Bart can feel it. He can’t
convince himself that there’s any pollen left in his system, but he pushes that
thought to the back of his mind. At least he’s still clothed.
Bart’s eyes are their usual clear and bright amber again, and Gar takes that as
a sign they can finish this before he gets any hornier. Bart’s already picked
up pace and Gar’s grinding back now, sucking hungrily on Bart’s collar bone and
growling every time Bart runs his hands across his back.
Bart arches his back as he comes, pushing Gar up and pressing their torsos
together. Their contours seems to match seamlessly, and it’s that more than
anything else that makes Gar decide to let this play out to its very end,
regardless of the moral line he had drawn for himself between ‘sex to help
pollen-crazy Bart survive the afternoon’ and ‘sex because Bart is actually
incredibly hot and willing and suddenly the whole jailbait thing makes perfect
sense’.
Gar continues to nip and nuzzle Bart’s neck, lapping up sweat and burying his
nose in the afterglow pheromones. He takes a moment to work out what’s
happening when Bart begins buzzing beneath him again, and he starts buzzing
himself. His costume falls to the floor. Bart’s hands are immediately
everywhere, and the sensory overload almost proves too much for Gar. He jerks
back, wide-eyed and panting. Bart blinks up at him.
Gar shakes his head, trying to clear it. Coherent thought is still oddly
difficult. It doesn’t help that Bart smells so good. And tastes so good. Gar
licks his lips, and something that might have been a purr, or might have been a
growl, arises from the base of his throat. Bart shivers, slow enough for Gar to
see, and moans. Bart looks and sounds good too, and feels good. Feels.
Gar’s licking and looking and touching and tasting and exploring every single
inch, every single aspect, of the boy beneath him. He’s so happy to be naked
now, able to feel Bart with every available area of skin. He wants to do things
to Bart he doesn’t have names for, wants Bart to do things to him.
It must be some sort of sex telepathy, or maybe hormone osmosis, because when
Bart sits up suddenly enough to flip Gar onto his back and runs his hands up
Gar’s chest, from his hips to his shoulders and paying especial attention to
his nipples, Gar’s brain just short circuits. Bart is leaning over him, taking
his turn now, doing all the licking and caressing Gar was but a hundred times
faster. The speed means what has to be a gradual, meandering move towards a
certain area for Bart is an almost immediate shift for Gar, and Bart’s tongue
is lapping its way up and down his penis too fast for individual movements to
be distinguished.
Gar can’t comprehend any better heaven, but then Bart makes a decision - or is
he acting on impulse again? - and wraps his lips around the head of Gar’s dick.
He’s moving quickly, more quickly than Gar would possibly have chosen, but each
time he’s pushing himself a little further. Always experimenting. Several times
close to choking, and he learns his lesson, but always experimenting and
suddenly Gar is trying to wrap his brain around the idea that the boy can
vibrate his tongue.
Gar fails to give Bart any warning, but he’s fast enough to spot the signs.
Bart sits back, licking his lips with a very smug smile on his face.
As the spots fade from Gar’s vision reality begins to seep in around the edges,
primarily courtesy of the intense cramp in his legs. He’s had his knees bent
all this time, ankles shoves up near his butt. It’s deeply uncomfortable. He
has to haul his legs around with his hands, and he suspects it will be a while
before he can stand. He sits up carefully.
Bart’s sitting opposite him, heels tucked behind him in almost the same way
Gar’s had been. Apparently he’s more comfortable with it. More flexible, Gar
remembers.
He remembers a lot. He’s going to need a lot of showers, and hopefully several
amnesia-inducing bangs on the head. And despite the creeping guilt and shame,
he’s still admiring Bart’s abdominals and feels oddly proud of the already
fading bruises and bites scattered across Bart’s torso. ‘mine’ they read, in a
language clear to Gar in almost any form he might choose to take.
Bart cocks his head to one side.
“So, uh, sexpollen.”
“Yeah,” Gar says, surprised to find he is actually able to talk. “Lethal stuff.
Literally. You’re lucky I was here.”
“Thanks.” A pause. “Why were you here?”
“I don’t think that’s important,” Gar tells him. He can’t really remember
anyway. He can see a large number of questions and statements behind Bart’s
eyes, and he wants to get out of there before he hears any of them.
Bart’s head droops, and he stares at the sheets. Gar wonders if he worked out
what Gar was thinking. It’s not that he doesn’t like the kid, he does, he just
doesn’t like himself right now. The kid’s great; he puts up with far more than
he ought to from Gar, he’s got a pretty decent sense of humour and he’s always
willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who asks. And that’s the problem. Gar
suspects he wouldn’t feel half so bad taking advantage of Robin; even Superboy
would be softer on the conscience, despite the fact he’s even younger than
Bart.
“Gar?” Bart’s raised his head, just a little, and Gar can see the bright gold
of his eyes through his fringe. “You okay?”
Gar takes his time to think about how to answer that.
“I’m freaking out a bit,” he says honestly. “I didn’t... I never thought I’d do
something like that. If someone had asked me what I’d do in that situation, I
wouldn’t have said that.”
“You gonna be okay?” Bart’s biting his lip.
Gar swallows. “I don’t know. Are you okay?” It’s dangerous territory, opening
up the possibility of hearing things that will make him feel even worse, but
despite all these unsettling self-revelations, he wouldn’t be the person he
wants to think he is if he doesn’t even ask.
“Yeah, I think so,” Bart says. “Probably... probably the advantage of
subjective time, or something. You know? And, plus, I needed your help.”
“I...” Gar smiles faintly, and tries again. “I’m glad you’re okay. That helps,
a bit.”
“Oh. Uh, good.”
Gar slides off the bed and digs his uniform out from amongst the sheets. He
keeps his back turned to Bart as he pulls it on, though he can’t give a good
reason why. When he turns around again Bart’s wearing his Kid Flash uniform,
and peering under the bed.
“Don’t,” Gar says sharply. “Leave them. I ca- Starfire can get them out.”
“Yeah,” Bart says, wrinkling his nose as he glances back at Gar. It’s cute, and
it makes Gar’s stomach do things he didn’t think it did before this afternoon.
It makes him wonder whether Bart has changed, or whether his perception of Bart
has changed. He knows his perception of himself has changed, and he wonders if
this is another extension of that.
It’s silent and awkward and Bart’s looking worried again. Something clicks in
Gar’s head. This is it. This is the situation he knows how to deal with, has
always known how to deal with. This is the situation that needs A Joke.
“You know, one of us ought to be saying something about usually insisting on
dinner,” Gar grins. It’s not great, but he doesn’t quite have the nerve to play
with the cliché as most people would.
“Do you want to?” Bart asks, scuffing the toe of one huge boot against the
carpet.
“Make the joke? I thought I just had,” Gar laughs. “It’d be a bit defunct now.”
“No, I meant...” Bart looks even more embarrassed, and his foot is moving so
fast smoke is beginning to come from the floor, “I meant go out for dinner.
Would you like to go out together?”
Gar’s eyes widen. His mouth dries out instantly and he struggles to swallow.
“No.”
Gar starts walking away from Bart, steps crisp and quick but not running,
changing as he does so. He’s desperate for some piece of mind, desperate to
immerse himself so completely in an animal that he stops thinking. By the time
he passes through the doorway he is a small, fat, green dodo.
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