Best Laid Plans
Life, Tim decided, was celebrated by a series of firsts. First word. First steps. First martial arts lesson. First jump without a line from a thirty-storey building to a twenty-storey one with a ten-foot distance between them. First time.
THE first time.
Tim's palms went damp at the thought. Then he went red at the fact that his palms went damp.
He was nineteen years old, a positively ancient virgin when compared to half his classmates. He certainly wasn't sheltered; as Robin, he'd seen sides of sex that would make porn stars blanche. Nor was his relationship with Cissie fluffy whiteness. There'd been many times when they'd gotten so close to THAT First Time that Tim was pretty sure the situations would be Rated R.
But it never QUITE happened and thank goodness for it because their first time together was going to be memorable, dammit, not the follow-through of a heavy make-out session that utilised Martha Wayne's Louis XV escritoire for leverage and lift.
Which didn't happen.
No one could find evidence that it happened and so it did NOT happen.
He wanted their first time to be perfect. He had it on good authority (several good authorities gleaned from listening around corners and babysitting drunken benders) that no one forgot their first time, no matter how horrible the circumstances. Kon had even confessed that he wished he could forget his first time with Knockout because he'd felt like she was using him as a masturbatory tool. KON told him this! The guy who could get any girl with a crook of his finger and with the same motion reel in two gay men and a passing alien.
God, he wished he had Kon to talk to right now.
This weekend was going to be THE Week. Bruce offered his bungalow in Curacao as a reward for getting a near perfect score on his SATs. He also suspected it was a bribe-- Bruce wanted him to accept MIT but Tim wanted to stay in nearby Gotham State. Bruce's slice of the island had a small cove perfect for diving and snorkelling, the coral "blue edge" was only a quarter of a mile away from the shore. The four thousand square foot bungalow blended in perfectly with the semi-savannah landscape and had an equal amount of outdoor living space as indoor. Bruce even had a room in the back with absolutely no walls or a roof-- just a canopy over the bed and a waterfall sculpture over the tub. MTV's Cribs had a field day with that one.
With that as a setting, Tim figured the rest would come easy. Then it dawned on him that the times when he and Cissie came close to THAT First Time, the context hadn't really been perfect. His side job and her school prevented anything more than a stolen couple of hours here and there, a weekend at the most. More often than not, he was called away by other duties. He'd never actually PLANNED for THAT First Time.
To top it all off, his family created a hell of a precedent. Bruce Wayne's playboy antics were well documented, of course. A slow tabloid news day meant that Brucie was only photographed with one woman at three parties. Then there was Dick who had topped the JLA/Titans "best ass" list since time immemorial. The ladies' room in the Watchtower had an entire stall dedicated to Nightwing's physique. The mens' room had another one.
That was when Tim's palms first went sweaty. He couldn't talk to Bruce because... well, it was BRUCE. Just... no. And even if Bruce didn't wither Tim's penis with a glare, he'd probably give terribly advanced advice. Dick was in outer space. Again. Bastard.
He could ask Roy. Roy had extensive experience in sexual relationships ranging from the sweet to the kinky and had probably annotated the Kama Sutra. But no, Roy was the type to want details afterwards then give pointers on the parts that needed fixing. Roy took his seductions seriously. Plus, he'd tell Dick about it. Not for gossip but just because the two of them shared 99.99% of everything. Tim didn't begrudge them that-- he confessed a lot to Cissie himself-- but no. Dick wouldn't be able to resist teasing him about it.
There was Babs. Not only would she offer the female perspective but she'd a good number of relationships and the world's most powerful Internet connection at her fingertips. She would know if the whole flower petals thing actually worked or was clichéd. And candles. What was the number of candles that could be lit in a private home in Curacao without needed a fire marshal? He couldn't quite imagine asking Babs other questions he wanted to ask though. Like, do ribbed condoms actually work? Where were his eyes supposed to be looking when he performed cunnilingus? Was there another word for cunnilingus that didn't sound a) like a disease or b) rude?
He really wanted to talk to Kon, dammit.
His cell phone rang. Cissie's picture grinned up at him. The whole sweaty-palms thing started up again.
God, he was a loser.
"Hi. What's up?"
"Hi to you too, cutie. Are you all packed up for Curacao?"
"Uh. Sort of."
Cissie didn't speak for a few seconds. "Tim, are you okay?"
"Why do you ask?"
"We're flying out tomorrow morning. Usually, you're packed a full forty-eight hours before a trip. Are you sick? Did you get hurt? I'll call Dr. Leslie, she'll--"
"I'm fine, Cissie."
"You say that but that could be Bat-speak for 'I've been eviscerated and am watching my intestines slowly slide to the floor in a knotted mass'."
He grinned. "I'm fine," he let his amusement colour his voice. "Really. I've just got a lot on my mind."
"Like... would you ever want me to paint your toenails? And if so, what colour?"
"Is that a no?"
"Okay, now I'm REALLY worried."
"No, no, no, I just Argh!"
On the other end, the backgrounds noise decreased. "Okay, it's just me in my room now. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing is wrong!"
"Uh-huh and then?"
Tim sighed. "I'm having a hard time planning our weekend, that's all."
"What's to plan? We have sun, sand, and your Dad's fully equipped playhouse. We don't need no stinkin' plan."
"Unless, of course, you discount my plan to keep you as my nude sex slave for the whole forty-eight hours."
Tim went crossed-eyed.
Cissie continued. "I was thinking first we swim around the beach you with your trunks, me with my bikini bottoms. When we're all pruny, we make good use of the waterfall shower then have a dinner of local fare, eating with our hands while the undoubtedly awesome music system does it work. And then we'll--"
"I'll be packed in ten minutes!" Tim blurted out.
"Of course. You won't need to wear much, after all."