Language-ing, and Other "Things" (Or, 'A Drabble.') Lys Summers =+=+=+= “Ti-im,” Kon groaned theatrically, “C'mon man, I'm dying here! I mean, I'm totally language-ing!” Tim snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he spun his chair to face Kon. “Languishing, Kon, you mean languishing, which you are so not. And besides,” he continued, his smirk dangerously close to becoming an all-out smile, albeit a small one, “I have work to do.” He waved his hand at the pile of casefiles on his desk. “Unlike some people, my mentor actually expects me to get things done.” It was Kon's turn to smirk as his hand, which had previously been resting on Tim's knee, started to creep higher as he leaned forward to murmur in the smaller boy's ear, “I can promise you that things will get done,” he assured, “Namely... you.” Kon ended his argument with a nip to Tim's earlobe and a not-so-subtle grope. Tim's mouth fell open on a gasp. “Kon,” he tried his best to sound firm, “I can't, I have – oh, oh,” he trailed off. Kon smiled like the cat that caught the canary, or rather, robin, and his hand never stopped moving. “Don't worry. It won't have to take long.” “I don't -- Kon I, oh...” He didn't meet any more resistance after that. =+=+=+= End return to splash page