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Tim was back in Kon’s bed.
It had become more or less a nightly occurrence.
As the sun dipped below the Gotham skyline, nestled somewhere between the hours of evening and the dead of night during which Red Robin would make his appearance, Kon would fly the few thousand miles from his Smallville estate to the Wayne Manor, pick up Tim, and make the trip back.
It was an unspoken routine, because speaking it meant acknowledging something much larger. Something completely humiliating. So Tim had accepted it as a fact; every day, he’d finish up his calculus homework, or maybe work a bit on an essay, and by the time the sunset was showing through the grand windows of his mansion bedroom, Kon would be floating outside his second story window, tapping impatiently.
Evidently, the two boys had grown inseparable. No one doubted this. They’d become a package deal – where there was Kon, there would be Tim. Even Brue had acknowledged it, albeit with a begrudging distaste that Tim found absolutely hilarious. (“I don’t get it! Why doesn’t he like me? Everyone likes me,” Kon would whine to a chorus of Tim’s snickers.)
It began with a group of muggers. Just an ordinary bundle of crooks. They would have posed minimal threat – had Tim not been utterly enamoured with how incredible Kon looked as he fought.
The two had been working on a different mission. Trying to catch some serial killer that had been running rampant in the city, targeting those in power at Gotham’s banks (a setup for a future robbery, Tim assumed). But they’d been out following the trail when a group of street rats had jumped them, and Kon sprung into action, and damn.
Tim had never seen him quite like that before. It was shocking, almost, how fast he reacted. There was a joke to be made in Tim’s mind about Kon taking charge; he elected to ignore it for his own sanity.
But, of course, this meant Tim had been less-than-focused on the actual issue at hand, neglecting his preparation.
It proved to be detrimental when the boy found himself smacked over the head with a wooden plank that had been discarded somewhere in the alley.
And so Kon sprung into action, punching the man in the stomach and knocking out the rest of the men in mere seconds. Despite the splitting headache and nausea and vague fear of imminent death, Tim had never been more turned on in his life.
Kon didn’t know that part of it, obviously. They’d both chalked it up to trauma bonding and recovery and knowing, truly, that they’d have each others’ backs no matter what. It was the catalyst of something that seemed to run much deeper than either could understand.
But either way, they’d spent every evening together since.
Tonight, of course, was no different.
It was just past 6 o’clock when Kon made his rounds. He palmed at the window, looking pointedly at Tim. A cocked eyebrow feigned annoyance, but Tim knew better than to trust his friend’s attitude.
“So you’re just gonna make me sit out here in the cold?” Kon playfully scoffed. Tim hadn’t noticed earlier, but there was a chill in the air — just enough to tint the tip of Kon’s ears a faint pink. It was painfully adorable. (So Kryptonians weren’t completely immune to the cold… good to know.)
Yeah, Tim could play this game.
“Sorry, I didn't realize you were so tender. I guess flying into the sun is on the same level as sitting outside for less than a minute in 40 degree weather. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Ouch,” Kon grabbed his chest. “Your sarcasm is… breaking my heart.” He flinchingly fell lower in the sky, playing at a heart attack.
Tim just snorted and opened the window.
“Get in here before you freeze to death, then.”
A gust of wind left the curtains fluttering as Kon flew in. He was wearing his typical uniform; a black t-shirt and jeans, hair windblown and swept to the side. Tim hid his gape as the other boy flipped his head and tried (read: failed) to straighten out the mop of overgrown waves. How could Kon be so beautiful? Tim didn’t understand. Because it wasn’t like an equation he could work out, not a case for him to solve. It just had to be accepted.
Tim hated this.
“Watcha working on?” Kon strode over to the desk, still layered in a quilt of class worksheets, case files from a new mission Tim had been working on, and an almost-dead laptop that he’d forgotten to plug in the night before.
The boredom edged into Tim’s tone as he dismissed it. “School, a mission, writing my will. The usual.”
It was Kon’s turn to chuckle at this, a smile etching itself into the creases of his eyes. “Yeah, sure. You bats always seem to be prepared.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “It’s standard precaution. Don’t wanna end up like Jason.”
This served as an easy way to silence Kon. The Kryptonian never knew how to address anything concerning Tim’s family. The comments went far beyond jokes, and even the true jokes weren’t funny. But the sarcasm (or, lack thereof) was how Tim coped. It was how he processed.
That didn’t make it any less awkward for Kon.
(And he didn’t like the reminder of that one night. Of what could have happened.)
Seeing the other boy’s hesitance to that, Tim bellowed out a hearty laugh. “Kon. It’s fine. Seriously. Now, are we gonna head out, or what?”
Kon shook his head. “Sure, let’s go.”
It was typical for Tim to climb on on Kon’s back, living out the childlike joy of a piggyback ride half to space. His heart would be pressed against the other boy’s back, face nestled somewhere in the crook between his shoulder and neck. It gave Tim the beautifully peaceful (and plausibly deniable) opportunity to inhale the boy’s scent. Kon always smelled fresh – it was like the high of pure oxygen. Tim went wild for it.
It was utterly humiliating.
He stepped up on the wooden desk chair, preparing to do the same as they made their journey west, before Kon held up an arm in defiance.
“Nope. Not today, birdboy. We’re doing this bridal style.”
Tim barely had a second to process before Kon scooped him up, arms cupping the boy as if he were a damsel in distress.
“Wha- Kon! What are you doing? Put me down!”
But the other boy just snickered. “Nope, princess. I need the arm workout.”
Tim didn’t have the chance to get another word out before Kon lifted off his bedroom floor of the manor and jetted out the window into the setting Gotham sun.
Tim tried his hardest to keep up the act of completely platonic annoyance, but it was futile as he sat between Kon’s arms, all but fully embracing his chest.
(And, really, Tim was scarily turned on by how easily Kon had just… lifted him up like that. Knowing that Kon could throw him around. That fact did absolutely nothing to quell the hormone-fueled fantasies brewing in Tim’s mind.)
The Gotham skyline may have been more enticing from this point of view, without half the image blocked by Kon’s overgrown hair, had Tim not been receiving borderline whiplash every time he tried to lift his head from Kon’s pecs. The wind thrashed around them, sharp and chilling, and so there was no comfortable option besides burrowing deeper into the other boy. (And so Tim did just that, he convinced himself, without any ulterior motives. None at all. Definitely.)
Finally (yet still all too soon), the cloudless sky fell over corn fields and the outline of a modest farmhouse came into view. It was beautiful, no matter how many times Tim saw it; it was peaceful. Calm, in a way he had never known Gotham to be.
It was a soft landing. Kon hadn’t always been good at those (“You’re going to get us killed,” Tim used to groan as Kon crashed into the dirt at supersonic speeds. “Just because you have bones of steel doesn’t mean we all do.”)
Tim begrudgingly tore himself away from the grasp he’d achieved on Kon’s torso, painstakingly ripping each finger from the other boy’s chest as he leaned down to let Tim step off on the soft pale grass.
“Oh, by the way-” Kon began as they made their way to the front door. “Ma and Pa have dinner guests over. Didn’t really, ah, tell them you were tagging along.”
Tim’s jaw was on the floor. “KON! Seriously? You can’t just drop these things on me. We could’ve stayed at my house for the night, or- gone literally anywhere else. I am not intruding on a Martha Kent dinner party.”
But Kon flashed a smile, and Tim maybe melted a little bit. “Nah, it’s fine. We’ll just hide out in my room. I don’t think they’d mind – you know Ma loves you. But maybe try to keep it down a little bit, just in case?”
Tim was going to kill this man.
But they were already here, and Tim quite honestly didn’t think he’d be able to resist Kon if he tried. He’d really gone soft, huh? Is that what this sort of thing did to people?
Even to someone like him?
The dinner party was, naturally, in the dining room, making it easy to avoid. It was just out of sight of the hall to Kon’s room. The two boys crept in. Tim knew, by now, which creaky floorboards to avoid and which spots on the wall would groan if you nudged them.
Tim thought they must look a bit ridiculous – two nearly grown boys, muscles ripping through their shirts, tiptoeing down a dark hallway. It was the stuff of terrible comedy movies, maybe something close to a bank heist drama.
The door clicked shut, and immediately a fit of muffled laughter burst out between the two. Tim had been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Sneaking in was mildly hilarious.
Something about the move excited him. It made Tim wonder about other circumstances that Kon would be sneaking the boy in. Maybe one day, if-
Well.
Better to not go there, anyways.
And so, here he was. In Kon’s bed. The ache of laughter was still imprinted on his abdomen, and he’d never been more comfortable in his life.
Kon joined him on the mattress, feet propped on the headboard. His eyes were in line with Tim’s. It was perfect. They were perfect.
If Tim pretended hard enough, it almost felt like this could be real. That they could hang out as more than friends, and lay together; hands clasped, heads resting on shoulders, arms slung lazily around hips. It was so natural, the way they sat. If nothing ever changed, if Tim never moved on from that moment, he didn’t think he could bring himself to care.
It ended soon after, of course. As all good things do.
Kon recognized it much before Tim, complementary of his super hearing. The thick, heavy footsteps making their way down the hall. It was a pattern Tim didn’t recognize… until he did.
“Shit,” Kon hissed through gritted teeth. “Clark’s here.”
Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “What- like, here, here?”
Kon nodded, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hide!” He hissed, shoving Tim off the bed.
They were a tangle of limbs until Tim had safely made it under Kon’d bed, shrouded by a discarded pair of jeans.
It was absurd, hiding from Superman.
Tim wasn’t convinced his obstruction would hold, because seriously, in what world could him laying under Kon’s bed be an adequate ploy for the Man of Steel? But Clark seemed… distracted.
The Kryptonian’s fist rapped against the wall, but it wasn’t earth-shatteringly deep and Tim couldn’t feel the ground shake beneath him. Clark could, of course, play normal — but he usually reserved that for when he was with civilians, at work or walking the streets of Metropolis. Not when he was home with Ma and Pa. There were dinner guests over, sure, but they were in the other side of the house. Plus, Ma and Pa Kent didn’t usually invited guests over who weren’t aware of their sons’… situations. Was Clark trying to be gentle?
“Uh- come in?” Kon stuttered out, still in a vague sort of shock. It wasn’t often Clark sought him out.
Tim heard the old wooden door creak open, followed by the deep thump of Clark’s footsteps as he made his way between the doorposts. Then he stopped, leaning against one side of the wall.
“Hey, Kon.”
“Uh, hey, Clark. What’s up? Everything okay out there?” Kon questioned him, because despite the calm nature of Clark’s approach, the man rarely came looking for him if it wasn’t an emergency.
“Yeah, they’re all doing fine. Dinner guests are heading out in a few minutes, I think. They had a whole feast. Ma’s got extras, if you’re hungry.”
Kon snorted to this. “When has Ma ever not had leftovers? Sure, maybe I’ll grab some later.”
Tim thought that maybe this would be all — that Ma had told Clark to run up and tell Kon off for not eating enough again. Odd, but plausible. Yet Clark lingered in the doorway. Words were clearly on the tip of his tongue, yet he was hesitating.
“Is…” he began. “Is the Robin boy coming over again tonight? Tim?”
Tim’s heart was hammering against his chest. If Clark didn’t notice him there before, he definitely would now. What did Superman want with Tim? It’s not like he was a bad influence. Was Clark about to sit here and say he didn’t want Kon hanging out with the boy anymore? Sure, they’d grown a bit codependent. But it was fine! They were friends! And after all they’d been through together, it’s not like anyone would be surprised.
So what could Clark Kent possibly want with Tim?
“Uh, maybe. Tonight, y’know, Ma and Pa had the people over for dinner, and I think maybe he had… homework.”
Kon was nervous. He didn’t stutter like that, unless he was in major trouble (and even then… Kon was always so sure of himself. He never doubted anything. Tim never understood it.)
So why now was he losing his cool?
Tim saw the blocky shadow of the hero dip his head before striding away from his position in the doorway towards the corner of the room with Kon’s bed.
“Look. Kon,” the man began, the breath of a sigh on his voice. “I know how you feel about our conversation last night.”
He tried to keep his breathing shallow as Tim sprawled out under the bed. He had practice with stealth, of course; standard part of bat training protocol. Tim was positive he was as silent as a human could physically be. But the functions he couldn’t control — the beating of his heart, the blinking of his eyes, the groan of his ribs as he shifted against the ground — should all be tipping Superman off. He must be really set on what he wanted to discuss with Conner if he hadn’t noticed someone of Tim’s magnitude hiding mere feet away from him.
But also…
The conversation last night? What could that mean?
Tim didn’t need to stay guessing for long.
“Clark, really, it’s fine,” Kon insisted. “I get it. Seriously. If that’s all you wanted to talk about, then-“
“No, Kon,” Clark cut him off. “I know I haven’t really… been there, these past few years. You have to understand why difficult it’s been for me. I don’t want to be overstepping here, but I think it’s important for you to hear it. And last night-“
“I said it’s fine, Clark. I understand. No hard feelings.”
The man seemed entirely undeterred by this. “I think it’s important for you to hear,” he emphasized. “You and Tim. This is exciting for you. It’s a big thing, and I wants to-“
“Clark!” Kon yelped.
Tim had absolutely no clue what was going on, but Kon was clearly panicked. The tension in the air was palpable, even from his obstructed view under the bed. Kon and Tim? What could that mean? (Tim knew exactly what he wanted it to mean. But that was.. there was no way. That was unrealistic. There’s no way Kon would ever feel that way about Tim. And even if he somehow miraculously did, there was certainly no way Clark would know about it.)
It must be something else. Something stupid. Something like them working as vigilantes together, or a new case they’d be beginning on soon, or literally anything else.
But then why did Kon react like that?
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about this with me, but listen, Conner. There’s nothing wrong with your feelings for Tim. I’m happy for you. Really, and I want to be here, because I get it,” Clark confided.
Tim was pretty sure the man kept talking, but nothing else registered before the world stuttered to a halt.
Tim could hear Kon’s facepalm, even from under the bed.
Feelings. Feelings for Tim. That’s what Clark had said. Kon’s feelings for Tim. Kon had feelings for Tim. Feelings, and Clark was comforting him and telling him that it was okay and the conversation was extremely awkward and-
Tim was a detective. Deducing was supposed to be part of his job. It was what he did.
All the evidence pointed to a single solution.
But there was no way.
No way.
Tim couldn’t believe it. He tried to think factually, acutely unaware that Kon had muttered out a “Thanks, Clark” through gritted teeth and the footsteps had resumed back the way they came, pausing once again in the doorway.
“And, Kon? Next time he’s over, make sure you leave this door open,” with a distinct smile in his voice.
And yeah, there was no way for Tim to flip that one.
Well, that settled it.
A heavy silence settled over the room as Clark trotted away. Tim’s heart was sitting thickly in his throat. They both waited a moment, until they were sure the man was out of earshot (or at least, as out of earshot as the Kryptonian could be). Based on how Tim felt the bed’s weight bounce, he could visualize Kon’s dramatic faceplant.
Still keeping up the quiet act, Tim slid out from his hiding spot, remaining awkwardly crouched beside the bed.
The scene was as he’d imagined: Kon, starfished over the comforter, face buried in his pillow. He let out a loud noise, in between a groan and a sigh, before flipping over and lifting an eye at Tim.
And Tim…
Wasn’t quite sure what to do.
“Uh,” the boy began. Maybe he was misinterpreting. Maybe he should give Kon the chance to water down his insidious delusions. “What was that about?”
Kon was sitting up now, back pressed against the headrest and crushing a few pillows beneath him.
“Just kill me now,” he mewled.
Tim snorted at this. “You sound like me.”
Kon didn’t seem to react when Tim took a step closer, so he made his way towards the bed and set himself down next to the alien.
“So you heard all that, huh?”
Tim could lie, except he had literally been sitting there the whole time. So.
“Maybe a bit of it, yeah,” he agreed.
“Fuck.”
“You, uh… Told Clark you had feelings for me?” Tim asked, because this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. No, he still had to be wildly misunderstanding what was going on. There was no way, no way Clark had meant what Tim thought.
But Kon didn’t respond, which may as well have been Tim’s answer.
“Technically, I didn’t tell Clark,” he countered. “I told Ma and Pa. But, y’know, superhuman hearing and all that.”
So this was real. Or, it felt real, at least. Could it be a dream? Because Conner Kent, Kon-El, Superboy wasn’t denying the fact that he had…. Feelings for Tim.
But also.
“Speaking of which, I can’t believe he didn’t notice me under the bed. I mean, that’s like, terrible hiding spot number one.”
Kon snorted at this. “Yeah. Well, to be fair, he probably wasn’t expecting anything suspicious from my room. That, or he was too focused on eavesdropping on the dinner guests. When the man’s set on something, he doesn’t really, ah, pay attention to his surroundings. Ironic, I know.”
Tim couldn’t tell if the silence that fell between them was comfortable or not.
What now?
“I’m sorry,” Kon let out. It wasn’t much more than a whisper.
“Sorry? For what?” Because Tim’s dreams had (quite literally) come true. What could Kon possibly have to apologize for?
“I didn’t mean to make things weird. I know… I know you don’t feel the same, and trust me, that’s fine. I never meant for you to find out this way. I never meant for you to find out at all, actually. But I promise I won’t let this change anything between us.”
Wait. “Kon. What are you talking about?”
The Kryptonian raised an eyebrow. “You just found out I have feelings for you. That’s, like, crazy embarrassing, man. I’m just telling you that I promise it won’t change our friendship, because I know you don’t like me back, and-”
”Why do you think I don’t like you back?” Tim cut him off.
Kon gaped. “Well you didn’t say anything.”
And shit. He really hadn’t, had he?
“Kon. I’ve been in love with you for months.”
“You HAVE?” The boy shrieked. So much for pretending he was in here alone.
Tim scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah… I probably should have led with that. My bad,” he answered sheepishly.
“Seriously, man. Gave me a heart attack. I thought you were gonna, like, walk all the way back to Gotham and ghost me for the rest of my life. That was humiliating.”
Tim snorted. “Trust me, I know it. You don’t know how terrible it’s been hopelessly pining over you.”
Kon feigned a gasp at this. “What? Excuse me, I’m sure it was lovely pining over me. I’m awesome.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Tim sneered. “That’s the problem.”
Another silence fell over the duo, this one more peaceful than the last.
“Soooo,” Tim drawled. “What now?”
Kon quirked an eyebrow. “We just confessed our undying love to each other, and we’re alone in my bedroom. I can think of a few things.”
But of course, they couldn’t have one thing to themselves.
Clark’s voice came booming through the walls: “Keep the door open!”