FORTRESS OF PARADISE

for Houie

by Mael

Continuity notes: There are clear continuity issues between War Games, Identity Crisis and the Future Titans storyline in Teen Titans, not to mention the Robin and Nightwing books. I hate picking and choosing within continuity but it was either that or a massive headache and a breakdown. Therefore the unofficial timeline for this story is something along the lines of: Titans fight Brother Blood, Tim quits, Robin!Steph, Kon goes looking for Tim, fired!Steph, War Games, Tim calls Kon, Titans of the Future, Identity Crisis, Robin in Blüdhaven/Nightwing in Gotham. For my own peace of mind, I'm assuming that Dick called Tim's Blüdhaven's Robin Nest in IC7 and that it happened after Nightwing 100. Let's also assume that Dick's presence in IC was a mass hallucination. It doesn't make sense but I can't *get* it to make sense. Most of these storylines haven't been concluded yet, so I'm just extrapolating.

***

One of the perks of having been temporarily relocated to the barn is that Kon gets to sleep those ten extra minutes in the morning. It's been snowing all night and by now those ten minutes might as well have doubled. Tripled, even, if Pa Kent's misplaced his work boots. And Kon's made sure he has.

He should ask the Kents if he can just move his stuff over and stay here permanently. Sure, it's a couch bed, the air is positively thick with hay dust and he's ten feet away from a fucking *tractor* but it does take longer for him to smack his face into the ceiling if he's sleep-flying. He's only been here for a couple of days, so Kon's not exactly sure just how badly he'd miss having electricity in his room.

Well, Kon has a Gameboy and he's pretty sure there's a box with an iPod in it and his name *on* it under the Christmas tree. His X-ray vision's still flickering and it's not exactly his fault if it decided to power up while he was in the living room. The Kents are totally going to have to lead-line his Broke Out Of Test Tube-day presents but Kon's not Clark, and Kon's flesh is weak.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Luthor's obviously the kind of person who'd take advantage and peek, so it might be Kon's evil genes starting to take over. They'd start small, like an invading army of bald midgets, and Kon will go from peeking at his presents to not flushing the toilet, to burning the pants off Mr. Kimbley the algebra teacher and in no time at all Kon's going to wake up and realise he's a murderous dictator with thinning hair.

Or maybe this is teenager-wrong and not evil-wrong, and Kon's just being a fucking idiot.

Either way, he's decided to wait until after Christmas to tell Clark. Or possibly until Kara discovers she's the genetic duplicate of Darkseid's mother and Clark doesn't disown her. And maybe not even then, because while Darkseid may be a New God of evil with his own personal hell, he still ain't Lex *fucking* Luthor.

And besides, Kara's Kryptonian and that makes all the difference in the world. The fucking universe, even.

Maybe he should ask *her* to stay. They could rename her Caroline, find her a pair of trendy glasses, and pray that the good folk of Smallville are stupid enough to accept *another* previously unmentioned Kent cousin suddenly moving to Shithole-with-cows, Kansas.

Kon still hasn't figured out whether she's his first or second cousin and, given that her tits look sublime in a nightie, it honestly seems like important information. It could be the sign that he's finally turning into a local, and that he'll be forever waking up at five fucking a.m. to milk cows and feed chickens and never mind those villainous bastards who are threatening to sick steel-eating termites on the Golden Gate's cables.

But Lois *does* look like she could use a break from aliensitting, the Kents adore her, and Kon'd be around to manage Krypto if he ever decides whether he *seriously* wants to rip her face off or he's just yanking her chain. Kara seems to love the farm too, although that's probably because she's doing the chicken feeding thing just because she *wants* to and, anyway, nowhere *near* five a.m.

She could keep Clark's old room and the Kents would then be forced to let Kon move into the barn, never mind what the neighbours would say. That way he'd never have to sleep in Clark Kent's old twin bed ever again. He'd never have to stare at the brighter patches of wallpaper where Clark Kent's old posters had nearly fused themselves to the walls and Ma had taken down when they'd given him the room. And he'd never, ever, *ever* have to be sure that Ma and Pa Kent had *not* been asleep and that they'd most fucking definitely heard Kon jerking off.

And he does genuinely like the barn. It was Clark's too, of course, but Clark took everything that was his with him to Metropolis when he left for university and that makes it alright. Pa changed the couch and had Kon move some of the bales to build a makeshift wall. Kon still knows the tractor is there, but he can't *see* it anymore. It's a fire hazard if he ever saw one, but Kon's managed to master his heat vision – the old do or die did the trick – and it's not like he'd get hurt anyway.

The cows, maybe. But the Kents are sure he'd save the cows, if pressed.

It's surprisingly cosy, and Kon knows that the moment he'll turn over and pull the quilt over his head he'll hear the kitchen door open and Pa shuffling out in the yard. The air outside is still and he can hear those damn snowflakes plopping to the ground. Kon's not good enough, yet, to figure out how deep the snowdrift is but there's no need for superpowers, alien or cloned, to realise that it would be rude to keep snuggling the pillow and make Pa dig his way to the barn. Not when Kon can move said snow with his leg hair.

Kon rolls onto his back and the kitchen door opens. There's no shuffling though, just a *whoosh* and Kon can smell the snow melt. Krypto gets noisy and the chickens start to squabble, and he gives some serious thought to the whole getting up process, updated version being that there's no actual need since Superman himself decided to leave his lovely wife alone in the guest room and do Kon's chores for him.

Clark has alternative plans, apparently, and there are heavy footsteps in the barn. Kon has spent many a history lesson wondering why, exactly, Clark refuses to simply hover and avoid getting his boots mucky. He doubts it's the vertigo thing – thank you, mask and cape grapevine – as flying four inches above ground could hardly make anyone queasy. Well, anyone who had intimate knowledge of space fucking travel, at least. But there you were, Clark Kent comes plodding into the barn and Krypto decides he's mutt enough to jump all over Kon's bed.

Clark smiles. Krypto wags his tail while obnoxiously on purpose digging his paws in Kon's spleen. And Kon eventually figures this is routine behaviour for Christmas mornings out of Cadmus labs. No sour faces of those stuck on duty, and a welcome upgrade in the food department.

"Are those *honest-to-god* gingerbread men?"

Clark's smile widens visibly. He takes one, bites its puny little head off and waves the plate in Kon's general direction. Never one to refuse bribery, Kon floats the covers off himself and wraps them around the damned dog. Gives him a warning squeeze too, just for good measure.

Kon sits up and Clark sits down and the smell of gingerbread breaks Kon's admittedly sleepy brain.

"Go on, take one. Ma baked them this morning." Which obviously means she woke up god knows when and has been working magic for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Yay, says Kon's brain.

Kon tries not to be greedy, takes three and stuffs his face. It's not, apparently, a Christmas faux-pas since Clark appears to be doing the barely restrained edition, and is stuffing his face somewhat *politely*. Could be evil Luthor genes, could be that Kon's fucking starving and that he's never had Christmas breakfast in bed before.

"Man, does she do this *every* year?" because Smallville suddenly sounds like Paradise and Kon wants to make sure he's here for the next century. Especially if Ma's passed her recipes along to her daughter-in-law. Or to her son, come to think of it. Or to anyone with a smattering of culinary know-how, actually. Maybe he should ask her for cooking lessons, just to be sure.

There's a flash of shadow across Clark's eyes, and maybe it's just the flashlight on the bale of hay that has been appointed as bedside table, but Kon's getting better at reading people wearing *masks*, and Clark's face is always naked.

"Yeah, every year. Well, since I've been here, at least."

And, just like that, Clark brightens back to normal, friendly, Superman-level wattage. He breaks one unfortunate gingerbread fellow in half and hands the legs to Kon. In the time it takes him to chew and swallow, Clark's gone and back again. He didn't suit up, or at least doesn't smell enough like the wide wide world outside of Smallville, so Kon doubts it was some intergalactic emergency. That, and Clark comes bearing milk and a wrapped box that looks nothing like an iPod.

Clark plonks back down on the couch bed and the poor thing protests terribly. He makes no move to offer Kon the glass of milk, and the gingerbread men must be organising an uprising in his throat because Kon's suddenly violently thirsty.

"Nightwing called." And that might mean called in the traditional and rather outdated phone version, or called as in called out for Superman and talked to him face to face somewhere in Gotham. Or Ashram. Or wherever the fuck he is these days. Kon nods.

"He asked if Tim could stay with us for a couple of days. I told him it wasn't a problem, obviously, and... well, I didn't think you'd have a problem with Tim staying."

Trouble in the land of the big bad Bat. Or maybe Timbo just wants to hang and had big brother ask. But these days trouble is the most likely cause, and not because Tim might not want to hang, but rather because trouble looms over Gotham and her general vicinity like a fucking nuclear cloud. A nuclear cloud that's gotten people *killed*.

"Bats still not talking to you?"

Well, he has to ask. It's the Cold War of Superheroes; no casualties yet but the potential is *right* there. These are the moments Kon can feel the full, damning weight of having possibly seen his own doom. Not pleasant, not fun. Easy to see the mistakes, so much harder to avoid them.

But Clark shakes his head and still looks happy. He figures it will pass, like their bickering always passes, even though Clark's the guilty one this time. Sometimes the grapevine's not so nifty and rumors are bubbling like lava.

Still, Clark smiles his real smile and hands him the box.

Kon's first instinct is to shake it and see if it rattles, but the color of the wrapping paper stops him. It's Christmassy, sure, but the ribbon is bright yellow and it looks entirely too much like a Robin costume. And the first rule of superheroing is that you shake *nothing* that comes from the batfamily's pockets. Basic self-preservation really.

"Tim gave you this?"

The box still asks to tango and Kon mentally pictures soda-like tangler grenades.

"Some time ago, yes. For you."

And Clark really needs a better poker face, but whatever's in the box is going to be fun. Whether it'll be fun for *Kon* well, that remains to be seen. It might just be some new training device, and Superman's currently bouncing for a spar. If this turns out to be some bat-telekinesis-enhancer-slash-portable-satellite-tv-with-a-ban-on-the-adult-channels he's going to *kill* Tim.

Kon rips the paper off and he's glad that it's not some freaky super alloy Tim wants to test before he makes a new cape out of it. The ribbon doesn't chop his fingers off either, so he just might be safe. On the other hand, Clark's still grinning and the box feels hot.

Kon was probably right, as the contents turn out to be a slim glass bottle and an abnormally scarce amount of padding. The liquid inside is clear and looks like shampoo, which better not mean this is some follicle-strengthening solution, because Batman would then need to find himself another Robin and that *certainly* would not improve the current feud between the families.

But the bottle has a label tied to its neck, and the handwriting is suspiciously fancy. It reads "DRINK ME".

"I brought you milk." Clark's expression hovers between apologetic and gleefully amused. "Just in case it tastes viciously foul."

"You're in on this?" When your best friend and your possibly-father-figure-and-mentor band together to surely destroy your sanity it's time to just give it up and go along for the ride. "And I thought I was worried *before*."

So Kon grins back, unscrews the top and chugs it.

It doesn't taste foul. Weird, yes. Foul, no. It tastes like Thanksgiving dinner, which would generally mean it felt like drinking a glob of stuffed turkey. But it feels warm and rich and there are definitely berries. A whole rainbow of berries. Berries with turkey, true, but Kon's feeling happy and relaxed and maybe the taste isn't too weird after all.

Krypto licks his face and Conner Kent, age two, giggles.

***

It's been hours, and Kon still hasn't figured out whether he's terribly embarrassed and going towards amused, or just terribly embarrassed, *period*. The extended Kent family had no problem unanimously declaring itself delighted, but it could just be that Kon made a fool out of his baby-self and that there are pictures to be developed. Actually, he's sure there are pictures on the way because Tim made a fucking point to send extra film rolls along. Half a dozen extra film rolls.

This is either batshit crazy, or the most elaborate scheme for blackmail Kon has ever witnessed. Or maybe he's in bizzarro world and none of this ever happened. Kon's going to blame it on the BLT sandwiches he'd raided from the kitchen the night before and just fall asleep on the rug. If he wakes up in his own couch bed, then this was all indigestion and he can show his face in public again.

And yet here comes the bat-plane, or the bat-copter, or the fucking bat-rocket. Kon's not exactly concentrating hard enough to analyse the difference between technically noiseless engines. Clark must know though, because he zips outside with an umbrella and waits by the northern field.

Kon tries to sulk convincingly but Kara's still holding what look like Clark's old building blocks and she's trying to build Superman's fortress of solitude. Krypto is clearly just *pretending* to be asleep and is knocking it over with his tail. There is obviously going to be a Supergirl vs. Superdog Death Match in about thirty seconds, and there's no way he's missing that just because he feels like crawling under a rock until the cows come home.

Hell hath no fury like a Kryptonian pestered, and Kara's about to rip Krypto's behind off when the door opens. Now, everybody and their dead uncle knows that Nightwing is god's gift to spandex – one of many, sure, but arguably the finest – yet it's strangely unsettling to see him without his mask.

His hair still looks more like Kon's than Tim's - a vacation in Ashram will do that to a person - and it makes him look older. Kon had made an educated guess and assumed his eyes were blue as per bat-requirements, and he can see he's won that little wager with statistics. Or, admittedly, *obsessions*.

Ma and Lois hug him, Pa shakes his hand and gives him a hearty, I'm-a-man-of-the-earth slap on the back. Kara's going all cow eyes on him, and with good reason, but Kon can't read Nightwing's smile. At all.

It could mean "everything's just *great*" just as easily as it could mean "I'm about to break down, hold me". But that's the Bats for you, and one can't exactly expect to be master detective after only a couple of years of close study.

That Tim's smile was going to be a carbon copy was an utter no-brainer.

Bat Bond Junior is lurking somewhere behind Clark and while no one is actually *saying* it, there is a rather pervasive undertone of "that poor boy" to the general conversation. Tim seems to wallow in it, but he's playing Timothy Drake, broken orphan, and laying it on a little thick.

Kon gets hugged by Nightwing, and it doesn't *quite* feel like the grip of a drowning man, so perhaps things have sorted themselves out. Just a little bit. Then Nightwing's smile turns sheepish and Tim's follows suit.

"Boys!" and, coming from Ma, that means anyone from emotionally scarred batfreaks, to aliens, to elderly if still kicking husbands, all the way up to the little clone lost. "There's hot chocolate in the kitchen."

Which proves once and for all that women are all goddesses and that they are taught how to defuse a potentially embarrassing situation at birth. Of before birth. So they get shepherded into the kitchen, and Tim kicks his foot under the table.

Kon knows Tim better than most, and he's pretty confident that it was a nice, friendly kick and that, if delivered while the freak in question is munching on a chocolate covered marshmallow, it means something along the lines of "I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but that doesn't mean I'm sorry I did it in the first place."

And Kon's mood nosedives *straight* into amused.

So Kon nudges back, and it means "S'okay dude, no harm done. But I'll get you for it later, don't you worry."

Nightwing wipes hot chocolate off his nose, and Kon's sure that's a secret technique from the Bat-Bible Of Handy Quirks To Appear *Just* Like A Normal Boy, pocket edition. Tim doing the same sets it in stone, because there's no way that was a coincidence. Or maybe it's just bat-code for "I'm bored, let's leave this bunch of losers and go beat up some madmen."

Tim's eyes say Kon's just being paranoid and that chocolate accidents happen. It could be a distraction though, so Kon's not lowering his guard just yet.

"Say, Clark, it's gotten kind of late." Oh, here it comes, because Bats are *never* late. "Could you give me a lift back to Gotham's City Hall without wrinkling my pants too badly?" And yeah, okay, so Nightwing *does* look kind of overdressed for being on driver duty but Timbo was *not* expecting that and it shows.

Kon's not exactly fluent in Battish but score, extra Christmas present for the Boy Wonder. Nightwing's leaving the flying bat-thing, and that means Robin's return ticket to the East Coast has just been upgraded to "whenever you're ready or the Kents kick you out, whichever comes first". And since the Kents would probably have a hard time finding the heart to kick *Mr. Mxyzptlk* out of their home, well, Tim's holding the reins.

"Wish me luck at the fundraising, kid. If there's anything extra scrumptious I'll steal some and freeze it for ya." And Tim gets the extra special Nightwing hug, and that's definitely some PDA there, because Tim looks moved and clings back.

Lois breaks the mood by complaining about an obvious lack of press-passes, and she's firmly informed that she should still be resting and that it matters not a thing whether she believes that or not.

Nightwing's the perfect guest and flatters the ladies, all the while dropping hints that Batman would send his regards too were he any less crazy. Doesn't mean Nightwing believes that, or that he reveals a damn thing about his stand in the current rift, but it was the polite thing to do and it earns him the ever sought approval from Ma.

Kara's still moony-eyed, but the awe's thankfully dying down. This time around she gets a hug too and Clark predictably threatens to do some maiming. Nightwing laughs it off and manages to finally exit stage left.

Tim thanks Ma and Pa for their hospitality and Kon spends an agonizing minute thinking about what to do next. He's about to propose a game of monopoly and forever be dubbed a geek by the world at large, when Lois decides that with hubby dearest absent for the next five minutes she's going to take a bath and go to bed. Kara seconds that, substituting bath with shower, and Kon finds himself shuffled towards the barn and some peace and quiet.

Tim's brought his Kevlar sleeping bag, but he hadn't anticipated the barn-factor of the equation. Sleeping on the floor in a bedroom is one thing, but these wooden planks are rough bordering on tragic. The couch bed is wide, and Tim proposes the always fashionable cocoon solution, but Kon has issues about sleeping next to things that look like Peruvian mummies and has to rather forcefully decline.

Timmy's still playing the Boy Normal, and he dons his sleep wear with a weird sort of shyness before he wraps the quilt around himself like a poncho and folds his legs in some absurd yoga position that can't possibly be comfortable. Kon floats a couple of inches from the mattress and stares at the ceiling.

It takes a while, but their little room does warm up, and it's suddenly just like sitting on the top of the Tower while the sun goes down. So Tim not saying anything and Kon waiting for the right moment to say something is absolutely normal. At least, Kon hopes it is.

But he's pretty sure he's one of the rare few people on earth that have ever had to breach the subject of best friend induced age reversal for apparently sporting purposes so he can't really blame himself for having a little trouble finding the wor&mdash

"So, did you have fun?"

Well, that's a surprise. Kon grins, lazy and low.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't F.D.A. approved, Boy Wonder."

"Zatanna owed Batman a favour."

And *ouch*, but Tim's still smiling his secret little smile, so it's a wound he's not picking open right now.

"Well, I don't exactly remember *what* I did so you didn't scar me too badly, if that was your intention."

"The Kents will remind you. And you'll never be sure whether they're exaggerating or not."

Welcome to the world of normal childhoods, Kon, even if it was the condensed version. Or the super weird version, now with talking aliens.

"Dude, they say they aren't sure if I was groping Lois's cha-chas or simply petting her sweater. I'm personally going for the latter, and not because I do not appreciate the glory of the female form, mind. But I *am* still alive."

"I'll come to my own conclusion when I get to see the photographic evidence." And Tim's eyes are laughing even if his mouth is serious.

"Man, that was *evil*!" Kon laughs, and realising that he might one day be plagued by nightmarish baby pictures is a good feeling. A very good one. So he floats a little higher and thinks they've been lucky.

Lucky enough to be mending before the storm, even. And they are a little stronger and maybe a little wiser. If the War *has* to happen, well, then they'll be prepared. And while they wait, Tim is still smiling and Kon's found himself with something like a family.

Tim stretches his legs, and the little freak always manages to make it look professional. He asks for his back pack, and Kon thins his TK out as far as he can before giving up and moving his ass those extra two feet and grabbing it the normal way. Tim approves, but Tim feels that everything should be training and doing someone a favour because you can *fly* is no exception.

Kon sees Tim reach for a wrapped present, and it takes him less than a heartbeat to speed into Kara's room - his room - and find what he'd forgotten. He'd planned on giving it to Tim at the next Titan's weekend, preferably in public. Bonus points if any of the older guys were around. And yes, it would have been evil. But Kon's been in high school long enough to know that this is just an extra helping of teenager-evil, and therefore something to be quite proud of and nothing that will make him the next ruler of Bolivia.

Kon's back on the couch bed, and he lets Tim's present fall into Tim's lap. Tim's gift for him is only halfway out of the backpack, and for a moment he thinks he's going to get smacked across the face with it. It does look heavy, and Tim *does* look annoyed, but only in the dammit-foiled-again way, so Kon's sure it's okay to open it.

It's a... box. Just a box, this time. And it's more like a miniature chest, really. Kon's no expert but it looks hand carved and *because* it looks hand carved it also looks old. Which is, admittedly, possibly the intended effect.

Kon looks up and catches Tim smiling again. But this is the soft smile, the one he usually reserves for small children Robin's just rescued from evildoers.

"It's for the pictures."

And of *course* it's for the pictures. Give the Boy Wonder twelve hours and a sprinkling of magic and he's conjured up some memories for Kon. Memories that don't involve glass and men in white coats, and that will come to mind when he smells gingerbread men. Or sees Clark smile his Boy Scout smile. And Kon's never been more grateful, not even when Timbo the Boy Wonder had taken on Batman to defend Kon's dubious honor.

But Tim's ducked down and is opening his own present, and Kon's suddenly ashamed of what he'd boug—

"Enya."

Which, judging by Tim's tone, is Kon's cue to fly off to freaking Mali and take cover.

"You bought me an Enya cd."

But the bed is warm, and Kon's sure Tim will track him down regardless. May it be swift and relatively painless. So he closes his eyes and waits for the Kryptonite carving knife that will open him from breast to groin.

But Kon feels Tim's lips with his aura before they're damp on his cheek and yes, it's Kon who reaches for Tim's mouth, and Kon who slips his arms around Tim's neck, but it's Tim who kisses him. Tim who licks at Kon's mouth and moans soft against Kon's lips, and Tim who allows Kon to push him down, hard, against the mattress.

Kon knows he's not an idiot, but it does take him a while to figure stuff out, and what he'd meant as punishment for Tim *leaving* him is, for Tim, proof that Kon cares. Because Tim is small and wild in his arms, and he kisses Kon like it's something he's dreamed of, like it's something he's *wanted* for long.

Tim makes a mess of Kon's chin with his tongue and makes Kon coax him back to his mouth, and takes his time *doing* it. Kon gets to read Tim's eyes from up close, because they're half-mast and they're *bright*, and they only flutter closed when Kon strokes the back of Tim's neck with his fingernails.

Tim's the world's second greatest detective and that must surely count for something because Tim's hands are pushing his boxers down and Tim jacks Kon's dick slow. Tim's palms are scarred in a way Kon's *can't* be and now that he's noticed, now that he *knows*, Kon feels every rise and every dip of Tim's skin.

One of Tim's nipples is cut in two by a scar, and it must have been deep and ugly and the aim was true, because that's right under the Robin crest. Kon slides one arm away from Tim's neck, and slips it under Tim's back so he can pull Tim closer and make those scars *drag* against his skin. Tim squeezes Kon's dick, and groans right into Kon's mouth. It sounds like "fuck me" to Kon's lizard brain, but there's no way in *hell* he's going to last because Tim is thumbing Kon's slit and sliding a finger down to his balls.

And Kon has to bite, and he has to force Tim's fingers between his own, force them up, on the pillow next to Tim's head. Kon catches some of Tim's hair under their hands and gives it a pull. Tim's head flies back, and Tim's mouth is open, and Kon touches the corner of Tim's lips with his thumbs.

Powers during sex is a first, but Kon's TK feels just like his skin and he rips Tim's boxers off with a thought. Tim cries out, and he's fucking *loud* so Kon pants against Tim's mouth and his own fingers and slides their dicks together. It's hot, so fucking hot, and Kon lets himself be heavy and the friction wipes his mind clean.

Tim rocks against him with his hips, rocks twice, hard, and Kon can't let go of Tim's hands because Tim touching him with *intent* is going to kill him. So Kon rides him, and pulls Tim's thighs to his waist and needs no aura to keep them there.

"*Kon*", says Tim and it rakes up Kon's spine like lightning. Kon shudders and licks Tim's teeth and Tim may be whispering but Kon's listening with his *body* and it's louder than the roar of blood in his head.

"I don't *want* to change you, Kon", it's a plea and Kon makes it broken with his orgasm. Tim tenses and arches his back, strains against Kon's chest but doesn't come. Tim doesn't come until Kon untangles one of his hands and strokes Tim's hipbone, follows the muscle to Tim's dick. Kon fingers Tim's pubes and kisses him once, softly, on the mouth and then hard, harder on Tim's leaking cock.

The sound Tim makes is a sigh, but it gets caught in his throat and comes out strangled. Tim's free hand touches Kon's cheek, strokes it, and Kon swallows. Tim shakes through his orgasm, and keeps shaking while Kon licks him clean.

So Kon holds him, and it's just another reason to run his hands down Tim's chest and breathe in the smell of Tim's sweat. The air is chilly and Kon's mind tucks them under the blankets. Tim quietens but doesn't sleep and he laces his fingers with Kon's again, and brings them to his chest. Kon gives him a squeeze, so Tim tips his head back against Kon's shoulder and smiles. It's easy to lick that mouth, easier when Tim bites his tongue and dares him.

"You'll only change me if you change first, you know. And I won't fucking let you."

Tim's eyes widen, but he's not exactly surprised. It's more like recognition of something that Tim's kept secret for a long while.

Kon grins, and he knows it's the truth.

***

Apologies to one Lewis Carroll, for the lack of pretty girls in dresses. And apologies to Chuck Austen, but your whole run on Action Comics is cow dung, and not worthy to be acknowledged in any shape or form. So there. Also, I appear to suffer from the Fix-It syndrome, which means I pile all my issues with current comics into one story and *stir*.

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