Disclaimers: Not mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: None, really. A vague sense of 'now.'
Summary: This has nothing to do with emotional
Ratings Note: Sexual content.
Author's Note: An interlude, of sorts, from the
Easy People series. May or may not make sense without
Acknowledgments: To Petra for the spark, to Jam for
There are Gotham-specific survival skills which become
liabilities outside the city limits. Tim has been aware of this
for years -- certainly, his time with Young Justice had made
it abundantly clear that certain varieties of emotional
camouflage would nearly always be read as insulting by
certain kinds of people.
It's just that he'd been -- reasonably -- sure that Bludhaven
was enough like Gotham that he wouldn't have to spend too
much time adjusting, and --
And it's not Bludhaven's fault. Not really.
The city, after all, had no part in requesting Clark's presence.
"Is something wrong?"
The question has an underlying rueful humor -- because it's
Clark, and because he is who he is, and because... Because
of a lot of things. Clark doesn't really expect an answer,
and so Tim doesn't really have to give him one.
Clark laughs and goes back to dressing. It's curious -- he
never does this at speed unless there's an emergency
requiring his -- specific -- attention.
And this... this has nothing to do with *emotional* opacity.
Clark is wearing only the tights. His feet are bare. His
chest -- his back --
"Has anyone ever told you that you tend to think very, very
"Several people, now that you mention it."
And really, it seems as though his own nudity -- it's going to
be another couple of minutes before he honestly feels like
moving toward his own clothes, short of an emergency
requiring *his* specific attention -- ought to... ameliorate
He's sexually involved with Clark, and has been for weeks.
Virginity is a memory which had been growing distant even
before that, thanks -- very much -- to Kon. This is
He ought to be able to *deal* with Clark's body.
Perfect, unmarred skin. Golden and smooth, though not
especially young-looking. Muscles -- Clark's musculature is
actually quite similar to Bruce's. A bit heavier, of course,
"There isn't -- a problem."
Clark is pulling the top of the uniform on, and looking back
at Tim from over his shoulder. His hair is mussed in a
manner which misses 'endearing' entirely. When he moves --
He hasn't pulled the shirt down enough to hide the flex and
shift of muscle in his back. His broad... dammit.
When Clark frowns -- when it's not a frown of anger, or
even irritation -- he doesn't, quite, press his lips together.
Tim sighs, internally. "In a moment... I think it's fair to say
that in a moment, you'll understand."
"Breathe," Tim says, and waits.
Tim closes his eyes, and lets a smile onto his own face. "I
forget sometimes, Clark."
"You..." The 'breeze' isn't a surprise, nor is the feel of the
mattress dipping beside him. Or the hand on his face.
"What do you forget?"
There are ways to look at a person in -- 'snapshots' wasn't
the word Bruce had used, but it's the one which made the
lesson move from a concept to a skill. There are ways to
catalog a person in pieces, and so to learn more about the
whole than the person him or herself might know.
It's -- it's a survival skill, and it's one which has, at best,
little place when considered against... a lover.
Clark's thumb is pressed to his mouth. When he moves it,
it's far more of a drag than a caress. It's... purposeful.
"Will you tell me?"
It makes smiling rather dangerously suggestive, and Tim
has to tilt his head back to keep from having Clark's thumb
slip inside his mouth. Opening his eyes feels like a
compromise, even though it results in being -- assailed by
the full force of Clark's... of Clark. "I keep forgetting you're
beautiful, Clark," he says.
It's -- paradoxically, perhaps -- easier when Clark blushes.
Probably because it invariably makes him look away.
"If you argue, the conversation will become increasingly
awkward and embarrassing, Clark."
With Clark this close, the laugh is more felt than heard.
It makes Tim's ears hot in his least favorite arousal
"Then I won't argue. But, Tim --"
"Kiss me. Please."
It seems wrong, somehow, that there should be a rhythm
to this already, or perhaps 'between *them*' would be the
better ending to that sentence. Still, Tim's body knows the
precise tilt of the head Clark favors, and knows that the
drag of the sheet between them means that it's an
excellent time to wrap his legs around Clark's waist, or --
"Didn't you... have to leave?"
The smile is one Tim's beginning to suspect he doesn't
stand a chance of growing accustomed to -- because it's
one he's yet to see Clark use at any point when the two of
them weren't... in the process. "Not right away."
"Hm. Well..." Kissing is easier than talking. It provides
validation for the way he can feel himself flushing all over,
for the scent of the sweat he knows from experience will
make Clark --
-- wilder. Rougher. This won't take long. He strokes --
perhaps forgivably -- ragged lines over Clark's obliques
with both hands and --
He becomes aware that Clark has his wrists when he feels
them thump -- lightly -- against the mattress to either side
of his body. Clark's thumbs are pressed to his pulse-points,
and Clark's erection is grinding against his own, and --
And this won't --
"Oh -- *God* --"
It doesn't take long at all.
Tim pants with his eyes squeezed shut, and --
Tim gives up and opens his eyes. Clark's hair is damp with
sweat, falling over his forehead. *Clark's* eyes are closed
and his teeth are digging into his lip. And then Clark opens
his eyes, and Tim moans and shivers.
And does it again when Clark's eyes *flare* at him as he
"I suppose my human eyes aren't sensitive enough to be
able to tell the -- doubtlessly obvious -- difference between
that expression and 'I'm about to incinerate you, Robin.'"
Clark laughs, softly and leans in to kiss Tim's forehead. The
sweep of his tongue isn't fast enough to go unnoticed. "I
would apologize, but then... you seem to like it."
Clark squeezes his wrists -- gently -- and rolls off. And sighs.
"Are you... does it actually trouble you that you're...
attracted to me?"
Tim smiles at the ceiling. "It would seem...
counterproductive, wouldn't it?"
"Among other things," Clark says, and for a fleeting,
irrational moment, the entire room smells wry.
"It doesn't trouble me, Clark," Tim says, and indulges
himself with the drag of his knuckles over Clark's -- bare,
again -- chest.
"Ah," and Clark is laughing again. "Then I think I can guess
Tim smiles a little wider.
And closes his eyes.