Disclaimers: Not mine.

Spoilers: No.

Summary: "Oh my fucking God, you're *fucking* with me!"

Ratings Note: Harmless.

Acknowledgments: To Petra for audiencing and Neruda-translation.

*

The first time Clark takes Tim flying, it's not --

It's not quite what he'd expected.

"C'mon, *faster*!"

And --

"Hunh. You make this seem really... safe."

It's not a compliment.

In retrospect, of course, Clark understands. It had probably
been years since the first time Tim had flown -- with the
jump-lines he and his family use -- alone. Certainly, it had
been years since he had done it with any safety net but the
dubious comfort of a Gotham street.

Really, he *should've* taken Bruce's decidedly non-plussed --
and nonchalant -- reaction to the times Clark or one of the
others had had to fly him someplace as his template.

But --

It's not a bad thing to have hoped for something a little
more. It can't be.

The second time -- it takes a while to work himself *up* to
a second time, considering his plan. It's one thing to have a
fair idea of how it would -- should -- work, and certainly,
when he'd suggested the idea to Wally -- couched in a
hypothetical question about the tastes of human teenagers,
to the one true expert Clark knows -- it had seemed perfectly
reasonable.

And he isn't... he isn't going to be silly about it. It has to be
timed against Tim's own schedule -- against *Robin's*. It
wouldn't do to interrupt to some sort of surveillance
mission, or anything else where Bruce would have room --
and reason -- to object.

Still, Clark spends rather a while hovering three miles above
Gotham, watching, waiting, and letting any number of
perfectly good opportunities pass him by.

He does this for -- days, really, and he could question --
definitely question -- his own obsessiveness in this matter,
but, in the end, it was enough too see Tim -- Robin --
yawn, on this night.

A broad, obvious, *jaw*-cracking yawn of both physical
fatigue and boredom, safely away from the -- judging? --
eyes of his partner.

What *would* Wally do?

Clark laughs to himself and dives, picking up velocity he
wouldn't, actually, dare to use after the first mile, picking
up velocity for the joy of it (the memory of fields, the green
living sound of leaves ripping themselves off trees in his
wake, and he'd never seen quite so *many* trees before),
for the *mood* of it until he was forced to slow, slow --

("Safety *is* a good idea for this, you know --" "Uh, huh,
sure.")

*Catch*.

There.

The positioning -- for safety -- isn't enough for Clark to catch
more than the way Tim's eyes widen dramatically behind
the mask before he -- it has to be instinct -- begins to tuck
into a ball, even as Clark takes them high, higher, higher
than *Tim* can fly again.

"Uh."

He'd forgotten, before, to shuffle through the comm
frequencies to find whichever one Bruce had changed it to
after the last time, but... it only takes a moment. "You
might want to hold on, Robin."

"Superman?! Jesus -- *Jesus* -- *what* --"

("See, okay, there's this tiny little fair that used to travel
around the back-country where my family -- where they
used to live, you know? And the rides were all old, and
kinda lame considering all the cool stuff there is at the big
amusement parks, but they totally had this *one* ride, one
of the ones that kind of fling you around --")

"Oh! *Jesus*! *Fuck*! I think -- wait, is there enough *air*
up here*?"

("-- and I talked to the guy, because they'd never had an
accident and it always seemed like they were really
damned -- sorry -- close to it, and he said -- he said that
was the *point*. They couldn't build a really *cool* ride,
because that takes more money than anyone has except
maybe for Batman -- really, what's with the *jets*? -- so
you had to make people think they were maybe gonna
*die*, even though they totally weren't.")

"Jesus -- *Superman* --!"

"I'm almost *positive* there's more than enough oxygen up
here for humans," he says, automatically raising his voice
just enough for the comm in Tim's ear to pick it up.

"What -- almost --?!"

("And possibly -- probably maybe probably -- it's kind of
messed up to build a whole industry on the fear of
accidental horrible death, but --")

"Well... hmm. Maybe I'm thinking of Gnarians. There *are*
a number of gross similarities, after all, Robin..."

"Holy *shit* --! Superman -- *Clark* --!"

("-- it works, y'know? Part of being human. Or, well. Heh.
Almost human. Used-to-be human. Still thinks human chicks
are hot. Thing. Uh. Does that answer your question? Please
say yes.")

"Well, if you *do* pass out, I'm sure I'll be able to get you
to a hospital in time. You won't feel the wind-burn when
you're unconscious."

"Clark, dammit -- I -- oh my fucking God, you're *fucking*
with me!"

"Perhaps a little," he says, and deliberate flies them nearly
straight up into the air.

"*Jesus*, it feels like the air is going to rip me right out of
your *hands* --!"

Not if he can help it. "Hmm. Well, I *am* a little fatigued..."

"Oh -- oh, you *asshole*," and Tim is laughing now, and --
moving, just a little too much for comfort, but not, actually,
for safety.

The trick is to fumble, just a little --

"*Ack* -- *fuck* -- stop that, oh man --"

-- and catch, of course.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop wriggling, I just wanted to *see* you
smirking at me!"

He can smirk.

Tim scowls. "You need a better smirk, Clark."

Perhaps he'll work on it.

end.