Work Text:
“… and so, I won’t be joining you all tonight.”
Bruce finished with his uncharacteristically awkward, but very characteristically vague, explanation with a cough into his fist that had Damian raising his head from his bagel, Tim cocking an eyebrow and Duke squinting his eyes. Cass simply grunted in understanding; a spoon of Cheerios gripped between her teeth.
The only one to not react was Dick, nose buried in his phone and thumbs slamming into the keyboard of his messenger app. The soft taps against tempered glass permeated the discomforting silence until Alfred sauntered in with Duke’s coffee.
“Thanks, Alfred,” said Duke, gaze still clinging to Bruce from across the table.
Bruce once again cleared his throat. “Any questions?”
“I mean. I could think of some,” Tim shrugged. Unfortunately, the moment his mind strayed from breakfast was the moment his frosted flakes had been sentenced to a soggy, half-eaten death. “Mainly I’m just wondering why you look like that.”
Dare he ask? “Like what?”
“Like you’re constipated,” Duke answered for him. “Mind you, I didn’t even know Batman could get constipated until now.”
“I’m not constipated.” His denial fell on deaf ears.
“If you’re having problems relieving yourself, Father, it would be best to drink lots of water and consume more fiber.”
“There’s also laxatives,” Cass supplied (un)helpfully. Damian nodded along.
“I’m not constipated.”
“I can run to the store and get an avocado, sir,” Alfred suggested. “If you truly need fiber-rich food, that is.”
“Alfred.”
“What’s this about Fiber One?” Dick finally glanced up from his phone. Unlike everyone else at the table who had actually attempted to eat breakfast, he hadn’t even poured his cereal yet. The box of Kellog’s sat abandoned beside his empty bowl. “Did you know they make Fiber One donuts now?”
“No one was talking about Fiber One,” Tim drawled. Beside him, Cass quirked an eyebrow.
“What’s Fiber One?”
“Barely digestible cardboard,” explained Duke.
“Who were you texting, Dick?” Tim moved on, not the slightest bit interested in discussing overpriced nutritional snack foods.
Dick breezily slipped his phone into his back pocket with a shrug. “No one. Who were you texting, Timmy?”
“No one,” he repeated sassily. “I was working on filing some cases from the Titans main computer. Also. While we’re on the subject, is it true you fought a guy named, Egghead?”
Duke sputtered, coughing as the Captain Crunch threatened to slide down the wrong windpipe. “Please tell me the guy had an egg for a head.”
As Dick began to regale stories of a villain Bruce had no memory of whatsoever, he allowed himself to slink back into his seat with a content sigh. With his kids distracted, hopefully he’d successfully escaped any more questions regarding the ambiguous reason for why he couldn’t don the suit tonight. I’m busy, normally wasn’t a good enough answer for these little detectives.
Now left alone to his daydreaming, Bruce dipped into visions of Clark Kent and the amazing, wonderful, rousing things he’d get to do to him once the kids left for patrol. Yeah, there was no way on earth he planned on fighting crime tonight.
----
Little did anyone know, tonight was Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent’s anniversary. Not marriage anniversary (they weren’t married). Not even their dating anniversary (they weren’t officially dating).
No, it was the anniversary of the day they first worked on a mission together.
It was Clark’s idea to celebrate. The two of them had been stuck on the watchtower after hours of going through reports.
In the end, the monotony of it made Clark antsy; delusional even. It took all of fifteen minutes of Superman draping his large body mass over him and making weird animal noises for Bruce to finally agree to do something special with him.
Clearly he needed a break from it all before he began to do something even more strange, like bang his chest Tarzan-style or, oddly enough, redecorate the monitor room in an almost irreversible way.
(Bruce had seen it happen before. When Clark was high on a strong morphine-like substance that hit like a truck due to the prior effects of red sun energy. He’d taken one look at the cafeteria’s clinical walls and stale furniture and thought he was back at the Fortress. In five seconds, he’d fashioned a pile of chairs into a garbled sculpture of his Kryptonian parents while also whittling the rest of the room’s metal into an imitation of the sharp glacial spikes that decorated the walls of his Arctic retreat. Bruce wanted to jab the aliens who had done this to him in the neck. Hard.)
In any case, Clark Kent – his best friend and sometimes bed partner, but definitely the man he loved most – finally managed to get Bruce to agree to a tiny anniversary celebration. But when Bruce offered a night out on the town, or a trip to the museum, Clark shook his head.
“How about we stay in?” he’d slid back into his seat beside Bruce, head tilted innocently against his palm as his elbow leaned over his knee.
Bruce caught the intense gleam in his sky blue irises as they catalogued him.
Clark was oddly attracted to Bruce in his Batsuit and while Bruce did find the kink odd (he was dressed as a rodent for Christ’s sake), he wouldn’t begrudge something that got the other hot and bothered for him.
No, Bruce was actually quite grateful for how easy it was to lift back his cape, cock a hip and have Clark salivating at the picture. This moment was no different.
Bruce smirked at the Man of Steel, feeling almost feral under the other’s attention.
They could not have sex in the Watchtower – at least, not again (Hal still whined about the accidental voyeurism that took place when he entered the showers at the same time as the World’s Finest). No, it would have to wait for a much more private occasion.
“Sounds like a plan.”
And thus, the night-in anniversary was agreed upon.
----
In Clark’s mind, the evening would go perfectly.
Just him, Bruce and their odd situationship bordering on romantic relationship (which did not bother Clark in any way. Nope. He was perfectly happy with what he and Bruce had).
But, because there was always room for error, Clark had spent the entirety of his flight to the manor thinking up potential ways the night could go wrong: One of the Batkids coming home earlier than expected; One of Batman’s many unhinged rogues breaking out of Arkham; Alfred catching them mid-insertion (which had happened before); the Justice League communicator going off …
Anything.
Yet, the wonderful evening of fancy wine, hearty dinner and relaxed conversation had ended like this, with Clark’s hand flat against Bruce’s naked sternum, his chest squished against the other’s back and their bare legs intertwined like the roots of two plants expanding too closely in soil. He took a deep breath against the nape of Bruce’ neck, the smell of cologne finally fading in intensity and exposing a more natural scent of musk and grass.
Clark had fallen asleep for three or four hours at the most, waking up to endless darkness of the master bedroom that would have been hard to see through if not for his Kryptonian capabilities. Against him, Bruce had succumbed to a deep slumber, his breaths slow and gentle.
With a soft kiss to his brow, Clark extracted himself from the other man. Bruce rarely, if ever let him stay the night and most likely expected him gone by dawn.
Sighing regrettably, Clark rearranged the blankets back around the bed’s sole occupant and began a quick search for his clothes.
Once that was accomplished, Clark absently remembered to grab his work briefcase from Bruce’s office.
It had been part of their plan in case the kids returned from patrol before Clark’s departure.
The excuse was that Clark had come over for League stuff (which they would’ve easily suspected to be a lie) and also remembered to do a quick interview with Brucie while he was here (which they would've most likely believed to be true, since Bruce liked giving Clark free quotes for his articles).
Fortunately, they hadn’t needed that excuse tonight, but Clark definitely needed the contents of that suitcase for work tomorrow. So off into the creepy hallway of Wayne Manor’s second floor, he went …
Only to stop dead in his tracks when the door two room’s down from him cracked open at an inhuman speed.
----
Dick Grayson liked to think he was a good friend. Probably not the greatest friend ever (he knew he’d made mistakes with a few people in the past), but he was above average … at least he hoped.
But honestly, his and Kara Zor-El’s relationship had been very odd over the last decade they’d known each other. Multiple failed dates, a distant friendship and a couple of one-night stands later and Dick had no idea where the two of them stood with one another.
Recently, the Kryptonian woman had gone through a few harrowing ordeals and when Dick received a vague text from her that morning, belaying her unbalanced state, his first thought had been, oh boy.
Not because he didn’t want to help her. He did. What kind of asshole would he be if he didn’t?
No, the problem was, he didn’t know how, or more specifically what he could do to make it better. With Clark at least, it was simple. All that friendship required was diner food, a nice change in perspective and a good view of the sunrise for Clark to figure his shit out and fly off into the distance with a grateful wave.
With Kara … it was more like trying to defuse a bomb you’d been observing for years. He was intimately familiar with this bomb – the anger, the laughter and the way the body writhed above him after a good orgasm – but it still didn’t mean he understood it at its core.
This was partly one of the reasons why any relationship between them couldn’t work. (And also, Dick had to admit his type was less blonde and more ginger red).
Regardless, it was definitely an issue that bothered him to no end.
Especially when Kara got like this, sending him nebulous texts and odd emojis throughout the day that made him feel like he was talking to Jason of all people. And then she’d send him one final message (or worse, call him) to insist they meet up.
It was exhausting. But Dick felt he owed it to Kara, considering all the times he acted similarly with her.
(No one could ever deny Dick had a temper, and moments of pure frustration and anger were bound to arise every once in a while. Unfortunately, unloading some of his issues to Kara had her calling him a ‘jolly-passing emo’ on more than one occasion for years).
There was also another reason for why, in spite of their constant griping at one another, Dick hadn’t shied away from their odd friendship.
Kara’s presence never failed to send him back to simpler times. The times when he donned green, yellow and red, did cartwheels everywhere and had a more compact view of the world. Meanwhile Kara, despite being witness to her entire civilization crumbling around her, had boundless spirit and a sassy cocksure attitude that smothered her vast uncertainty.
Both of them carried some of that disposition into adulthood, but it wasn’t easy at times. Which was why Dick cherished moments when the two of them could hang out as if a decade of trauma hadn’t shaped them into much more callous versions of themselves.
But still … oh boy.
“You know, you really shouldn’t be on your phone during patrols,” Tim’s voice admonished through his earpiece.
Dick rolled his eyes, despite the truth in his brother’s words.
Below him, twinkling lights barely cut through the mist born from Gotham’s numerous factories. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost make out his favorite pastry store, outlined by the warm glow of the lamp posts stationed beside it.
If only they were open around midnight; he would’ve loved to indulge in something sweet for once. Not that Dick was knocking Alfred’s savory dinner … But maybe he could have bought something for Kara, too, while he was at it.
A brash comment about a woman’s time of month and dark chocolate passed through his mind as he read over her last message. Better keep that to myself. “Hey, uh. I’m sorry guys, but I gotta get back early.”
“What’s that mean?” his earpiece crackled.
It was a small mercy that Babs wasn’t on the line.
“It means, I gotta go.”
He could almost see Tim scrunching up his nose at the vague declaration. There was no need to imagine with Duke and Damian, though.
“Uh, I mean if you gotta go, you gotta go …?”
Damian rose from his crouch beside Duke to send Dick the full extent of his unimpressed stare. “Please do not tell me you’re having problems relieving yourself, too.”
“What is with both of you and constipation? I swear.”
“So it’s not that?” Duke inquired.
“No! I just gotta go. I’ll catch you guys later, yeah? If anything goes awry, Cass is in charge.”
“I mean fair, but no less a blow to my pride,” Tim commented breezily.
Dick continued, “Also, say hi to Jason for me. He said he’d be on the prowl tonight.”
“Say hi to the tin man yourself,” Damian grumbled.
“You know Wizard of Oz?” asked Duke.
“Do I look like an idiot to you?”
“Only when you are one.”
Dick chuckled at their antics and turned towards the edge of the roof. “Seems like you guys have it handled from here. Adios, familia!”
Unenthusiastic mumbles of farewell followed him off the building. He grappled back to his motorcycle and quickly set off towards the manor. Kara had no idea where his new apartment was in Bludhaven (the first one got blown up; don’t ask), so she’d probably just show up at the only other residence she knew he frequented.
Dick groaned as he swerved through traffic.
Whatever had kept Bruce from patrolling tonight, he sure hoped it wasn’t something at the manor.
Again. Oh boy …
----
“You’re an idiot,” was the first thing Kara said to him when he slipped into his old bedroom. The window was cracked open, a chilly breeze sweeping into the house and caressing the edges of her cape and blonde hair.
Dick felt like an idiot for changing into civvies when she was blatantly still in her suit. But again, he wasn’t an idiot. He had a strong desire to voice this. “I’m not an idiot. In fact, I’m actually pretty smart.”
Kara shook her head, her lips pursed and expression unreadable. A bomb about to go off. “Nope. You’re an idiot.”
“Well, you were never one to concern yourself with facts …”
“Like you were?”
“Oh, I definitely was. Try having Batman as your mentor.”
“I don’t want to talk about Batman.”
“And I do?”
“You love talking about Batman.”
“See? You and facts just don’t mesh together.”
“Dick.”
“Kara.”
Unlike Clark, who had spent years mastering how to walk and talk like a regular human, Kara had never quite figured out how to suppress the alienness in some of her movements. So, Dick watched, a little mesmerized, as she traipsed forward with a fluidity that seemed almost unreal. (She moved on twos while the rest of the world moved on ones.)
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, hoping for some kind of guide this time on how to maneuver the inevitable explosion.
Icy blues pinned him to his position in front of the door. Kara crowded him against it, her head tilting up to tap her nose with his. Dick couldn’t help but remember his times with Kori; how tall and beautiful she’d been.
Kara was beautiful, too, but just a hair shorter and much rougher around the edges. Dick didn’t mind it. Enjoyed it, actually.
“I don’t want to talk about anything,” she finally responded, her breath tickling the skin of his jaw.
Yeah. I figured.
Dick tilted down to meet her lips.
----
Tim didn’t want to be here.
Even as he and Cass rendezvoused with the others and were greeted by another one of Duke and Damian’s humorous exchanges, Tim didn’t want to be here.
He and Conner were supposed to hang out tonight. They made no specific plans, simply wanted the enjoyment of each other’s company. After all, there was so much they had to catch up on, including the latest string of odd supervillains, the newest Teen Titans gossip, and, most importantly, the lots of sex they’d missed out on in the last two weeks Conner had been in space.
Tim sighed forlornly into the polluted Gotham air, causing Cass to eye him silently.
“Do you think Nightwing might have gone back to Bludhaven?” Duke was now pondering aloud. “Like, maybe he had work in the morning and he forgot?”
“He can be a little absentminded at times …” Damian’s face pinched together, a sign of imminent worry. It was almost cute how much their youngest brother fussed over their eldest.
“I’m sure whatever it was, he is fine,” Cass reassured with a grin. And if Cass was confident that there wasn’t trouble, it was probably best to believe it was true.
Damian’s shoulders sagged. “Still, he shouldn’t have run off like that. What if we actually run into, Todd? The man is insufferable and our only buffer is gone.”
Duke grinned. “Good thing Jay and I get on like two traumatized Joker victims.”
“You are two traumatized Joker victims, Signal. No like about it.”
Tim noticed a new message from his phone and pulled it up through the mini-computer on his wrist, entirely disregarding his earlier comment to Dick about such things.
“If you really think about,” he said, absentmindedly, “we’re all Joker victims.”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I,” Cass hummed.
Tim didn’t even look up as he responded, “You see this harmful smog we’re breathing in right now? That got worse after the Joker debuted with all his stupid gases. So yeah, we’re all casualties of the clown.”
“Man, what happened to you, bro? You're kinda a downer tonight,” teased Duke.
“Please. That’s normal for Drake.”
Tim rolled his eyes at Damian’s typical response. “That’s enough out of you, brat.”
We shuld still meet up! his newest message read. Another ping. U said bman is busy right?
Yeah? Tim responded, ignoring the twerp’s current rant about his inadequacies.
Soooo c u at the manor! Wed have it all to ourselves …
Oh God, didn’t that sound amazing. Tim bit his bottom lip, internally weighing the pros and cons.
A sudden hand on his shoulder soon startled him from his thoughts. Tim glanced to his left.
“Go,” Cass murmured, the mirth in her eyes barely visible behind the mask of the Black Bat suit.
Tim stared for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Sounds good to me. See u there in a sec.
As he shot out his grappling hook, Damian startled from his rant. “Wha- now where are you going?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Tim griped. “But I’ve got somewhere else to be.”
“And then there were three,” Duke grumbled.
Tim gave the others a two finger salute as he swung away. A rush instantly built inside him, completely separate from the usual weightlessness associated with jumping from the top of a building.
----
As soon as the half-Kryptonian received his boyfriend’s last message, he raced from the farm to Gotham in the span of six ecstatic heartbeats. But Conner didn’t dare set foot in Wayne Manor. Not until Tim was there.
The last time they’d had the manor to themselves (no Bruce, no Alfred and no Damian) was like a vacation retreat: the two of them messing around in the Batcave, playing video games in the rec room, watching a movie that devolved into a popcorn fight and eventually falling asleep together atop Tim’s expansive mattress. In those blissful moments of peace, Conner found a startling tranquility. Everything that plagued him simply didn’t exist anymore. It was just him and Tim.
What Conner wouldn’t give to have that again. Just once.
Patiently, he floated outside Tim’s window, heart palpitating and thoughts straying until finally the pane of glass nudged open.
Leaning against the side frame, Tim took a moment to look him over, something Conner normally would have hated. Fortunately, he now knew better when it came to Tim.
The other had explained it to him once, his need to really look at Conner. To take in every feature as if it was the last time ever seeing him.
So many in their lives had passed on too quickly, Conner included. It was Tim’s way of immortalizing them in his mind. That way he wouldn’t forget even the tiniest details of those he cherished.
“Although,” Tim had admitted once in a moment of sincerity, “sometimes I just stare at you because I think you’re hot and want to climb you like a tree.”
His confession had Conner gasping for air and swearing up and down that the third Robin was drunk, despite Bart insisting, “No dude, Tim’s just like that, y’know?”
Cassie had simply laughed in all of their faces.
Years had passed since then and Conner had eventually learned to tell the difference between Tim’s looks. The one he gave him now shined with passion, hotter than any yellow sun he’d encountered.
“What are you waiting for?” Tim finally spoke, mouth splitting into a grin so feral, Conner reconciled that he might be entering the lion’s den.
Eh, fuck it. “Thought you’d never ask.” He slipped in with a flourish, lifting Tim into his arms and spinning him around. They descended into a pile of limbs onto the bed, Conner already throwing off his jacket and ripping off the top part of his suit, desperate to feel the other’s skin against his.
Tim immediately began to trace the contours of his muscles, trailing his hands over and around Conner’s shoulders and back.
Conner groaned at the touch. “You’re always so gentle with me,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to the other’s cheek.
“Not always,” he replied, brazenly.
A memory of thin blankets pulled taut into a makeshift rope, binding him to this very bed flashed across Conner’s mind.
“No, not always,” he admitted with a chuckle.
“Hm. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Conner ran his left index finger along Tim’s other cheek, then tilted his head until it was facing him completely. There, his lips found Tim’s, devouring every inch of his mouth with fervor. Tim moaned, the sound reverberating into Conner’s mouth as he slipped his tongue in. Callous hands roamed underneath Tim’s green T-shirt, combing over the expanse of his stomach and chest. Satisfaction and desire shooting through Conner as the young man underneath him shivered with each touch.
Vaguely, he remembered Tim’s need for air and pulled back an inch. Tim attempted to chase his lips, only to fall back against the sheets, inhaling deeply. Curiosity broke through the haze of desire burning in his eyes.
“You smell like a forest fire.”
“Was in the Smokey’s earlier today. Some young, idiot campers accidentally set a few trees aflame. No big deal.”
“And you didn’t take a shower afterwards?”
“You told me you like me au naturel!”
Tim stared blankly, only to break into a grin. “Yeah. I do. Even if I can smell the results of Ol’ Smokey Bear’s campaigns failing the youth on you.”
“Do I want to know what that is?”
“Old wildfire prevention commercial. Not at all sexy.”
“Got it. My interest has completely faded.”
“Smart choice.” Tim’s body seized at the feeling of Conner’s hips slowly rocking against his.
The rakish smirk on the Kryptonian’s face was enough to turn him red. “I’m gonna suck you off now. Keep it sexy.”
Vigorously, Tim nodded. “Yep. That’ll do it. Please do.”
“You wanna help me undress you or should I do all the work?”
“I feel like I did all the work last time, so …”
“You’re so cute when you get bratty.”
“If you say so.”
Conner rolled his eyes, but mirth danced across his face. “Fine. I’ll undress you by myself. Then I’m gonna give you a blowjob. Then I’m gonna fuck you real good.”
Tim shivered with anticipation. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“Not God. Just Conner.”
“Kon.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Just sit back and relax, baby.”
----
So far, Damian had stopped four muggings and intercepted two potential gang-related drug deals. Tonight was slow.
Duke, apparently, agreed. “You know, I’m dayshift. Hell, I only decided to come out tonight because B said he wasn’t going to be able to make it. But honestly, it seems like you guys didn’t really need the help.”
“We’re always happy to have you, anyway.” The dark outline of Black Bat’s suit tucked inconspicuously within the shadows of the alleyway was enough to frighten anyone. But the voice that articulated from the imposing figure was warm and kind.
“Thanks, Cass.” Duke smiled, then turned to Damian. His own costume, a contrasting metallic yellow, was a perfect match for his sunnier disposition. (Not that Duke couldn’t get vengeful when he felt like it. He was a Bat after all). “How you feelin’, D?”
Like I’ve been abandoned three times over for reasons I do not understand. “Fine.”
First it was Father, then it was Grayson and now it was Drake. What in the world was so important for those three to handle that they felt the need to keep it a secret?
Plegh, it’s none of my business anyway. Damian launched his grappling hook and ejected out of the alley. Cass and Duke followed him three buildings down before another word was said.
“You know, if you wanna talk –”
“Signal.”
“Yeah, okay. I figured.” The older teen didn’t push boundaries unless absolutely necessary, and for that, Damian was grateful.
He adjusted his stance to grapple across the street, only for a shout to ring out across the Gotham sky. “Robiiiiiin!!!”
A boom cracked the air and in seconds, Jonathan Kent was floating above the building’s ledge. His cheeks were flushed, brunette hair unruly and eyes glistening wet as the red cape of his Superman jacket billowed behind him.
“Superboy?”
“I need to talk to you!” the teen leaned into his space, determined.
Damian shared a look with Duke and Cass, neither of them sure what to make of the situation. The wind that had been redirected by Jon’s arrival righted itself and prickled Damian’s cheek. It was getting colder out, but being near Jon always made Damian warm. He reminded himself that Kryptonians tended to run rather hot and that there was no other reason for the heat in his chest.
“What is it? You look … unwell.”
“Gee, thanks Dami.”
Water still accumulated in his tear ducks and Damian frowned at the sight. “I’m not joking. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“It’s … I …” Jon trailed off, gaze darting behind him.
Damian sighed and hooked his grappling gun back to his belt. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
“Oh come on. Are you seriously leaving all the work to me and Cass now?” Beside him, Duke actually tsked. “Nah, and during Black History Month, too?”
“You can manage.”
“Crazy work, man.” Fortunately, Damian could tell Duke wasn’t truly upset by the turn of events. He simply shook his head and added, “Whatever. Just take care of Superman Junior.”
“I really don’t like ‘Superman Junior’,” Jon muttered.
“There’s already a Superboy, so …”
“There can be two Superboys!”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Jon. Do you want to get ragebaited by Signal all night, or do you want to talk?”
Duke’s face brightened. “You know what ragebaiting is?”
“Definitely talk,” Jon replied. With Damian’s permission, he wrapped a tight arm around his waist and hoovered over the ledge.
Damian sent Cass a nod of farewell that she returned with a smile.
“Um. Sorry for interrupting patrol and everything!” Jon exclaimed, before shooting up into the sky. By the time they were consumed by clouds, Jon finally thought to ask, “So, uh, where are we going?”
Damian hummed, his body alight where Jon was pressed firmly against him. “The manor should suffice. No one is supposedly there, besides maybe Pennyworth. We’ll have privacy.”
With that plan in motion, both Superboy and Robin took off towards their destination.
----
Damian’s old bedroom had been practically bare, with a tiny shelving unit and desk for his studies. His bed sheets had been pristine, some of the finest silks to have ever been cultivated and his pillows, the softest to have ever been fluffed. This was all in spite of the cruel world that awaited him beyond his dwellings.
At Wayne Manor, his bedroom was actually quaint in comparison, even with the extra clutter of comics, textbooks and art supplies. 600 square feet turned into 400 and an attached bathroom turned into a communal he shared with his siblings. His sheets, now Yves Delourme, were a tad coarser and the color of burgundy. Damian could complain as any prince-turned-ordinary-billionaire might have, but nothing compelled him to do so. Not anymore.
Not when one of his best friends in the whole world nosedived onto his bed and snuggled into the sheets as though they were the most comfortable pieces of fabric on earth.
Damian closed the window behind them and slid off his mask with a sigh. Most times, Jon remembered not to dirty his bed with outside clothes.
He must be extremely upset then. Damian paused. And at least he took off his shoes …
The Gotham vigilante took his time undressing, making sure to properly set aside his utility belt and other additional items on his desk. He’d seen what disaster awaited those who left their bat tools around haphazardly.
(It had taken hours for Tim to air out his room after accidentally tripping over a dozen leftover smoke pellets that one time.)
Slipping on a T-shirt and jogging pants, Damian finally regarded Jon. The boy was now turned his way, pale features poking out from under the blankets to watch him.
Caught in his observations, Jon’s cheeks turned red and he glanced away, abashed. “I’m sorry I interrupted patrol …”
“You said that already.”
“And … I’m sorry I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”
“I’ll be the one to decide whether that’s true or not.” Damian huffed and sat down beside him. “What’s on your mind?”
“… It’s my mom.”
“Is there something wrong with her?” Damian could think of a few things, but none of them fixable.
“There’s nothing wrong with her.” Jon paused. “It’s … it’s not really my mom. But it kind of is? Mostly it’s my dad.”
Enough of these riddles. “Is something wrong with either of them? Because if Superman is somehow –”
“No, no, no! This has nothing to do with Superman and more so to do with Dad.” Jon huffed, resting his chin atop his crossed forearms. “Let me start over, okay? You know how my mom and dad are divorced?”
“Duh.”
“Yeah, well even though they aren’t married anymore they’re still my parents. And I love them both, y’know?”
Did Damian ever.
“But recently, I heard Dad over the phone and he sounded – well, it sounded like he was seeing someone.”
Damian froze and took note of the lack of artificial lighting in his room. The moon reflected brightly against his windowpanes, but its shadow wasn’t enough to hide the uncomfortable look on Damian’s face. Especially not from a Kryptonian.
Fortunately, Jon focused forward, his eyebrows knitted together. “At first, I thought it might have been a co-worker. Someone like Uncle Jimmy or something. But then he started to … ugh, I don’t know what else to call it, giggle? Like a lovesick teenager and everything!”
There was an 80 percent chance that the person on the other end might have been Damian’s own father. But if it hadn’t been … Best keep this from Father, lest his heart get broken again.
“This is surprising to you?” he asked, instead of revealing his suspicions.
“I … I guess. Sort of? I mean, he was planning an anniversary with the person on the phone and I’m like, for what? You’ve only been divorced for eight months! What could you possibly have an anniversary for? Unless I’m missing something here? I just –
I know I should be happy for him,” he continued. “But I don’t know if I can. Mom hasn’t found anyone new like Dad has and he’s moving on from her and … It feels like a betrayal when I know it’s not. It just doesn’t feel right.”
The words hung in the silence like an elephant in the room finally being acknowledged. Damian held his breath, contemplating.
“Do you think …” he began, carefully, “that maybe what you’re most worried about is that your dad is leaving you behind as well?”
It was almost like looking into a mirror.
Damian could remember how he’d felt after settling in Gotham, when his mother and father never saw eye to eye. When Father moved on with countless other people without a thought to Mother because they could never figure it out. Two unmatched puzzle pieces that appeared to go together at first glance, only to realize one side was too round and the other much too rectangular.
Damian knew his mother had moved on, as well, but it was his father he had to witness giving his heart to other people. Selina Kyle hadn’t been so bad, but it wasn’t his mother. And when that relationship fell through, it became clear to Damian that Bruce Wayne’s heart in its entirety belonged to Clark Kent, even if the alien didn’t want it.
With his father and mother leaving each other and their history behind, it almost felt as though they were leaving Damian behind, too. Why couldn’t they set aside their differences and love each other, he’d wonder. Why couldn’t they come together and love him?
They were taking different paths and had left Damian alone at the center, not knowing where to go and not wanting to choose a direction. Because one choice felt like disloyalty to the other.
It was so very lonely.
“You’re worried that if you feel even a little bit happy for your dad, it will invalidate your mom. And if you let him get away, leave and move on to someone else, you’ll be left behind, as well.” Damian took in a shaky breath. “I get that, Jon. I really get that.”
Messy, dark locks peeked out from under the bed sheets as two electric blue orbs snapped his way. Damian met them head on.
Jon’s thoughtful expression turned bleak. “You might be right …”
“… I usually am.”
A puff of laughter filled the room. “Don’t be an asshole.”
What the- “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Kent?”
“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m a great influence.”
Jon simply chuckled. He rose onto his elbows, cheek cupped in hand, and eyed his friend in gratified silence. There was something comforting in his gaze as Damian settled back onto his palms and regarded him in turn. He thought about what Jon must have been going through. The uncertainty he probably felt in his gut every time he watched his parents turn from him. The fear that consumed him at the thought of being abandoned by those he loved most.
I’ll never abandon you. You’re stuck with me forever, Damian couldn’t say aloud. But maybe …
… Maybe Jon could feel it in the intensity of his stare. Maybe he could feel the weight of his devotion in the way Damian’s hand caressed the base of his neck, reassuringly.
I’m here. I’ll always be here. And you’ll be here for me too, right?
Jon adjusted his weight to lean on his side, facing him fully and bringing a hand to wrap around Damian’s own. I will, his smile declared.
“I feel a lot better,” he spoke, tone wistful.
Damian breathed softly. “Good.” Reluctantly, he pulled away. “You don’t plan on flying home now, do you?”
“… Not if you’re letting me stay.”
And that was that.
Damian supplied him with sleepwear, and the two crawled under the covers in comfortable silence. It would be annoying to have to explain Jon’s presence in the morning, but it was worth it to give the half-Kryptonian a night of respite.
Damian glanced once more at his best friend, already overtaken by sleep, before rolling over and closing his eyes.
Five minutes later, a murmur of voices echoed from the hallway.
----
Clark Kent rubbed his fist against his eyes and violently blinked through the darkness of the hallway.
Nope.
He was still seeing Kara Zor-El, his cousin from Krypton. What in the world is she doing at Wayne Manor?
A second later, she spotted him. “Kal-el?”
“Kara …” He noted the trajectory of her body and the door she stood in front of. “Did you—”
“None of your business,” she quickly snapped back, readjusting her cape with an air of indifference.
“I thought you two weren’t like that.”
“We’re not.”
“You’re literally sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night.”
“And you weren’t sneaking out of his dad’s?”
Clark’s face heated. “That’s a moot point.”
“Not really, since I’m calling out your hypocrisy.”
“I wasn’t –” Clark grumbled. “I wasn’t judging you.”
“Hmmm. Seemed like you were.”
“I was just under the impression that, that ship had sailed years ago.”
Kara crossed her arms over her chest. “It has.”
“Then why are you …”
“Do I need to explain myself to you?”
“All I’m saying is—”
A click startled them from their argument and the two swerved their heads in the direction of a new door that had swung open with ease. Out stepped yet another familiar figure. The person yawned, oblivious for only a moment before his eyes snagged onto the blonde Kryptonian standing not five paces away from him.
“Kara?” Conner’s tired gaze traveled further, expression gobsmacked. “Clark?!”
“Conner, what in the world are you doing here? I thought you were at Ma’s!”
“None of your business,” he retorted, in perfect imitation of their cousin. “I had no idea you two would be here.”
Kara scoffed. “You couldn’t hear us out here?”
“Honestly? I thought you were the voices in my head.”
“Um. Maybe get that checked out?”
Conner ignored her to stare at Clark instead. The older man’s tussled hair and halfway buttoned blouse painting a clear picture. “No fucking way. You dog! Did you finally bag Batman?”
“Conner!”
“Well, did you?”
“Of course he did,” Kara hummed with mirth.
“Ah, hell. I should’ve put money on it!”
“There was a bet?”
“Duh. You wouldn’t be this out of the loop if you didn’t go to space so often.”
“You were literally in the Selkie Quadrant three days ago.”
Conner opened his mouth to sassily respond, only for another thought to take shape. “Wait. Why are you here?”
Kara’s lips pulled into a smug grin. “Not that it has anything to do with you, but Dick Grayson is really good at flicking my bean.”
“Ew.”
“Don’t act like such a prude. I know what kind of nasty shit you and Tim Drake get up to.”
“It was one time and Titans tower was supposed to be empty!”
Clark buried his face in his hands. “For the love of Rao can the two of you please stop?”
“… Dad?”
Immediately, Clark’s eyes shot up to focus on the small blob in the distance as it slowly entered the hallway. That small blob was easily recognizable as his son.
“Jon …?”
“No way,” Kara gawked. “Him too?”
“These Bats are insane,” said Conner.
“What are you doing here, Dad?”
Clark’s eyebrows furrowed. “I should be asking you that. Weren’t you supposed to be at your mothers?”
At his stern tone, Jon's shoulders shrank back. “I … I’m having a sleepover with Damian.”
Huh. “Lois never mentioned a sleepover.”
“Someone snuck out of the house~” Conner singsonged.
“I couldn’t sleep, that’s all! There was a lot on my mind, a-and Damian was helping me through it.”
Kara huffed. “Well, I mean, as long as Jon’s safe and they weren’t doing anything questionable …”
“Kara.” Clark released a heavy sigh.
“What? You haven’t taught him the birds and bees yet?”
“Kara.”
“Am I not supposed to be concerned considering what the rest of us were getting up to tonight?”
“These bats need to be studied,” Conner continued in awe. “Like, is it some kind of pheromone? A virus that only affects Kryptonians?”
“You never answered my question.” Jon frowned. “What are you doing here, Dad?”
“Yeah, Clark. What are you doing here?” Conner flippantly shrugged at the glare he received in return.
“Nothing, son. I was simply helping Bruce out with a case.”
As Conner booed at the response, Jon silently scrutinized his father. Knitted eyebrows eventually raised to his hairline as comprehension dawned on him. “No …”
“Yes,” Conner shot back.
“Batman?!”
“Is it really that shocking?” Kara questioned in disbelief.
“Whatever you’re thinking, son, it’s not true.”
“You’re not boinking Damian’s dad?”
“Boinking? What the hell kind of slang is that?”
Clark ignored the others’ commentary, stepping forward with his hands raised in surrender. “It’s not really that simple, Jon.”
“Dad, I can … I can smell it on you.” The younger super cringed. “On all of you.”
Conner gasped in mock offense. “Is he saying we stink?”
“I don’t. I’m a woman. We’re only able to release a flowery aroma.”
“Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that.”
Frustrated, Clark turned to them. “Could you two not?”
“We’ll stop when you start revealing some truths,” Kara shot back.
“Now who’s being a hypocrite?”
Through the darkness, her glare was fiercely bright. “I think Jon deserves to know.”
“Dad, please. Don’t hide this from me.” His son's voice had gotten smaller now, tone more fragile. “Are you … are you seeing Damian’s dad?”
What a loaded question. Clark took a deep breath, uncertain how to respond. What could he even say? Yes, but not really? You see son, when one is deeply in love with their best friend and is too much of a coward to say anything, that person goes for the next best thing …
You weren’t supposed to explain your friends-with-benefits situation to your son. Especially when your son and your fuckbuddy’s son were best friends too.
Rao, this is so complicated.
“He’s not.”
Clark blinked, surprised to hear Bruce’s voice in the hallway. Once he built up the nerve to turn around, he followed the rest of his family’s gaze. Bruce stood, gloriously bare chested and wearing lilac sweatpants pulled tightly around his hips with a loose string. His expression remained almost intimidatingly blank if it weren’t for the tussled black locks that lingered over his forehead and the remaining pink dusting his pale cheeks.
“Not really, anyway,” the Bat continued. And while Clark knew Bruce was correct, a piece of his heart fractured all the same. “I’m sorry for the confusion, Jon. But your father and I aren’t together.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit.” Just like Bruce, Dick had somehow slipped into the hallway unnoticed by the four people with superhearing. It really must have been failing Clark tonight, considering everything else that had happened in the manor unbeknownst to him. “Try to pretend all you like, but you and Clark are definitely together.”
“Just like you and Supergirl?” came the judgmental tone of Tim Drake. Unlike the other two members of his family, he’d slipped on a green long sleeve shirt in addition to his pants. Leaning against his door frame, he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Kara and I are not together,” Dick practically laughed.
“No, you just know how to flick her bean real good,” grunted Conner, falling back to Tim’s side.
“Literally, none of your business. Also, we were talking about Bruce and Clark.”
“And as I said, Clark and I are not together.”
“So, you say.”
"I do say."
Kara leaned an elbow over Dick’s shoulder and pointed at the offending adults. “They were fucking all night.”
“I-It wasn’t all night!” Clark denied, only for Bruce to frown.
“You heard us?”
“Not at first. But what can I say,” Kara shrugged, “superhearing is a doozy.” She gestured to Tim and Conner. “I heard them too.”
“Well thanks, cuz. That's not going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”
Tim’s face heated up to his ears.
“That’s an invasion of privacy,” Bruce admonished, though he did glance imperceptibly at his son with slight criticism. Oh the hypocrisy was strong in Wayne Manor tonight.
“Hey, I tuned you all out as soon as I heard you. I was more focused on other things anyway.”
"Hi, I'm things."
“Um, I’m still here you know,” Jon announced, raising his hand as though in a classroom. “Can we not talk about your, uh, bed stuff?”
“You’re adorable, Jon,” Dick gushed, much to the boy’s chagrin.
He inhaled deeply, seemingly at the end of his rope, and released a heavy breath into the chilly night air. “Listen, I just needed to know if my dad was … if –” He glanced away, teeth biting into his lower lip.
With all eyes focused on him, his heart rate skyrocketed. He barely noted his father’s new attempt to approach him, "Jon ..." only for the man to hesitate once more.
A gentle hand rested on Jon’s right shoulder, startling him. At his side, Damian stared the rest of the hallway’s occupants down.
“Dad,” Jon began again, a tiny flame of confidence ignited within him. “I need to tell you something.”
“Anything, son.”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. “I overheard you talking on the phone a few days ago about an anniversary. And I realized that maybe you’d found someone new. Someone who wasn’t Mom.”
Clark stayed silent, expression pinched as he listened patiently.
“I guess … I guess I sort of freaked out. Because it’s always been the three of us. Together. And I probably sound like such a jerk, Dad, but I’m not ready for that to change.” Tears pooled into his eyes despite his attempts to stop them. “I don’t want you to move on yet. I-I don’t want you to leave us behind. Leave me behind. I don’t think I can handle it –”
“Jon,” Clark gasped out, lips parted and eyes horrified. “No, son, no. I’m not going to leave you behind.”
Damian stepped to the side as Clark rushed forward. His large hands hurried to gain hold of his son’s shoulders.
“I would never do that. You’re my boy,” he assured him, fervidly. “You’ll always be my boy. No matter where I am or who I end up with.” He gently swiped at the boy’s cheeks, catching teardrops as they fell. “You hear me? You’re my son and I will never abandon you.”
Jon sniffed at the declaration, his skin a deep, embarrassing red. He gently pressed his father’s hand away to throw his arms around him. Despite the permeating smell of his earlier activities, Jon burrowed deeper into Clark's chest.
“I’m sorry for being selfish, Dad …”
“You’re not selfish at all, Jon. Not in the slightest.” A gentle kiss warmed the side of his head. “You’re the most selfless person I know. And it’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay.”
The two of them kneeled atop the cool rug of golden triangles and circles, holding fiercely onto one another and remiss to let go.
Eventually, however, Jon untangled himself from his father’s arms. “… I didn’t mean to cry on you like that, Dad.”
A soft smile stretched across Clark’s face. “It’s alright. I didn’t mind in the slightest.”
Suddenly self-conscious, Jon scanned the hallway, only to find Damian and Bruce loitering a few feet away. The rest of the bats and supers had disappeared, much to his relief.
“Would the two of you like a late night snack?” Bruce inquired. The hand that had been hugging his own son’s shoulders fell awkwardly at his side. “Everyone else is in the kitchen downstairs.”
On cue, Jon’s stomach growled and Damian shot him a grin.
“Come on you glutton.” He pulled the other boy down the hall and towards the staircase with little resistance.
Clark received one last grateful look before his son darted behind the gaudy wallpaper and down the steps. They still had so much to discuss. But, for now, Jon seemed satisfied.
Taking a moment to gather himself, he righted his posture and turned towards Bruce. “Sorry for waking you.”
Bruce studied him before replying, “It’s fine. Seemed like you and Jon really needed to have that talk.”
“Yeah …”
“I made the others leave, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they listened in anyway.”
Clark hadn’t been paying attention. One look at Jon erased everything else from his mind. “I … I had no idea Jon felt like that. I should have though.”
“It’s not possible for parents to be privy to everything their child worries over.”
"I guess so ... Doesn’t mean we don’t feel responsible when we’re not able to help them.”
“True.” A surprising chuckle fell from the other’s lips.
Clark’s dread subsided. “I am sorry it ruined our anniversary.”
“Nothing’s ruined. I had a great time tonight.”
“Still …” If his son had been able to build up the courage to express his feelings, then Clark couldn’t back down either. “I think we also need to talk.”
Immediately, the sound of Bruce’s frantically beating heart filled his ears.
As careful as possible, Clark moved into his space and attempted to curb the erratic pounding in his own chest. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Bruce.”
He delicately reached for the other's hand, thumb caressing hardened knuckles in a hopefully soothing manner.
“Clark, maybe we shouldn’t –”
“Bruce,” he interrupted, unyielding. “Won’t you let me tell you how much I love you?”
----
“Twenty bucks says they’re making out,” said Conner, painstakingly selecting each grape he planned to eat from the large, decorated bowl at the center of the kitchenisland. Tim leaned in the opposite direction, giving his boyfriend space to peruse the fruit collection.
“You could just peek.”
“But that would be too easy.”
Jon squinted unhappily at the cracker in his hand. “Let me get this straight. So, Mr. Wayne and Dad aren’t actually together? What was with that whole anniversary thing I heard, then?”
“Who cares?” Connor finally plopped a handful of green grapes into his mouth. “I’m just glad they’re finally figuring their shit out.”
“One can only hope,” muttered Dick, sipping on a glass of water.
“Fifty bucks says they’re confessing their undying love to each other,” said Kara, much to Conner’s displeasure.
“You looked so it doesn’t count!”
“How do you know I looked?”
“Please. You’re not as sneaky as you think.”
Damian’s expression soured. “Does this make Kent my stepfather?”
“Probably.”
“I need access to Father’s kryptonite stash, immediately.”
“O-kay, we’re not doing that.” Dick threw the teen a protein bar. “Here, eat this and find inner peace.”
“What is it?”
“Fiber One.”
“Oh, the ‘barely digestible cardboard’.” He took a bite anyway.
Kara suddenly whistled. “Aannddd, now they’re making out.”