always with the Dick jokes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irrelevant) wrote2010-09-03 05:06 am
irrelevant) wrote2010-09-03 05:06 am
Entry tags:
[fic] between two points (DCU)
between two points
Tim Drake, Kon-El | PG-13 | ~2200 words
notes: Forbatstalker, who is sick and likes Tim/Kon a lot, I have made an attempt at humorous fluff. Tim has a cold. Kon is determined to stick around and keep him company. Tim is not quite down with this idea.
“Dude, that is so gross.”
Tim finished blowing his nose for the third time in half as many minutes. He wadded the tissue up and threw it at his overflowing wastebasket. It went in, of course, landing on a heap of similar objects. He looked away from the disgusting pile and focused blearily on Kon.
He was outside Tim’s window, arms crossed, standing on nothing. Upside down.
“Try it from this end. You’re not supposed to be here,” Tim said experimentally. The words didn’t sound like they should have. “Excuse me.” He pulled another tissue out of the box and blew his nose.
If he had to blow it again, it would probably fall off, which at this point might be considered a mercy.
Kon floated closer to the open window, rolling until his elbows were resting on the ledge. “Shouldn’t this be closed?” he asked. “I thought having a cold means you have to stay warm.”
Tim glared at him. “The air conditioning is on, it’s ninety degrees outside in the shade, and I can’t breathe with the window closed.” He swallowed – carefully because his throat felt like it’d been sprayed with Joker acid – and said, “Why are you here?”
Kon shrugged, which looked strange on someone lying horizontal on nothing but air. “Cass said you sounded weird, and you had the video feed off for the consult yesterday. And you flaked on monster movie night. Heads up, Bart’s pretty pissed about that.”
Pushing himself clear of the house, Kon turned a kind of loop in the air and flew through the window, landing on the clothes Tim hadn’t had the energy to throw in the hamper last night.
“Figured I better come make sure Cousin Oliver hadn’t poisoned you or something,” Kon said, smirking.
Tim thought about how much he hated flyers, sometimes. “You have my cell number. You could’ve called.”
Kon stared blankly at him.
“Never mind,” said Tim, and coughed.
“Hey, man, that sounds bad. You really look like shit,” Kon said, as though this was a new and interesting concept for him.
Gingerly, Tim began the process of lowering his aching body into a prone position. “Thanks for the intel.” Once he was down, he closed his eyes. “You can go away now.”
Supers made a distinct sound when they lifted off, muted when it was Kon because of the lack of cape, but still there. Tim wasn’t hearing it.
“No,” Kon said.
Tim opened his eyes. Kon was still standing on Tim’s clothes, only now his arms were crossed again. He was frowning.
“No, what?” Tim said, and immediately started coughing again. He threw out a hand when Kon looked like he was about to freak and do something well meant and not helpful in the least. “Don’t, okay? Just...” This was almost as bad as fending Dick off had been. “I’m contagious. You shouldn’t be around me.”
He knew before the words were out of his mouth that he’d struck out. Kon’s growing grin was unnecessary proof.
“Riiiiiiight,” Kon said, “because I’m so vulnerable to Earth-based, maybe zoonotic influenza. What?” he said when Tim stared at him. “I paid attention in Doc Mid-Nite’s xenobiology lecture.”
“You’re only half Kryptonian,” Tim said. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in his sinuses. It worked for two seconds, and then the pressure was back with reinforcements in the form of a tension headache.
“So what?” Kon was saying. “I bet my Luthor DNA scares germs into suiciding just by existing.”
He was so intent making on his point, Tim noticed, that he’d risen a few inches off the ground. He hovered there, frowning at Tim and taking up more space than pure physical mass dictated he should.
“Dude, why are you fighting me on this? Do you wanna be stuck up here by yourself?” He paused. “So maybe you do, but it’s not good for you.”
“So now you’re an expert on me?” If he wasn’t sure his throat would tear and his head would split open, Tim would’ve laughed. “Kon…”
“Come on, man,” Kon whined. “The threat level on this planet is currently zip, zero, nada. Cassie told me and Beetle and Gar to get out before she knocked our butts into next week. I have absolutely nothing better to do than sit around here and cheer your sick ass up.”
Tim didn’t bother trying to parse the story behind the whine. One, his head felt disconnected from his brain, and two, Kon and Gar. No further explanation needed. He sighed.
“You can stay until I fall asleep. If you’re still here when I wake up, I’m getting the kryptonite.”
“Woo-hoo!”
All the beds at the manor were big enough to comfortably sleep three people per, at least.
There wasn’t, Tim thought as Kon cannonballed toward him, a bed big enough to hold Tim, Tim’s germs, and Kon presently in existence. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain (and Kon) to hit. Thirty seconds later he opened them again.
Kon was floating directly above him, about six inches away. The look on his face was one Tim had seen off and on over the years, usually when Kon was sure he’d gained the upper hand in their unofficial war of one-upmanship.
“You totally blinked,” Kon said, then he settled down on the mattress beside Tim, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them.
“Shoes,” Tim said absently, and blew his nose while he watched Kon kick his boots off. He tossed the tissue and turned, settling onto his side facing Kon, who’d folded his arms behind his head and was staring at the ceiling.
“Did you know you have naked chicks on your ceiling?” said Kon.
“They’re Amazons, and they’re not naked. Some mythological tribes supposedly left one breast bare on some occasions.” Like during battle.
Kon was gaping upward. “Dude. Do you think Wonder Wo—”
Tim hit him. Hard. He was sick, but he was still Red Robin.
“Ooof,” Kon said, rubbing his stomach. He gave Tim a look of injured innocence. “Just asking, man.”
“Remember the first time you kissed Cassie?” Tim said.
“Shut up,” Kon muttered. “That doesn’t count.”
It did, but Tim didn’t feel like hammering the point home. He tucked his forearm under his cheek, propping himself up enough to breathe a little easier, and relaxed for what felt like the first time in months.
Beside him, Kon turned his head to look at him and said, “How come you’re not down in the cave on the computer, or on your laptop up here? I know you’re sick, but you doing nothing is, like, against the law of freaky geekboys.”
“I start seeing spots after five minutes in front of a screen, and I can’t stand and stay conscious for long. I tried to go on patrol yesterday, and I passed out on a jump. Dick caught me,” he added before Kon could ask.
“Sucks to be you,” said Kon. “How’d you catch this shit, anyway? You don’t get out much as you anymore.” He nudged Tim’s leg with his foot and grinned. “Does Timmy’s fiancée got the sniffoos?” he cooed.
Tim eyed him sourly. “She’s not really my fiancée. You know that. And Damian sneezed on me. I don’t know where he got it, but it’s making the rounds. Dick’s probably next.”
Tim listened to the familiar sound of Kon’s laughter and let the corners of his mouth curl up, even though he knew his lower lip would probably crack.
It did, and he licked the blood away. “Here,” Kon said.
Tim took the small red tube. “Chapstick?”
Kon looked uncomfortable. “Beetle’s. The armor chafes some places, I guess. He always forgets, so I carry it.”
Tim popped the cap and looked at the waxy substance full of Jaime Reyes’s germs. He added his own, capped the balm, and handed it back to Kon. “Tell him thanks.”
“Right.” Kon frowned briefly at the balm before shrugging and tucking it away. “Hey, did I tell you what happened to Blue on that last mission we had with the JLA? Talk about a FUBAR.”
Tim opened his mouth to say no, but his tongue felt fuzzy and his head was even fuzzier. He settled for shaking his head.
It must have worked because Kon said, “Okay, so we come out of the boom tube on this planet that’s – swear to Christ – populated by flying octopuses.”
“Octopi,” Tim murmured. His tongue really wasn’t functioning correctly.
“Whatever,” Kon said. “Anyway, the sky was full of these things and—”
It wasn’t that Tim stopped listening. Later, he’d be able to recite every word coming out of Kon’s mouth back to him. But there were other things that seemed more important to experience, and Tim’s senses were concentrating on those.
No smells. His sinuses were too infected to allow those, but he could see and he could feel.
He could see the duvet’s tight-woven green threads giving under Kon’s weight, fitting their shape to his.
He could feel every movement Kon made in the shift of the mattress under him. Could hear and feel the low, known vibration of Kon’s voice everywhere, and the clogged rasp of his own breathing.
“—so then Plastic Man goes—”
Tim was going somewhere familiar and strange at the same time in the same space. He let his eyes fall closed and went.
--
It didn't take Kon long to figure out that Tim was asleep. Because.
An awake Tim would not say, “Wstflg,” roll across the bed, and throw his arm over Kon’s hips. He wouldn’t wriggle around until he was up against Kon, his cheek stubble scratchy on the skin where Kon’s tee had ridden up.
Kon let his unfinished sentence trail off and stared at Tim’s head resting on his belly. He’d have to tell Ma that his tees were starting to wear out in the wash, because compared to Tim’s hair, the black background under the big red S looked faded.
Tim’s breath puffed over Kon’s skin in damp, regular intervals. It kind of tickled.
“Hey,” Kon whispered, “Boy Wonder.”
He counted off a minute in his head. Tim stayed quiet, and Kon figured he must really be asleep. If he’d been awake, Kon would be so dead for the ‘Boy Wonder’ crack.
His best friend was curled up around him like Kon was his favorite teddy bear. Kon didn’t know where the fuck to put his hands. He couldn’t move, not without waking Tim up, and Tim totally looked like he needed to sleep for a week.
Cautiously, Kon lowered his arms. One of his hands ended up palm down on the bed. The other rested on Tim’s back. If Kon shifted it a little up and to the right, he’d be touching the back of Tim’s neck.
After a while, he did.
A little later, the door to Tim's room opened inward, not all the way. Nobody came in. Kon focused his x-ray vision, and through layers of furniture, he could see a small cat padding toward the bed.
When it reached the bed, it hopped up and sat on the end of the mattress and looked at Kon with pale yellow eyes.
Kon rubbed his thumb absently over Tim’s nape. “Weird. Didn’t know he had a cat.”
“Mrrrmm,” said the cat, and shook its head hard, making its ears flap. It turned its back on Kon and started washing black-striped brownish-gold fur.
“Hey man, sorry,” said Kon. “It’s not like you’re wearing a big property-of-whoever sign.”
He settled back against the pillows, getting comfortable. Tim’s arm was a pleasantly heavy weight across his thighs. The mix of AC and outside air was keeping him just cool enough, even with Tim pressed against him.
Somewhere out on the grounds of stately Wayne Manor, a bird shrieked. Tim jumped in his sleep.
He started to sit up, but Kon said, “Hey. Tim, it’s okay,” and squeezed his nape.
“Kon?” Tim said groggily.
“Yeah, I’m here. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm, Bruce?”
“Not here.” He pushed carefully against Tim’s shoulder. “Seriously, dude, it’s okay. Fucking go back to sleep.”
Tim’s eyes weren’t open. He wasn’t fully awake.
A rumbling purr snuck around the edges of Kon’s awareness and slid through his ears into his brain. He looked up. The cat had turned back around and was watching them, head cocked to the side, yellow eyes wide.
Kon held his breath – he could do it for a long time, longer than Tim could stay awake right now. He was pretty sure, anyway.
Eventually, Tim’s arm gave out and he slid back down. He immediately started snoring again.
“If he even mentions kryptonite,” Kon told the cat, “I’m so Tweeting that Red Robin snores after he gets some.”
Tim twitched, settled, and snored louder. The cat yawned and curled itself into a small black-brown-gold ball. In a few minutes, it was snoring, too.
Kon petted the back of Tim’s neck some more and started working out a way to get Damian to sneeze on Tim more often.
Tim Drake, Kon-El | PG-13 | ~2200 words
notes: For
batstalker, who is sick and likes Tim/Kon a lot, I have made an attempt at humorous fluff. Tim has a cold. Kon is determined to stick around and keep him company. Tim is not quite down with this idea. “Dude, that is so gross.”
Tim finished blowing his nose for the third time in half as many minutes. He wadded the tissue up and threw it at his overflowing wastebasket. It went in, of course, landing on a heap of similar objects. He looked away from the disgusting pile and focused blearily on Kon.
He was outside Tim’s window, arms crossed, standing on nothing. Upside down.
“Try it from this end. You’re not supposed to be here,” Tim said experimentally. The words didn’t sound like they should have. “Excuse me.” He pulled another tissue out of the box and blew his nose.
If he had to blow it again, it would probably fall off, which at this point might be considered a mercy.
Kon floated closer to the open window, rolling until his elbows were resting on the ledge. “Shouldn’t this be closed?” he asked. “I thought having a cold means you have to stay warm.”
Tim glared at him. “The air conditioning is on, it’s ninety degrees outside in the shade, and I can’t breathe with the window closed.” He swallowed – carefully because his throat felt like it’d been sprayed with Joker acid – and said, “Why are you here?”
Kon shrugged, which looked strange on someone lying horizontal on nothing but air. “Cass said you sounded weird, and you had the video feed off for the consult yesterday. And you flaked on monster movie night. Heads up, Bart’s pretty pissed about that.”
Pushing himself clear of the house, Kon turned a kind of loop in the air and flew through the window, landing on the clothes Tim hadn’t had the energy to throw in the hamper last night.
“Figured I better come make sure Cousin Oliver hadn’t poisoned you or something,” Kon said, smirking.
Tim thought about how much he hated flyers, sometimes. “You have my cell number. You could’ve called.”
Kon stared blankly at him.
“Never mind,” said Tim, and coughed.
“Hey, man, that sounds bad. You really look like shit,” Kon said, as though this was a new and interesting concept for him.
Gingerly, Tim began the process of lowering his aching body into a prone position. “Thanks for the intel.” Once he was down, he closed his eyes. “You can go away now.”
Supers made a distinct sound when they lifted off, muted when it was Kon because of the lack of cape, but still there. Tim wasn’t hearing it.
“No,” Kon said.
Tim opened his eyes. Kon was still standing on Tim’s clothes, only now his arms were crossed again. He was frowning.
“No, what?” Tim said, and immediately started coughing again. He threw out a hand when Kon looked like he was about to freak and do something well meant and not helpful in the least. “Don’t, okay? Just...” This was almost as bad as fending Dick off had been. “I’m contagious. You shouldn’t be around me.”
He knew before the words were out of his mouth that he’d struck out. Kon’s growing grin was unnecessary proof.
“Riiiiiiight,” Kon said, “because I’m so vulnerable to Earth-based, maybe zoonotic influenza. What?” he said when Tim stared at him. “I paid attention in Doc Mid-Nite’s xenobiology lecture.”
“You’re only half Kryptonian,” Tim said. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in his sinuses. It worked for two seconds, and then the pressure was back with reinforcements in the form of a tension headache.
“So what?” Kon was saying. “I bet my Luthor DNA scares germs into suiciding just by existing.”
He was so intent making on his point, Tim noticed, that he’d risen a few inches off the ground. He hovered there, frowning at Tim and taking up more space than pure physical mass dictated he should.
“Dude, why are you fighting me on this? Do you wanna be stuck up here by yourself?” He paused. “So maybe you do, but it’s not good for you.”
“So now you’re an expert on me?” If he wasn’t sure his throat would tear and his head would split open, Tim would’ve laughed. “Kon…”
“Come on, man,” Kon whined. “The threat level on this planet is currently zip, zero, nada. Cassie told me and Beetle and Gar to get out before she knocked our butts into next week. I have absolutely nothing better to do than sit around here and cheer your sick ass up.”
Tim didn’t bother trying to parse the story behind the whine. One, his head felt disconnected from his brain, and two, Kon and Gar. No further explanation needed. He sighed.
“You can stay until I fall asleep. If you’re still here when I wake up, I’m getting the kryptonite.”
“Woo-hoo!”
All the beds at the manor were big enough to comfortably sleep three people per, at least.
There wasn’t, Tim thought as Kon cannonballed toward him, a bed big enough to hold Tim, Tim’s germs, and Kon presently in existence. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain (and Kon) to hit. Thirty seconds later he opened them again.
Kon was floating directly above him, about six inches away. The look on his face was one Tim had seen off and on over the years, usually when Kon was sure he’d gained the upper hand in their unofficial war of one-upmanship.
“You totally blinked,” Kon said, then he settled down on the mattress beside Tim, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them.
“Shoes,” Tim said absently, and blew his nose while he watched Kon kick his boots off. He tossed the tissue and turned, settling onto his side facing Kon, who’d folded his arms behind his head and was staring at the ceiling.
“Did you know you have naked chicks on your ceiling?” said Kon.
“They’re Amazons, and they’re not naked. Some mythological tribes supposedly left one breast bare on some occasions.” Like during battle.
Kon was gaping upward. “Dude. Do you think Wonder Wo—”
Tim hit him. Hard. He was sick, but he was still Red Robin.
“Ooof,” Kon said, rubbing his stomach. He gave Tim a look of injured innocence. “Just asking, man.”
“Remember the first time you kissed Cassie?” Tim said.
“Shut up,” Kon muttered. “That doesn’t count.”
It did, but Tim didn’t feel like hammering the point home. He tucked his forearm under his cheek, propping himself up enough to breathe a little easier, and relaxed for what felt like the first time in months.
Beside him, Kon turned his head to look at him and said, “How come you’re not down in the cave on the computer, or on your laptop up here? I know you’re sick, but you doing nothing is, like, against the law of freaky geekboys.”
“I start seeing spots after five minutes in front of a screen, and I can’t stand and stay conscious for long. I tried to go on patrol yesterday, and I passed out on a jump. Dick caught me,” he added before Kon could ask.
“Sucks to be you,” said Kon. “How’d you catch this shit, anyway? You don’t get out much as you anymore.” He nudged Tim’s leg with his foot and grinned. “Does Timmy’s fiancée got the sniffoos?” he cooed.
Tim eyed him sourly. “She’s not really my fiancée. You know that. And Damian sneezed on me. I don’t know where he got it, but it’s making the rounds. Dick’s probably next.”
Tim listened to the familiar sound of Kon’s laughter and let the corners of his mouth curl up, even though he knew his lower lip would probably crack.
It did, and he licked the blood away. “Here,” Kon said.
Tim took the small red tube. “Chapstick?”
Kon looked uncomfortable. “Beetle’s. The armor chafes some places, I guess. He always forgets, so I carry it.”
Tim popped the cap and looked at the waxy substance full of Jaime Reyes’s germs. He added his own, capped the balm, and handed it back to Kon. “Tell him thanks.”
“Right.” Kon frowned briefly at the balm before shrugging and tucking it away. “Hey, did I tell you what happened to Blue on that last mission we had with the JLA? Talk about a FUBAR.”
Tim opened his mouth to say no, but his tongue felt fuzzy and his head was even fuzzier. He settled for shaking his head.
It must have worked because Kon said, “Okay, so we come out of the boom tube on this planet that’s – swear to Christ – populated by flying octopuses.”
“Octopi,” Tim murmured. His tongue really wasn’t functioning correctly.
“Whatever,” Kon said. “Anyway, the sky was full of these things and—”
It wasn’t that Tim stopped listening. Later, he’d be able to recite every word coming out of Kon’s mouth back to him. But there were other things that seemed more important to experience, and Tim’s senses were concentrating on those.
No smells. His sinuses were too infected to allow those, but he could see and he could feel.
He could see the duvet’s tight-woven green threads giving under Kon’s weight, fitting their shape to his.
He could feel every movement Kon made in the shift of the mattress under him. Could hear and feel the low, known vibration of Kon’s voice everywhere, and the clogged rasp of his own breathing.
“—so then Plastic Man goes—”
Tim was going somewhere familiar and strange at the same time in the same space. He let his eyes fall closed and went.
--
It didn't take Kon long to figure out that Tim was asleep. Because.
An awake Tim would not say, “Wstflg,” roll across the bed, and throw his arm over Kon’s hips. He wouldn’t wriggle around until he was up against Kon, his cheek stubble scratchy on the skin where Kon’s tee had ridden up.
Kon let his unfinished sentence trail off and stared at Tim’s head resting on his belly. He’d have to tell Ma that his tees were starting to wear out in the wash, because compared to Tim’s hair, the black background under the big red S looked faded.
Tim’s breath puffed over Kon’s skin in damp, regular intervals. It kind of tickled.
“Hey,” Kon whispered, “Boy Wonder.”
He counted off a minute in his head. Tim stayed quiet, and Kon figured he must really be asleep. If he’d been awake, Kon would be so dead for the ‘Boy Wonder’ crack.
His best friend was curled up around him like Kon was his favorite teddy bear. Kon didn’t know where the fuck to put his hands. He couldn’t move, not without waking Tim up, and Tim totally looked like he needed to sleep for a week.
Cautiously, Kon lowered his arms. One of his hands ended up palm down on the bed. The other rested on Tim’s back. If Kon shifted it a little up and to the right, he’d be touching the back of Tim’s neck.
After a while, he did.
A little later, the door to Tim's room opened inward, not all the way. Nobody came in. Kon focused his x-ray vision, and through layers of furniture, he could see a small cat padding toward the bed.
When it reached the bed, it hopped up and sat on the end of the mattress and looked at Kon with pale yellow eyes.
Kon rubbed his thumb absently over Tim’s nape. “Weird. Didn’t know he had a cat.”
“Mrrrmm,” said the cat, and shook its head hard, making its ears flap. It turned its back on Kon and started washing black-striped brownish-gold fur.
“Hey man, sorry,” said Kon. “It’s not like you’re wearing a big property-of-whoever sign.”
He settled back against the pillows, getting comfortable. Tim’s arm was a pleasantly heavy weight across his thighs. The mix of AC and outside air was keeping him just cool enough, even with Tim pressed against him.
Somewhere out on the grounds of stately Wayne Manor, a bird shrieked. Tim jumped in his sleep.
He started to sit up, but Kon said, “Hey. Tim, it’s okay,” and squeezed his nape.
“Kon?” Tim said groggily.
“Yeah, I’m here. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm, Bruce?”
“Not here.” He pushed carefully against Tim’s shoulder. “Seriously, dude, it’s okay. Fucking go back to sleep.”
Tim’s eyes weren’t open. He wasn’t fully awake.
A rumbling purr snuck around the edges of Kon’s awareness and slid through his ears into his brain. He looked up. The cat had turned back around and was watching them, head cocked to the side, yellow eyes wide.
Kon held his breath – he could do it for a long time, longer than Tim could stay awake right now. He was pretty sure, anyway.
Eventually, Tim’s arm gave out and he slid back down. He immediately started snoring again.
“If he even mentions kryptonite,” Kon told the cat, “I’m so Tweeting that Red Robin snores after he gets some.”
Tim twitched, settled, and snored louder. The cat yawned and curled itself into a small black-brown-gold ball. In a few minutes, it was snoring, too.
Kon petted the back of Tim’s neck some more and started working out a way to get Damian to sneeze on Tim more often.
no subject
And I just love inadvertent cuddling, so.
Also: DIALOGUE YAY.
And you flaked on monster movie night. Heads up, Bart’s pretty pissed about that.
♥♥♥
everything about this line is amazing and right.
“Hey, man, that sounds bad. You really look like shit,” Kon said, as though this was a new and interesting concept for him.
Because it is!
“because I’m so vulnerable to Earth-based, maybe zoonotic influenza. What?” he said when Tim stared at him. “I paid attention in Doc Midnight’s lecture on xenobiology.”
That's pretty gnarly shit in xenobio, of course he would. &KON;
Tim took the small red tube. “Chapstick?”
Kon looked uncomfortable. “Beetle’s. The armor chafes some places, I guess. He always forgets, so I carry it.”
I don't even know where to start with how awesome this is. Kon being helpful and thoughtful! And JAIME OMG. And, well. Everything.
Kon didn’t know where the fuck to put his hands.
This makes me laugh and beam and just kind of want to tackle-wrestle the big dork.
Also, KITTY!
I loved this!
I'm talking with batstalker right now, and she says:
Fff I feel bad because sans_pertinence wrote me the best fic
like oh man I am over the moon with it
and it cheered me up so much
but I like can't seem to make coherant thought
I was just like: ';v; yay a cuddly kon (L) for me. A cuddly kon to take care of my sickness.'
So I told her I'd tell you. ^_^
no subject
no subject
no subject