Archive of Our Own

GothamBlond

look, im not saying that vigilantes are apart of some government conspiracy

Nameless

you literally are!!

GothamBlond

i’m saying that superheroes are apart of an alien government conspiracy

Nameless

its not that deep

GothamBlond

you don’t know that! Take for example robin

Nameless

oh i know all about the robins

Bernard laughs, clicking away happily on his laptop long after he was meant to go to bed. This forum was a rather dead one, meant more for digging around the weirdness that was LexCorp’s suspicious spending budget, but a week or two ago Bernard had found a hilarious friend in poor Nameless, who rattled off all kinds of wacky theories on all kinds of things with nothing to back them up but a ‘unknown source’.

Bernard had browsed Nameless’s profile, finding the only other thing that Nameless had commented on was Wendy the Werewolf Stalker fan networks and boards involving superheroes.

A rather unorthodox friendship, but Bernard appreciates having somebody take these theories as seriously as he does- which is not at all for real panicking but rather a source of great entertainment. What is funnier than going onto well respected conspiracy boards and sliding in there with a ‘Bruce Wayne is the Batman” and listening to the way the people react with a vitriolic hateful passion. It’s funny, and Nameless seems to think the same thing.

Nameless

the robin theory you have is good, Blondie, but listen

theres been at only five, the ones i know about

GothamBlond

there's been at least fifteen, dude i’ve shown you the charts

Nameless

your charts are bullshit and ive pointed that out to you

but i digress

ive seen red robin prove that earth is one of the most well defended planets

but rr is the one ive hung out with the most so

hes my boi by default

Bernard can agree to that. Not only is the older redder Robin closer to Bernard in age, and therefore of course the most relatable, but Bernard always rooted for the Robins that managed to last long enough to evolve into their own thing. According to the Chart™ the only Robin who had managed to make it out alive and onto their own thing so far has been the Red Hood- that's the only possible reason why the Red Hood wears the Bat symbol after all- and red Robin is close enough to breaking out under the Robin mantle that's been picked up by at least three other people since Red graduated out from under it.

Maybe four, depending on what photos Bernard is comparing.

GothamBlond

don’t even try to say you’ve hung out with a SUPErHERO

none of us are that cool

Nameless

??

excuse me??

speak for ursELF

Bernard smiles, just a little bit to himself.

Bernard’s life has been going so well lately, with finally getting to date a long-time friend (Tim! Tim Drake-fucking-Wayne said yes to dating him!) and having a rather popular active youtube channel dedicated to superhero theories and news and finding stability in Gotham after a long period of upheaval and unrest. Now Bernard has added a new friend to his repertoire, one that’s casual and funny and chats at totally random hours of the day.

Speaking of good things- Bernard texts Tim asking when’s a good time for Bernard to come over and watch the new season of the show they both enjoy- the one with the fantasy and magic and based on the Wizards and Warlocks game.

Bernard puts down his phone, knowing that Tim’s schedule is pretty hectic and he can’t always respond to texts or calls right away, and goes back to the conversation on a dead forum with a nameless, faceless internet friend.

A nameless internet friend named Nameless, of all things, how more on-the-nose can a dude get?

Speaking of-

Nameless

i am literally cooler than you even know

well sorta,

but like, trust me, im cool enough

Bernard laughs a bit again, because from the past week and a half the dude on the other side of the screen has proven themselves many things, but cool wasn’t one of them. Anybody who goes on in length about how profits for LexCorp are going into producing, of all things, clones in underground laboratories and hiding it in the urban solar prerogative bills and how leather jackets from the fifties need to be taken care of just right is not a single bit cool.

The buzz of the phone, Tim’s texted back. Apparently Tim’s in california- where he is often to deal with the R&D production over there- and can’t do this weekend, but can for sure do tuesday or thursday after work. Well, after Bernard comes home from school and Tim comes home from being all fancy and a head of development of Wayne Tech- a massive division of Wayne Enterprises.

Bernard doesn’t even know what he wants to do, besides keep up his youtube channel.

For now he sends back several heart emojis, with a confirmation of Tuesday after obligations.

GothamBlond

bro you are the opposite of whatever cool is

the other day you posted a four page long rant on here about why lexcorp is actually just a front for hating superman

like dude, come on

Nameless

dont get me started again

i hate that man

literally fuck luthor

he brought me into this world and im taking him out with me when i go

Bernard rolls his eyes as Nameless begins to type again, the dots popping up underneath the chat where only they are the two active participants. Nameless says shit like that all the time, it always makes Bernard reassess the other person’s level of crazy.

Tim texts back a picture, it’s of the breathtaking sunset over the ocean from where he’s staying. Bernard can see with how the picture is angled that there’s a clear view of Tim’s California friends in the reflection of the window playing some kind of game on the way-to-large TV. Bernard hasn’t asked to meet them or anything, but Tim brings them up often enough that Bernard still knows their names and vague personalities pretty well. He can’t distinguish between the two males, but he’s sure that the one girl with short crew cut blonde hair is Cassie.

Cassie is beautiful, but in a distinctly unique way. Everyone is wearing pajamas of some kind and are turned away from the camera, so Cassie’s in shorts and a loose Justice League shirt- Bernard’s pretty sure he has the same one. The two dudes are different from one another as far as they can be, one short and slim with wild reddish hair and wearing a full silk set of sleepwear and the other tall and broad and not wearing a shirt at all to go with the flannel boxers. One of them is Bart, the other Conner. Bernard can never remember who’s who.

Tim himself is caught only half in, half out, Bernard can’t see his boyfriends gorgeous eyes or long black hair, but the curve of Tim’s smile is something Bernard will be able to place anywhere, a soft smirk, one edge curling up just a tad higher than the other, always, and just a hint of Tim’s teeth underneath. It’s a shy little hesitant thing and Bernard loves it, it doesn’t brighten up a room, or blind the people who see it breathless at a smile's glory, it’s like a soft press of a gentle morning kiss right between wakefulness and dreams.

Tim’s going to kill him one of these days with those fleeting moments of realness underneath his distinct other-ness, but Bernard would willingly hold his boyfriend's hand and walk into hell.

--

Tim receives a plethora of heart emojis from his boyfriend, a boyfriend who is meant to be asleep right now, considering that it’s midnight in California and three in the morning in Gotham.

He and Kon are on their phones while Bart and Cassie fight over who’s going to win at MarioKart, the rest of the Titans have fucked off somewhere and left what was left of Young Justice to their own devices- as they normally do later on in the day when people began to hunker down for the night.

Conner tapped out early, jiggling his phone and saying that he was talking with friends, Tim also tapped his own device, saying the same thing, to get out of a grueling battle against Bart in anything resembling a video game. Cassie didn’t mind, as she knew she could bench press Bart into oblivion, but everyone else knew to steer clear when Bart suggested a ‘friendly match’ in the digital format.

Tim texts Bernard to go to bed, and Bernard replies back instantly that he wasn't tired, just trying to get inspiration on some new conspiracy videos he was thinking of putting out in a few days.

Tim loved Bernard, and all of his goofy words and his wacky sense of humor, but felt terrible when Bernard started up the conspiracy train with any kind of real fever. It felt like actively being deceitful, instead of passively lying through his teeth about how he had gotten the latest and greatest bruise across his ribs, or why there was gauze on his thigh, or-

Kon laughs, a little high huff of air as he looks at his phone.

Okay then, the living space seems a lot warmer than the cold air near the windows, so Tim just saunters on over to the back of the couch, moving to his best friend's personal space. “Whatcha giggling at?”

“Christ!” Kon jerks back, slightly inhuman eyes wide at the intrusion. “I’m gonna put a fuckin’ bell on you one of these days, Rob.”

“That just makes cat’s more sneaky, not less.” Tim decides to inform Connor, with a smile. “They learn how to move around the sound of the bell.”

Connor keeps his phone on his chest, screen pressed against skin so Tim can’t be a nosy friend and pry, “Is that how Batman trained all of you to walk around silently?”

No. Batman’s training was very different. It was Alfred who had taught them all how to walk without a sound- if that man caught you anywhere near dessert before dinner was done he’d take it out of your hide. Bruce had sent all of his children through Alfred’s gauntlet- nobody made it through the first time, not even assassin trained Damian.

Tim just shrugs though, and Kon’s face softens into something disgustingly fond. Gross.

Kon grabs the back of Tim’s collar and hauls Tim onto the cushion right between him and where Bart sits sort of sideways. Bart vibrates into a new, comfortable, position on top of his two friends, and everyone adjusts around him. Cassie’s lucky enough to be sitting on the floor in the only beanbag that survived the month, so she’s free from any real threat of wayward limbs.

Tim settles easily, turning to give Kon his privacy and gaining some of his own in the process. Bart barely cares about privacy, is fast enough to make it a null and void concept, and is smart enough that he probably knows that Tim is dating somebody anyway.

--

Nameless

rr is right here hold on

Bernard perks up at the sound of the notification, looking away from his phone and where he’s been texting Tim.

When Bernard reads the message, he rolls his eyes so hard, god, can a person get more desperate than this? Bernard texts Tim again, telling his very lovely boyfriend that the people on the internet were trying to pull some severe bullshit again- come on Nameless you were better than straight up lying in an abandoned forum chatroom. Bernard thinks you’re entertaining even when you’re just diddling around and talking about how boring Kansas is, this is the most cringe part about interacting with Nameless, the wacky lying-

GothamBlond

oh come on dude. Don’t even

Nameless

[attachment.png]

Bernard pops an eyebrow up a little higher, opens up the image in a new tab to begin to tear apart whatever weird photoshop he’s been sent.

The image is of three people curled around each other, the kid on top with big wild ruddy red hair and a game controller over his face- specifically his upper face, the kid’s very visible mouth is pulled into a grin that’s wide enough to have it’s own area code, there’s a very specific kind of yellow-orange static that is visible in that mound of hair. Impulse? Bernard’s mind flickers over the thought, no- it can’t be.

But sure enough, the Impulse look alike is hiding a good amount of the boy underneath him- only a black mask visible, with white eye lenses and a sharp nose. Bernard has been in Gotham his whole life, and while there hasn’t been many pictures of them, any Gothamite worth their salt can tell when somebody’s snapped a pic of a true Bat.

Then, the most damning of all, Superboy himself is grinning into the camera, blurry by how close he is and slightly twisted around to have a hand into probably-the-real-Impulses messy hair. Holy shit.

Holy shit!!

--

Kon laughs.

The chick he’s been messaging with for the past week and some change online is freaking out, keysmash after keysmash flying across the empty message board as Blondie puts together the pieces from the picture Kon had snapped quickly of everyone. Bart was fast enough to cover everything that had a secret tied to it, but Kon’s own face was something that was copyrighted, publicly available by a quick google image search and plastered across every news station everytime he walks out without glasses or plaid two sizes too large.

Kon deletes the image from their chat, just so that nobody else can come in and see proof that this account is Superboy’s and bother him about it. It’s only fun with the people who don’t care that he’s arguably one of the most terrifying things in the whole universe- like Bart and Tim and Cassie.

Kon has the best friends anybody possibly can, because whenever he gets hung up on something one of them comes to kick his ass back into gear and it’s all alright again.

Right now, for example, Tim’s got an eyebrow so high that his mask almost can’t contain it and an elbow pointy enough to not get through airport security that’s threatening to dig deep into Kon’s side. “What do you find so funny?” Tim asks again.

“Messing with people online.” Kon admits with a cocky made-for-press smile.

Tim scoffs, outloud, burrowing more into where Bart is wiggling all over their laps, curling his own phone into his own shoulder. “One day that’s going to bite you in the ass.”

It already has.

Kon will admit that all day long. He’s had to change his account out on multiple sites, his official Twitter sits dusty from disuse, his Instagram is flooded with people asking him all sorts of things (from news reporters to begging for sex), anything publicly attached to his name with a check mark is a hastle to try and work around. It’s much more fun to be anonymous, nameless, and troll around. When he finds people like Blondie it’s always a leap of faith to see if they can be normal around heroes or not.

Considering Blondie is asking questions about whether or not Kon has been making fun of them this whole time, Kon has a good feeling about how this is going to go.

Tim’s phone is going crazy with its soft buzzes, vibrations close enough to Bart on their laps that Bart mimics the frequency unthinkingly.

“You’re getting distracted!” Cassie calls from her spot on the beanbag, tongue bleeped out in concentration.

“I’m kicking your ass!” Bart says, and he truly is, but he’s only a full lap and a half ahead of everyone else, not at all like he usually does in these kinds of games.

Robin may or may not roll his eyes, Kon can never tell underneath those lenses, but Robin does for sure move his phone away from Bart’s shoulder. The eyebrow underneath Robin’s angular mask threatens to creep out again, breaching like a shark in the cape of good hope, but all Tim does is give Kon a sharp look.

Kon didn't even do anything to deserve it this time.

Kon tries to cock a brow back, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Tim’s eyebrow of doom far outweighs his own.

GothamBlond

okay, christ, how the duck am i going to tell my boyfriend that I met the real ass superboy online

*fuck

he doesn’t believe me worth a shit

and of course you deleted the proof

Blondies mentioned her boyfriend once or twice, the two of them sound sickeningly in love with one another. Good for them, honestly. Kon felt the quick flares of attraction but never truly the slow burn of desire that Blondie chats about her boyfriend with. She apparently had been pinning since freshman year and had finally snagged the ‘boy who was out of this world’.

Kon’s never had the patience, not like Blondie for her boy, or like Cassie going back over and over again for Cissie, or like Robin in a fight when he just watches you.

Nameless

lmao maybe you should think before you tell people you met a superhero

what would people think about that?

theyd think you were lying on the internet for clout

GothamBlond

i think i hate you

in the weirdest way i’ve ever hated somebody before

Nameless

you and my parents both tbh

GothamBlond

alright wht is THAT meant to mean

Kon laughs again, a little huff of air through his nose.

Robin finally nails Kon in the side with his sharp pointed elbows. Bart cheers to his own victory, jackknifing himself up at a speed that only barely doesn’t hurt the resident human. Cassie curses, but her heart isn’t in it.

It’s a nice weekend, all in all.

—

Bernard and Tim sit sort of side by side, with Bernard leaning on Tim’s chest as the two of them watch enraptured by the tearjerking season finale of the show that they’ve been watching these past couple of dates. Bernard started just sitting carefully on the couch just barely touching Tim’s thigh with his own, and now they’ve migrated over the course of several episodes to Tim propped up by throw pillows on the edge, with his mile long legs stretched up underneath Bernard, and Bernard curled into the hollow of Tim’s armpit, holding onto his water bottle and whispering the music swells under his breath.

It really is a good show, and Bernard is doubly sure now that Tim really didn’t spoil himself on the ending like he did with the last show they had watched together in highschool. The bastard. Mostly Bernard is damn sure because where Tim’s hand rests on Bernard's hip everytime something dramatic happens Tim grips a little harder, just a flare of surprise before relaxing back down.

“I’ll always love you.” The show’s comic relief whispers to the dying main character. “No matter what your true name is.” It’s all rather dramatic.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” The main character spits up blood, all heroic like, and Bernard can feel Tim’s full body eye-roll at the effect. “About who I was this whole time.”

The two kiss, that Hollywood picture perfect kiss that’s not actually any kind of comfortable. It’s beautiful though, with the sparkling snow around them and the soft lighting and the handsome features of both actors-

“Would you kiss somebody if their mouth was full of blood?” Tim asks, breaking the tension of the moment entirely.

Huffing, Bernard rolls his head back and up to look at his boyfriend. “You’re terrible.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Tim points out, “Would you kiss somebody whose mouth was full of blood from a thigh wound of all things-”

“You act like you’re such an expert on these things.” Bernard begins the process of untangling his legs from Tim’s- why does his boyfriend have such long legs eugh what a pain- and standing up to go refill his water bottle.

Tim does that blank face thing- where he goes from Tim to nothing in a blink of an eye- and just responds with perfect clipped clarity “I know that you don’t cough up blood from a leg injury. You’d need to have blood get into your digestive tract somehow.”

Finally getting his legs untangled, Bernard stands and stretches, cracking his knees and shoulder all at once. “Don’t let facts get in the way of true love you ass.”

“I wouldn’t if Doland fell had gotten together with Rachul instead of the main character. Such a wasted opportunity across the board.” Tim follows Bernard, his bones make no sound and he moves like a liquid off the couch. Damn. Hot.

Bernard pops the top off his water bottle, a roll of his wrist at the perfect angle and it comes right off, and pops the faucet in Tim’s very nice kitchen to cold. Tim presses a kiss to the back of Bernard’s neck before Tim moves to the fridge to get his own water.

Bernard used to not drink as much water, but Tim drinks enough water for three people a day so Bernard naturally has followed- and now Bernard has no acne so he’s sort of mad about it actually. “Doland has two hands.” Bernard chimes easy and teasing. “Polygamy is the awnser here babe.”

Tim peaks over the door of the fridge. “Oh? Is this you telling me something?”

Bernard laughs, high and bright and breathless. He taps off the cold water with a tug of a finger. “I would have to be out of my own mind to downgrade from you to somebody else.”

Bernard really would. Tim’s perfect in a perfectly imperfect way. Tim’s handsome, rich, funny, a celebrity, a total nerd, has the body of a god and the mind of something a bit better. He’s sweet and whip quick and loyal-

But he’s also insanely funny, and dorky, and weirdly other in such a way that Bernard can’t describe. People love Tim for what he’s not, for what he displays, but Bernard likes him for all that Tim won’t be.

He’s never overtly mean, no matter how easy it would be, and he’s never alienating or-

Listen. Bernard has had a crush on him since day one, okay? He has the right to be sort of romantic here.

Tim just closes the fridge door with that eerie silence he always does things with, cocks one brow and says “Oh? You wouldn’t hold hands with anybody else? Not even Superboy?”

Bernard instantly groans. “It was a mistake to tell you about that.”

Tim hadn’t believed Bernard when Bernard had texted him days ago excited to finally meet a superhero. Honestly Bernard couldn’t blame him- because Bernard didn’t believe it himself half the time.

If there wasn’t constant easy contact between Bernard and his new phone contact- with pictures!- Bernard wouldn’t have believed it either.

Superboy sends stuff through an unofficial Snapchat- two or three seconds at most. Bernard has gotten glimpses of the tantalizing fortress of solitude, fields and fields of some kind of corn, the mountains of Nepal, towns from all over the world, and of the big Leaguers themselves.

A blurry picture of Superman’s cape as the man of steel chats with a black ominous shadow that has to be Batman is the only thing Bernard has ever screenshotted.

It was worth Superboy not sending anything for three days.

“I would hold hands with a Robin faster than I would hold hands with Superboy.” Bernard promises Tim, reassuringly.

Tim goes blank again, which is weird to see on somebody who’s still moving. Like watching a movie skip frames in real life.

“Red Robin, specifically.” Bernard tries again. The Bats are notorious for never getting involved in anything but crime, and out of all of them Red Robin is the least seen.

It seems to settle something in Tim, who allows some life to creep back into his shoulders. Tim just fondly bumps into Bernard’s hip with his own, one of those soft smiles across his face, and he heads back to the couch with a liter of chilled water. “You nerd.” Tim says, soft and warm.

Bernard can’t help it. He does blush at that. “Who would you hold hands with?”

Tim cocks his head, a jerk of a movement that he never learned to make smooth. “I’m not sure I could tell you. I’ve never thought about it before.”

—

Nameless

Get me out of here

Kon’s currently dying in a science class, they’re talking about Dolly the cloned sheep, about how the sheep was born with short caps to the end of her chromosomes and died at the age of six and a half- half her life expectancy.

The teacher was a … traditional kind of man, a bible was propped up on his keyboard and he hadn’t stopped attending church since the 40’s. He had certain views about science that made him distinctly disqualified to be a science teacher and yet he had continued to teach all about the subject at Smallville high for the past seventy years. The man was talking all about the dangers of science and how things like Dolly were doomed to hell from the very beginning.

Sure, Dolly and Kon shared a shortening of the telomeres on the ends of their DNA sequences, but Dolly had died of natural causes with an unfortunate disease that had ravaged all of the sheep that had shared her home and the complications arising from it- not at all related to her ‘advanced age’ as some sensationalized media liked to put it.

Kon had read up a lot about that poor sheep, and all the experiments that had come after it.

They were birds of a feather after all, all cut from the same cloth so to speak.

So Kon really didn’t appreciate it when the teacher in front of him rambled on about how clones don’t have souls, about how science was condemning animals to a slow and painful life and then sudden seemingly unexpected death.

Dolly had four healthy beautiful children, her line still exists to this day.

So Kon sends out a message to the only person who might answer him- Blondie.

Tim won’t answer his messages during work- he’s way too busy and Kon gets that. Cassie turns her phone off during school so she can pay attention and not tank her grades more than they already are. Bart’s got his phone on and is perfectly willing to chat back and forth, but Bart also has just burst into Kon’s classroom mid-lecture and practically broke every secret identity rule in the book to rush Kon out of there in a strange attempt to ‘save’ him.

Bart’s a good friend.

A deranged one, however. Only to be used in dire circumstances.

So Kon texts Blondie, who is non-powered and perfectly willing to bend the rules of a school day to chat with people online.

GothamBlonde

lmao

get me out first then we’ll talk

Case and point.

Nameless

what

no

Batman would kill me

no metas in gotham, your rogues would kill us creatively

Kon had to suffer the lecture that Batman and his Robins gave to everybody up at the watchtower during the new league seminar. Apparently there were a few cities in the world that it made it worse to sweep in and save the day at.

GothamBlond

no way

is that a real rule? I thought for sure that the forums were joking

i need to know

Nameless

your guys rouges are … a special case

when a new player enters the game they expect that person to always be there, apparently

even after just one appearance.

GothamBlonde

no shit?

Nameless

yeah, no really

being a meta in gotham is like, a full time job

every new plan incorporates a way to incapacitate the new powers and

its a nightmare for the current capes to work around that

gotham is a hellhole, change my mind

GothamBlond

what, living in gotham?

i tend to think it’s peachy

Nameless

har har

you and RR are, like, way to similar dude

Kon hates to admit it, but it really does seem that everybody from Gotham has the same sense of humor. The people there are one stop away from death at all times. It’s weird. Or maybe just the vilginatnes are weird and Kon’s spent way too long around them?

Nameless

Is it because your city is cursed?

you can be honest

GothamBlonde

my city is WHAT

Oh shit. Maybe that wasn’t common knowledge? Was it? Kon can never fucking remeber. Tim would know, like for sure. Tim knows all kinds of shit like that, he’s smart like an encyclopedia of weird and macabre. Tim knows how to do field surgery and how to use standing drain water to distill a chemical solution to neutralize Scarecrow's fear gas, Tim would know how exactly his city was haunted.

So Kon texts Tim, to be sure, and then also Nightwing just to cover all his bases here. Neither brother knows the most about the arcane arts (that would be Damian, who’s dabbling in them, the little demon) but each bat sibling knows just enough to run around with Constantine when needed.

Tim’s not going to respond anytime soon, but Nightwing is a lot quicker to respond with question marks and worried words.

Kon’s phone begins to ring, silently vibrating in his hands and Nightwing took his perfectly innocent questions and morphed them into something world ending.

Fuck.

“Mr. Kent!” The teacher snaps, “Your phone please!”

Kon curses, prays to god that Nightwing and the rest of the Bat Colony doesn’t burst down his school's doors in an attempt to reach him, and holds his phone up for the teacher to snatch.

—

[A video, featuring a rather adorable blond teenager, just at the edge of losing all the baby fat on his cheeks. The teen is dressed sharply in hero fan gear that fits him well. His Superman hoodie is snug around his slim waist, you don’t see his legs. He’s wearing Superboy’s signature circular shades, pushed up to his forehead.]

“Hello fellow hero examiners, and welcome to my new video! Today we’re taking a deep dive into a Superhero who’s been all over the media since his appearance almost four years ago- Superboy.”

[The video switches from a friendly smiling face to a shaky video of said hero- arguably the most famous clip of the teen. Superboy’s hanging onto a figure cloaked in black, face masked. Superboy himself has one hand on the ground, face serene in almost a trance as veins of power trace away from where his fingers touch the ground so gently. The ground itself is crumbling under the force of whatever Superboy is doing.]

“We’re going to do a deep dive into Superboy’s powers, how they might work, how he might be related to the last of an alien race who shares the ‘S-Crest’, and who he might be when the camera’s aren’t rolling!”

[The video switches back to the original blond, a big smile on his face.]

“My name is Bernard Dowd, let's get into it.”

--

Bart is scrolling through social media at a rather sedate pace, he’s not even going fast enough to seize out the phone. He can watch as the light loads with each tick of a scroll wheel, Bart’s sitting with his friends in Manchester, thinking about several trails of thoughts at once, all faster than the speed of light.

There’s idle chatter, but most of soft talk is without any true direction or any sharp attention grabs. Bart’s almost old enough to legally drive a car- he’s always been younger than his peers- but all of his friends might be sixteen and seventeen but nobody has enough money to actually have their own car down here. Manchester’s a small-ish town with small-ish people and small-ish incomes. Bart still has to wait for the bus with these people. Eugh. He’d be faster than this with a simple stroll.

Evil Eye perks up from where he’s leaned up against the wall. He’s bundled up in somebody else’s hoodie, it’s way too big on him. “Yo- SuperConspriacies just updated a new video.”

Carol actually does jerk up from where she’s half laying on Bart’s shoulder. “Oh? Who’s it on?”

Evil Eye flips his phone around, he’s got the nicest phone out of all of them so the screen is big enough to show the youtube video easily to everyone. “Superboy.”

That get’s Bart’s full attention.

What the fuck are people doing talking about Superboy? Who’s got their attention like this? A news site? What happened to his best friend? Did something bad happen?

Carol and Preston move from their distracted idling to right next to where EE is standing. “Lemme see.”

Bart grabs a hold of the back of Carol’s shirt, tugging it gently. Carol looks back with a quirk of her brow. Bart inclines his head, eyes wide and questioning.

“Have you not watched this dude before?” Preston asks from where he’s now huddled close to Evil Eye. “He’s like- a genius- talks all about the super secret lives of super secret heroes. He’s done a lot of stuff on Gotham, because that’s his hometown, but the one on Superman really shot him into the spotlight.”

Bart instantly relaxes, thank god nothing weird is happening that he’d have to run away and help with. Nothing weird is happening, but this has the potential to embarrass two of his friends in one swoop with this. Amazing.

“He’s done really good ones on the Flash and all the other fast ones.” Preston smiles just a little too wide, a little too excited. “You’d like it!”

Would he? It’s sort of strange to watch sensationalized videos about himself and his family. Even catching glimpses of himself on the news is sort of awkward. “Would I?”

Evil Eye, Preston, and Carol all smile (Bart thinks they all know, but that would be not-normal to just act like they knew if they didn’t? Eugh this was so hard. This whole secret identity was bullshit).

They pull Bart close, and press play on the video.

--

IMP

pLEASE pLEASE pLEASE

ROB III

What’s the matter?

SB

you okay buddy

IMP

[link - video - ‘Who are the Robins, and why is Batman a Matron to an Orphanage’]

[link - video - ‘Flash, running or teleporting?’]

[link - video - ‘Superboy, not actually related to Superman?’]

SB

what

whAT

THIS ASSHOLE

ROB III

Oh, you’ve discovered Bernard’s youtube channel.

IMP

iM cRYING

WG

it’s four in the gd morning what is happening

IMP

aks superboy, who’s apparently been related to TERRA this whole time- jackass tried to tell us he was a clone of superman and luex meanwhile DOwd has oPENED MY EYS to the truth

WG

omg wat

OMG LMOA

IMP

‘using his lesser known powers to earth manipulation- superboy isn’t a super at all, he’s just passed a strength test to acquire the well-known crest’

when were u gonna tell us this

SB

IM GONNA FUCKIN KILL THIS DUDE

ROB III

Hey. Don’t kill my boyfriend.

[several people are typing …]

--

Bernard’s gotten a text.

His watch buzzes alongside his phone, which is tucked alongside his ribs charging on an extra long cord. This wakes him up, eyes bleary and mouth full of cotton. What the hell is this, who’s awake at- at twenty minutes before his alarm goes off. Fuck.

Rubbing the gunk out of his eyes, Bernard opens his phone with a quick swipe of his thumb and reads the angry, mistyped words, from one of his contacts. Way too early for this.

He closes the phone again, clicks it to a black screen to hopefully get a few more minutes of sleep.

He’s almost back asleep when his phone explodes again, multiple notifications coming in all at once. Christ who needs him this early before school-

Bernard actually bothers to read the name of who’s blowing up his phone-

Bernard snaps to full wakefulness, all at once. He opens up the Snapchat video call with a quick swipe of his thumb.

Superboy.

Immediately the video loads, and Bernard’s not even mad anymore that he’s been woken up twenty minutes before his first alarm. Superboy has his signature round glasses, and it’s pitch black besides what must be a security light. He’s outside, with his phone waving wildly and already yelling. “-this ASSHOLE on the internet is spreading UNTRUE rumors about me and my powers. Do you know how hard it is to dispute those?!”

Bernard’s own camera just shows blackness, nothing revealing on his end.

Superboy’s running his free hand through his hair, the background is a field of some crop, sometimes a flash of a well worn outbuilding of some kind- a barn? A shed? A stable? “I’m already getting shit from the big blue asshole, and now I have to take shit from people on the internet, and it’s going to spread to talk shows and to get money to live I have to go on them and they’re gonna ask me if I’m related to Terra! She was evil! Like full evil! A dramatic bitch and here I am just half evil-”

“Did you mean to call me?” Bernard has to ask. This sounds like a rant in which Bernard was not a part of.

That inkling is only nudged along when Superboy stops his dramatic failing to jerk to a stop and squint at his phone. The lack of dizzying movement really solidifies the surroundings of ‘middle of nowhere’ rural America. There’s a plow that can be seen behind Superboy’s head. Oh my god. “You sure don’t sound like Robin.”

“I am not.” Bernard admits. “But it’s just hitting me that you know Robin. You probably know all of them-”

“Oh god, I called Blondie.” Superboy groans, he brings his free hand up underneath his sunglasses to rub at his eyes, “I shouldn’t have saved Rob under ‘GothamAsshole’ all those years ago.”

This is a whole new world of opportunity for Bernard. Superboy’s never going to talk to him again but this is literally so exciting. Bernard’s usually used to podcasts or news reals or quick flashes of scripted content. This is interaction, which makes it better. So much better. “Normally others on the forums call me GB.” Bernard comments, helpfully. “But if you want to call me Blondi go right ahead I guess-”

“You don’t sound like a girl either.” Superboy’s pushed his glasses up, they’re up resting in a tangle of oil-black almost blue curls and Bernard can see the unnaturally blue eyes caught in the light of what must be a security light on the outbuilding. Bernard’s used to catching the ice-frost blue of Tims own gorgeous gaze, but this is something else entirely, something rich and otherworldly and uncanny in a way that’s almost jarringly uncomfortable to keep contact with.

Amazing.

“Nope.” Bernard pop’s the ‘p’ in the word. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Superboy sighs, closing his eyes as if to catch a moment of peace. “I’m sorry myself- for both calling you at an ungodly hour and assuming you’ve been a girl. Ass out of you and me, and all that. Shit. This is what I get for asking Siri to do things for me.”

“Why did you want to call Robin at-” Bernard checks his watch, the light from the face shines up in a custom superhero background- “Five thirty four in the morning?”

“In my defense, he’s normally up at this hour.”

Bernard blinks. “Do the Bats not need sleep?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think, it’s too early his brain to mouth filter doesn’t exist oh god he’s looking stupid in front of Superboy-

“They’re just as human as you are.” Superboy’s phone gets set down, propped on something, and Superboy goes back to what he was presumably doing before Bernard picked up. The hero is wearing a tank top good god. “T-Rob’s just good at what he does.”

“Good enough to not need sleep?” Bernard flips the covers down and gets ready to stand- he might as well get up now that he’s awake. “That sounds dangerous.”

“I keep telling him-” and Superboy’s back on another rant, rambling on about how the people he works with (The Titans! Young Justice! OMG!) don’t get enough sleep. Superboy talks as he seems to be sharpening something by hand- farm tools? Knives? He’s sharpening something metal by hand with a whet stone.

Bernard is endeared.

“You’d think that Robin was the worst!” Superboy scrapes particularly hard, wincing right as he does. “But no, the worst is Impulse! The speedster can’t seem to lay down for twenty fuckin’ minutes- even to sleep! Robin takes immaculate care of himself most of the time to keep in the shape he’s in, and Lorde is he in shape!-”

Bernard changes without bothering to turn on his lights, his camera is still dark, Superboy is just spilling secrets that most other conspiracy nuts would give their left arm to know.

Most of it sounds … exactly what a normal teenage boy would talk about.

It hits Bernard, all at once, with the intensity of a meteor crashing into another extinction event.

Superboy … is just a teenager. He's doing chores in the early morning hours at what assumedly is his home, talking about how his friends are doing, saying things that Bernard would say about Tim, about Darla, about anybody Bernard is close with.

Superboy’s not even looking at the camera, he’s just … talking. He’s ranting and raving about his friends' habits- about how Impulse will beat everyone in video games and stay up with him until dawn playing all kinds of wild games and Superboy won’t even notice until Garfeild comes stumbling out for his morning coffee. How Wonder Girl sleeps like the dead, like a log, like some horrific country-ism, and once kept her experimental hair dye in for a four hour nap instead of rinsing it off after thirty minutes of set time. How Robin would curl up during team meetings, legs pulled tight and eventually it would always end with Robin’s forehead on his knees and napping lightly.

It’s just a boy talking about his friends- average normal people doing average normal things. Bernard once took a ‘quick nap’ and woke up several hours later and late for a project meetup. Tim slept on the couch like Robin did all the time.

Superboy was just-

He’s talking to almost a total stranger about his friends. Fondly, with a slight smile on his turned away face and a sense of love laced through his exasperation.

Bernard has the sudden though, striking him to his core-

They’re just people.

Everyday, average, normal, people. Who have lives and relationships and friendships and families and-

Superboy turns back, his uncanny unnaturally too blue eyes catch the camera again.

Just for a second.

They must be so lonely.

--

Tim wakes up.

Bernard shifted around on the couch, so it startled Tim out of his little micro-nap that he was apparently taking here.

Bernard was over at Tim’s apartment, tucked up in a blanket softer than clouds and sweet promises and getting his ass kicked by Bart in some kind of video game Tim had long since given up trying to compete in. It looked to be some kind of competitive Tetris.

Bart was winning, by a huge margin.

Cassie was talking easy, telling some story about how her and Cissie swore up and down they had seen somebody online beat Bart at this game once- Bernard isn’t looking like he’s believing her. Tim must have nodded off during a friend game-night.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Bart says, not even bothering to turn around.

(Not turning around slow enough for other people to perceive, at any rate)

“Happy to be back.” Tim mumbles, before he unfolds his forehead from his knees and scootches over to get into his boyfriend’s space. Tim plants his face into Bernard’s collarbone, sticking himself to the warm body and closing his eyes again.

“Ah!” Bernard jerks, leaning over to try and see the screen around Tim’s wild sort-of bedhead hair. “You’re sleepy warm, it’s too hot.”

Cassie laughs. “Oh gods you are for real dating.” She takes a picture with her phone- her case full of star stickers. “Gross.”

Tim huffs. He’s awake now, but he really doesn’t want to be. “Did you think I was lying?”

“You’d lie to Superman, you ass, don’t act like this is surprising.” Cassie smirks, dangerous and sharp. She’s so fucking smug that she bullied Tim to invite Bernard to a YJ game night- modified from the Titians Tower to Tim’s apartment and having to be done on a barely squeeked out Friday timeslot that Kon couldn’t come to.

Bernard had been quiet for the past few days, so this game night was good for him- he had perked right back up when Tim had mentioned this get together to him. Bernard was very excited to reach out to Tim’s friends.

Bart was irritated that he had to be slow the whole time. The boy was almost buzzing where he sat on the ground in front of the glass coffee table. Cassie however was fast friends with Bernard, telling Bernard about how she had known Tim since he was fourteen and had three years of embarrassing stories built up to chatter about. Both had apologized on behalf of Conner, who couldn’t make it to the event due to his parents needing help around the house.

(Needing help with the farm, the crop, the combine, everything. The Kent’s were getting older, and they can’t do everything they once could. Kon’s a good guy, who’s helping them both physically and financially. Kon’s got a small nest egg from all his publicity stunts and copyrighted image, between him and Clark the Kent’s don’t have to worry about much of anything.)

Bernard continues to get crushed in a Tetris remix, smiling and allowing Tim to nestle further into Bernard’s space. Cassie’s phone is up and in a clear camera position, she’s smiling and snapchatting Kon everything she can.

“I wouldn’t lie to Superman.” Tim tries to defend himself, but he’s quickly shut down by three separate scoffs and eyerolls.

“You would, babe.” Bernard nudges where Tim’s head rests on his collar.

“You have.” Bart chirps, setting the final stone block on the game in front of him.

Bernard’s face whips from the screen to Tim. He moves so fast that Tim would have been dislodged if he was anybody else. “What, babe?”

Tim is going to kill Bart.

From the face that Bart’s pulling, and the way Cassie’s eyes are bugged out, they know that Bart’s just made a huge mistake.

--

“You’re dating the guy who makes weird conspiracy videos on the internet.” Kon punches as hard as he can and puts the robotic goo down for the count.

“Now is not the time.”

Robin uses an EMP grenade to take out six at once, he’s got some goo from these sludge nanite slime robots in his hair and it slicks it right back in a smooth shiny grease. It’s a good look that Kon’s seen on Rob once or twice every now and again, usually when Robin’s not being Robin or Tim Drake or anything in between.

“Oh we definitely have the time.” Bart’s all smiles- his own wild hair is untamable even with the inclusion of the robotic gel that’s flying everywhere. Bart sort of looks like a bad amusement park ride’s animatronic.

“I have to know everything about this.” Kon says over the coms. “Like, right now dude. You held out on me during the game night that y’all scheduled without me and now I’m getting all my information second hand-”

“Now is not the time.” Robin stresses again, another EMP grenade goes off and another round of robots goes down.

“I think we have so much time.” Cassie’s hair is short enough that it’s looking great, and the slime on her biceps just make them shine. It’s honestly unfair. “They call each other cute nicknames and they cuddle-”

“We do not call one another cutesy nicknames.” Robin’s voice over the communication line is low and dangerous and sharp and every other team in the entire world would have stopped the teasing right there and then because messing with a Bat was a painful sentence on a good day.

This team has long since jumped over the hurdle of being scared of one of the most dangerous people in the world.

So Kon just says “But you do cuddle?”

Robin huffs down the line, a chuffed sound of sharp air.

“You should have seen it dude.” Bart vibrates through several robots, taking out their core control center as he does. “Rob was so cute the other day. You never would have looked at him and thought he could take you out in three hits or less.”

“Robin,” Kon’s gleeful happiness is disgustingly enthusiastic as it echoes down the line. “Why do you never cuddle with me?”

“I’m going to commit murder I think.” Robin says to his friends, blank and toneless. “This is the straw that breaks the camel's back.”

“Why don’t you snuggle up to me when we watch movies?” Bart coos.

Cassie laughs, “Wanna share a blanket when we get back, Robin-boo.”

“I’d let you steal my covers anytime babe.” Kon’s wheezing, he's laughing so hard.

“I’m going to ruin your credit score.” Robin hisses.

“Oh? Will you ruin my credit score if I let you put your cold feet into my thighs on the couch?” Kon’s laughing so hard. He’s literally at risk of falling out of the air; he's almost losing his concentration.

Robin sets off his last EMP, the explosion of thick smile against brick isn’t nearly as satisfying as it normally is.

--

Bernard’s got his feet kicked up on his boyfriend's couch as he browses Twitter. He’s gotten some real traction over his last conspiracy, and now more and more people are asking him questions like Bernard Dowd is the one who has any real insider authority on superheroes here.

But hey, arguing on Twitter is a good way to pass the time.

Tim’s not home- he’s out with his unlimited number of siblings on some kind of ‘family outing’ and will be back tonight. Bernard asked to come here to the apartment to wait for him, Tim had given Bernard the key and told him to have a good time and do whatever he wanted with the place.

Now Bernard sits in an empty penthouse apartment after he had tidied up Tim’s working mess and now there’s nothing to do.

Well, nothing to do besides browse Twitter and argue with the crazy people online about shit that nobody knows is true or not.

Another half hour passes, and even Twitter starts to lose Bernard's interest.

What else is there to do here without a Tim keeping him company?

Bernard looks around, at the game system that hasn’t been played by its owner in several months, a kitchen that’s clean and well organized due to the butlers influence more so than any real clean gene in Tim’s own self. If of course the family ramblings can be believed.

There’s a pool on the deck.

Now that’s something to actually consider. A glass bottom pool, heated, about five feet deep at its deepest point and maybe eleven feet wide overall. It’s not a big thing, but it’s got a breathtaking view over Gotham and the bay- it’s a gorgeous sunset.

Tim’s gotta have a swimsuit here somewhere- he’s a fancy boy with fancy rich boy party outfits.

Bernard sends a quick text, Tim won’t answer while he’s with his family.

Tim’s room is a tornado warzone, dirty clothing strewn near the laundry baskets by the ensuite master bath and bed unmade. There’s nothing truly disgusting- Bernard wouldn’t stand for that no sir- it’s just a haphazard mess of a person who thinks too fast for a month then spends one day purging their space into perfect cleanliness and repeating the cycle over and over again, ad infinitum.

Bernard goes for the closet, a walk in, and inside it’s exactly what to expect from a busy seventeen year old teenage boy. The most messy area is for sure where Tim keeps his underwear, the artsy off white fancy rich people storage containers have things stuffed in them haphazardly, half in and out and mixed up every which-a-way. It’s the most used area, so it’s the most messy, that makes sense.

In one of those off-white fabric rich people storage boxes on the big wide shelf there’s one with the tag ‘swimwear’ in Tim’s looping chicken-cursive so Bernard pulls it out a bit and peers inside. Sure enough, a rather neat selection of folded swimsuits. Tim must not swim much, then.

Bernard is of a similar height to his boyfriend (Tim’s just a few inches taller, which is infuriating when Bernard had been taller when they had met)- but Tim’s built more athletic than Bernard, he’s got wider hips to support muscular thighs.

So Bernard flips through a few swimsuits to find a nice blue one and tugs it out.

Changing takes not even five minutes, Bernard tightens the drawstring on the suit (which goes up way too high, goddamn these rich people and their weird fashions) and is out on the deck by the pool within the next two.

Bernard grabs a bluetooth speaker on the way, cranks up some nice tunes, and saunters into the warm water.

Oh, it's fabulous.

It’s not a hot tub, not by a long shot, but it’s warmer than lukewarm by a degree or two. A miracle on Bernard’s sore legs from his run this morning,

Bernard looks out onto Gotham’s skyline, the fading light of day as the City begins to light up for the nightlife. Tim lives in a nice district too, so there’s no dilapidation anywhere, just tall glass skyscrapers until the ocean bay spreads out to the horizon. Bernard could look at this city everyday for the rest of his life, it was his home.

The songs from the speaker echo into the night air as the temperature drops slowly, as if it’s only occasionally remembering that it needs to get colder, and Bernard cannot wait for Tim to stumble home. It’ll be so romantic, all wet and warm, Bernard could play something that would make them both laugh and when Tim says that he needs to change then Bernard could just slightly suggest that Tim didn’t need to be wearing anything to get into the water with him.

The air would be cold but Tim’s hands are always really warm-

“Knock knock!” A voice breaks through the daydream, one that is not Bernard's boyfriend. “I heard you at home-”

Bernard screams.

“Who’s there!” Bernard’s scrambling for his phone. Oh he’s gotta call Tim- he’s gotta call the police!

“Woah! Woah!” A man’s voice comes from the other side of the balcony- “You’re not Rob!”

Bernard’s panic just ratchets up another notch. “Who the fuck is Rob!?”

—

There’s a cute blonde boy on Tim’s roof.

Kon had been bored, milling around the farm after doing his chores for the week and finishing up his homework. He had mostly been slipping in between senses, stretching them far as he relaxed on his little twin bed. His sense of smell wasn’t often used, but he liked smelling the barbeque from the restaurant in town- the down yonder neighbors perfume she likes to wear when she goes to the square dance- the warm sunshine grass being cut by prisoners near the state park. After smell it was hearing echoey while focusing on his friends all over the United States.

The weekday members of the Titans go first, checking all over the tower simply by listening to the soft whispers from that direction. Beast Boy was sleeping, Raven was doing dishes, Starfire seemed to be helping in the kitchen somehow. Cyborg wasn’t there, but that wasn’t too terribly surprising.

Bart’s still in Alabama- he’s with his friends again. Bart usually is surrounded with people, he’s an easy to get along with guy. Max Mercury is there, an event? The group chats happily about going to see some kind of show.

Kon mentally moves on, he’s aware that he’s floating only by the minuscule tug in his mind dedicated to it.

Cassie and Cissie are together. Together. Oh my. Kon moves on fast from that. They have it handled.

(Oh do they have it handled all right. Rigged up by the sounds of it- stop thinking this. No, Kon. Down boy.)

Going through bigger cities with far reaching powers always leaves a tender headache forming in Kon’s mind- right in the middle of his psychic center. It doesn’t hinder him, just makes it a little harder to focus, a little harder to keep track of everything happening where he’s trying to spy. Gotham is the definition of ‘bigger city’- with a lot of pollution to slug through, noise and otherwise.

Finding Tim, specifically, tends to be difficult without being within three hundred miles. Tim’s got a good strong heart, as healthy as he possibly can be, so it should have been easy to pluck him out of a crowd of average bodily sounds but it’s the opposite.

Tim’s unique, yeah sure, but he’s unique in a way that all the rest of his family is too. When Kon’s closer he can hear that Hood’s heart is enlarged, his lungs are damaged from smoking. He can hear that Nightwing has his hair long and it occasionally catches up on a scar on his ear when it swings back and forth. The little demon’s heart is the fastest- as childrens tend to be- and he’s got a small system working overtime to keep up with his actions.

Spoiler’s organs sound the same as a mother’s do, they’ve been squished once and now they’re back in place but not perfect, not anymore. Black Bat’s got the slowest heartbeat of them all, her blood slow in her veins. Batman himself has a major artery in his leg that never healed right after field surgery and it sticks a wet sucking sound every beat of his heart.

Tim’s missing some non-vital stuff, blood doesn’t flow to those areas like it does on everyone else. It’s Kon’s own mark to listen for.

When he’s close.

This far away Kon just checks the locations that the Bat’s hang out in and counts who’s there. The manor holds one- the cave none.

So Kon next listens in Gotham’s street for where he approximately knows Tim lives at, narrows it down from there and-

One in Tim’s home. Music, water, sighs. Tim must be back from his mission.

Kon’s got nothing better to do.

He pulls all his senses in again, slowly recalling them back to baseline. It’s easier on his mind like this, slowly pushing and pulling, than the fast paced whip quick actions he has to pull in the field. He’s not exactly like Superman, his own senses aren’t as sharp as a full Kyrptonian but they’re leagues better than a normal humans. He augments them greatly with his telekinesis.

“Ma!” He shouts to the general vicinity of downstairs, “I’m headed out!”

“Put on a jacket!” She calls back, raising her voice even though she doesn’t need to. “It’s chilly!”

Kon rolls his eyes, but shrugs on one of Clark’s old hand-me-down plaid hunting monstrosities that are all camo accents and thick wool lining. It’s not as cool as his leather one, but he gets recognized too fast in that one, in this one nobody looks at him twice.

The trip is fast, uneventful, and now Kon is ducking behind the often unused poolside patio furniture while a cute blond throws a speaker at his head.

“I’ll call the police!” The dude screams, he’s got another throwable lined up when Kon catches the speaker.

“I should be saying that to you!” Kon screams back. “What the fuck are you doing in Tim’s house!!”

“This is my boyfriend's house!” The blond heaves a patio pillow- Kon ducks behind the round lounger.

Wait, boyfriend? Is this the weird conspiracy guy?

Well that makes sense.

Something shatters against the concrete base of the lounger.

Kon throws his hands up over the circular outdoor bed, palms out, “Wait! Wait! Tim’s boyfriend!? Bernie-something?”

“Don’t call me Bernie!”

Something else shatters against the concrete of the poolside furniture.

“I’m a friend!” Kon is not the one they call to de-escalate situations, in fact he’s been known to make things much worse. Where is Bart when you need him? “I’m Conner! I thought Tim was in! I’m sorry!”

Nothing else meets its fierce end across the back of the questionably comfortable lounger, the only immediate sounds are harsh breathing, the dripping wet slosh of pool water, and the sound of some electronic beat from the abandoned bluetooth speaker.

Kon peaks his head up, slow and cautious, his hands up in the surrender position the entire time.

Kon’s first thought is that Tim has good taste.

The blond is slim, a swimmer build with nice shoulders and tanned skin. Blond hair and wide blue-hazel eyes. Those little blue shorts are much too short, they ride up high on the leg, showing off the boyfriend’s nice soft thighs and a sharp tanline, all while also sagging low on the waist, only hanging on by a tight drawstring and revealing the whole happy trail- a natural blonde, nice Tim, nice.

Kon’s second thought is why.

“Why are you here and not Tim?” Kon has to ask, he’s not moving away from the bar until the boyfriend lowers his phone.

What is this dude's name again? Cassie had only told Kon about seven times.

“Tim’s with his family.” Yikes, those eyes look sharp. Kon only hopes that Tim doesn’t give out kryptonite gifts for anniversaries. “I’m gonna have to see some proof that you're who you say you are- or I really am going to call the police.”

Kon doesn’t have an ID, he doesn’t even really have a legal status outside of his superhero identity. Even his legality of Superboy is more focused on insurance during his fights and selling the rights to his name, not anything that would get put on a proof of identity card.

So Kon slowly, painfully slowly, as slow as the water drops down Bernie-something’s chest, reaches down to his pocket. “I’m getting my phone.” Kon says, as gentle as he can. “I'm getting my phone to show you a picture of Tim, Bart, Cassie and I.”

The boyfriend allows it, he’s holding his phone like he's going to chuck it at speeds faster than Superman himself could obtain so Kon makes sure to try and keep the boyfriend placaiated as Kon opens his phone to the photo’s app, selecting an image with the core four of Young Justice.

Kon flips his phone around, holding it forwards.

The boyfriend stalks forward in a way that definitely tells Kon the kid knows how to fight- probably takes some kind of self defense classes growing up here in Crime Capital- but Kon knows if it does come down to a real fight then the boytoy in the hotpants is outmatched.

Kon surrenders his phone for examination, Bernie-something pulls it close and zooms into the first group shot of all four of the active YJ team that Kon could find.

It was a nice picture, the four of them had finished up that goo-robot-slime battle and retreated to the tower to shower off and eat a pizza each. Cassie had her short hair wet against her forehead, a blanket around her shoulders and an entire slice of pizza in her mouth. Bart’s got sweatpants on that aren’t his, no shirt, and his wild hair is already starting to stick back up out of it’s wet mop as he takes the selfie. Kon’s stealing a slice of pizza from Tim’s box, also without a shirt on but wearing soft flannel bottoms that are his (or maybe a hand-me-down from Clark? whatever), while Tim has a hand on Kon’s forehead and is trying to push him away like a naughty cat.

It was a rare moment- Tim had taken off his mask for once while in Titans Tower and the four of them had nobody to interrupt them.

Kon had it saved recently as the background to his phone.

Bernie-something squints, does a couple of quick movements with his fingers, and then cuts his eyes right back up to make prolonged eye contact.

Kon tries to smile, make a little bit of a better impression on Tim’s boyfriend then he has-

“You’re Superboy.”

Fuck!

Kon hates his life. All four years of it.

“No.” Kon tries to misdirect, tries to put every ounce of midwestern into his face and posture, just like Clark does when people get too close. “People have said that I just have that kind of face-”

“Don’t even try. I know. You’re Superboy.” Bernie-something isn’t smug, or haughty, or proud, he looks just genuinely sort of upset about something. “I recognize your eyes.”

“My eyes?” What an incredibly creepy thing to say, especially when Superboy is known for wearing sunglasses pretty much everywhere.

Boyfriend just winces, like he recognizes that he’s sort of over a line or two somewhere. “Shit. Sorry. Yeah- it’s just- fuck okay- I’m GothamBlond, you facetime me every now and again.”

What.

“What.” Kon manages to squeak out.

Blondie is just looking mildly upset though, like a rug has been pulled out from under him or he didn’t get what he wanted from Santa. “Did Tim use some weird connection and do this to make me happy?” He asks, he hands Kon’s phone back with a huff. “I’m not actually that pathetic am I?”

Kon’s lost. He’s so lost. He could star in a six season TV show about how Lost he is.

Bernie-Boyfriend-Blondie just puts his hands on his hips and turns back towards the pool. “Whatever Tim bribed you with, consider it null. I am not going to be placated with a fake friendship here, I do have standards. I know that Tim’s got some weird crime-mafia stuff going on with whatever him and his family does, but I don’t need to …” Blondie gestures with his hands, encompassing all of Kon’s self. “I don’t need him to use his family-crime connections to keep me happy. You tell him that.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You think Tim set this up?” Kon asks, confused, lost, maybe buying into the theory that Tim had something to do with all this after all. Robin was a slick son of a bitch like that.

“How else would this have happened?!” With that, the Boyfriend takes one more step, just off the side of the concrete, starting to fall downwards and not even bothering to fight gravity-

Kon’s moving without thinking, faster than the eye can blink.

He’s holding Bernard by the wrist, feet planted and solid against the slick concrete pool deck. Kon’s TTK has latched on, racing up Bernard like a madman and holding him tight against the fall of gravity, against the air around him.

The neon lights of Gotham shine up around them, too close, way too close, the sun has long set so it’s just the cyber-noir of Gotham’s downtown lighting the scene, lighting up the space between them, catching on Bernard’s wide blue-hazel eyes and lighting them up. Bernard’s blond hair floats gently, like he’s in water, like the water he was falling into.

Kon’s an idiot.

“Sorry!” Kon lets go, his TTK snapping, stuttering back to himself as fast as Kon can make it.

Bernard falls, landing in the pool with a splash.

--

Tim unlocks his apartment with four movements, easy and fast and well practiced. One to undo the actual door lock, another to turn on his specific house settings for when he’s worn out from fighting some sort of chemical and needs to be checked up on electronically during the night, another movement to alert various people that he’s home and safe, and one more to turn off settings that keep guests from unknowingly opening up the very locked armories.

He’s been wrung out dealing with an Ivy outbreak, the woman hadn’t taken the renovations of the Wayne Botanical Gardens very well and it showed in all of the family being recruited to deal with her plant-zombies. Tim hopes to never have to peel another green face hugger off of a poor security guard.

He walks into his safe, nice, warm, dark, clean apartment that only has a handful of hardy plants- clean?

Was … had Tim lost track of that much time that the nice cleaning ladies had come by again? No. No he had double checked the date just two days ago, Elisha and Emily weren’t scheduled to come by for another three days.

Had one of his siblings broken into his house? Tim would kill them if they had.

Well, maybe not kill. He’d do something awful to their shampoo or something.

Jason’s hair is super easy to put a bright neon pink highlight in, that bundle of white at his forehead changes with just one wash.

Tim throws his bag onto his couch, the crunch of equipment gets a wince, but Tim’s going to deal with all of that tomorrow.

He’s halfway to his bedroom when he sees it.

There, on his balcony, through the glass wall that faces Gotham Bay, highlighted by the backdrop of bright commercial old school neon lights were the two stars of Tim’s wet dreams.

Older ones, when Tim was younger and just growing into Robin, was Kon. Those ones were vague, confusing, and Tim did his best not to think too hard about any of them when he had woken from them. He’s wearing some kind of disgusting red plaid camo combination but he’s got on those black ripped up skinny jeans that weren’t new when he bought them. His entire front was wet, his hair curling with the dripping water. Kon’s got two hands up, the expression on his face sheepish with his cupid’s bow on full cute display.

Bernard is the star of the newer ones, all lean torso and soft unscarred skin and sweet kisses unhurried and unworried. Blond hair spread around like a halo on a pillow and a red mouth saying Tim’s name over and over. Now Bernard drips water onto the balcony, shirtless, with those soft thighs on display wearing a European style swimsuit that’s way too thin for anybody to actually wear into water.

Boy, is this some kind of new meaning of wet dream. Wet Hallucination?

Ivy never uses the lust pollen when Damian’s on scene, when Tim was younger Ivy actually pulled her entire troops back and yelled at Batman for a solid three minutes about letting children get into the way of aerosolized bio-weapons before handing over the antidote and spraying Tim liberally with it.

She hadn’t used the airborne lust powder in years, and sure Tim might be considered aged out of the ‘child’ range for it (Ivy had known of Tim’s existence as Robin for five years, she has to know he ages chronologically even with his perpetual baby face), but Damian’s still very much too young for that kind of thing for anybody to be comfortable.

Well, okay getting a whammy of lust dust when one was surrounded by family was never comfortable, but-

Tim’s going to stop thinking about that now.

The lust pollen wasn’t normally wasn’t delayed like this, waiting patiently for Tim to get back to his home to mess with his system.

Now there’s just one hell of a view to take in.

Kon’s talking, focused on Bernard, both of them shining and dripping with pool water. Kon’s on the side of the deck, running a hand through his hair, and Bernard’s sitting on the side, with one leg dangling in the water and looking up at Kon as he nods and talks back.

“Nice.” Tim says to himself, barely a whisper.

If this is something his mind had addled up, hopped up on some kind of drug coursing through his system, then damn good on Tim for having such an amazing imagination like this. Tim fishes in his back pocket, digging up his phone and snapping a quick picture.

The picture looks perfect.

Hmm.

If he was hallucinating the picture wouldn’t match what he was seeing exactly, not right away at least, if it was even there on his screen at all.

Real?

No way.

Well. If it was something designed to kill him through some kind of crazed lust addled haze, then Tim’s already got his system primed and ready to alert everyone within a hundred miles to come and save him if he goes into cardiac arrest.

Might as well enjoy the ride.

--

“I totally wasn’t thinking.” Kon apologizes once again. “I see people jump and-”

“I get it. I get it.” Bernard’s wiping off the water from his eyes. “I was just cold and getting back into the water for a second.”

(Kon had seen too many people jump off of too many things, from people who didn’t want to be saved to his teammates who jumped and hoped that somebody could catch them. Had seen the aftermath of the people he had been too late with.)

(Bernard had been cold, the Gotham night chill had been settling in and stealing all of the heat from his exposed skin. The pool water was warm and steaming. He had unthinkingly taken a step so he’d fall.)

“Tim didn’t set up our meeting.” Kon winces at how awkward it comes out, all at once, stomping over subtly and discretion.

“I’m not stupid.” Bernard really isn’t, “People like me just don’t stumble on superheroes.”

(People like Bernard get laughed at, snickering goes on behind his back when he gets lost in his theories and his ideas and his daydreams. He reads the comments, he can hear when people call him crazy, actual heroes must look down on him, working with the scraps the media gave him and trying to extrapolate data.)

(Kon didn’t laugh. Well, he did, but Kon knows all of the ins and outs of the behind the scenes and he still doesn’t know what people think as well as Bernard might. Kon gave those interviews, and doesn’t know what he said in them. Not like Bernard does.)

“You might be surprised how many people stumble across us.” Kon doesn’t know what to do, he’s so out of his depth here. “People from the middle of nowhere don’t expect me to be in their class, do they? They expect me to be somebody big and important and not doing something as stupid as failing English class because I can’t figure out symbolism in the Great Gatsby.”

Bernard can’t help himself, exhales a breathless single bitter laugh. “You’re just a person. Just like the rest of us, it took a while but I figured out that much all on my own.”

(Is he? Kon’s not so sure himself.)

(He is. Bernard can’t be more sure of it.)

Kon’s head cocks, his eyes go unfocused.

Bernard makes a soft questioning noise.

“About time you noticed me.”

Bernard whips around, heart stuttering in his chest as he lets out a surprised noise.

Kon’s not as surprised, just straightening up and focusing on where his friend stands by the glass doorway.

Tim’s wearing some comfort clothes, washed out grays and some joggers that were at one point red, none of this outfit originally his. He looks worn down, sharp cheekbones with only a hint of some kind of residue on them, a shy hint of a smile as his too-big shirt drips off his shoulder.

“Tim!” Bernard’s pulling out of the pool, standing in a fluid motion. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long.” Tim moves forward, stripping himself out of that too loose shirt. He drops it on the concrete of the balcony, letting it crumple into a puddle of nothing. He moves like he always does, like he learned how to be a human by looking at pictures and copying the single moments in time, jerking from position to position with no fluidity or pauses. A stuttering, buffering, beautiful image in full-time high definition. There’s a kind of grace to it, if you were the kind of person attracted to otherness, to things that aren’t right at first glance.

(Kon likes the way Robin moves, all coiled grace and dangerous sharpness and wicked quickness. Tim moves like no human ever should be able to, a unique specimen who grew up with nobody to teach him otherwise. It made him feel less alone out there, in a world not made for him.)

(Bernard likes the way Tim moves, all marionette strung and brutal efficiency and neverending stillness. Tim moves like nobody Bernard has ever watched, something different to the people that paid not a second glance to poor old weird Bernard. It makes something deep inside of him feel validated, like something finally smoothed over in his soul.)

Tim cups a hand on Kon’s shoulder, Tim’s always pretty warm because of how in shape he is, but Tim’s hands only land fleetingly on Kon, they go like magnets to Bernard's hips. Tim kisses Bernard, just a soft chaste one, before burrowing his head into his boyfriend's collar bone, nosing at his neck.

Bernard reacts, startled, one of his own hands sliding around Tim’s ribs and resting lightly on Tim’s lower back. “Tim, babe?” The other one goes to wipe water ladden bangs out of Bernard’s eyes. “I have to know, why did you do this? How did you do this?”

Tim just burrows deeper. He makes a little questioning noise in the back of his throat.

[This is his hallucination, why is it questioning him?]

A whisper, so soft, right into Tim’s ear. “Why did you set all this up?”

“I’m telling you- Ro-Tim didn’t do anything.” Kon tries, he gets close enough to touch Tim’s back. “I swear whatever you’re thinking isn’t what happened. It’s a coincidence-”

“I’m not a fucking moron.” Bernard snaps, bitter and sharp, he’s still got an arm around Tim’s waist though, warm and wet. “Nothing’s a coincidence nowadays, everything is wrapped up in one big horrible mess. There’s all these strings attached to big names and I know I’m not one of them.”

[This is Tim’s hallucination, god when did he get so cynical? Even his subconscious knows that everything crumbles around him.]

(Kon doesn’t know how to say that his really was just astronomical luck, that Bernard fell into Robin long before he fell into Superboy.)

(Bernard’s anger is rising, even with Tim in his arms and the claiming presence of his boyfriend’s too expensive cologne. He can connect the dots, he’s been connecting unravel frayed ends of nothing for years.)

“It’s not that deep?” Kon tries.

Bernard flares his nostrils in pure anger, there’s a rising unholy storm in his chest and he’s got nowhere to direct it at the moment. Those blue-hazel eyes are full of poison and they’re ready to kill.

“I genuinely didn’t .” Tim mumbles from where he’s pressed up against the column of Bernard's throat, he doesn’t say it more so he mouths it into Bernard’s skin. “I thought you were getting played when you told me you might have stumbled into a superhero online.”

Kon turns “You knew?!”

Of course Tim knows, Tim knows everything, it’s his job to know everything he can about the people around him, at all moments. There’s nothing he’s not prepharily aware of. But he still doesn’t need to believe anything he hears.

[This is his fantasy, why is it going so turncoat on him?]

“Ivy’s pollen doesn’t normally play out like this.” Tim mumbles to himself, maybe he needs a system reset?

“Ivy?” Kon’s hands are instant on Tim’s shoulder blades. “Tim, you ran into Ivy tonight?”

Bernard's arms tighten, even against the faint pull of a force he can’t see trying to separate them. “Tim?! You ran into who tonight?”

[Tim needs the pollen off of him, to start cleaning it out of his system in case he’s just having minor hallucinations and there’s actually people around him out here. Somebody’s trying to peel Tim away from whoever’s wearing Bernard’s face, the way that it’s happening, all at once with even pressure all around screams Kon’s work, his TTK working on separation.]

Tim sighs, deeply.

Kon distantly says “I don’t smell decontamination on you.”

“I didn’t need it.” Tim fights against the TTK, ignoring it as he tucks himself closer, further into Bernard’s wet warmth. “She didn’t do anything to us-”

“Sorry, Blondie, hold your breath.”

“What is going on!?”

Tim manages to get in one sharp breath before he gets pushed into the pool.

--

Bernard’s not sure, exactly, what's going on anymore.

“You’re not a part of the criminal underworld of Gotham?” Bernard has to ask again.

They’re sitting on the couch, all three of them, the lights under the kitchen cabinets are dimmed low and the water drips onto the polished concrete from all three of them.

Kon’s taken off his sopping wet clothing, his jacket down to his boots, and has borrowed some of his own clothing he keeps here. Bernard’s got one of Tim’s fluffy bath towels around his shoulders, the penthouse isn’t cold enough to be worried about wet hair and Bernard’s hair isn’t long enough to bother. Tim stripped down to his compression strap, and his dry shirt he had taken off before he got pushed, a towel wrapped around his head.

“No, I’m not.” Tim keeps their hands laced together, “I, nor any of my family, have any criminal connections in the city of Gotham. We’re on the good guys side here, we’ve publicly gone against criminals in the past- both the crime families and the supervillains.”

“Then how do you know Superboy?”

Tim looks at Conner, Conner looks at Tim. Tim’s been expressly forbidden from talking about his secret identity until Bernard’s proven himself for the safety of the entire Bat Colony. Conner knows too much here, a position that he’s never been accused of before, and he’s not sure what to do with it.

Bernard’s not finished with his questions though.

“Why did you interact with Ivy tonight? Why do you disappear for long hours, can’t tell me where you or your siblings are, and are covered in scars? What the hell explains all that outside of the Wayne’s being a crime syndicate?”

“I knew Tim when he was thirteen.” Kon’s not touching either of them, he’s curled up tight on the loveseat. “I caught him when he was falling. We became friends afterwards.”

Bernard gives Kon that look again, one that can peel paint. “When he was falling?”

Tim squeezes his fingers against Bernards. “We can’t elaborate.”

Bernard’s jaw tightens, his angry gaze flips to his boyfriend.

“Not unless you figure it out yourself.” Kon cuts in, desperate for this to go right somehow. “We can’t elaborate because it’s not just us.” A motion with both hands, between Tim and himself. “It involves a lot of people needing to be kept safe from people who might not have good intentions.”

Silence, a beat, two.

Bernard’s gaze flips between them both, before finally landing on Tim. “Is this meant to convince me you’re not in a crime ring somehow and have blackmail on Superboy and are trying to keep me happy by making me make friends with him?”

“I had no meddling with your two’s interaction over the past few months, no.”

Bernard exhales, all at once, “You’re using your boardroom meeting voice.”

“It sort of feels like one, doesn’t it?” For that, Tim gets a sharp pinch to the back of his hand. He hisses, but doesn’t retract their laced fingers.

“You said it yourself earlier, Blondie, People like you just don’t stumble on superheroes.” Kon’s hair curls wet from where he fished out the two of them from the pool after he had pushed them in to get potential pollen off. He looks like a marble statue curled up in that loveseat, hisvoice steel.

“You sought us out, all on your own, you recognized something in us and you came right up to where we were and made you our friend. You didn’t stumble unknowingly onto a secret, you found yourself in a position to learn it gracefully.”

Bernard curls his fingers around Tim’s a little more securely, their grip is so tight that the tips of their fingers are white from it. “You said ‘us’.”

The pieces snap into place.

All of them, the late nights, the missed phone calls, the spotty texts, the bruises and scars, the muscles, the easy way that Tim is so mind-numbingly aware of his position in space, at all times, the way he makes no sound as he moves, even the way he moves. The whispered sweet promises that Tim would beg Bernard in the dark with, always laced with some kind of bitter that Bernard never could place- not until now.

Bernard lets go of Tim’s hand.

--

The morning is awkward.

Tim had enough rooms for them all to sleep separately, they needed to have space after last night.

(“You lied to me! Laughed at my theories.”)

[“Never.”]

Bernard still wakes up in the early hours of the day, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and cracking his shoulders as he pops on up out of the guest room. There’s another person in the open space that serves as the living room/kitchen area, face turned to the rising sun and curled up in the same position that Bernard and Tim had left him in last night. It looks like he hasn’t moved an inch.

Superboy, Conner, Kon.

“Did you think it all over?” Kon asks, voice rough still from screaming at them both to calm down.

“I understand why he didn’t tell me.” Bernard does, really, he gets it. This isn’t some game that everybody gets to go home happy at the end of the day with smiles and sunshine. The good guy doesn’t alway win, the scars across Tim’s body are a testament to the fact that he survived, that white line across Tim’s throat wasn’t from surgery, like Bernard, like everybody at school had assumed, Tim had been out there, bleeding out into the gravel of some random rooftop, and Bernard just never knew about it. “That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

Kon just nods, a little movement of his head. “He didn’t tell us either.”

This surprises Bernard, genuinely. “What?”

A huff of a laugh. “It was a real sore spot between him and the rest of the younger superheroes at the time. I didn’t have a name to give, and I was genuinely upset about somebody having two, three, out there and refusing to give us something real to call him.”

“You- you didn’t have a name?” Bernard has to ask, that was something that nobody ever mentioned on the forums.

The fridge gets opened, there’s an assortment of delivered food boxes in here, from that rich person meal service. Tim’s on a two person plan because he eats and eats but never seems to gain any weight- oh. Right.

Bernard grabs a hold of a few ingredients for a nice four person breakfast and glances at the instructions.

“I didn’t have a name for a long time.” Kon’s right there, suddenly only three feet away. “Why would they bother naming something that’s only going to go crazy eventually? Here, let me help.”

Kon takes the egg catron out of Bernard's hands, six of them, two for each person. “How do you like your eggs?”

“What the fuck is your life?” Bernard has to ask the same question he had yelled over and over again last night in a fit of emotions.

Kon just shrugs, nonchalant, easy, like he couldn’t kill a good amount of people by misfiring his powers just one time. “It’s what I’m used to, I guess. How do you like your eggs?”

“Fried.” Bernard answers, because what else do you do?

Superboy is in pajamas, making eggs, and apparently has been real actual no-holds-bar friends with Bernard for the past three months, and friends with Bernard's boyfriend, who is Robin, for much longer. Bernard has run past ‘strange’ and ‘abnormal’ ages ago, he’s diving into the deep end of ‘unbelievable’.

Kon just nods, easy as ever, finds a pan without having to search around, and gets to work.

--

Tim woke up to the smell of cooked goodies.

He groans as he scrunches up tighter in his twisted sheets. He hadn’t slept well last night, no duh, and because of that he wants another hour or two of blissful nonexistence.

The sounds of music coming from his living room, alongside the smells of breakfast tell his body otherwise. Fuck.

Tim dips a leg off the bed, tapping the cold polished concrete floors and retreating back into his warm happy hideaway. It takes another buildup of courage, but Tim finally gets one foot on the floor, then the other, then he slides out of bed more so than rising as one is meant to do.

Tim’s wearing a comforter on his head, his underwear he hadn’t bothered to change out of last night, and a shirt that was older than he is when he plods into the communal space.

The window wall overlooking the bay is very pretty at night, dangerous and sharp and noir, but in the light of day everything softens and all of the secrets are laid bare. There’s towels thrown on the floor, water stains on the polished concrete, smears of fingerprints on the glass patio doors and coffee table. It looks messy, lived in, more human and more able to be hurt.

The music comes from Tim’s bluetooth speaker, placed on the kitchen island and blaring out top forty hits. Kon’s at the stove, he’s the best cook the Titans have at the moment, and Bernard is pulling out plates for the three of them, gathering up silverware and napkins.

Disgustingly domestic.

But nice. Tim takes in the scene in front of him, sure as anything that this was real, both of his favorite people in his home using his things and moving around one another with a sure kind of grace. Tim would ruin this, he knows it, there’s nothing he doesn’t touch that he doesn’t ruin eventually. The law of entropy guarantees that there’s no permanence in life after all.

Tim tucks the comforter a little more securely around his shoulders, a little more like his cape, and makes his footsteps heard against the polished concrete floors.

Bernard looks up, ears turning red. Kon doesn’t, eyes trained on the stove, on the egg’s he's making (scrambled for himself, sunnyside up for Tim, Bernard likes his fried).

“Welcome to the morning.” Bernard moves to meet Tim in the middle of the living room space.

Tim freezes, unsure, his hands curl into his cape- his comforter, his grip pilling the material taut.

Bernard’s eyes are red, glassy, he doesn’t look like he’s slept well. Kon’s in the background, looking at them both, an expression that that is hesitant, unsure, wanting.

“Happy to be here.” Tim says to him, soft as he can, treading lightly on eggshells already broken.

Bernard’s expression collapses, going from something wound tight and unsure and hesitant to something much more fond, much more confident.

Reaching up, Bernard places his hands on Tim’s, right at the base of Tim’s collar bones, lacing their fingers together.

Tim squeezes, one, gentle.

Bernard squeezes back, desperate, wild.

Neither one of them let's go.

--

From then on out, Bernard is blindingly, stupidly happy.

He doesn’t ask his boyfriend about superheroes, because Tim can’t tell him anything, but he does suddenly get autographs and pictures that flood his phone like nothing before. Pictures of Titans Tower, the Watchtower, various hideouts with tech on the walls that cost more than Bernard’s parents house, Robin (the newest one), Nightwing, the Red fucking Hood.

The three of them just grow closer, chat more, share secrets, hang out.

Even when Bernard gets shaky pictures from Kon he still can’t really believe it all. Bernard knows that this is Tim, in the pictures that he saves, but there’s something that the mask does with the cheekbones, with the arch of Tim’s nose, with his browline, that changes the shape of it into something unrecognizable.

Even now, with Bernard sawing his way through zip ties in a room filled with other young slim blondes, he looks up to see Red Robin and it doesn’t connect in his mind that the crouched dangers of the shadows up there is somebody who Bernard has seen falling asleep in a salad.

“Heroes are here.” somebody whispers to the ceiling, words like a prayer in this dirty dockside cathedral.

Bernard snaps the zip ties on his wrists just in time for the first one to drop down.

Both Robins are here, the smaller one goes for the youngest ones first, a not-so-small knife sliding through the binds like butter. Red darts to the older ones in the room, whispering for the people he frees to take care of the younger ones as they get out of here, to hold hands with them so nobody gets lost.

Robin, the elder, gets to Bernard and doesn’t even falter, rubs a gloved thumb across Bernard’s red wrists for the briefest of seconds then goes to cut the ties on his ankles. “Take one of the younger ones when you get out of here.” The voice was modulated, electronic overlays on a deep echo, unrecognizable, “Robin’s going to lead you out of here, there’s commissioner Gordon and his most trusted men in unmarked vehicles two blocks away from here. They’ll take you home.”

“They need to take me to my boyfriend’s.” Bernard manages to get out. “I was on my way to his house when I got grabbed.”

“Two days ago. Your parents must be worried.” Even the way that Red Robin moves is different than Tim in every way, there’s not even an attempt to hide the way that he pops and jerks and twists like the world's worst stop motion animation, no in-between frame to smooth out his animation, not like the sleek deadly slow movements of the younger one, flowing into one another like fabric.

“I can call them-”

“Go home.” Red Robin smoothes a thumb over the red marks on Bernard's ankle, the drag of the rough grips on Bernard's skin makes him shiver.

Bernard nods, rolling his ankles twice before he hops up to go pick a younger blonde out of the crowd of twenty or so in the dirty room.

Sure enough, within twenty minutes Bernard is in Officer Rodriguez’s car with four other kids and is being driven home.

Bernard wants his phone, so he can text people and let everyone know he’s alright. So he can text Tim and let Tim know that Bernard wants to see him in costume for real, actually, in lights where he can appreciate it on his boyfriend's lean body.

Well, there is one friend who he can still contact, easy as he pleases.

So Bernard inhales, there’s a lot of sound in this vehicle as six people all occupy the same space and start to get out their grief. He whispers, low, pressed against the window in the middle seats of the van. “Kon, hey, I’m okay.”

No answer, he didn’t expect one. “Text Red Robin, tell him I wanna see his whole costume one of these days. I wanna see your costume too, up close, is it made out of spandex? Kevlar? Something else entirely?”

Two siblings get dropped off. Their parents are crying when they see the car out front of the gate.

“Everyone else okay back there?” Rodriguez asks, “Nobody needs anything? We’re dropping off Miss Sarah next.”

Everybody gives back affirmatives, they’re okay, they wanna get home.

So they get back to listening to the radio, to idle chatter, to talking about how to deal with this and how Wayne Enterprises offers therapy for victims of crimes for up to six months.

So Bernard turns back into the window, watches the streets fly by, “Kon, is it weird to ask to see you both in costume, and ask to inspect you guys? I sort of need to see your zipper- I’ve never seen a visible zipper on anybody and I have to know how you guys get in and out of them.”

A preteen in the back starts to cry, big wracking sobs. The car slows to a stop and the girl who’s sobbing big gulping breaths darts out into her dad’s waiting arms. The two of them cry together, on the stoop.

Rodriguez secures the door again, making a note of the address and who was home and what kind belonged to who so he could come get a statement later. “Next one is gonna be Mr. Daniel, then Mr. Bernard you’re up, okay?”

The car ride is boring, all of them live in the same suburban area right outside of Gotham, Burnside. Apparently, according to the people who were going to sell them, the kids who didn’t live on the streets were of a higher quality than the ones who did.

“Kon, when I get home, save me?” Bernard asks. “My parents aren’t going to let me out until I graduate from the retirement home.”

--

Bernard does get grounded, which is irritating. His mother and father love him, sure, but they have an overprotective streak miles and miles wide and when they got scared they put Bernard on house arrest.

So Bernard opens a window, squints down at the two story drop, and debates whether or not he’s able to make the leap without serious damage.

“Need a hand?”

Bernard doesn’t startle, he’s getting better at not jumping, when Kon just appears. Sure enough, there’s a Superboy leaning against the window frame, easy with windblown hair and thick arms crossed across a large ‘S’ crest all topped off with a leather jacket. He’s floating midair, easy as anything, and Bernard loves it.

“I can’t get any more grounded.” Bernard says with a smile and holds out his hand.

Superboy’s wearing red gloves, backless, ones that go high on his wrist. They’re not at all like the rough grip pads of Red Robin, they’re soft and easy to hold.

Flying is nothing like Bernard’s ever experienced before. Superboy’s only done this once or twice, when Bernard needs to get back home fast, but this time it’s slow and easy, over the rows and rows of American Suburbia and then Gotham River. Bernard gets held by the waist, his own arms thrown over Kon’s neck and his legs hooked into the back of Kon’s knees. They break through the low hanging clouds, cold and wet and windy.

The sun’s bright up here, brilliant as it rises over the city.

It makes Kon light up in gold, his dark hair turn fire-red, an emblem of something that belongs up here, in the light, in the sun displayed for all to see.

He’s beautiful. All soft shy smiles unlike anything he shows to the public. Hair curling and unnatural blue just a little too bright.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Be still, beating heart, you’re not the main character of some trashy dimestore romance novel. You’ve already won the boyfriend lottery, don’t go lusting after some new shiny boy.

The balcony of Tim’s penthouse comes too fast, Bernard untangles himself from the warmth that is Superboy’s embrace, getting his feet under him and letting go of Superboy’s shoulders.

Bernard’s almost fully out of Kon’s embrace when he turns, eyes catching in the reflection of the glass wall.

They look … good together, like this, close and bathed in gold with the backdrop of a city of darkness behind them. Bernard’s eye catches something in the blackness behind the glass, something that’s not at all draped in glittery light, eyes flashing like a predator, hungry.

Red Robin, behind the window, the only thing visible is the white lenses of his eyes.

Bernard swallows, thickly, suddenly everything’s a little too hot, a little too real. He tries to cut his eyes away, pull them out of the blank nothingness that surrounds Red Robin, the blackness that cuts the light of everyone outside.

The thing Bernard sees when he looks away at just a glance, eyes flicking away, for just a second, is that Bernard wasn’t the only one looking.

Kon’s eyes meet his, like they both had seen Red Robin lurking and had tried to pull away, kids caught in the candy jar.

Bernard untangles himself completely, arms pulling away, feeling cold. Kon looks sheepish, the tips of his ears red, they both fumble the patio door, hesitant to touch one another after being caught by-

The air in the penthouse is just right, a perfect ambient temperature. It’s dark in here though, Bernard’s never thought about how easily the Bats blend in and out of the shadows, but looking right at Red Robin and still seeing only the impression of a human is impressive on so many levels.

Tim moves forward, meeting Bernard halfway.

Red Robin snatches Bernard’s wrist out of the air, quick, bringing the soft skin to his exposed mouth.

Tim kisses the underside of Bernard’s wrist, where the red lines of the zip ties still shows. “I was worried.” Tim tells him, face hidden by a mask that gives away no emotions.

Bernard flushes, red, red, red. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He pulls his wrist away, twisting so he has a hand on the side of Tim’s face and pulls Tim to him. Bernard presses himself to his boyfriend, shoulder to hip, feels the hard lines of armour underneath the weave of something rough, the bulky belt full of wonders, and he kisses him.

Something sharp, something that proves to Bernard that he’s alive, and okay. No teeth, this isn’t a punishment, this is something that Bernard wants to keep in his memory forever.

Tim inhales, a little breath against Bernard’s lip, then deepens the kiss into something dirty.

Bernard gasps, he needs the air that’s been stolen from him, and Red Robin pushes forward, crushing Bernard to him, worried, reassuring himself, panting.

Kon coughs, and Bernard blearly blinks to where he stands, sort of awkwardly to the side.

Red in the face, not just his ears anymore, but across tanned cheeks. Kon’s looking away, but in a way that’s guilty, a way that means before he had made a noise he had been watching.

Maybe … maybe Bernard was the main character in a trashy dimestore romance novel. He just needs his bodress to be ripped in a distracting manner, and then it’ll all come together.

But Bernard and Red Robin pull away from one another, Tim only barely letting go of Bernard’s hips. “Sorry.” Tim says, voice rough, modulated, low and echoey still. “I sort of forgot you were there, Conner.”

Kon’s blush gets even worse, somehow, “You dirty liar.”

--

The lights are on, the Red Robin costume looks strange in the light of day, all black lines and dark red accents with gold-colored metal here and there to shine, to connect him with the rest of the vigilantes who run around Gotham. Superboy looks perfectly natural in the stark clear lighting, he’s colored brightly for a reason after all.

Bernard works on Superboy’s costume first, asking question after question after being sworn to secrecy and peeled away from his boyfriend. “It’s not spandex?”

“No.” Kon doesn’t laugh, Bernard doesn’t like it when they laugh at his questions. “It’s been through a lot of iterations, but currently besides the leather parts I have the same tailor as superman.”

Bernard stretches the material that’s at Kon’s waist, pinching and dragging it.

Red Robin’s perched up on the couch, curled up in a ball, and almost asleep where he rests his head on his knees.

The material has small hexagons on it, smaller than a thumbnail, and they seem to shift around as Bernard looks at them, moves the skintight costume around. “It seems pretty thin?”

“It is pretty thin.” Kon reaches up, hooks a finger into the high collar at his throat and pulls, stretching out the black and flipping over the material to show the thickness. “But it doesn’t tear easily- we wear it because we can get thrown through buildings and it holds up against the beating.”

Bernard slips his own fingers between Kon’s skin and the collar, tugging all around. “How do you get in and out? I don’t feel a zipper.”

Kon brings a hand to the crest, the ‘S’ shield that every hero of the ‘super’ name wears. “I have to take it off mentally.”

“Mentally?”

Kon twists his fingers, just a bit, and the whole suit shudders as the hexagons react to the movement. Bernard watches, in real time, as the hexagons layer in on themselves and pull themselves to the shield.

It leaves Kon holding a small, palm sized crest, and wearing the leather jacket and gloves. He gives Bernard the ‘S’ shield to hold while he undoes the buckles on his bag that he’s got strapped to his- now bare- thigh. Thank god he’s wearing black briefs. “That’s it, that’s how the costume works.”

Bernard presses down on the crest in his hand, but nothing happens. It feels like trying to press his fingertips into a metal emblem. There’s nothing that would suggest it’s not something any random person could buy in a hot topic.

“Does it feel good, knowing the secret?” Tim mumbles into his own knees, sleepy, happy and content.

“It feels like I still haven’t figured anything out.” Bernard admits. “I know now, sure, but like, do I know anymore than I started with? Not really. I just feel more confused.”

“My costume’s nothing like his.” Tim rolls his head just a bit, pressing a cheek into his own shoulder and showing off a clear seam line on the side of his neck. “Earth-made, but nearly as hard to get off.”

“Do you have to do some weird magic too?”

Tim huffs a bit of air, a half-laugh breaking free. “Nope, just tasers and knockout gas.”

Bernard jerks his hand back from where he’s been inching towards the zipper.

Rolling his eyes, Kon moves forward and puts his own fingers on Red Robin’s neck. “Here- watch how I do it, you might need to get him out of this one day.”

Bernard hopes that day is sooner rather than later. Then it hits that Kon was talking about injury, not sexy times, and it puts a bit of a damper on things.

But not to worry, everything revs right back up to full speed when Kon tugs Bernard to be right in between his arms- “Here’ I’ll help you find the right slots for this, gimme your hands-” and suddenly Bernard can feel the warmth of Superboy through the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, pressed chest to back, with Kon’s chin hooked over Bernard’s shoulder to see and curling around Bernard’s fingers to press them against Tim’s throat.

Tim unfolds for them, dropping his legs and leaning back on the couch, tilting his head back to allow Superboy to teach his boyfriend out to open him up, to peel him out of the suit. Bernard wants to ask why Kon knows this, why Kon is so intimate with how the Red Robin suit works, and figures that Kon probably has had to peel Tim out of them more than once due to injuries or drugs or-

“If you just go for his zipper it’ll shock you.” Kon says, low into Bernard’s ear. “There's multiple ways to get around this, but the easiest is the one that Tim uses to get out of his own costume, when he’s not got any help.” Kon slips Bernard’s fingers on the opposite side of the zipper, right against Tim’s artery, the slow beat of Tim’s pulse hypnotic.

“There, you feel it? There's a pad that registers Tim’s heartbeat here, you need to pull it away from his skin a bit, disrupt it registering his heartbeat, that will disable the shock in the zipper.”

Bernard does, feel it, a little warm gel square about the size of a dime. Kon tugs both it and Bernard's finger away from Tim’s skin.

Kon directs Bernard’s other hand to Tim’s zipper, and it takes a second or two to flip open the velcro zipper cover and take hold of the reinforced industrial metal zipper.

Bernard drags it down, feeling how heavy the armour that Tim’s encased in, how protective it is. Feels how hard it is to tug the metal tab down.

Bernard gets to Tim’s collar bones, when Kon stops him again. “There’s another failsafe here, there’s about five in total for this main zipper, two on the belt, and one on the cape.”

Bernard can feel the vibrations of Kon’s voice through where they’re pressed together.

Kon’s hands guide Bernards once again, curling Bernards fingers into the exposed section of Tim’s neck- to Tim’s sharp collar bones and finding the divot between them. Tim hums, a sly little shy smile on his face, Bernard can feel when Tim makes any sort of noise with his knuckles, where they’re pressed close, intimate. There’s another small gell square here, pressed tight against the divot between Tim’s collar bones.

Bernard peels it up and away from where it sits, skin warm.

“Yeah, just like that. See? Easy.” Kon says, low and soft and directly into Bernard's ear.

Tim’s zipper goes down a little more, from collar to the end of his pectorals.

“I can take off my own belt.” Tim says, his facial expression can’t be seen through his mask, but his lips are red bitten. Tim’s hands move to the sides, thumbs going down, but Kon moves, just a little bit, and as soon as Kon’s knee touches the couch Tim freezes.

“Cheating.” Tim breathes the word, even as his own hands move up and away from his belt, moving unlinke Tim has ever moved before, fluid and easy, placed on either side of his head, held down by something invisible.

“This is a teaching moment, Timbo.” Kon sing-songs, dangerous, too close, “I can’t have you interrupting.”

The new position puts Bernard very much in between the two of them, core shaking with the effort to hold himself up and away from a suit that could shock him senseless. Kon’s got to be cheating, has to be, with how curved he is, both knees on either side of Tim’s kneepads with Bernard trapped between them. Bernard wants to drop down, right into Tim’s lap, to take the strain off of his core, but that feels like losing.

Bernard desperately doesn’t want to lose right now.

“The belt comes off not at the buckle, if you try the buckle it shocks you, sprays knockout gas that activates within fifteen seconds and will keep you out for at least twelve hours.” Kon moves Bernard's hands to Tim’s sides, Tim breathes fast, head still tilted back.

On the sides, slightly to the back, there’s two places to put thumbs in, slots that have hard buttons that need to be pushed at the same time. The two buttons release the buckle, and the belt falls heavy to either side.

“What is in that?” Bernard has to wonder, eyes wide, mouth open.

Tim smiles, smirks. Dangerous.

“Everything, ever.” Kon rolls his eyes and tugs the belt away. It moves like a rock across the couch, settling on the cushion to the right of them. “They're all rather proud of it, don’t be impressed it only gives them bigger heads.”

“I want to be impressed.” Bernard presses back against Kon, against his unmovable chest. “The question is how impressed can I get?”

Kon inhales, ragged. “Christ.”

Tim’s still got his head tipped back, hands held by where Kon’s got them held down somehow. His breath comes heaving fast and he’s straining against the hold.

Kon moves fast, hands moving around Tim doubletime. His instructions are hurried, fast, fingers curled around Bernard’s and putting them directly where they need to go.

Tim’s outfit comes off pieces at a time, pulling away like unwrapping a present.

When Tim’s down to just his armoured leggings, kneecaps, and boots, Kon pulls away entirely, knees coming up off the sofa as Kon backs away, leaving Bernard’s back cold.

Tim is freed, and he’s fast.

Tim’s hands ripped off his gauntlets, unhook his elbow pads with quick ease, and his legs went out and hooked behind Kon’s knees, making Bernard overbalance and fall into his boyfriend's lap. Both of them gasp, grinding down against the sensation that floods their nerves.

“Don’t you go anywhere.” Tim hisses, his hands are grabbing onto Bernard's shirt to rip it off, but his eyes don’t leave Kon. “I’ll kill you if you leave us like this.”

“You won’t kill me.” Kon says, a hell of a lot more confident than he feels. “You Bat’s have a moral code against it.”

Bernard twists around when his shirt gets taken off, making Tim gasp up underneath him, Bernard grabs the collar of Kon’s leather jacket, and pulls.

Kon is stronger than almost anybody else on this entire planet, he can break mountains by leaning into them, he can push meteors out of the way of the moon, he can take a punch by the strongest Apokolips has to offer, he can’t be pushed around unless he wants to be.

And oh, Kon wants to be.

Bernard crashes into him, leaning into Kon’s mouth and kissing with all of the words they haven’t said, with all of the weirdness that is their lives, with all of the unbelievable moments that lead up to this right now, this heat, this want, this desire. Bernard kisses Kon like he’s trying to convince him to stay, to convince him that this is something that they all want.

Kon kisses back like he needed it. Kisses back like this is the only time he might get this, and he wants to savor it forever. Kon kisses like he’s been waiting to do this nearly his whole life, he has been waiting to do this a significant portion of his short life. Kon kisses like he’s not used to having things, but this is one thing he wants to keep to himself.

Tim’s hands find them both, jerky, fast, everywhere. They find Bernard's chest and pinch, hard, making Bernard gasp up into his kiss with Kon and Kon uses the opportunity to dive deeper. Tim tugs off Kon’s gloves, sliding his own fingers up into them and undulating them in a pattern that drives somebody who uses touch as their main sense crazy.

“Bed.” Bernard begs between gasps, between bites, between kisses. “Bed, bed.’

Kon’s hands go to Bernard’s hips, sliding down, over hiship bones, just past where Bernard desperately wants hands to be, and grabbing underneath, handfuls of soft thighs underneath washed out denim, and he lifts.

Bernard twists back around straight again, letting out a little surprised noise, and grabs onto Kon’s wrists.

“Shed the rest of the armor, boy wonder.” Kon growls out, panting just behind Bernard’s ear. “I’m taking both of you, or neither one of you.”

Tim’s hands fly to get off his shoes, eyes behind those lesnes fixated on where Bernrad’s being held up by Kon’s hands, being framed, shown on display by those hands. “Give me two minutes to get the mask off properly, I’ll be there.”

Kon smirks, wild, Bernard can feel it on the nape of his neck. Dangerous.

Kon tightens his hands where they’re secured around Bernard’s inner thighs, spreading them slightly and making Bernard lean against him as Kon begins to move.

Bernard can’t twist around, not without overbalancing out of Kon’s hold, but he can stretch back, arching back up and off Kon’s chest, throwing his arms around Kon’s head, grabbing onto black curls, so different from Tim’s, and rubbing his ass all over Kon’s crotch.

They get to Tim’s master bedroom, with it’s big comfy bed and it’s big windows and access to a very nice bathroom. Kon doesn’t throw Bernard onto the bed, but he doesn’t place Bernard down very gently either.

Bernard bounces, knees hitting the soft sheets before he catches himself on his hands, flipping himself over onto his back and looking up at Kon’s handsome face.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Kon asks, trying to be sure, trying to be good here, with a furrow in his brow and thumbs soothing over Bernard’s ribs.

“I’m positive I’m okay with this.” Bernard says back, hands going up and tugging the short hair on the back of Kon’s head. “I’ve written all kinds of Superboy and Robin fanfiction, this could be considered a fantasy of mine.”

A moment, Kon’s face twists into confusion, then a suppressed smile, then he’s laughing, smiling with all of his teeth. “You’re a treat, Blondie.”

Then Kon goes down, and any response that Bernard had flies right out one of Tim’s oversized windows.

At first Bernard tries not to tug too hard on Kon’s hair, but quickly discovers that he literally can’t hurt the man who lavishes him with attention, whenever Bernard yanks Kon just lets out little hums of noise that Bernard can feel in his bones. Kon’s short hair on the back of his head is harder to get a grip on, but it's very satisfying when Bernard does manage a handhold and pushes down and Kon responds immediately, using some kind of something to feel Bernard up without the use of any actual touching.

“Please.” Bernard begs, the word out of his mouth without thought. “Please, please, please.”

Then it only gets better, because Bernard’s words are cut off but another mouth, warm and flushed and suddenly there.

Tim’s hands thread through where Bernard’s got a hold in Kon’s hair, he comes up from behind and kisses Bernard breathless and slots himself into Bernard’s side.

Kon pops off, mouth red, flushed, eyes so fucking uncanny, “Finally come to the party, Tim?”

Tim nips Bernard’s lip, just once, before pulling away and leveling those dangerous ice blue eyes at the prey that finds itself in front of him. “You’ll find that I’m never late.”

Then Tim’s kissing Kon, all at once, right over Bernard’s spit-slick cock, and nothing on earth could be better than the image he’s seeing right now.

Tim’s kissing Kon, dominating the silent conversation between them, but he’s staring right at Bernard, lavishing Kon in an open mouthed monstrosity of a french kiss that trades Bernard’s precome back and forth between them.

Tim gets a hand free, laying it right on the crease of Bernard's hip, right on the edge of right where it needs to be, with his thumb hooked to the inner thigh and his fingers pressing down against the hipbone, and he rubs. Just a bit, teasing.

Bernard is not going to be the one who sits between two superheroes and does nothing. This isn’t some experience, this needs some interaction.

So Bernard rolls himself up, a hand going to Tim’s face, and he pulls Tim up to him.

Bernard kisses Tim, tastes himself, and grapes blindly until he finds where Tim’s hips are. Bernard falls back to the bed, bringing Tim down with him, keeping him distracted all the while he fumbles around and finds the base of Tim’s dick, squeezing it once just to hear Tim gasp.

Tim uses his own hands to Grab at Kon and pull Kon up to them, to kiss him too when Tim pulls away from Bernard for a moment. Kon hovers- maybe literally?- above them both, mouthing at necks and leaving dark, sucked on marks all across both of them.

It’s a mess of skin, of pulling of the remains of clothing, of heated searing kisses and gasps of begging words.

Kon likes marking them up, high up on their necks where they can’t hide those marks.

Bernard likes tasting them, both of them, noticing the differences between the two.

Tim likes being in control, likes being on top and being bossy with his hips, his hands, his mouth.

Kon’s got big fingers, but they’re soft, uncalloused, gentle as they press in and explore, finding sweet spots by a hypersensitive touch. Tim’s fingers are slimmer, longer, but they’ve got calluses that catch and drag on soft skin and experience on their side. Bernard’s a writhing mess of nerves and lube and spit, begging them both at once just to get the fuck on with it.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Blondie.” Kon talks into Bernard’s collarbones when he’s halfway inside. “God, how did Tim find you?”

“He found me.” Tim’s got both of his hands on Bernard’s chest, pinching, pulling, twisting, to make Bernard moan out little mewls of pleasure. “He’s mine.”

Bernard gasps, hands scrambling to try and make Kon move. “Yours.”

Tim leans over, across from where Bernard is trapped between them, kisses Kon hard across the mouth, and hisses into the shared space between them. “My clone boy.”

Kon moves, a whole body jerk at the confession between him and Tim. “Yours.” Kon promises, soft, even as Bernard frantically tries to slam himself down the rest of the way with a strangled sound.

Kon’s bigger than Tim, warmer and thicker, but Tim’s just a little bit longer.

Bernard comes first, his legs twitch desperately as Tim slams into him, front to front, sloshing around the lube and the spit and Kon’s precome. He gives a cry, high, wrung out, and cums into Kon’s mouth.

Kon swallows, the bastard. Bernard is going to die, from all of this, from everything.

Tim pulls out, allowing Bernard to slump against him, boneless, happy, skin to skin with people he truly enjoys. Kon gets behind him, grips Bernard by the thighs, and lifts him up just enough so that Tim can wrap a hand around both himself and Kon.

Tim moves fast, frantic, he’s not going to last, not long, Kon’s whispering “Faster,, faster, Please Rob, please.”

Bernard feels the wet splash of ejaculate, feels Tim shiver, wrecked with the force of his orgasm. Kon’s mouthing wet gasps against any skin he can reach, twitching and giving little half aborted trusts. Tim’s arm doesn’t stop moving, and Kon tumbles after Tim into bliss after only a few seconds.

Panting sounds, quick huffs of breath, only getting slower. They fall against one another, too close, too hot, too satisfied to care.

“We’re gross.” Tim happily says, a much too peppy tone of voice for the mess that they lie in. “So, so gross.”

Kon just huffs, tucking closer to the warmth that’s slowly escaping the bed. “Don’t make me leave, you ass.”

“We do need to change the sheets.” Bernard says, matter of fact. They’re covered in sweat and lube and cum and they won’t be happy if they just fall asleep right now. They’d wake up stuck to each other.

“We need a shower.” Tim’s voice curls, smug, so sure of itself, dangerous. “Mine happens to be large enough for everyone.”

Bernard laughs, throwing a hand over his eyes, and laughs.