Dancing
A/N: 2Kish words. This is a romantic Timkon fic (pre-relationship). If that's not your thing I totally get it, I'd skip this one lmao. Also, this ones unedited aside from italicizing parts because I wanted to get it out while it's atleast still Tim's bday in America (I think)
Summary: Kon has no idea what he's getting himself into agreeing to help Tim practice for his dance class...
Switch!Kon / Switch!Tim (mostly lee!Kon n ler!Tim)
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“I still don't get why we're doing this,” Kon groans, correcting his posture for at least the millionth time in the last minute (and no, he's not just being dramatic, Tim). Tim looks infuriatingly comfortable like this, all broad shoulders and strong legs with his head held high in confidence. Asshole.
“That's because you don't listen," Tim says, punctuating the statement with an eyeroll and a pinch to Kon’s side as he tries to slouch again. Kon's careful not to react. “I have an assignment for my ballroom class and my partner is out sick. My test is tomorrow and I need more practice for a good grade.”
“Still don't see why I have to help you,” Kon grumbles, focusing on his steps as Tim starts counting again. The thing is, Kon wouldn't usually mind helping Tim out, even with something as frustrating as rich boy ballroom dancing. Lately, however, he's been feeling… off around Tim. Like there's something burning in his cheeks and fluttering in his stomach. It's annoying, to say the least. And so, Kon has been trying to keep his distance until this sudden Tim allergy thing goes away.
Tim clearly has no such problems.
“Well, Cass offered to help but she’s more of a solo dancer. Plus, she kept getting frustrated trying to dumb down the steps,” Tim huffs out a laugh at his own words and gently squeezes Kon’s hand just once. Kon feels his cheeks begin to burn and prays Tim doesn't notice.
“Bruce offered too but I'm not being the kid who has to bring his dad to dance class,” Tim says, grimacing at the idea. The way his nose scrunches in disgust while he dips Kon like it’s second nature has Kon’s throat tightening. It really is like an allergic reaction. Oh God, Kon can't even use an EpiPen. Would Tim have a kryptonite-needled EpiPen?
“Still,” Kon protests, knowing it's half-hearted at best but feeling too off-balance to offer anything better. Tim gives him a funny look that makes him want to squirm out of his friend’s grip, but he doesn't comment beyond that.
“I'm gonna spin you in a minute,” Tim says and the hand against Kon’s hip squeezes so minutely Kon isn't sure whether or not he's imagining things. It's still enough to make his stomach swoop. “Don't step on my feet this time.”
“No promises,” Kon grins back. Or he hopes he grins—it feels a bit too weak against his flushed cheeks. He's given approximately 0.3 seconds to watch Tim’s mouth pull into a smirk before he's being spun under Tim’s arm. Kon has to duck down a little to fit and Tim raises onto his tiptoes to help, which is weirdly endearing.
“Aaand another dip,” Tim warns him before doing it this time. It does nothing to help with how light-headed Kon’s starting to feel, but it's the thought that counts, he supposes. While dipped, however, Tim decides to adjust his hold on Kon’s waist, squeezing once his hands are repositioned. Unfortunately, Kon can't quite hide his reaction.
A shocked squeak escapes him as he flinches back from Tim’s grip, falling to the floor. His cheeks flush pink and he can feel his ears burn. Great, brilliant, good. Tim’s looming over him, face lighting up in realisation and reminding Kon of a cat about to eat a mouse. Or, more fittingly, a bird about to catch a worm. Fuuuuuck.
“Ok, Rob, wait-”
“Are you ticklish, Kon-El?” Tim’s crooked grin is downright evil and Kon forgets to play it cool, hands flying to hide his face. A weight settles itself in his lap and his stomach feels all funny and swirly at the realisation that he's stuck; once Tim has an idea in his head, it's nigh impossible to prevent him from seeing it through.
“All this time acting so big and tough, when all it took to get you like this-” Kon peaks through his fingers to see Tim gesturing vaguely at all of him. Asshole. “-was one little pinch to your sides. Cute.”
Tim gives him no time to process that comment before his hands are delivering quick, sporadic pinches up and down Kon’s sides. It's like his sides are buzzing, the funny swirling feeling in his stomach seeming to spread from where Tim’s fingers are tickling him down his whole waist.
“NononononoNONOHO,” Kon squeals, trying to curl in on himself and grabbing Tim’s wrists as tight as possible without hurting Tim. It's just play after all, no matter how ridiculous and vulnerable it makes Kon feel– not to mention how red his face is and how hard his heart seems to be beating in his chest. Maybe he'll actually succumb to the Tim allergy and is currently dying. There's worse ways to go, he supposes.
“C’mon, there's no way just this tickles that bad, Kon,” Tim tuts in his disappointed leader voice, because he's stupid and terrible and Kon cannot believe he's dying because of this idiot. “What abouuttt here!”
Evil, tickly hands worm their way up, up, up until they're lodged firmly under Kon’s arms, scritching at the hollows. Kon howls, kicking his feet out since it's all he can do without hurting Tim. His arms fly to his face, forearms covering his flush and attempting to muffle his laughter.
“ROHOHOHOB,” Kon laughs, unable to do much else. Looking through his arms hits him with the sight of Tim smiling devilishly down at him, tongue stuck out in concentration as he destroys Kon’s ego. He looks ridiculous, yet Kon’s stomach seems to fill with very insistent butterflies. That's probably also an allergy thing. Maybe.
“I should do this all the time,” Tim muses, one hand digging in while the other keeps up the light scratches. Kon snorts rather unattractively, and Tim’s answering bark of laughter makes him hope the ground will swallow him whole. “See? You're much more tolerable like this, Conner. No answering back or snarking, just laughing and snorting, apparently.”
Kon goes to protest, wheezing out something like, “shuhut uhup,” when Tim’s hands move to his neck. One hand flutters lightly around the side of his neck, while the other traces round his ear. The lightness of the touch is unbearable, making Kon’s senses feel alight with ticklish little sparks. His body wants so badly to bring his shoulders up in self-protection, but Kon determinedly keeps them down, lest he crush Tim’s hands.
“Wait, wai-hehehe-t,” Kon’s a puddle of squeaky laughter at this point. If his face gets any hotter it might actually explode.
“Tickle, tickle,” Tim teases. “Look how squirmy you are! If you brought that energy to dancing we would've been finished ages ago!”
“Mehehean,” Kon giggles (giggles! This is the most embarrassing moment of Kon’s life, and no, he still isn't being dramatic). He tries to hide but only really achieves flopping his upper half from side to side desperately. Tim laughs at him again because he's the worst. Bart’s always been his best friend, anyway, Tim’s just some asshole who makes his throat close up and knees go weak. It's rude.
“Okay, I think you've suffered enough,” Tim says. Kon waits as Tim’s hands still, but they stay lingering teasingly at Kon’s neck. The ghost of the former tingles mixed with the anticipation of more is horrid and Kon considers just crushing Tim’s hands at this point. Alas, Superboy is a good guy, so he just squeals helplessly instead. Ugh.
“Tihim, qui- quihit- qui-”
“I'm trying, Kon, honest,” Tim smiles. He's clearly lying, since his hands are still on Kon’s neck, now twitching tauntingly, but the mixture of embarrassment and warm, buzzing feelings under his skin are making talking back hard. That's probably why Tim’s doing it. “You have to let go.”
What a load of crap, Kon’s hands have been stationed at either side of his face for however long, no where near Tim’s own for fear of breaking every bone in them. “I- I'm, nahaha-”
Tim chuckles, clarifying, “your TTK, clone boy. You're holding my hands here.” he pointedly flutters his fingers against Kon’s neck and ear, launching Kon into another fit of squeaky giggles and furious blushing.
It takes a while–and a few more flutters of Tim’s fingers that he swears were accidental, the liar–but Kon eventually gathers himself enough to let go of Tim’s hands, curling up on his side to hide his face (and all the ticklish spots Tim was rudely targeting) when Tim moves to sit next to him.
“You're very sweet like this,” Tim says, rubbing Kon’s back comfortingly. Kon doesn't even fight the heat in his ears at this point, just focuses on repressing the shivers at the accidental light tickles. A few muffled huffs off laughter slip through, but Tim doesn't seem to notice, thank frick.
“Shut up,” Kon mumbles after a while, once the leftover tickley feelings have subsided. Jeez, Tim could be brutal. Still, Kon was pretty sure most people didn't feel as light and cared for as him after being tickled silly, but it was hard to care right now.
“Careful, Conner, I can go for a round two,” Tim scribbles at his shoulder blade, startling a choked laugh out of him. “Can you?”
You know what? He's had enough of Tim’s big head, he's Superboy dammit, he can take revenge easily.
Kon focuses his TTK, reaching across the floor and up until he can feel Tim’s ribs in his head, almost like the memory of feeling something. He reaches out with the power, imagining scribbling fingers against Tim’s skin. Sure enough, he hears shocked cackles burst from Tim behind him.
He also hears Tim slamming various limbs against the floor, but he's too content to move to look. Imagining his friend smiling and wiggling in such a silly, carefree way is enough to make Kon smile mushily, throat feeling a little dry again.
“KOHOHOHON,” Tim cries out, banging against the dance floor.
“Yeah? What's up, Rob?” Plausible deniability, that's what Tim’s always telling him he needs to practice at. What a perfect time to practice!
“STOHOHAHAHAHP,” Tim laughs. Kon imagines he's turning red and can't help how his smile turns into a satisfied grin. Justice. “TIHIHIHICKLES.”
“I'm not– doing that,” Kon says, cursing himself for the stumble. He focuses his TTK on pinching at Tim’s highest ribs to distract him. Tim’s laughter goes up about thirty decibels.
Kon sits up then, moving to look down at Tim. The sight before him has him losing focus. Tim’s layed flat on the ground, arms and legs spasming between swinging around aimlessly and curling around his ribs in a desperate attempt to protect himself. As Kon’s TTK falls away in his distraction, Tim’s insane cackles calm into laughter, highlighting the pretty red of his cheeks.
Oh, Kon realises with a start, Tim is so pretty. When did that happen? Is that what all those weird feelings have been?
“Truce,” Tim gasps out, smiling charmingly at Kon, all earnest and flustered and handsome and–
Before he knows what he's doing, Kon’s lips are on Tim’s, arms bracketing his head. The kiss is more of a shy peck than anything, as Kon immediately backs up when he realizes what he's doing, red hot embarrassment rushing through his veins. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
He doesn't have long to freak out, luckily, as it’s not long before Tim’s sitting up, shooting a lazy smile at him. “Why'd you stop?” He asks. Between one second and the next, they're kissing again–properly this time. Kon’s not sure who moved first, but he does know that the Tim allergy symptoms reach a peak, heart pounding while he flushes and his throat tightens. It's a terrifying high that Kon wants to chase forever.
“The dancing-” Kon gasps out when Tim stops to breathe.
“Later,” Tim dismisses, waving a hand in the air like the endearing nerd he is. “There's more important things to attend to right now.”
And, well, who's Kon to argue when Tim’s kissing him again, stealing the words from both his mouth and his brain. Yeah, Kon never really cared about the dancing to begin with, this seemed like a much better use of their time.
