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“Humor me for a little bit,” Kon said, and he had no idea how his words came out of his mouth so composed, because he was most certainly stumbling over them in his brain. “Say, say for a moment, you’re actually pretty.”

Robin looked away, and for a minute Kon was gripped with panic because those eyes were hidden again, but Kon had only just seen them for the first time and there was no way he could ever stop looking at them. Then, Robin let out a suppressed sound, quiet and real, unlike any laugh he’d ever heard before, and Kon decided he liked the laugh better anyway. Robin turned back to him, those blue eyes sparking, and Kon realized he’d have a difficult time telling which one of the two he liked better.

Robin raised an eyebrow at him, and that smirk hadn’t changed one bit. “You sound surprised.” He gestured around them, to the moon reflecting off the rippling water, to the little wildflowers studding the ground. “Is the lake doing me any favours?” He asked dryly.

“Uh, if anything, you’re doing the lake favours.” Kon knew Robin would laugh at his expense for that, but watching his shoulders shake as he tried to muffle his giggles was worth the other hero making fun of him a thousand times over. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was lying. Moonlight washed over Robin’s face — all of his face — and rippling over long eyelashes Kon had never seen and sharp cheekbones Kon wanted to trace and a chapped, bitten mouth Kon wanted taste.

Robin’s teasing expression was still firmly in place, but his tone was a touch softer when he said, “I thought you didn’t know how to talk to girls? Or, at least, that’s what Cassie said.”

“Well, you’re not a girl,” Kon pointed out, then backpedaled hastily. “I mean, I think...?”

And oh, Robin was going to give him hell for this later. For now, he seemed to settle for stepping closer, footsteps soft but audible, crossing his arms over his chest and suddenly it was just another one of their verbal matches, the kind they’ve had a thousand times over. “Oh? What am I then? A tree?”

“Well you’re certainly skinny enough,” Kon said. “But not that tall. Hm, maybe a tree stump? A tree branch?”

Robin’s playful smirk turning into a playful glare, and he stepped close to swat Kon on the arm, but Kon reeled the other boy in, hands hooking around hips. And just like they’d done a thousand times before, lifting Robin off the ground for a flight, catching Robin falling through the air, pulling Robin away from a villain, the other boy looped his arms around Kon’s neck.

“I wasn’t lying,” Kon’s voice was soft, his eyes drinking in every part of Robin’s face. He lifted a hand to rest at the boy’s cheek, tracing the cheekbone gently. “Pretty,” he murmured.

Those ethereal features twisted in displeasure, and Robin’s lips fell into a frown. “But am I only pretty because you can see all of me, now?”

And that? That was a worry best swept away quickly. “No,” Kon said, no hesitation. “You were always pretty. Except for the times you were badass. And the times you were tired and sleep deprived, you just turned into cute.”

Robin wrinkled his nose, and in a tone Kon knew extremely well, protested “I’m not cute!”

But then Kon leaned down and kissed Robin, sweeter and softer than he’d ever imagined, but since when has Robin ever been what Kon expected. The look of breathless shock and a hint of awe could not be described as anything other than adorable, so Kon whispered against Robin’s lips, “Liar.”

tim could hear the pounding bass coming from under his feet. the ceiling of the club wasn’t exactly soundproof, and the steady hum of people was a constant background noise. tim crept along the roof, aware of where he was. he tended to melt into the shadows on instinct, but he was taking extra care to remain hidden this time, given his decidedly not weapon-filled and bulletproof clothing.

peering over the edge of the building, he scanned the alley for a certain figure. there was a nondescript couple pressed against one of the walls, and a grimy man at the head of the alley watching them, but not what tim was looking for. letting out the quietest of frustrated sounds, tim slipped away from the edge of the roof, scurrying over to the center again.

near another edge, there was a wall of concrete, probably where the boiler was. it was there that tim leaned against the hard surface, head tipped back, just breathing in the air. he was trying not to be impatient, he really was.

then, a voice from behind. “looks like someone’s a little restless.” it was low, but with an undercurrent of teasing that made tim shiver. he whipped around just in time to see kon land on the roof with a sort of graceful ease tim didn’t think he got nearly enough credit for. hut just as he was about to stride up to the man, probably to smack him for making him wait, but kon stalked forward instead, backing tim against the concrete. “changed my mind,” kon’s eyes raked down tim. “you don’t look restless, you look darling.”

that brought a flush to tim’s cheeks, because he himself was scanning every inch of kon, and kon looked the furthest thing from darling one could possibly imagine. the bodysuit and leather jacket were an easy familiarity. the jeans he had on top were tight, the chains looped around kon’s belt clinking. tim was the one who’d dared kon to buy those chains a couple months ago, laughing. he wasn’t exactly laughing now. kon’s hair was windswept, his piercings were glinting, his eyeliner was dark, and as he pressed close to tim, the fingerless gloves that tilted his chin up were rough.

“look at you,” kon whispered, which tim thought was unfair. he wanted to argue back look at me? no, look at you kon, but somehow his attention wandered to tracing kon’s lips with his eyes instead. robin could pull a confident and reckless smirk easy, it coming to tim as second nature as he pulled superboy down to meet his lips. even to tim drake, dressed in ratty old t-shirts he thought looked cool and winking at girls he knew looked cool. but tonight, comfortable with his best friend and boyfriend, he couldn’t bring his classic cheekiness up to the surface. instead, as kon moved closer and closer, tim found himself unconsciously tilting his head up, lips parting, baring his throat.

still, he wasn’t just going to roll over, so his hands came up to tug the zipper on kon’s sleeve, and he managed a snort. “i’m not darling.”

kon’s chuckle vibrated through him. “yes you are. you’re wearing a sweater vest and your hair is adorable and you blush so pretty, rob.” well. that just made tim turn red even more. “and you’re wearing glasses.” kon’s fingers came up to trace the rims, but instead of pulling away, that large hand cradled his jaw rough and forced it up.

he kissed tim fierce, just the way tim had been imagining since he saw kon that night. his other hand went to tim’s hip in a bruising grip, which the fucker took as invitation to slip his tongue into tim’s mouth. for a second, tim poised to fight back, to tangle their tongues together in the messy way tim knew kon loved, to move out of kon’s hold and push him hard against the wall, to put some bite into the kiss.

then, kon sucked on his tongue, and tim decided nah, fuck that, instead practically melting into the his boyfriend in front of him. just as tim let out a soft noise at the feeling of metal on the roof of his mouth, kon pulled back. the boy raised his eyebrows in a confused little expression, surprised at how docile tim was acting.

tim just shrugged in response.

“alright then,” kon said, his gaze switching back to hunger so fast it made tim wonder whether or not he was really surprised. “i don’t wanna spend our entire night on this stupid roof. let’s have a little fun first.”

“oh yeah? got any ideas?”

kon raised an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at the ceiling they were standing on. “we could always go downstairs.” the beat of the song had changed, but it was no less deep, no less pounding. the vibrations made their way through the concrete and tim, who was still leaning against the wall, shuddered.

kon’s voice was as deep as the bass when he held out his hand and asked tim, “well?” it wasn’t like he was subtle, he was giving tim a choice. kon could either fly tim to wherever struck their fancy that night, and have it be another one of their lovely little dates. tim took a second to remember how kon would always tangle their feet together, his eyes mischievous yet soft as he looked at tim. then he thought about tonight, how much fun it was to have kon pinning him against something, how the way kon was acting tonight took his breath away.

tim reached out to grab the outstretched hand and tucked himself against his boyfriend’s side. he pushed himself up to his toes and whispered in kon’s ear, “i’m game. let’s go downstairs.”

“You need a new superhero name.”

Damian brought it up unexpectedly, eyes still trained on the security camera he was dismantling.

“What?” Jon was sifting through the footage, using superspeed to catch every little detail of last night, but at Damian’s voice, he paused the recording and looked up.

Damian was still digging inside the camera, having removed the back panel and a good chunk of wires, and was now sifting through the piece of tech with a pair of tweezers. Nonetheless, he continued the conversation. “A name. You’re not going to be Superboy forever, are you?”

“Um,” Jon could honestly say he’d never thought about it. He’d always been Superboy, ever since he could remember. He wasn’t one to place much thought into birthrights or heritage, not like Damian, but he also wasn’t overlooking the fact that his father was Superman. What exactly did that make him? Superboy was the obvious answer. “I don’t think I can be anything else, Damian.”

“You have an older brother who also goes by Superboy.”

Jon shrugged. “We share.”

“Still. You’re graduating high school in just a few months, Jon. Though it’s surprising to say, you’ve outgrown the title.”

Jon’s lips instantly turned upward in a smirk. “I’ve outgrown the title, huh?”

At that, Damian turned to glare at him. Pointing a finger, he said, “I will taze you. Shut up.”

“Whatever you say, short stack.” Jon chuckled at Damian’s little growl. “But honestly, what else am I supposed to be? Everyone knows me as ‘Superman’s Son.’ I mean, Dad’s name is so big in the League, I don’t think I’ll ever separate myself from it.” And if he was honest, Jon didn’t know if he wanted to separate himself from it.

Damian hummed. “Not true. Look at Richard.”

“Dick? What about him?”

“Well,” Damian paused to move the tweezers to his other hand, “Richard started out as the first child hero, working under Batman. And unlike the other early proteges, he didn’t simply work as his mentor’s sidekick. He created his own legacy. And then he became Nightwing.”

“But Nightwing was already a thing,” Jon pointed out. “It’s a Kryptonian legend.”

“Yes, but there hasn’t actually been a Nightwing, has there? Even if there was one on Krypton, Richard was the first Nightwing on Earth. You wouldn’t call him a sidekick, would you?”

“What, no!” Jon’s reaction was immediate. “Nightwing’s, like, one of the most well-known guys out there. Literally everyone knows him, and literally everyone trusts him. He’s not a sidekick.”

Damian turned to smile at him. “Some would say he was. Do you understand my point?”

Jon pouted, took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I don’t know, I’m not even sure how to go about doing that.”

“Well, to start off, find a new name.” Damian hunched over the camera even more, suddenly focusing in on something.

“I guess so. You got any ideas?” At Damian’s lack of response, Jon asked again, “Damian?”

Damian straightened, holding up the tweezers. Clasped tightly between the tongs was a miniscule data chip. “Here’s the footage we’re looking for.”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide. “How did you even know that was there?”

Damian shrugged. “Simple matter of deductive reasoning.”

“Tim told you, didn’t he.”

A pause. Then, “Drake may have mentioned a while back that a certain trafficking ring was hiding the data chips inside the cameras, and that others were catching on to the trick. I simply tested out his theory.” Damian looked physically pained, and Jon laughed.

“Cool. Put it in, I’ll look through the footage.”

Damian handed the chip over, then laced his his fingers together, put his arms above his head to stretch. Jon, still holding the chip, stared at the line of Damian’s muscles. When Damian quirked an eyebrow, Jon quickly cleared his throat and took the old data chip out of the computer, replacing it with the new one. “So, any ideas?”

“For your name? A couple,” Damian said. “Of course, you need to have an idea for what you’re thinking of.”

Jon nodded absently, pressing rewind on the footage. “I’m not sure if I want to separate from the Super name entirely, though.”

“You don’t want to, or are you scared to?”

Jon snorted. “You probably know the answer to that better than I do. I think I got a name, it’s on the side of the truck.” He zoomed into the footage. “Yeah, it looks we were right. The pharmaceutical company’s related somehow. There’s that stupid gremlin looking thing again.’

“The griffin?” Damian asked, peering over his shoulder. He made a contemplative noise, brows furrowed

“Is that what that thing’s called? Looks like a half drowned bird.”

Damian laughed, and batted Jon’s hands aside. “That’s not what an actual griffin looks like. Here.” He pulled up a couple pictures on his phone.

Jon swiped through a couple pictures, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, those are a lot more impressive. What are they though?”

“Mythological creatures from a variety of different places. They have the body of a lion and the wings and head of an eagle. They’re quite majestic.”

Jon squinted his eyes at him. “You’re implying something. I know you’re implying something.”

In response, Damian nodded his head towards the phone.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Griffin! It’s a perfect name.”

Jon raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Oh yeah. Because I’m part cat and part bird. Perfect analogy.”

Damian slapped his hand lightly. “No, you moron. It doesn’t have anything to do with the eagle or the lion.”

“Then?”

“Your dual heritage.” At Jon’s uncomprehensive look, Damian sighed. “You’re half-Kryptonian, half-human. And it shows. When you fight, you’re fierce and unafraid, much like your father. At the same time, though, you’re endlessly curious and inquisitive, like your mother. God knows I’ve been on the end of that far too often.”

“Oh. That, huh. That actually makes sense.”

Damian shrugged. “I’m just saying. It would be a good homage to your roots, and you’re honoring your parents, without being too overt.”

Jon looked down at the phone again. The lion part was strong, muscled, steady. The bird’s head was curved and fierce, wings spread majestically.

“Griffin. You know what? I kinda like it.”

Happy Birthday Whelm!

@detectivedamian your birthday gift is a damijon ficlet. enjoy.

For the life of him, Jon couldn’t really understand why Damian liked football. Jon himself had grown up with the game, playing with Clark and Kon. Clark had laughed loud and bright as he tossed the ball around in the farm. Kon had challenged Jon to a high-stakes game that combined four different games using the football in the air. (Jon suspected Kon’s game was secretly a training exercise. The guy had been spending too much time around Tim.) He was on the team in middle school, and he’d been the captain of the high school team for the past three years. The training, the drills, the thrill of the game, the feeling of team: these were things that Jon lived for. Other than fighting, nothing else quite made his blood sing.

But Damian? Jon had never expected Damian to take to it the way he did. Damian had scoffed at most American traditions and values, insulted people to their face, and complained about the school system enough times that Jon had the lecture memorized. (He was ahead in almost every class due to Damian’s passive-aggressive tutoring, though, so he’s not exactly complaining.)

Maybe it was the strategy behind it, the different plays and plans Coach had lined up. Tim was the best at that kind of stuff, Jon knew that firsthand, but most people seemed to forget Damian had been trained in strategy and war games in the league. And “war games” was exactly how Damian seem to take this. Ever since Jon had let Damian watch one of his football practices and Damian had stopped the team in the middle of a play to plot out three different holes in their offense, Damian had practically become an honorary team member. Unless it was calculated, the team hadn’t lost a single game. And Damian was determined to keep it that way.

Tonight, just before the final game of the season, Jon’s team was facing off against Central City. (Which? How did they even get to finals in the first place? Central was known for their all-star track team, spanning generations of Allens and Wests, but football? That was a new one.) Damian had given the coach a particularly loathesome glare, and the other team looked terrified without even starting the game. Sometimes Jon forgot how scary Damian was, but it situations like this, it was useful. They had their game plan mapped out, Damian had given each one of them a talking to, Johansson don’t you dare leave your place, Zizka we’ve been running drills so don’t lose your speed, Williamson stop hesitating, you’re on offense for a reason.

Jon had come up to him cheekily and asked what he needed to do. Damian had raised an eyebrow and said “Don’t suck as much as you usually do, Kent.” His lips were in a half smirk, though, and his tongue curled viciously around Jon’s last name and Jon had to swallow and take a step back.

Regardless, here they were. The big game. Either they won this, and Jon left senior year a happy man, or Damian would never ever let him live it down. There was really only one option here. Jon made eye contact with Damian, who nodded, once. Then, the whistle blew and the game was on.

Things were going good. No, that’s an understatement, things were going great. They ripped apart the opposing team’s strategy like paper, leaving the shredded pieces on the ground as they went through play after successful play. Jon could practically feel the other team’s hopelessness, could taste the sweet, sweet victory in the air. Halftime came and Jon’s team was soaring high. Don’t get overconfident, Damian warned them, but a proud grin was tugging at the edge of his lips.

The third quarter is when it all went wrong. Williamson went down, hard. Jon heard the crack from across the field, and hoped the injury wasn’t too bad as he chased after the ball, desperate to keep it out of enemy hands. It was too late, though, the other team was in possession. He could feel Damian’s furious scowl, see his dad’s worried eyes fixed on the game even as his mom shouted in Central’s general direction. The third quarter ticked by, losing most of the ground they had gained.

The fourth and final quarter came, the team abiding by Damian’s quickly thought out plan, hesitantly regaining their footing. But it was too little, too late. They weren’t going to make it. The clock swallowed up seconds, and Central gained the lead, though Jon’s team clawed and fought their way to make sure it was only by a little. There were thirteen seconds left on the clock, and Central was 5 points ahead. The play was at the far end of the field.

The only way for them to win was for someone to run across most of the length of the field and score a touchdown. And as the ball came hurtling towards Jon, time slowed down, and he contemplated doing just that.

He could make it, he knew he could make it. A touch of superspeed, a hint of strength when pushing the other players out of the way, and they’d win the game. And Jon was only using his own talents, right? But that felt wrong, it felt so wrong. It felt like cheating. Abruptly, Jon remembered all the drills Damian had put him through, for both football and hero-ing, how he had told Jon you can’t always rely on your powers. He remembered the determination in every line of Damian’s body, whether it was in the sidelines of one of Jon’s games or standing back-to-back with Superboy as Robin, facing down impossible odds yet again. Damian had trained him for this. He had trained for this. He could do this.

Jon dropped his invulnerability, tapped out of his strength, tapped out of his superspeed. Time returned to normal. This was it.

The ball flew into Jon’s outstretched hands like it was meant to be there, and the minute it made contact, Jon took off running. Feet pounding the grass, heartbeat thumping in his ears, the bright lights overlooking the fields. Jon ducked and weaved through the other players, pushing himself to go faster, faster. The people in the stands were building up a roar. The clock was ticking down. He just ran and ran and ran until-

Jon crossed the end zone line and slammed the football on the ground with every bit of normal strength he had. The buzzer went off: time was up, the scores were in.

They won the game.

The crowd was bursting up and cheering. Jon could hear his mom’s screams, his dad’s wolf whistles. The team crowded around Jon, yelling and jumping, their faces overflowing with joy as they clustered around him. Coach had the trophy, and he held it above his head, pumping it up and down, whooping his pleasure. He handed it over to Jon, and wow. It felt solid, heavy, almost unreal. Jon held it up so everyone on the team could put their hand around it.

Then, for some reason the crowd around Jon parted. Jon was confused, because there was practically nothing that could separate the team at a time like this. Then he looked up, and understood. Damian stood there, a wild and reckless grin on his face, and Jon’s breath caught. He was wearing Jon’s football jacket, the fabric clinging to his shoulders over his tight black turtleneck and proclaiming a statement as bold as night. He walked over to Jon, confident and sure, and looked up at Jon, pride in his eyes.

“You won.”

“Yeah, we did.” Jon’s voice was breathless.

Damian’s grin widened. “Congratulations.”

And then he was pulling Jon in for a kiss, hard and fierce and unforgiving. Startling for just a second, Jon drew Damian in, surprised but pleased when he came willingly. He kissed back with the same passion that had his feet pounding the ground, the same fervor that had his blood singing all throughout the game, reveling in the feeling of Damian pulling him to the ground, biting his lips, claiming him.

He drew back and gasped in air, wide-eyed and lighter than air, as the whoops and catcalls of the team around him filtered into Jon’s brain.

“I-you, you kissed me.”

“You deserved it.” Something in Damian’s tone let Jon knew that Damian knew. He knew what Jon was thinking on the field, knew he was about to use his powers, and knew that he ultimately decided against it. He knew that Jon put every ounce of his determination to win this game by himself, and Damian was proud.

Yeah, football brought out the best in Jon. And maybe that was why Damian enjoyed it so much.