Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/467234.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Comics), Teen_Titans_(Comics), Superman_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Clark_Kent
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Clark_Kent
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-07-13 Words: 1845
****** To Wave Away Past Arms ******
by Zee_(orphan_account)
Summary
     Tim is coping. Really.
Notes
     Takes place post-War Games and shortly after the Fresh Blood
     crossover. Thanks to Petronelle for the beta and encouragement.
The mugger's voice is ragged, loud and paranoid; he's also moving strangely,
swaying on his feet. Tim guesses that he's under the influence of... something.
Not alcohol. It will make him easier to take down, but could also make him
prone to shooting that gun sooner. As it is, he's pointing the gun awfully
close to the face of the man working the cash register, and his shouting is
just getting louder.
Tim is dressed in civvies. If he takes a few steps back, the angle will be such
that no one will be able to see him throw a can of soup and knock the mugger
out. Now if he can just move without attracting the man's attention--
A blur of red and blue and the mugger is unconscious, dangling from Superman's
hand as he crunches the gun into a small ball in his other fist. Tim puts down
the can of minestrone soup.
The crowd flocks to him, murmuring praise and thanks, and someone has the
foresight to clap a pair of handcuffs on the mugger. (Why Superman doesn't
carry zip strips, Tim couldn't guess; maybe he prefers makeshift cuffs made
from bent light-posts.) Superman smiles and nods and says the right words like
any celebrity, and then he meets Tim's eyes and says, "Are you all right, young
man?"
Tim gives him the most innocuous smile he can manage. "I'm super."
Superman beams at him, knowing that Tim will catch that he wants to roll his
eyes instead, and then he's gone.
Outside the store, Clark Kent jogs to catch up with him. "There you are. I was
hoping I could catch a minute of your spare time today, you know, to catch up."
He smiles at Tim, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I haven't
seen you in a while."
Tim keeps walking. "If I didn't know it was useless, I'd tell you not to talk
to me when I'm in civilian guise."
Clark actually pats his shoulder. "I was merely checking on the state of a
local boy who looked frazzled by the events. Nothing that could connect to your
other job."
"You are aware that a villain in this city spent several billion dollars
learning Nightwing's identity and used it to effectively destroy him not too
long ago?" Clark actually flinches, and Tim smiles. "It's not paranoia if they
really are out to get you, Clark."
"You have a point. My sincere apologies." Clark's hand is back again, this time
on his arm, steering him. "Now let's grab a cup of coffee together."
Tim would protest if he had anything like a choice in the matter. As it is, he
gives his best apathetic-teenager shrug and follows Clark inside.
And. This is the cafe where Cass comes almost every afternoon--the barista here
knows her face, if not her name. Clark knew that, of course. Tim is already
getting tired of the man's unsubtle manipulations, and they haven't even sat
down to chat yet.
He glares at the back of Clark's head as he orders a decaf chai latte, and
orders a dry cappuccino for himself. The barista grins and winks at him, and it
takes Tim a moment to realize she's flirting; by that time, she's already
disappeared behind the espresso machines. Tim goes to sit down across from
Clark. The table between them is tiny and artsy, rust-colored metal decorated
in some kind of wannabe-mosaic pattern.
"Cass is working a case that's taken her back to Gotham this weekend," he says
before Clark can speak. "We won't run into her here."
Clark hides his disappointment well. "Ah. Well, I suppose I'll have to wait for
a chance to talk to her, then."
The barista brings over his cappuccino, and Tim licks idly at the foam. "You
think I've been avoiding her."
When he glances up from his drink, Clark's eyebrow is raised. "And you haven't
been?"
"We tried working together. We were even successful at it, but... it wasn't the
best thing for either of us. She has her side of the city, I have mine. It's an
arrangement we both agree on."
Clark's smile is big and entirely ingenuous until you look closer. "Heaven
forbid I criticize your arrangements. I'm sure they're for the best."
Tim does not glare at him. He scoops out the foam with a spoon, instead. "They
work, for both of us. Cass is doing well."
"Yes, the crime rate in her sector of the city has dropped significantly, I've
noticed. I wonder how her barista friend would say she's been doing?"
Tim does *not* glare. "Neither of us need keepers. If that's why you're here--"
"It's not." Clark's voice is gentle, and Tim belatedly realizes that his
shoulders have tensed up. He drinks his cappuccino and makes himself relax. "I
just know that it's been a very long time since we had a chance to talk like
this."
Tim raises an eyebrow. "You're not obligated to fill out some quota of time
with me, Clark." Clark isn't his father, after all. This whole conversation is
making Tim wonder if this is how Kon feels, sitting through meals with the
Kents and baseball games with Clark, as he tries to figure out how to bond.
"I'm well aware of that." Clark's voice is frustrated. Tim smiles. "All I'm
trying to do here is check up on a friend, make sure you're all right. And I
know you think your acting skills are legendary, but I have to say that 'all
right' is not the impression I'm getting."
Tim licks foam off his upper lip. "I guess I can't control whatever impressions
you get. But I'm doing fine, Clark. Really."
Clark studies him, then looks down at his own drink. "Losing a parent is
awful," he says, slowly. "To lose your father so soon after losing a girl you
loved--I don't pretend to know what you're going through, Tim. But I--do wish
you'd let me help in some way."
Clark's smile is slightly bitter, and he's meeting Tim's eyes now. The glasses
don't actually do much to hide his face: all they do is muddy the startling,
inhuman sharp blue of his eyes, deflect it behind glass. Tim supposes that, for
some people, that is enough.
Tim takes a breath. "You can. I mean. You are helping." He glances down at his
cappuccino. It's growing cold, and he doesn't need the caffeine, anyway. "Come
outside with me?"
Clark frowns at him, but Tim hasn't given him enough of a reason to be
suspicious. Yet. "Okay."
Tim stands up and heads out to the alley next to the cafe; Clark takes a moment
to leave a tip (even though tipping is unusual for this establishment), then
follows.
"Tim, what--" Tim doesn't let Clark finish his sentence. He stands on his
tiptoes and kisses Clark, licking at his lips and curling his hand around the
back of Clark's head. It only takes a moment for Clark to respond, opening his
mouth and pulling Tim closer, making a soft sound in the back of his throat.
And then, predictably, he pulls away, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. "Oh--no.
This isn't--I can't--"
Tim licks his lips. Clark's cheeks are flushed and his glasses are askew. He
puts a hand on Clark's chest and slides it lower, over the twitching muscles of
Clark's abdomen. "Please," he says, his voice rough, wavering. "Superman, I--
" He buries his face against Clark's neck, breathing in and nuzzling. Lets
himself clutch at Clark, cling to him, and it doesn't come as a surprise when
Clark melts against him.
"Robin." Tim can feel Clark's voice vibrating in his chest, his throat. Clark's
hands on his back, petting. "This isn't the way...."
"I don't care." Tim lets his voice be fierce, angry, and kisses Clark again.
Rubs up against him, and Clark doesn't do anything but whimper softly when he
feels Tim's erection.
"Tim, jesus--" Clark is trying to make his kisses gentle, his touches innocent.
Tim bites at his lips, his tongue.
"Clark, I *need* this--"
The best lies are half-truths. Clark groans and whirls, pushing Tim hard
against the alley wall. Suddenly he's fierce, sucking on Tim's tongue and
pushing up Tim's t-shirt, his thumbnail scratching Tim's nipple. Tim gasps and
Clark moves his focus to Tim's neck, sucking and licking underneath the line of
his jaw. Tim whimpers and bucks when Clark's hand moves down his pants, and all
it takes is another "*Please,*" for Clark to slide to his knees.
Clark sucks him like someone who's holding back vast amounts of his strength,
yet still makes Tim's knees buckle. Tim has to brace himself against the wall,
and Clark doesn't even give him that--his hands are on Tim's ass, holding him
and urging him forward, in and out of Clark's mouth. When Tim looks down
Clark's eyes are closed, squeezed shut; his cheeks are hollowed and he looks
focused in a way that's actually mildly terrifying.
Tim jerks forward helplessly, his hands in Clark's hair because he needs to
hold on to *something.* Clark's tongue is lapping at him, up and down the shaft
of his cock and then down to his balls, and Tim can feel the slide of Clark's
cheek against him. Then Clark sucks him in again, and it's nothing but the hot
wet rhythmic pressure of Clark's mouth, almost more than Tim can stand. He
closes his eyes and lets the orgasm shake through him, slumping against the
wall when it's over.
Clark puts him down and stands, nuzzles Tim's mouth. "Robin, oh..."
He's shaking more than Tim is, and Tim works his fly open, ignoring Clark's
vague "Oh, you don't have to"s.
Clark's cock is big and heavy in Tim's palm, and it takes a moment to find a
good rhythm. Clark moans and presses his face against Tim's neck when he does,
and even though there's no way Tim can jerk him off with the strength he
probably needs, Clark comes for him anyway, shaking harder and clutching at
Tim's shoulders.
Tim removes his hand and after a moment, Clark stands up, flushed red. When he
sees Tim's sticky hand, he offers him a handkerchief from his back pocket.
"Thanks." Tim wipes off his hand, his stomach lurching slightly when he notices
the monogrammed L.L. on the corners. He tosses the handkerchief into the
nearest trash can.
"Tim...." Clark's hand is squeezing Tim's shoulder, and Tim holds back a
cringe. He makes himself meet Clark's eyes.
Clark's eyes are narrowed. "You know, you're not as clever as you think you
are."
Tim blinks at that. "I--"
But Clark is gone. In the distance, Tim sees a red and blue blur take to the
sky. Tim frowns and rubs his hand against his jeans, even though it's already
clean.
It's getting dark, and he's in the wrong part of town. He ducks his head and
heads back to his apartment to put on the suit.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!