Work Text:
It’s always giant killer robots.
Can they at least be a little more creative? Like, come on. Giant killer robots? They’re not even creative in their structure. They just look like something out of a Transformers movie with a new paint job and more evil lasers.
Seriously. Just once, can’t they have a giant killer racoon robot? It would mix things up for once.
But, no. It’s just the same old same old.
They show up. Kon flies up to its head, crushes it with his tactile telekinesis like crushing an empty can of soda, and then someone stabs into its main processor and then it’s down and now he’s just annoyed and tired and hangry.
No, he is not cranky, Tim. Superboy does not get cranky.
And then they have to clean up the robot because the person who made the robot sure isn’t. And of course Kon has to do the heavy lifting because he’s the one with super strength and then he’s sore and annoyed and tired and hangry and by the time he gets back to June’s, all he wants to do is take a warm shower and devour seven pizzas and go to sleep.
It doesn’t help that he worked all day and was completely braindead from the stack of mortgage fraud that he had to read through.
So now, he does not have a brain. Nope. Nada. He does not have a brain tonight.
Tim has come home with him because he didn’t want to spend the night in his New York penthouse alone, especially coming off the adrenaline high of a fight.
They do share a shower together, but nothing interesting happens. No one is in the mood for slippery, potentially dangerous, water wasting sexy times when your entire body is bruised on every surface that would be involved in said sexy times.
Kon and Tim collapse on the couch with their eight boxes of pizza and lie next to each other, shoveling slices of pizza into their mouths in comfortable silence.
Tim’s leg is resting between Kon’s thighs, and Tim leans his weight on Kon’s side, his eyes starting to droop from his crash.
Kon kisses his hair. “You getting tired?”
“Mhm,” Tim mumbles. He nuzzles his head into the crook of Kon’s neck with a sleepy smile.
“Come on,” Kon says, slipping the pizza box off of his lap. “You have to go into work tomorrow. Let’s get to bed.” Kon lifts Tim up, his hands under his back and knees, and carries him to his bed.
“Hubba hubba,” Tim says. “Get you a man who can lug you around like a sack of potatoes.”
Kon snorts. “If you were a sack of potatoes, I would be a lot less careful with you.”
“Ooh,” Tim says. “Please. Rough me up like your sack of potatoes, Kon.” He pauses, face scrunching. “That’s bad for the potatoes though. You’ve gotta be careful with the potatoes too.” Tim cups Kon’s face between his hands and stares at him with serious, wide eyes. “You’ve gotta be careful with the potatoes, too, Kon.”
Kon laughs. “Alright. I will the next time I find myself carrying around a sack of potatoes.”
“Good,” Tim says, humming contently.
Kon lays Tim on the bed and tucks in next to him.
Tim immediately latches onto Kon, almost lying his entire body weight onto Kon while he wraps his arms around him.
Kon kisses Tim’s temple and cards his fingers through his hair.
“I love you,” Tim murmurs.
“I love you too,” Kons says.
And he lets himself slowly drift to sleep.
.-~*~-.
There’s a phone vibrating on the floor.
Tim, not fully awake but subconsciously aware that he has a meeting this morning, runs his fingers under the bed until he finds the buzzing culprit.
“This is Drake-Wayne,” Tim says into the phone.
“Uh, this is who?”
“Drake-Wayne,” Tim says, holding out the words with confusion. “Timothy Drake-Wayne,” Tim says. “Sorry, who is this?”
“Peter Burke.” A pause. “Why are you answering Neal’s phone?”
Oh shit.
“Uh…”
“I’m sorry, did you say Timothy Drake-Wayne? Like, CEO of Wayne Enterprises Timothy Drake-Wayne?”
“That… would be me,” Tim says awkwardly.
Kon groans softly. “Porkbun, what are you doing up?”
“It’s for you,” Tim says, shoving the phone in Kon’s face.
Kon blinks blearily and holds the phone to his ear. “Uh, hello?”
“Neal,” Peter says, voice stern. “What are you doing with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises?”
“Uh,” Kon says unintelligibly. “We’re in bed?”
Peter makes a choked noise. “I did not need to know that.”
“Wait no! Not like that. We just slept together.”
“Did not. Need to. Know that.”
“Just sleeping, Peter,” Kon says exasperatedly.
“Did you con the CEO of Wayne Enterprises—”
“Peter!” Kon gasps exaggeratedly. “Do you think I would give out my body for a con? Peter, I’m offended. I am a gentleman with standards.”
“Just answer the question, Neal.”
Kon sighs. “We know each other,” Kon admits. “We were in the same community service group when we were kids.”
“Community service? Were you already getting into so much trouble that you had to do community service?”
“I’ll have you know that it was all voluntary,” he says matter-of-factly.
He pauses. Well, was it voluntary for him? He was thrust into the world of superheroing because of his genetics and his abilities. Did he ever really get the chance to choose to not be a hero?
Stop. Not the time.
“What did you do? Help old ladies cross the street and clean trash out of parks?”
“There was a lot of helping old ladies,” Kon says. Helping them not get stomped on by giant killer robots, that is.
“So, what is he doing here now?”
“Who?”
“Timothy Drake-Wayne,” Peter says, exasperatedly.
“We’re friends. We hung out. He crashed at my place. That’s it.”
“That’s really it?”
“I don’t know what kind of casanova you think I am, but you saw me leave the office yesterday. Do you think that paperwork zombie could pick up someone like Tim Drake?”
“I think you could con anyone.”
“That’s very touching,” Kon says. “Did that hurt you to compliment me? Make a vein pop somewhere?”
“You know, I called for a reason.”
“And that reason is…?”
“It’s a federal holiday today. You don’t have to come into work.”
“You couldn’t tell me that sooner?” Kon asks, feigning annoyance. “I’m already in my suit and tie, hair gelled and ready for work.”
“No you’re not.”
Kon grins. “No, I am not.”
“Enjoy your day off, Neal. But not too much. They’ll be watching your anklet activity.”
“I know the drill, Peter. Believe me, all I want to do today is eat takeout and binge watch Disney Channel original movies. Not to be confused with the Disney princess stuff. No, I’m talking about masterpieces like the 1988 film Ollie Hopnoodle’s Haven of Bliss or the 1999 gem Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century.”
A long silence.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“It’s beyond your comprehension, Peter. You could never understand true art.”
“See, now I’m questioning your opinions on actual art now if you think those are art.”
“I know art, Peter.”
“Enjoy your day off, Neal.”
Kon grins as Peter hangs up.
He looks over at Tim.
“Looks like you get me all day,” Kon says with a smirk.
“I have a meeting,” Tim says.
Kon crawls onto the bed and presses his lips to Tim’s neck.
“Okay, I can reschedule my meeting.”