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“Hang on,” Kon says.
“Hang on? I’m getting soaked!” Bart whines, tugging at Kon’s sleeve, trying to duck under his arm for some cover from the rain. His shirt is sticking to his back, his pants are sticking to his ankles, and he wants to peel all of it off. He wants to be somewhere dry and cozy, preferably with Kon warming him up.
“Just give me a minute, I want to feel the rain.”
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you want to stop and feel the rain? We’re standing in the middle of a field! That is exactly what you’re not supposed to do!”
“Bart, you can outrun lightning, and it won’t do anything to me. Come on, just—gimme a minute.”
Bart throws a glance back at the hayloft, thinking about how dry and cozy it is up there. He’s been trying to drag Kon there all afternoon, but he does have to get through his chores for Ma.
Bart isn’t going to cross Ma. The thought terrifies him.
Plus, he wants pie later.
But now is the perfect time! It’s not like they can do any chores with the rain soaking the field and the storm freaking out the animals and—
“Bart.”
Kon’s voice breaks through the pattering thud of the rain on the dirt, dragging Bart’s attention away from the hayloft.
He looks back at Kon—up at Kon. His bright blue eyes stand out against the black of his shirt, the gray of the sky, the pale color of the wheat in the field.
A drop of water rolls down Kon’s forehead, between his brows, dripping down the side of his nose.
Kon raises a brow, and Bart realizes he hasn’t responded yet, he’s just been watching that drop of water roll down Kon’s face like an idiot. His face burns red, and he can feel heat creeping down the back of his neck, cooled by the water pouring down it.
“Yeah?” Bart finally answers, his breath hitching, his voice a little too high.
Kon reaches a hand for the strand of hair sticking to Bart’s forehead, so slowly that Bart doesn’t even need to slow it down.
He does anyways, pulling out the possibility. The maybe of it has been between them for so long, so many moments that whisper maybe, so many looks that say maybe, so many touches that scream maybe.
Bart loves to pull out the maybe, to stretch it into something that could be yes before it turns out to be a no, like always.
Kon’s hand touches down on his skin, warm, disrupting the water clinging to him. The strand of hair tickles as it slides lazily across his forehead, and Bart locks his eyes on Kon’s, trying not to blink so it doesn’t give his speed away.
“Just feel it,” Kon says, and Bart’s heart stutters in his chest before beginning to pound, because Bart understood him.
Bart’s face burns hotter at being caught, but Kon’s hand doesn’t speed up. The corner of his mouth is tugging up like there’s a secret tucked into the corner, something just for the two of them.
Normally, Bart hates being told to slow down. It always feels like a callout, like something he’s doing wrong. Like he isn’t already trying.
But Kon doesn’t make him feel like that, not right now. It’s not like he thinks Bart is doing something wrong, it’s like he’s trying to show him something. Like he’s telling him a secret.
Bart listens.
His shirt still clings to his skin, his pants still cling to his ankles, the water is still cold on his skin—
But he notices the whisper of wind, gentle at this speed. The warmth of the air contrasting with the coolness of the water on him. The smell of wet grass and mud and ozone and summer, the way the air is thick when he breathes it in.
The slow track of Kon’s fingers against his scalp. The nail of his thumb grazes the tip of Bart’s ear as he tucks the piece of hair behind it, his fingers lingering on Bart for what feels like twenty seconds, but is probably three.
Kiss me, Bart thinks as Kon’s fingers free the strand of hair.
Kiss me, Bart thinks as the clouds behind Kon begin to glow in the distance, light spreading across them.
Kiss me, Bart thinks as he stares at the vivid blue of Kon’s eyes, like those poppies in the Himalayas or that lagoon in Jamaica or those dart frogs in South America or any other number of things he’s run past and never thought this hard about.
Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kissmekissmekissmekissme—
It tumbles out of Bart’s mouth faster than he can stop it, even at his max speed.
“Kiss me,” he says.
Fuck.
The lightning strikes behind Kon, flashing suddenly, a rumble of thunder so loud it feels like it’s shaking the ground, so loud he can feel it in his chest, but not quite loud enough to cover the sound of blood rushing in his ears. And probably not loud enough to keep the pounding of his own heart from hitting Kon’s.
The one thing about having superspeed is that Bart can slow time down (almost) as much as he wants, but there’s nothing he can do to make it pass quicker.
Maybe Kon didn’t hear, he thinks in the excruciating moment that Kon doesn’t answer. Maybe Kon doesn’t want to kiss him, and is trying to think of how to let him down gently. Maybe Kon is going to tell him he would never do that. Maybe Kon is going to laugh at him, god, that would be embarrassing, but look at him, he looks like he stepped out of a Greek myth, all muscles and golden skin and perfectly carved features. Maybe Bart just fucking ruined their friendship, because he’s been making up all of these maybes that were never actually anything in the first place, and now he’s fucked it all up beyond repair—
Kon’s fingers sink into the hair behind his ear, tickling the skin of his scalp, making a barely there tingle slide down his spine. Not quite enough to make him shiver, but enough to make his back straighten.
Before he can think of another maybe, that secret in the corner of Kon’s mouth gives itself away, pulling into that one wide smile that makes a dimple form on his left cheek. His eyes sparkle, and another flash lights the sky up behind them, another rumble of thunder rolls through the air, and Bart doesn’t wait to hear what he has to say.
He crashes his mouth to Kon’s, thinking finally. Finally, he knows what Kon’s hand feels like clamping down on his waist. Finally, he knows the exact temperature of Kon’s lips, how soft they feel against his. Finally, he knows what it sounds like when Kon takes a sharp breath of air in against his skin.
Finally, he can stop thinking maybe.
Bart kisses him like he’s been trying not to do this for years, and honestly, he has been trying not to do this for years, and Kon kisses him back the same way.
The slide of Kon’s fingers into Bart’s hair whispers finally.
The urgent press of Kon’s lips says finally.
The way he hauls Bart closer screams finally.
They kiss until their hands are sliding off of each other from the water, from trying to get closer.
Also, until there’s another flash of lightning that was maybe a little too close to them.
Bart flinches away, his head whipping to the side to see if they were actually in any danger of getting struck by lightning. Being able to outrun it is only helpful if you’re paying attention.
“Okay, I think I should maybe bring up the whole field and lightning thing again,” Bart says, his eyes flickering back to Kon’s.
Kon’s mouth is slightly open, his breathing still heavy. His lips are puffy and red, and his eyes are wide, his brows high—
“I thought… I thought maybe I was making it up,” Kon says.
The laugh that falls out of Bart’s mouth is a little breathless, and he tightens his arms around Kon’s neck, letting his palm lay flat between his shoulder blades.
“You weren’t.”
The laugh Kon lets back out at him is just as breathless, just as relieved. It tickles across the water on Bart’s skin, which reminds him that actually, he would very much like to be out of the water.
“You were right about the storm,” Bart says, and suddenly Kon gets that look in his eye that he always gets before he’s about to start bragging. “I get it, but I am freezing out here.”
Bart shivers for effect, and the look slides out of Kon’s eyes, replaced with concern. It’s sweet, how Kon always gets worried about Bart and cold.
“Let’s get you dried off and warmed up,” Kon says. There isn’t a hint of anything in the tone, but Bart decides there should be, and a little smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“I didn’t mean like that, Imp.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you didn’t actually kiss me.”
Bart means to be teasing him, means to be making a little joke out of it, but there’s a split second of panic, one last moment of maybe—
And then Kon leans in and presses his lips to Bart’s.
It’s slower this time, easier, like there’s no big rush. Like they’re going to do this again and again and again, in the hayloft in two minutes and before they tug the covers of Kon’s bed over them tonight and when they wake up in the tower in two weeks. Over coffee and after dinners and during movies and before battles. Whenever they want, actually.
Thunder cracks through the air around them, the loudest of it so far, and the wind picks up so much that Bart has to lean against Kon to brace himself, but of course, it doesn’t move Kon because he’s too solid. The immovable object to Bart’s unstoppable force or whatever.
“Okay, inside,” Kon decides. A mischievous little grin pulls at his mouth in the second before he grabs Bart around the waist and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Kon laughs at him as he starts towards the hayloft, letting Bart flail and kick his legs and giggle breathlessly into Kon’s shoulder blade. Even with all the water soaking them both, Kon never loses his grip.
After they’re both curled up in the hayloft, dried out by Kon’s TTK and a few laps at superspeed, Bart listens to the rain against the roof and the muffled thunder and Kon’s heartbeat under his ear.
He thinks he understands why people love thunderstorms so much.