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It's kind of difficult to keep his eyes open on nights like this one.
They feel all dry and they sting a little whenever he rubs at them.
And maybe if Kon were there he'd scold him for not taking into account his body's obvious message to him that he should be sleeping, resting or generally not going after Scarecrow's operations in southern Gotham at 1 in the morning.
But Kon isn't there, so Tim... gave himself carte blanche.
And bam, that was a french phrase, fuck anyone who ever doubted his ability to get a C1 degree while running a company and being a vigilante.
Damian, namely.
Tim blinks.
Maybe, he should get some drops for his eyes, the ones that relieve redness and soreness or whatever.
Tim pulls the blanket closer.
It is a huge thing, covering half the couch and his entire body.
Had he meant to get a California King sized blanket?
No, it was an error of the company delivering them.
Did he keep it anyway, because it was bigger than a sail?
Yes, and he did not regret it for a single moment.
Because it's just sooo comfortable.
Tim would bet it's the most comfortable thing he owns.
And like... okay, it may have a Superboy symbol on it.
Possibly.
But it also smells great, and it's so soft against his tired body.
Maybe he'll close his eyes for a second.
Although, Scarecrow's operations are pretty important.
Tim considers it.
A short break.
Fifteen minutes and then he'll pick up the case again.
He even sets a timer.
This is important, he can't sleep through it.
A fifteen-minute break.
He should get up and go to their bed.
But, the blanket is so soft.
Tim sighs as he drops himself on the couch pillows.
He checks the time.
01:15
Right, perfect, he'll get up at 01:30 to continue, easy, he's done it before.
So, Tim closes his eyes.
For fifteen minutes.
*
Conner unlocks the door as silently as he can, cursing at the noisy hinges.
Levitating a few inches off the floor, he enters and shuts the door behind him.
He knows better than to call out for Tim, because that heartbeat sounds asleep no matter how he cuts it.
So, he looks around and spots Tim's sail of a blanket on the couch.
Dropped over it, because the damn thing is all kinds of huge.
His stomach informs him he hasn't eaten anything in the last few hours with an audacious growl.
Parasite attacking the city centre of Metropolis does that to a guy.
Conner hates Parasite.
Like, okay, he hates most villains but that dude?
No, thank you.
It's always that same feeling when he gets his hands on him.
Like he's being sapped of all life and warmth.
It's cold.
So, thank God for Kara and lamp lights.
And specifically, the one she beat Parasite off of him with.
Then, Jon had dropped in to help, and to wrap things up, Natasha and Kal showed up.
Yup, Parasite chewed on more than he cou-
God, did he really make that joke?
Conner walks to the fridge, craving whatever edible they have left and decides his jokes are decidedly better when he's not hungry.
Picking up a familiar scent he turns around and notices a very full plate of mac 'n' cheese on the kitchen counter with a little note next to it.
Grabbing a fork he looks at the note.
heya handsome, made you something, take your gloves off
Bijoux
Conner chuckles as he takes his gloves off and puts the plate in the microwave.
Bijoux?
Tim really wants that degree.
Not that Conner can blame him, having the language implemented into his brain at Cadmus and all that.
French sounds nice.
The microwave beeps and he takes the plate out.
He eats the food like he's starved and halfway through the plate, realises the blanket on the couch just moved.
Conner blinks.
Should he take his shades off to see better in the dark flat?
And lose style points?
Nah.
So, he just squints at the unidentifed thing.
And maybe if he wasn't so tired he would've noticed the thing smells and sounds and looks like a sleeping Tim.
But he is very tired, so he just shoves another forkful in his mouth and chews the godly pasta Tim has somehow learnt to cook over the years.
And he yawns into his palm as a wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over him.
Stupid Parasite.
Kal had brandished that million-dollar-justice-the-american-way-smile his way and had told him to go get some rest.
Because Conner probably looked like shit.
And then, Kara and Jon had teased him.
Because, ha-ha, Conner is married, that's peak comedy.
According to Kara and Jon, anyway.
Even Kal joined in.
Natasha just giggled.
So, Conner had taken off, glaring at his brother, his cousin and his father (because 'people he was connected to through his artificial genetic make-up' didn't exactly roll of the tongue) and now he's here.
God, the pasta is so good.
He can't get enough of Tim's cooking on a good day.
Today hasn't exactly been a good day.
And like, he can cook too.
And pretty well, too.
But Tim's is just better.
To him, anyway, because Tim always says the exact opposite.
And the plate is empty.
Conner scrapes off the last tiny pieces of food left like he hasn't eaten in years before placing the plate in the sink.
And filling it with water because otherwise it would get difficult to clean later.
And he was cleaning it later.
Much later.
In eight to ten hours, to be precise.
Will Tim scold him for leaving it there in the morning?
Undoubtedly.
However, at the moment, not even that is enough to deter him.
He's on a crush course with his pillow and nothing will get in his way.
Then it occurs to him that a wall might get in his way if he is not careful so, he take off his shades.
The origin of Superboy-shaped holes in the walls of your living room is especially tedious to explain to your husband in the early morning.
So, he sets his shades on the table, next to his gloves and walks to the couch.
The familiar mop of black hair on the pillow makes him smile.
There he is.
Sleeping so peacefully.
His arms thrown over his head.
His shirt riding up just a tiny bit to reveal pale skin.
His mouth adorably open, like he's about to yawn.
And around him, files and prints and reports and a whole lot of other horribly boring documents Conner seriously couldn't detest more.
By the looks of things, Tim fell asleep studying them.
And the coffee mugs on the table tell him, he spent a lot of time doing that before he fell asleep.
Tim stirs in his sleep, mumbling something to himself before settling again with a silly little smirk plastered on his face.
Conner resists the urge to lean down and kiss his mouth, because that would probably wake him up.
So, instead he picks Tim up into a bridal carry, gathering him in his arms and bringing him close.
And because he's tired, he takes the blanket with him, too.
Tim shifts in his hold, forcing his eyelids open with a barely audible whine.
Conner kisses his temple.
"Hey."
His voice has that raspy quality that makes Conner want to wrap him in silk and hug him 'til the end of time.
And he's whispering.
Conner is too, for some reason.
"Hi."
"Is Parasite back in his cell?"
"Mhh."
"You okay?"
"Tired."
Tim seems to realise they're moving, only at that moment.
"Where we goin'?"
"You were sleeping on the couch, so I'm moving you to the bed."
Tim's eyes suddenly focus.
"Wait, no, I still need to finish the report."
"Babe, it's three in the morning."
"I set an alarm for-must've slept through it, damnit."
Conner kisses his temple again, smushing his nose into Tim's hair because there was no one around to stop him.
Tim yawnes against his chest.
"Did you eat the food I left out for you?"
"Yup, it was delicious, too."
Conner turns left, approaching their bedroom.
"Here we go, be-" Conner is interrupted by a yawn "-eeedroom."
And he places Tim on the bed, curled up in his Superboy blanket.
Tim pulls it over his body and signals for him to come lie down next to him.
Conner takes off his jacket and throws it in the desk chair's general direction, succesfully hitting it and making the jacket drop on the desk.
Tim doesn't even complain, he just worms his way closer to Conner's pillows and presses his face into them.
Conner is taking his boots off.
It takes a while.
He's supposed to untie the laces.
But, he's really tempted to just pull them off like a savage.
In the end, he reaches some semblance of middle ground and half-unties half-yoinks them off his feet.
Placing them next to the desk, he drops himself on the bed.
Still in his pants, shirt and socks.
Tim throws the blanket over him in a regal movement, and now they're both being covered by it.
They find each other in the dark.
In that sure and slow way that being married to someone for five years offers you.
"So, how was your night?"
Tim's voice is low and barely-audible but Conner can hear him.
He always can.
Tim hugs his waist, pushing his head against Conner's neck.
Conner resists the urge to coo at him, and instead kisses the top of his head.
"Eh, Parasite got a hold of me."
"Oh."
It's not... worried per se, just a little alarmed.
"I'm fine, Kara fucked him up with a lamp light for it, anyway."
Tim chuckles against his chest and it makes Conner chuckle back.
"Just a little tired, 's all."
"Poor baby, I'm sorry."
Conner nods into Tim's hair.
Tim brings a hand to Conner's cheek left cheek and sits up to kiss the other.
""Know know that your services are appreciated."
Conner kisses him.
"I know they are mister mayor" Tim smiles "how was your da-night?"
"Scarecrow is developping a new fear toxin."
Conner pulls him a tiny bit closer to his chest.
It's a reflex at this point.
"That's bad, right?"
"Yeah."
It sounds so tired, Conner wants to kiss Tim until he's dizzy, to just hold him and tell him it'll all be alright.
So, he does.
Peppering his cheek and neck with tiny, barely-there kisses.
"It's going to be okay, you're a genius, you'll find a way to stop him."
"I hope so."
"I know so."
Tim looks into the distance and Conner can tell he's replaying files and maps and reports and all kinds of horrible documents in his minds.
"Hey."
It's so easy to angle Tim's face his way, to make him snap out of his thoughts.
At least, this time.
"I'm not above punching psycopaths in ridiculous suits, ya know, just tell me where he is."
Tim smiles, exposing white cuspids for a single moment.
"I will, once I find him, you'll have to wait your turn though, Jason and Cass called dibs on him."
"Poor guy, I wouldn't want to have Cass come after me."
"Who would?"
"Is it weird that out of all your family, she's the one I find the scariest?"
"No, she's scarier than Bruce and we all know it."
"Good, okay, short question, why were you sleeping on the couch?"
"I was taking a break, it was supposed to be fifteen minutes long, but it wasn't in the end."
"So, you were overworking yourself, again?"
Tim looks into his eyes, expression slightly guilty.
"Like, 'overworking' is such a harsh word."
Conner looks back, very unimpressed.
"Tim, we've talked about this."
Tim blinks as Conner rubs a slow circle over his back.
"I know."
Conner stops rubbing to place a hand under Tim's chin.
Tim kisses his knuckles.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to stop."
Conner's eyes are sad as Tim looks at him and it makes his heart sink.
"I just want my husband to stop chasing masked psychos in the after hours and get eight hours of sleep for once in his life, pretty please?"
Tim nods.
"Will do, I'm sorry it's just tha-"
"That Bruce has drilled this wonderful mentality into all of you, that it's better to drop dead from exhaustion than let the villain of the week get away."
Tim hugs him tighter.
"I promise to cut down on the all-nighters."
He doesn't say 'stop' because they both know that would be a lie.
Conner, content, kisses him again.
Tim closes his eyes and he falls asleep for a tiny second.
He's back before Conner can notice.
"Kara and Jon troll me all the time ya know."
"Oh yeah? Why?"
"It's just... 'go home, Kon, we'll take Parasite back to jail, your husband must be missing you' and 'when are you two gonna adopt so I can become an aunt' and 'you look horrible, wash up before kissing Tim, yeah?', all the time."
Tim giggles into Conner's shirt.
"Dude."
"What? They're right, your husband was missing you."
Conner smiles as Tim crawls a little closer, letting his head drop on his chest.
"You're comfy."
"I'm sleepy."
"That makes two of us."
"You got anything to do tomorrow?"
"What's tomorrow?"
"A random Wednesday, I wanna make you breakfast."
Tim brings both hands on Conner's chest.
He has them rest on the 'S' on his shirt.
On his heart.
"I'd like that."
"Mhh, me too."
Conner's hands end up on his waist.
He spreads his legs a little so Tim can better settle between them.
Then, when he's all comfortable, Conner's legs move to touch the back of his own.
It's like a hug for both his upper and lower body.
Tim melts.
Conner loses the fight and coos at him.
Tim smushes his face into his chest breathing in.
Leather and cologne and Old Spice because his husband's tacky as hell.
So captivating, so rich so... Conner.
His forehead is being kissed again.
His eyelids are heavy.
"Hey~"
It's barely a croak, but Conner stills to listen, anyway.
"Yeah?"
"Can I get a pec bounce?"
Conner giggles, and it's sleepy, but so warm.
Like a slow summer morning.
Like kisses under the misletoe.
Like cuddles by the fireplace.
"Sometimes I think you're with me just for my body."
Tim snickers.
"Nonsense, your humor is also passable."
Tim looks up through closed eyelids and kisses some part of his husband.
Probably his neck, but Tim isn't sure.
And the solid muscle under his head suddenly flexes, making him move the tiniest bit.
Tim smiles.
"I want more of that in the morning."
"We don't" Conner's traces Tim's thigh with two fingers "need to wait for the mor-"
"Oh yes we do, I'm about to pass out."
Conner's kissing him again.
The hand on his thigh returns to his waist.
Slipping under his shirt and caressing his skin in slow strokes.
It's warm against his waist.
Conner always is.
Tim moves his hands to his husband's neck.
Lazily hugging it.
Conner kisses his fingers as he does.
"Love ya."
"Love ya more."
They always say that.
It's silly but they always do.
Tim had ripped it off of some horrible Christmas movie they'd watched on Netflix.
"Don't know what I'd do if you ever-"
Conner stops.
Tim rubs at his nape, barely reaching the short hair at the back of his skull.
"You don't need to, I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise."
It's a simple request.
It's vulnerable in a way Conner only is at times like this, tired and sleepy and honest.
Isn't it ironic?
The one who went and got himself killed asking his husband not to do exactly that.
Tim nods.
"Promise."
Conner relaxes under Tim's weight.
"I should've taken off my pants, huh?"
"I don't mind."
"I know."
He does.
He knows so much about him at this point.
Knows that infinitesimal twitch his upper lip does when he's angry.
Knows the way his hair smells and feels when he's just stepped out of the shower.
Knows the way his lips taste after he's drank his favourite caramel-flavored coffee at 5 in the morning.
He knows so much about him.
Tim yawns.
It's an adorable little sound.
It reminds him of Krypto.
And Jon when he was a baby, but mostly Krypto.
Conner adjusts his hold on Tim's body a bit.
Pulls him a little closer.
Because he can.
And because, the closer he gets to that mop of black hair, and that smart mouth and those beautiful eyes and and that brilliant brain, the better.
So he pulls Tim closer.
Tim goes without complaint.
Into that familiar heat, those kind eyes, those strong arms and that charming smile.
Because Kon is his.
And he is Kon's.
So, he moves closer.
Closer to his husband, the love of his life, his best friend and companion.
And as he does, soft lips kiss his own.
And for a single moment, his brain stops remindig him of worries and responsibilities.
For one, tiny moment, the world stops.
And Kon smiles at him.
And Tim's world starts again.
Brilliant and warm and cozy and
Blue
so blue
With just a little bit of red and black mixed in.
And Tim kisses Kon.
And Kon kisses Tim.
"Love ya."
"Love ya more."