Title: Catch-22 Fandom: DCU (Toonverse: Gotham Knights/Justice League) Characters: Tim, Clark Summary: I'll never get away from you, even if you told me to. Notes: I have been spending *too much* time talking to Te about Clark. Also, Superman is not allowed to have sex. Warning: Content some readers may find disturbing. "It's -- this is -- really -- not going to work," Tim says. "What?" Clark says. Not because he didn't hear, because he's Clark. "And we'll still be, like, friends -- or allies -- or whatever we were before." Tim runs a hand through his hair and smiles a sickly sort of smile. "But --" "Tim." Clark reaches toward him, hesitates. "Robin." Touches his shoulder. Pulls him close, into that disgustingly manly embrace that only Clark can manage without a smack on the back. "Don't." "I'm serious." "Sure you are." Clark chuckles. Jovially. And tousles his hair. Tim ducks, but he can't get away. "No, really. Stop." "Is this about that -- incident -- with, ah, Ashley?" Tim punches Clark in the chest just lightly enough not to hurt himself. "And Steve. And Sarah. And Justin." (The way Justin's face had looked, and his fucking *worshipful* whisper of "Superman...") "Dammit, Clark --" "I wanted to be sure you were all right." Clark pets his hair. "I'm fine. I'm going to be fine. I'd be fine if I could just *do that* without *knowing* you were listening." Tim punches him again, harder, and this time Clark lets him go. "That wouldn't be a safe promise to make." Tim crosses his arms. "I want to be your friend. Don't make me get, like, a restraining order, here." Clark frowns gently. "Tim. You know I only want what's best for you." "You do *not.* You're not my fucking father," Tim says, and he puts a lot of weight on the curse just to see if it will make Clark's eye twitch. It does. "No, but I am your friend. Please, Tim, don't be afraid." Clark pats his shoulder, and Tim dodges away. "Jesus, Clark, what part of 'This is over' doesn't translate into Kryptonian?" Tim shoves his hands in his pockets. "It was really *fun.* I just -- can't. Because you *can't* all the time, and it's not fair, and I don't *want* you to all the time but I can't stand knowing you're right *there.* Even if you're on the goddamn moon." Clark frowns again, more deeply. "I'm not going to stop 'being there.'" "I need you to." Tim looks up at him and really registers how *tall* Clark is for the first time in a while. "Please." There's something in Clark's face -- Kal-El's face. "It's not an option, Tim." "But you *can.*" Tim fingers his keys in his pockets and wishes he had a batarang, whatever a batarang would do against Superman. "It wouldn't be safe." "It's my fucking sex life, Clark. It's none of your goddamn business!" "Until you get mixed up with someone who's dangerous, and perhaps there aren't surveillance cameras *everywhere* in Gotham, yet." Now that's Superman. "That's not the same." Superman raises an eyebrow. "You don't think he's watching?" Tim wrinkles his nose. "He doesn't *care* like you do. Like you would. Leave me *alone.*" Superman sighs. "As much as I can." "Completely." Tim -- is too old to stomp his foot, or do anything but glower at Clark. "As much as possible." "Dammit --" Tim shakes his head. "Promise me you're done." Superman puts his hands on his hips. "I told you. I'll leave you alone and ignore your business as much as is safe for you." Tim crosses his arms over his chest. "I -- fine. If that's as good as it gets. Fine. I fucking hate you." Superman smiles a little, sad smile, like he's really all that much older than Tim. Even with how he sort of is, he's not that damn old. "Be careful, Tim." And he's gone. "Fuck you, too," Tim says, and punches the wall. It hurts less than punching Clark's chest, bloody knuckles and all.
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