Plausible Deniability

Title: Kiss the Rain
Wordcount: 5000+
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kon/Tim
Summary: Normal World A/U - Farmboy Kon Kent is stuck at the Metropolis Museum while his estranged father covers the event of the season. The evening takes a turn when he bumps into runaway rich boy Tim, and embarks of a night of useless entertainment.

A/N - For batstalker
-

“I'm sorry. I know this was supposed to be our weekend, but Lois called Perry last minute and declared she was spewing out both ends and I was the only one without an assignment. I promise it won't take long, just a couple hours!” Clark insisted apologetically, “I could try and get you in, if you'd like? There's free food?”

Kon slouched against the battered door of his father's aging '94 Escort and shrugged, “Whatever.” He made a face. He'd made the mistake of saying 'Yes' once and he never wanted to spend another evening being given dirty looks from rich muckety-mucks ever again. There was nothing about him he should be ashamed of. So what if he wore jeans and work boots on a Saturday night?

Clark sighed, pulling into the back lot at the Metropolis Museum. “I really am sorry, Conner.” He rubbed his son's head lovingly and tried not to wince when the teen scowled and pulled away. Right, all grown up. He couldn't do that anymore. Clark tried to ignore the ache in his chest that reminded him he didn't do it often enough when he could.

He dug around for his wallet and pulled out three twenties, “Here,” He offered. “There's some good food on this strip, maybe an arcade or something. I'll be out at eleven whether the show's over or not. Ok?”

Kon shrugged again, but accepted the money without a sneer. He knew Clark was trying. Clark was always trying; its what made it so hard to deal with him. Clark tried being a Dad and he tried being a brother and he tried to stay out of everyone's way while Grandma and Grandpa dealt with all of his 'teenage hijinks'. Kon wished Clark would just decide already. Hell, most of the time, Kon didn't even call him 'Dad'. How could he? Grandma taught him to read, Grandpa taught him to fish and threw footballs in the yard; Clark was a voice on the phone who was always doing big important things far away. First it was college, then it was work. Now it was still work, but big important things that Kon read about on the internet hours after Clark had been on the scene. It was cool to be able to brag about his dad, the world famous reporter, but most the time, it was lonely.

Little visits like this just made it clear how much Kon didn't fit in Clark's life.

Clark gave him a last indecisive look, obviously trying to figure out something to say, but in the end he just got out of the car and left him there. It was probably for the best. Clark never said the right thing, anyway. Clark was finally ready for a son and all the responsibilities that came with it, but somehow, the baby he remembered leaving at home turned into a 16 year old kid when he wasn't looking. It wasn't fair to anybody.

Kon smacked his fist into the passenger side door and huffed, grabbing the recliner and popping the seat back so he could stare at the ceiling. Shit, if this wasn't cliché and maudlin, he didn't know what was, but he was having a teen angst moment, so fuck it all. His father was too busy for him, his mother left him before he was released from the hospital, and new he was having deep rooted emotional issues stemming from feelings of inadequacy.

He was pretty sure they talked about things like this last year in Psychology, but he'd been watching Annie Clary lean over in her tight low-cut shirts and missed most of it.

Kon thought about his mom every once in awhile. Every couple days, maybe. Ya know, when he wasn't thinking about it all the time. Apparently, the one rebellious act of Clark's teenage years neatly intersected with Jenny Alvarez's 21st birthday and they'd both ended up at some dumbass 90's concert where no one really checked I.D.'s. She'd thought he was a college student, he thought she was nice and really beautiful, and it all ended up in her dorm room before he headed back to Smallville the next morning in his battered blue truck.

Two months later, in the days before cell phones, Jenny found his number in her little black book and left a frantic message at the home of John and Martha Kent. Kon could only guess everyone's reactions, but considering how Grandma acted the one time he slept over at Jody's house without permission in 8th grade, he could imagine something similar. Except, ya know, more. 'Young man you are grounded for three weeks and will muck out the barn twice a day!' didn't seem stiff enough punishment for 'Illegally drove to Metropolis and attended an over 21 concert, imbibed an assortment of alcohol, had sex, and got a girl pregnant.'

Clark gave Kon a very serious piece of advice on his fifteenth birthday. 'Before you kiss strangers, get their last name,' he'd told him solemnly and Kon still couldn't think of Clark's earnest expression without dying of laughter.

Chuckling quietly to himself, he got out of the car and thumbed through the money Clark gave him. Three hours and sixty bucks. It was downtown Metropolis, there had to be something to do. The sky was a dubious gray and Kon didn't want to fight for a bus ride in the rain. Maybe there was a movie playing at the CineMax down the block.

He nearly missed the footsteps on the fire escape, but the cursing made him look up. At first, he thought it was a thief dressed in black, but the white shirt and shiny shoes nixed that idea. Instead, it seemed a young socialite was trying to skip out on the grand time that was the 'Event of the Season'. Kon stopped and watched him pull off his shoes and chuck them down on the street below. The Escapee then finished his decent silently, hopping down to the pavement with barely a huff.

Kon leaned against the building and clapped, smirking when the kid jumped. He was younger than Kon thought he'd be, but older than he would have guessed at his height. Poor kid, probably gets lost in the halls. Good thing he was rich or no one would take him seriously.

“Awesome. Used to climbing the trellises back home?” Kon smirked, noting the kid's pristine tuxedo.

“Something like that,” He answered cagily, eying Kon like he was the one slinking off into the night. “What do you want?”

“Porn and a Pizza,” Kon shrugged, “Maybe a 24 case of Pepsi. Haven't decided yet.”

The kind blinked but the utter paranoia that had him taut like a bow string began to ease out of him and he bent down to pick up his shiny black shoes. They probably cost more than Kon's entire wardrobe.

“So, what are you slumming around for? Drugs, prostitutes, a community college education?” He needled, shoving his hands in his pockets with a satisfied grin.

The kid glared at him and Kon stopped smiling and scuffed his shoe guiltily. Heck, once he got past all the expensive clothes, the kid looked like shit. Not 'Ugly as fuck' or 'Sniffing Cocaine' – not that he particularly knew what that looked like, but they'd watched a couple videos about it in junior high – but, well, worn the fuck out by life. No one should look like that before they're thirty. “I was looking for some quiet time away from the press, but it looks like I'm not gonna get that.”

Kon blinked, “huh?” He asked.

“What are you, the coffee bitch? I didn't realize Lois Lane needed someone to wipe her ass,” He spat.

“Lois isn't there tonight,” Kon corrected him. “There's not fucking way you could pay me if she was. There's only so much condescending cheek pinching and 'Go buy yourself a soda, Kid, and let the big dogs, talk' I can take and she's filled her quota for, oh, right, life.”

Rich kid snorted and Kon was pretty sure he didn't realize he was smiling. Not big ass light up your face smiling, but that little smile everyone got when they thought something was funny. A real one. “So the illustrious Miss Lane skipped out on interrogating Gotham's Golden boy on his newest acquisition. Funny, I thought she was finally going to run with 'Bruce Wayne's Narcissistic Obsession: Seedy Billionaire Collects Identical Boys For Sex'.

“For real?” Kon asked, skeptically.

Rich kid gave him a blank look and panned, “No.”

“Right,” Kon sighed, standing up. “Well, it was swell. If you don't want reporters finding you, I suggest hiding in a different lot. Clark's parked out here, so I figure most of the others are probably here too.” He looked over his shoulder at Clark's car and frowned, “Then again, this might be the only place they'd let him keep his shitmobile.” He shrugged, “Anyway, have a nice night.”

Kon was halfway down the street when the kid rounded the corner at a jog and called, “Wait!”

He stopped and waited for him to catch up, “What, forgot something?”

“Where are you going?” The kid asked, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. Kon noticed Rich Kid had the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen. It was a little creepy.

“Uh,” He shifted, “Food, I guess. Maybe crash a movie or something.” He thumbed back at the museum, “My ride's inside so I don't have much choice.”

Kid nodded and bit his lip, suddenly going small, “I, mind if I come along?”

Kon shrugged, “Sure, why the hell not. Keep me from being bored, at least.” He turned and continued walking, shortening his strides a little to help Rich Kid keep up, but it didn't seem to phase him. “I'm Kon.”

Rich Kid seemed to freeze hesitantly for a moment, but he never stopped walking. After glancing thoughtfully in Kon's direction a couple times, he softly said, “Tim.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. Tim, got it. He'd like to say something about it suiting him, but it didn't. Well, it didn't not suit him, but Tim could have been name Bert or Arthur or Steven for all it mattered. The pushed through the late-night foot traffic with ease and little conversation and finally it drove Kon crazy, “You going to walk around that uptight all night, or you going to pull the stick out of your ass and let loose a little?”

“I have an image to keep,” Tim responded snippily and Kon rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, like climbing down a fire escape in your socks. Very Refined.”

This time, Tim was the one that snorted and he gave Kon a wry half-grin “I suppose you have a point,” he said and pulled at his stodgy bow tie until it hung loose around his neck. Then he unwrapped his cummerbund an shoved it in his pocket. “Better?” he asked, “I'd toss the jacket, but I'm afraid I didn't pay for it.”

Kon nodded, “Better...” He trailed and leaned closer, “But one more thing.” He pounced on him and pushed him up against the wall, ravaging the well-gelled hair with both hands. Tim fought back haplessly and eventually he pulled back laughing so hard his sides hurt. “There!” Kon declared victoriously, “Now you look like you've been up to no good!”

Tim grinned and shook his head, trying to pat his errant locks back into some semblance of order. Kon just batted his hands away and chided, “Stop that. I worked hard to give you that hair.”

Tim pulled at the elbows of his jacket, “I was trying to keep this suit clean. Not mine, remember?”

“No,” Kon said bashfully, “I didn't. I always assumed only rich people attended rich people parties. The couple times I've been to them people always looked at me funny.”

Tim gave him a long once over, “Did you wear flannel?”

“Well, yeah,” Kon shrugged, “Clark never gives me much warning when we end up at these things. He tries to take the night off but sometimes things come up.”

“Mm,” Tim nodded, “Clark's your... Brother?” He asked politely.

“Uh,” Kon coughed, scratching the back of his head. “Not really.”

Tim blinked and promptly turned red, “Oh!” He exclaimed, “I'm sorry. I didn't realize, um-”

“What?” Kon started, “What do you mean?” He looked around. “What?”

“I didn't mean to pry,” Tim started to apologize. “I wasn't trying to fish into your personal life. It didn't even occur to me Clark was your, ah, significant other.”

“Oh my GOD,” Kon yelled, covering his eyes and shaking his head like a wet dog, “Holy God, no!” Passerbyers gave them started look and Kon shuddered, “Holy mother- Jesus, Tim! Warn a guy before you pop out something like that. My brain burns. What the fuck, man, seriously? Clark's my Dad.”

Tim coughed awkwardly, “Oh.”

“Oh, right.” Kon agreed heatedly, “Shit, man! I think I'm scarred for life!”

Tim turned his nose up like a spoiled kitten and if he wasn't so horrified, Kon would have laughed at the pretentious behavior, “You should have said that in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, it's complicated like and I didn't really want to go into it!” Kon exclaimed, rubbing his head. “Wow. Dude. I'll remember this night for-fucking-ever. Thanks.”

“I live to serve,” Tim deadpanned, hiding a smirk.

“Asshole,” Kon muttered, giving him a dirty look. “So, why are you running around Metropolis in a borrowed suit.”

And, suddenly, Tim shut down. His smile and playfulness was gone, replaced by a stony absence of emotion. “It's complicated.” He mimicked, and Kon wanted to kick himself.

“Fuck it, we're a fantastic pair,” Kon cursed, “I vote we spend the night talking about nothing but chicks, food, and cheap entertainment. That way, there's no more of this deep emotional shit. I'm just not in the mood for it.”

Tim nodded and sighed and Kon was beginning to read him a little. If he had to guess, he'd say Tim was relieved Kon wasn't digging more.

“Sounds perfect.” Tim agreed.

“Wanna see a movie?” Kon asked, “It's on me.”

Tim shook his head, “Too sedentary. I'd prefer to keep walking.”

“Sedentary? Who the fuck says that, man? Loosen up, let the slang hang out. Forget a comma here and there, your momma's not watching.” And, bravo, Conner Kent, Tim didn't just shut down this time, he looked like he was going to cry.

Borrowed suit, no mother, shit. The kid was an orphan and Kon bit his head off for asking about his Dad. He was such an asshole.

He looked about for something to keep the kid's mind off his troubles and saw it in the glittering lights and wizbangs across the street. “Come on,” He said, grinning wildly while he grabbed Tim's arm, “Follow me.”

“Wha-?” Tim started, “The arcade? What are you, twelve?”

“Yeah, the arcade,” Kon mocked, getting in his face, “What are you, eighty?” He grinned, “Let loose, shorty. Get in the groove. It's good times.”

Tim's face turned splotchy as he yelped, “'Shorty?'” and Kon gave him a patronizing grin.

“Only a little.”

“Just because I'm not built like a brick wall does not make me short!” He objected, giving Kon a cold look.

Kon would have taken him more seriously if he hadn't followed him into the arcade. Instead, he just grinned and stuck a twenty in the change machine and said, “Hold your hands out.”

Tim complied, and Kon pushed them together and made them a scoop, dumping a gigantic handful of gold tokens in his hand. The second handful he shoved into his jeans. Damn, he was growing again. He could barely fit his fist in his pockets.

“Play time!” He cheered, slapping Tim on the back heartily, laughing when he spilled some of his tokens, “I claim the Whack-a-Mole!”

-

It took awhile for Tim to really let go, but by the time they took over the air hockey board, he was whooping and cheering victoriously at Kon's record breaking defeat.

Kon sulked. “You totally bribed the girl at the counter,” He accused, gathering up his tickets and waiting his turn for the counting machine.

Tim wheezed a laugh and raised an eyebrow skeptically, “You mean the guy at the counter, right?”

Kon, looked over his shoulder and frown, “No way. That's totally a chick. Fucking ugly chick, yeah, but no one wears jeans that tight and calls themselves a man.”

“His name is Ryan, if you read his name tag and, well...” Tim eyed Kon's jeans and quirked his eyebrow again.

“Hey!” Kon smacked him halfheartedly with his fist of tickets, “I'm a growing boy! I have to get some new pants is all!” He rolled his shoulders and tossed his head vainly, adding, “Besides, no one could mistake me for anything than a red-blooded male, anyway.”

“Of course not,” Tim said dryly, “You want nothing but the American Dream.”

“Absolutely.”

“Pizza and Porn.”

Kon grinned, “Pizza and Porn.”

They bickered over how to put the tickets in the machine and eventually, Tim shoved him out of the way and systematically fed their spoils into the counter. “You're kinda anal, you know that right?”

Tim sniffed primly, and glanced out the corner of his eye, “I merely enjoy order.”

“Yeah. Anally.”

Tim pointedly refused to respond, giving the machine his dedicated attention and Kon starting laughing hysterically. “Dude, You look like I pissed in your Wheaties! I've seen wet cats less ticked than you.”

“I,” Tim said simply, “Am not 'ticked'. I'm indignant.”

“Yeah,” Kon chuckled, “Whatever man. You're fricken' adorable. I think I have to mess your hair up again. It looks almost combed.”

Tim didn't argue, just sighed heavily and held out the ticket tab. “You're a Whack-a-mole champion. You earned 3000 ticket for $20 dollars. You can get that cute teddy bear, two sets of cheap sunglasses, and a bag of Soldier men.”

“Or, I could invest in the shiny plastic clip-on earrings and pretend we've got serious bling.” Kon waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Come on, I wanna see gangsta T-man.”

Tim rolled his eyes, “Why don't you donate the points to some poor unskilled skell who wastes his allowance here every weekend and make a child smile? I hear it's good for the soul.”

“Dude, if the kid comes here every weekend and still sucks, obviously he needs the character building experience. I should totally be his idol instead. Everyone should try and be as awesome as me,” He boasted proudly, sauntering over to the counter.

He smacked the receipt on the counter and leaned on the counter charmingly, flashing a smile at Ryan, “Hey there, I'd like a set of the clip on earrings, a bag of taffy, three bouncy balls, and a bag of toy soldiers for my man over there,” He thumbed over his shoulder at Tim. “Think you can help me out with that?”

Ryan turned red, eyes skittering between Kon and Tim and he – Damn Tim, he was right, it was a dude in tight pants! - mumbled, “Get it for you right away.”

“Thanks, bud.” Kon nodded, turning around to watch Tim help one of those unfortunate skells play deer hunter. It was cute, in an entirely big brother sorta way, and Tim finally looked like kid instead of a plastic mini-mogul that hadn't finished priming. Kon smiled while he watched him fire carefully at the screen, racketing out tickets with each shot. Tim eyes didn't seem so empty when he was laughing. Instead they were just... intense.

“Here,” Ryan returned, interrupting Kon's thoughts.

Coughing away his embarrassment, he nodded a thank you and headed over to steal Tim away from his new fan. He jangled the bag of green army men at eye level, “Hi, honey. Bought you a present.”

Tim elbowed him back and finished the level before handing the gun off and giving Kon a disparaging look. He held out his hand expectantly, “Well?”

Kon quirked an eyebrow. “What, you expect me to give them to you now? After you were so mean to me? My feelings are hurt,” He mourned. “I don't think my soul can recover from the ache.”

Tim's eyes narrowed mischievously and Kon smirked back as the little wheels in his head started turning. Tim lunged, but Kon shamelessly abused his larger stature and dangled the ziplock bag just out of reach. What he didn't expect was Tim's new buddy to body check his knees out from under him and bring the three of them down in a rain of tangled limbs. The little kid gnawed on Kon's hand until he yelped and admitted defeat. He gave up both the taffy and toy soldiers.

The kid ran off without a word, eating Kon's taffy as he disappeared into the crowd. Tim, on the other hand, was shoving his spoils in the tiny pockets of his tux.

“You look like you just ate the canary and all it's relatives,” Kon commented from the floor.

Tim smiled and held up the clip-on earrings. He popped one out and put it on, “Bling bling, yo.”

Kon couldn't help it. His sides already hurt from laughing, but Tim's deadpan gangster sounded like 'Please, Charles, would you pass the pecan butter?' and he looked like a mismatched pirate, to boot. “Dude, No. Just,” He wheezed, “It's not the look for you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and tossed the other earring at Kon's face, “The show me how it's done, Fifty-Cent.”

Kon sat up and popped on the cheap plastic hoop. Then, he flashed a grin, “See? Tell me I don't look good.”

Tim stared.

“What?” Kon pulled at the earring, “Is my ear turning green? What the fuck, dude?”

Tim shook his head, “No, no. Just, you actually look good. That's entirely unfair.”

Kon preened, “It's cause I'm a badass.”

“Right,” Tim rolled his eyes. He stood up, “Well, I think I'm hungry. Wanna get out of here?”

Kon sighed melodramatically, “I suppose so. I had taffy, but someone mugged me and I'm all out, now.”

“Tragic.”

“It is!” He whined. “I won that taffy fair and square. I should charge his ass with felony theft.”

Tim cleared his throat, “I'm afraid the most you can charge him with is petty theft and likely he'd pay you fifty dollars in fines.”

“Seriously?” He asked incredulously, “I could get fifty buck for some kid stealing my taffy?”

Tim gave him a look.

“I'm not saying I would!” Kon defended, “I just didn't know I could!”

“Hypothetically, yes.” Tim clarified, “But no one would let you.”

Kon sighed, “Damn. There goes my get rich quick scheme.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Hey,” Kon segued suddenly, “The earring really looked good?”

Tim stopped in confusion and nodded, “Yes?”

Kon grinned, nodding across the street. The piercing and tattoo parlor was empty but the 'Open' sign blinked in the window. “I'm sixteen, I can get a piercing by myself now.”

“Now? Just like that?” Tim asked hesitantly, “Shouldn't you think it over?”

“Why? Don't you think I'd look good?”Kon waggled his eyebrows. Tim turned pink and glared at him. “Admit it, I need the piercing.”

“Like you need another hole in the head,” Tim said slyly

Kon paused, “Haha, you're a bucket of laughs.” He rolled his eyes sulkily, “I'm going. You can wait here if you want.”

“Not a chance,” Tim kept pace as they crossed the street. “I'm not missing a chance to watch you scream like a little girl.”

Kon huffed, “Yeah right, man. Whatever you think.”

-

Half an hour later, Kon fiddled with the new hoop in his ear, avoiding the puncture.

“Well, I'm disappointed,”Tim said.

Kon just grinned, “I told you I wouldn't scream.”

“I was sure you'd chicken out when they pulled out a needle instead of an air gun.”

“Bullshit, I'm a man, Timmy my man, and men do not chicken out.”

Tim chuckled and Kon couldn't help grinning. He kinda adored the pants off this kid. Uh, figuratively. Mostly. “Yes, oh illustrious man, you sure showed me.”

Kon strutted cockily, “That's what she said.”

Tim stopped and gaped at him, “You didn't just say that.”

Kon looked about, panicking. Did he do something wrong again? He'd forgotten the kid was a walking time bomb, “I, w-what did I say?”

“You did not just make a 'That's what she said' joke,” Tim insisted. “Because I firmly believe those are even worse than puns and, dear God, I hear enough puns these days.”

Kon rolled his eyes and smacked Tim upside the head for worrying him, “I'll have you know a well-placed 'That's what she said' can make an evening.”

“I think you need to work on your comedic timing, then.”

“Oh Fuck you, Red Skeleton.” Kon laughed. He shook his head, “Look, cheap hot dogs. I think I've got just enough left.”

“Solid logs of cholesteral. Yay.”

“Sometimes, I think you really miss out on the finer things in life,” Kon insisted, rattling off his order to the vendor, “No street food, no arcades, no impulsive body art. You act like you're a living funeral. Where's the fun in that?”

Ten points to Conner Kent for a direct hit. Of all the stupid shit he'd done that night, none of them hurt like watching Tim crumble. He wasn't crying; Kon wasn't sure he knew how. The look on his face was shamed and loathing all at once and it was entirely focused inward. Kon handed the vendor the last of his cash and waved off the change, pulling Tim into the alley around the corner.

“Shit, dude. I'm sorry. I should have thought – Fuck,” Kon cursed, kicking the wall. He started this evening thinking Tim was a spoiled useless rich kid running off to find trouble in the Metropolis night life, but now.. hell, maybe all those things were true, but it didn't matter because Kon also knew how lonely he was, how much he just wanted to be free from everything for just a little while. Kon had given that to him and he'd do anything to give it to him again. He wanted Tim to be happy.

Then, in proper Kansas fashion, the sky split and doused them in an endless sheet of rain.

Eyes squeezed shut, Tim offered his face to the rain and Kon's heart melted. He wanted to make everything alright, again. “Tim...” but Tim just shook his head.

“Lets go back,” He said, cutting Kon off. “Thanks for everything.”

He couldn't stand it, being brushed off suddenly like it was all over. Tim was walking away, straight into the whirlwind of desperate people trying to hide from the weather. If he let him go, Kon would never get him back. “Wait!” He yelled, looking around frantically. Tim paused and looked over his shoulder and Kon waved him over. “Here,” He pushed the hot dogs into his arms, “hold these.”

He grabbed a two by four out of the trash and ignored the 'Condemned' sign hanging on the alleyside door and bashed at the lock chaining it shut. On the fifth try, it popped open, and Kon tossed the chain away and opened the door, “Come on.” he beckoned. It was only a hunch and a desperate one at that, but Kon just couldn't imagine making Tim go back to the glitz and glamor of the crowded museum. He just didn't fit.

To his relief, Tim followed.

There wasn't an elevator, so they took the stairs and with every step Kon was afraid Tim would come to his senses and leave, but the closer they came to the roof, the closer Tim followed behind. When he pushed open the roof access, it was magic.

The rain poured down, turning the glittering lights of neon signs and taxis into streaming halos that melted into the darkness of the night. Sounds were drowned by the staccato patter and, finally, they were alone. Kon turned around and watched Tim carefully as he set their food on a bent vent and reached towards the sky.

It was beautiful. All the hurt was open on the surface of his face but, instead of holding it in, Tim was giving it away. This time, Kon didn't step back when he wanted to hold him and Tim's exhausted sigh made him squeeze harder.

It was right, this moment. It wasn't the happiness Kon imagined, but that was alright. It was healing and that was wonderful, too.

When Tim finally sagged into his arms and open his eyes Kon grabbed a foil covered hot dog and held it out for him, “Come on, time for your cholesterol log.”

Tim's lips quirked and Kon decided happiness was still a good goal.

He smiled back and devoured his hotdog in two gigantic mouthful, to Tim's obvious disgust. “Raised in a barn, were we?” He gagged.

Kon swallowed and grinned shamelessly, “Yup!”

Tim eyed him like he was mad and ate his with a proper etiquette Kon never imagined could ever be applied to finger food. The watched the city in comfortable silence until, surprisingly, Tim broke the quiet.

“Than you,” He said softly. He didn't explain why. He didn't need to.

Kon shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip, trying to find the words to say what he wanted. The more he moved, the more Tim watched him expectantly and he knew he had to say something, but nothing seemed right. Finally, to both their surprise, he leaned in and kissed Tim softly on the lips.

He should have been alarmed by the suddenly implications of his action, but really, right now, Kon had something more important to think about and it was kissing back. The rain washed the gel out of Tim's hair and Kon pulled his fingers through the short baby-soft strands.

Then, a taxi blared it's horn right below them and they jumped apart.

“I-” Tim stuttered, “We should head back.” He checked his watch, “It's almost eleven.”

Grudgingly, Kon nodded. He wanted to demand Tim stay, to talk, to admit something special just happened, but before he could get his righteous anger up, Tim surprised him by winding their fingers together.

He bit his lip nervously and watched Kon's reaction carefully. How could he do anything but smile?

The walk back was a happy blur of silence and shy touches that ended too soon. Just around the corner, they could see lines of richly dressed people waiting for their personal limos to pull up and ferry them away from the rain. Kon squeezed Tim's hand finally let go. “I guess it's goodnight, huh?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah.”

“I, um...” Kon pat down his pockets, fumbling his bouncy balls as he searched for something to write with. Finally, he grabbed a chipped piece of tar off the pavement and pulled up the sleeve of Tim's jacket and wrote his phone number on the white cuff of the undershirt. “Wait, crap. This wasn't your suit,” He winced.

Tim just laughed quietly and shook his head, “I don't think I can give it back now, anyway.” He admitted, pulling his sleeve down carefully. He smiled and kissed Kon one last time, “For luck.”

“Yeah,” Kon agreed, grinning foolishly, “Good Luck.”

It was after Tim walked away and Kon found Clark's car that he realized he'd never gotten Tim's last name.

He was still laughing when Clark came back and when he asked what was so funny, Kon choked and had to drop his head between his knees to breath.

Maybe he and Clark had more in common than he thought.

-
A/N: I hope this makes everything a little bit better for you! Much love.