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What Those Nights Can Do to You

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“You know, I had a crush on you when I was Robin.”

Clark quirks an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips like he's not sure whether to be concerned or amused. “Really?”

Jason nods. He's glad the hood allows him to look impassive. Truth be told, as liberating as it is to admit it, he's a little embarrassed. Clark's gotta be able to hear his heart skip a beat, but that doesn't mean he has to see him blush, too. Not that his mask's lined with lead, but he trusts the boy scout won't invade his privacy too much.

“Way back before I even admitted to myself I liked guys,” he goes on. He's not sure why he's copping to this all of a sudden, but it's late, dark, and quiet on the rooftop, and Jason hates silence. “But you floated in all cool and strong and way nicer than B ever was, and it was hard to think straight. Literally.”

Clark laughs, looking out over the skyline. They're on the lookout for some traffickers due in within the next couple of hours. Or, more accurately, Red Hood is on the lookout, and Bruce sent Superman in to keep him honest.

Needless to say, it's working way better than intended.

“Well, I'm... flattered, I guess,” Clark says, glancing back at him, and yup, those boyish blue eyes of his still catch Jason's attention. “I hope I didn't cause too huge a teenage crisis.”

“Please,” Jason scoffs. “Guy like you must cause at least a dozen of those a day in Metropolis alone. That's one thing about you, you're way too modest.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Clark asks, but it's with a smile that's a touch shy of innocent.

“It's not what I'm used to, that's for sure.” He pushes away from the structure leading to the stairwell, stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles. “Hey, mind if I try something?”

That gets Clark to blink, looking curious. He stops floating, landing gracefully on the roof in front of Jason. “Sure, what is it?”

Jason doesn't reply. He presses the catch on the side of his helmet, undoing it with a hiss of air. Before it even hits the ground, he's on Clark, arms wrapped around broad shoulders, mouth pressed against lips soft as silk but strong as steel.

Clark makes a noise of surprise, but Jason swallows it down, licks up every trace of it. He's hard, unyielding, but even though he could flick Jason away with his pinky, he doesn't move. It's thrilling to think of what Clark might do if he weren't so modest, how he might grab and shove and force and hold, and Jason shivers against his chest.

After a moment that somehow both lasts too long and ends too soon, Jason pulls away. His eyes, half-lidded and dark, stay on Clark's lips, afraid of what he might see if he looks up. He licks his lips for one last taste, then speaks in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

“...Just wanted to know what it felt like,” he says. “That's all.”

He pulls away and turns, bends down to pick up his helmet with the idea that he'll pop it back on and they'll continue on like normal. But as he straightens up, a hand — a hand that could send him right back to the grave, though he knows it won't — catches him by the elbow. He glances back, looking up only high enough to see the bright red and yellow S on Clark's suit.

That's when his chin is tilted up, and he's pulled into another kiss.

This one's longer, deeper, and Jason drops the hood so he can thread his fingers through Clark's hair. He adds more tongue, though Clark still manages to radiate shyness that doesn't suit a literal Superman. It's so novelty that it makes Jason's head spin in the best sort of way.

When they finally part, Jason's panting. Clark isn't, of course, but his cheeks are a dusty pink, visible even in the low light.

“I, uh.” He gulps. “...Don't tell Batman about this?”

A grin spreads over Jason's face. “Sure. As long as you don't tell Batman about this.

He trails a hand down rock-hard abs and cups Clark through tight spandex. His gasp is music to Jason's ears.

They kiss again, and that's as good as a promise to the both of them.