Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics or any of these characters.
Clark has long been a friend to Robins. Tim knows that. He is someone you can trust, absolutely, and he knows your secrets, so you can be honest. Hell, how can you not be honest with him when the man can hear all the signs that you are lying? But he isn't a Bat, and sometimes he needs that. No matter how much he cares for, needs, loves Dick, sometimes he really needs someone who is an outsider to Gotham and all that it means. Someone who hasn't been warped by this city and the way it gets in your blood and claims you.
He could, of course, go to any of the Titans for this, too, but it's not the same. None of them are Clark and none of them feel quite as trustworthy, as completely safe; like he is a very small child with his dad, who is a dad the way they are supposed to be, protective and loving. Except that analogy, while accurate, makes the way he is thinking about Clark of late deeply wrong and even more disturbing than it already is.
He's not sure how any of this happened. He had started by just calling Clark at times, just to talk. Eventually, Clark suggested they go somewhere, just hang out, as friends. And it was weird, with the age difference and he's Superman and all that, but in some ways it wasn't. It could have felt condescending, like Clark was trying too hard to be his friend and pretending to be something he wasn't, but it didn't. Clark seemed to genuinely like him and to enjoy spending time with him. He didn't even seem to notice all the differences between them and sometimes Tim forgot, too. He is far more comfortable with Clark than he would be with the kids he knows at school. Maybe Alfred is right and he really had never been a kid, except in body.
They did really ordinary things together, even if what they talked about while doing them wasn't ordinary. Clark took him horseback riding in Smallville and back to his apartment in Metropolis to play video games. They went to movies and ate junk food and were just friends, like anyone else might be. The very ordinariness was grounding, made him feel that maybe Tim and Robin weren't so separate after all.
But his favorite part of their time together was the extraordinary part, the times when Clark took him flying. Clark held him so close and so carefully, as though he might break, and it was warm and safe and wonderful; he could see everything from the sky and it looked beautiful and perfect. From up there, you couldn't see any of the problems of the world. It was like a dream of flying and he didn't want to wake up.
And that, of course, was the problem. He'd been caught in the dream and he couldn't wake up and didn't really want to. Somehow they had gone from being acquaintances, like people who might work at the same company but not in the same department, to colleagues and then friends.
Now Tim was beginning to feel even more than that, and he was afraid. He can't be that close with anyone and especially not Clark. It's not that he isn't trustworthy; it is just the opposite. He can trust Clark too much, can be himself with him and letting himself love him... and maybe be loved back... would make him too vulnerable. And Robin can't be vulnerable; he can't afford it. It's unprofessional and dangerous. He should never have let things get to this point. He should definitely never see Clark again. And if he does see him again, absolutely no flying!
Yet he is feeling confused and hurt, so what does he do? Everything he has just vowed he wouldn't. But this time, being held, smelling the faintly alien scent of Clark, makes him more confused and tense rather than less.
Of course Clark notices. He notices everything. He takes them to a rooftop and puts Tim down. "Tim, you know you can talk to me about whatever it is that's bothering you." His eyes are so blue and so honest, meeting Tim's without the slightest hesitation. His expression is open and caring. Clark gives of himself without restraint, holding nothing back, as though he has never been hurt.
Looking at that, Clark's utter lack of fear, Tim can't help himself. He wraps his arms around Clark and kisses him. He wants that strength, that willingness and ability to be vulnerable. What would it be like to be like that? How could anyone not love someone so open and unafraid? How could anyone not love Clark?
Clark moans softly and pushes Tim against the door leading to this roof. His kisses are intense and passionate, yet controlled. Tim feels out of control, but also perfectly safe. It is confusing, these simultaneous sensations and emotions and contradictions.
"Wait, stop," he says, and he is shoving Clark away and of course Clark stops and lets him. Tim is breathing hard and trying to gather his scattered thoughts and think instead of feeling. He's not ready for this.
"Tim." Clark's voice is deep and caring and he feels it vibrating inside him. He looks up, he can't help himself, and is caught by those eyes again. "Please. Don't close yourself off again. Don't push me out."
Pain. There is pain in those eyes, that voice, and he caused it. He shouldn't ever have been in a position to hurt Clark. He's Superman; he shouldn't be here on this rooftop in Gotham and he shouldn't feel anything for Tim but the vague detached caring he feels for all the others. He can't let anyone in, not like this, can't he see that? And Tim can't, either, even more so, because Tim isn't invulnerable, not even close.
Tim has fallen to his knees and he is shaking and trying not to cry. God, when was the last time he had cried? How could he do this? Years of dedication and work and all it takes is someone caring and a few kisses and it is all undone? No, not someone. Clark.
'Tim," Clark says again and he can hear in his voice that he isn't invulnerable, not to this. Tim can't bear it and he is clinging to him again as though he is drowning and kissing him hungrily, needily, as though he will never stop.
