World In Your Hands
March 26, 2004
Disclaimers: Not even close to mine.
Spoilers: Vague references to the current run of Teen Titans.
Summary: Kon's trying. Really.
Ratings Note/Warnings: NC-17. Content some readers may find disturbing.
Author's Note: Happy birthday, Livia! Um. Yeah.
Acknowledgments: To Livia, L.C., and Reilael for audiencing and encouragement.
Most of the time, Kon doesn't really think about... it. Everything.
He hasn't been around all that long (and he's never sure whether to count the time in the tube or not, because... because), but it's been proven, time and again, that he's better off letting other people do the thinking. He's the muscle, not the brain, and trying to do things differently just gets those things all fucked up.
He's okay with that, really. He's surrounded by people who know more than he does, and always has been.
Hell, these days even Bart has him beat. Which is... okay, it's weird, and a little lonely-making, but it's not like he didn't always know Bart would be something pretty amazing one day. He kind of likes the look Bart gets on his face these days when he's watching people. Like he's filing everything away, cross-referenced with the library's worth of knowledge he has in his head now.
And somehow it's completely different from how Tim does it, but he doesn't really have words for it. Just the image of Bart smiling at everyone, and how it's completely different from the way Tim smiles -- when he smiles.
Kon snorts at himself. So not the brains of the operation.
But... it's hard not to try to think about some things.
He's pretty sure he has issues. Big ones, and important ones. Like, beyond the whole DNA thing which... Luthor's dead. It shouldn't matter anymore, except for the fact where it totally does. Tim doesn't get that. His family is made up of the real one and the other real one, and in the other real one, no one is actually related to anyone else. No one is anyone's actual brother, or father, or sister, or whatever.
As near as he can tell.
Okay, so mainly Kon just hopes, because, really, it does make a difference. It isn't like he's spent all that much time with the Bats -- and thank God -- but he's spent enough time to hope to God they all get to go home to separate places when everything's all done.
Family isn't supposed to be... like that.
Which, okay, that's probably a dumbass thing to think, considering... everything. Still. Kon isn't the smart one by any stretch of the imagination, but it's still different. Or it's supposed to be.
That's what Clark's trying to teach him. He thinks. One of the things. Sometimes Kon really, really wishes Clark would just give him a little printout like the teachers do in school. A syllabus with a nice, neat list titled "This Is What Superboy Needs To Learn."
The object lessons are good and all, and even kind of obvious, but... he thinks maybe that's the problem. Some of them are too obvious.
This is the happy, healthy home Kon's supposed to be a part of.
This is the happy, healthy normal life Kon's supposed to want, and to fight for.
And it can't be everything, not all of it. People make jokes about Superman all the time. Big Blue Boy Scout and stuff, and how Batman is the smart one. And he knows that Clark doesn't really mind that, or even argue about it -- Batman wouldn't be half so scary if he wasn't as smart as he is -- but.
Batman isn't the World's Greatest Hero.
And Kon knows there's more he's supposed to figure out. More to... this.
It isn't the same mattress Clark slept on. It isn't even the same mattress he slept on when he first moved in here. When you have superpowers, and nightmares, things... happen.
One more thing to feel guilty about, but mostly it's just...
Sometimes Kon looks around this room and he can't breathe. All the posters are his, and all the mess is his, but Clark did his homework at that desk, and Clark said his prayers on this floor, and Clark grew into the World's Greatest Hero right here. Sometimes Kon thinks he can -- not smell him. But feel him.
He must have been...
Kon can't actually picture Clark as a kid, really. There's what the teachers all say about him -- while shaking their heads at him -- and there are the stories the Kents tell about him, and there are pictures, of course.
Old newspapers and magazines showing a guy with no lines on his forehead, and no lines around wide, clear eyes, and a smile for everything. Everyone.
He can't... no, he can see it. It makes perfect sense for a man like Clark to have been a boy like that. And the surface of everything... it really looks like Clark is trying to make him be that person, or at least like that person, but...
That can't be right. It just can't.
Clark isn't stupid, and Kon doesn't even...
He spends a lot of time looking at himself in mirrors. He's heard Mr. Kent -- Uncle Jonathan -- make little comments about it. Not good for a boy to be that vain. And it's so funny he thinks he wants to hang himself, because, really... just no.
He kind of has Clark's nose, and his hair is always just one delayed hair-cut away from Spit-Curl Central, but. His eyes aren't right. His mouth, his eyebrows... they aren't... right.
Tim thinks he should tell Clark. And he does have a point. He knows Clark knows he's keeping secrets. But the words "Luthor's dead" make Clark twitch. That little tightness around his mouth that's all about... something.
And Kon thinks he wants to have a little more time. He wants Clark to have a little more time, maybe enough to get over the whole 'nemesis of my LIFE' thing -- assuming that's even possible -- before he gives the man one more reason to look at Kon... wrong.
He wants... he's thought about it. Like, maybe one day he could start a conversation with Clark, about how he gets it, about how you can't get over something like... like Luthor, because some things just stay with you. How they're supposed to stay with you, because that's how you know you're... human.
And maybe Clark would look at him, all surprised, because, hey, that's a pretty deep thought for you, Superboy -- Conner.
And Kon would blush, because he so totally would, but it would be okay. Because, hey, he does get it.
And then Clark would clap him on the shoulder and look at him.
So, really, not a conversation that's going to happen anytime soon.
Maybe he should let his hair grow back in. It had seemed like a good idea to cut it before, because... it's not like he wanted to encourage people to think of him as the smaller, weaker, stupider version of Superman. It was supposed to be about growing up.
But that was before Tim got that... that fucking e-mail and decided to play Boy Geneticist, and now there's no denying it anymore. Family.
He's not supposed to have a family. That's the whole point of him. He's not human, and the only reason he has a belly button is that the lab boys were feeling creative. And he's over that. He'd gotten used to that.
Only now Kon thinks maybe... there's a difference between feeling like an impostor and feeling like an invader. Like those creepy birds who make other birds raise their chicks, or something. And Clark is helping them -- him.
Except that Luthor's dead and...
It's not like he believes in the whole genes=destiny thing. Not really. Tim only had to hit him six or seven times before it started to sink in. There's Connor, and there's the whole speedster thing, but... there's also the Batfamily. So.
It doesn't have to be about anything but what he chooses.
And he's never going to be like Luthor. Period.
And he's also going to get to sleep right around... never.
Kon sighs to himself and crawls out of bed. Carefully. There's a whole routine to it now. That board squeaks, and that board screams, and the whole house is one big attempt to TELL on him, but, well.
He knows it now. He's been here for a while. It's... supposed to be his home. Kon pauses at the windowsill, and there's still a faint boot-print there from the last time he took off, and he's willing to bet the Kents woke up as soon as he did, because... because it's the kind of thing they do, when there's a superkid in their house that they're supposed to take care of.
And because they care about him. Really.
But sometimes he really does have to just get out and breathe, and he knows they understand that, too.
And maybe one day he'll get over enough of his complete lameness to actually talk to them about it.
Tonight he has the sky.
The higher he gets, the less it feels like escaping and the more it feels like just... flying. He could be anywhere, because when you're this high, the air feels the same pretty much everywhere. Clear and cold and... it's just a matter of not looking down. All that green and all of those frighteningly neat squares... yick. Talk about spoiling the illusion.
He'd always thought that being out in the middle of nowhere would be more... well, not interesting, but interesting to look at.
At least from this high up.
Cities sprawl. And... they look like living things, with the lights that don't blink and wink up at him randomly enough, and the way they crawl over the landscape like they're trying to take over.
And okay, so it can be disturbing -- especially when he flies over a city like Gotham -- but it still feels better than all of the squares.
Chunks of the landscape sliced up and partitioned off and controlled. Cities are man-made, sure, but they look more natural, and really, maybe he'd be better off if he just lobotomized himself. His brain is defective. It would be okay.
They could just slap him awake when they needed him, wipe off the drool, and point him at whatever needed punching. At least he wouldn't have to go to school.
Clark would probably just put him with the Special Ed kids.
The other, other cool thing about being this high up is that no one looks at you funny when you laugh like a crazy person.
Unless, of course, they're also flying. Kon winces and turns and Clark's doing that I'm-standing-on-airlike -a-God thing that Kon suspects makes him look like a giant Supertool. "Uh... just thinking about school."
Clark raises an eyebrow at him, and, okay, so it would be out of character, fine, but --
Clark nods slowly and flies closer, and puts his hands on Kon's shoulders.
It's funny. He's been wearing the 'S' since day one, but looking at Clark's still makes him feel more like a fanboy than a junior superhero. Kon swallows and looks up.
Clark's eyebrow is still a little raised. "You know, Conner..."
"Thinking about school is just fine -- and far be it from me to discourage it -- but showing up on time and awake might just be more important."
"Er. Time to go home, hunh?"
Clark sighs and squeezes his shoulders. It's weird. He always... Kon's pretty much gotten used to the fact that he's going to touch meta-humans too lightly, at least at first, because he's spent so much time trying not to break the real humans.
But when Clark touches him, there's never a moment -- that he can see -- where Clark's reminding himself that Kon's part of the family. As it were.
It's always just hard enough.
"Look, I know it's late --"
"It's after one, Conner."
This from a man who regularly hangs out with Batman. Kon shakes it off. "I just... couldn't sleep."
Clark frowns at him. It's really fucking ridiculous to want to shuffle your feet when you're a mile off the ground, but... it's Clark.
"Really," Kon says, and goes back to staring at the 'S.' Clark squeezes his shoulders again, and rubs them a little. It feels... it feels good. It always does. Like maybe Clark could give a really nice rub-down, and not have to soak his hands afterward and he really is an idiot. "Uh."
"You... I know you've had a lot on your mind lately."
Kon swallows and thinks very seriously about trying to will his hair to grow, or make his eyes bluer, or... look right back up at Clark, because it's not like he can really ignore Clark's fingers under his chin.
"You know you can talk to me, Conner. Don't you?"
And that's just... how the hell is he supposed to answer that?
And Clark's still frowning, but now it's a worried frown. "Conner..." And now Clark's stroking his hair and it shouldn't be --
Kon shivers and gives up on looking Clark in the eye. "It's nothing, really, Clark, I just..." And then Clark grabs his chin and makes Kon look up. And it almost hurts, but nowhere near as much as the look in Clark's eyes.
"Why don't you trust me? What do you need?"
"I don't --"
"No. Talk to me. I've tried to give you your space --"
"Space? You're right here. You're always --" Kon bites his lip and closes his eyes and he really didn't mean to say that, but it's out now and he's just not going to look at Clark. That works, right? Right.
"Open your eyes."
Or, you know, wrong. "Clark, please --"
"Look at me."
And it's stupid, it's so stupid, but saying 'no' to Clark is like trying to stop breathing, only he can actually hold his breath for a pretty long time and he can't keep his eyes closed at all.
"Talk to me, Conner."
One day you're going to look at me and not see anything but the one man in the world you've ever wanted to kill. "I can't --"
And Clark's hand is in his hair, and it's pulling and those eyes are... it's that flat, red shine that Kon doesn't think anyone else can actually see. The moment before the moment before Clark starts setting the world on fire with his heat vision, and it's fucked-up. He should be scared. He is.
He wishes he was just scared.
"You can," Clark says.
And okay, a lot of stress. It's been a tough few months for Clark, and Kon's not making it any easier, and if there was anything he could do... "Please, Clark," is what falls out of his stupid mouth, again, and he knows it sounds wrong.
He knows. He's not an idiot, and he doesn't want to make things any worse, and Clark closes his eyes and takes a really kind of ragged breath. Control breath. And when he opens his eyes they're just blue again. But he still looks... like someone not to be this close to right now.
But when Kon tries to fly back, Clark's hand just tightens in his hair. "Um --"
"We're not done with this."
"It's not okay. You --" Clark lets go and flies back a few feet, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.
And he doesn't actually like the idea of hugging himself, but he kind of has to. "I'm --"
"Are you cold?"
Kon blinks. "What?"
"Oh. I... it's just..." He tries a smile and knows it works about as well as his freaking math homework. "You put out a lot of heat, man."
And Clark... looks at him. It's a searching look, and that's bad and puts all kinds of 'investigative journalist' thoughts in Kon's head, but it's also just a strange look, and there are so many different ways to feel naked and useless around Clark.
Kon scrubs a hand back through his hair. Starts to, but he knows it's a good way to look like you're bald when you're really not, so he just folds his arm back down around himself and looks down at the ground.
Squares. Green. Brown. Neat little angles for neat little farms and --
"I should... um. Get back to the house. So I'll just -- stay right here because you're holding on to me again. Um."
"Conner." Most of the time, when Clark calls him 'Conner' it's like he's not trying at all. Like Kon really is Conner, the way the dog is Krypto. Like he just hasn't figured it out yet.
This time... it's heavier than that. Like... an actual weight, pushing him right down. Only that's even stupider than everything else, because the only weight is what Clark's putting on his shoulders. And that's more about holding him still than anything else. "Yeah," he says, and stares at the 'S.' Again.
"I think... I think I'm starting to understand. A little."
As near as Kon can tell, religion exists so people have something to blame when the universe fails to provide handy things like supervillains, and vortexes that suck you away from the bad conversations.
"But you can trust me, Conner. With
"Oh, God." And maybe also religion exists so people have something to say when the guy you're cloned from grabs your dick and squeezes. "Clark."
"How long have you been hard, Conner?" Gentle voice and looking at the 'S' just means that he's looking at Clark breathing. His chest, his --
"I'm not -- it doesn't --" Mean anything, you're just you and my body still thinks I'm a teenager and none of that comes out on anything but a moan, because that first squeeze was just the first.
"It's okay, Conner. I've got you."
And that was definitely a whimper, and it was definitely him whimpering and -- "Clark, please --"
It's... it has to be sick, doesn't it? It has to be wrong, because he's Clark's clone, and that's the next thing to being Clark's -- to being --
He hears the zipper of his jeans being pulled down, and Clark's other hand is on his hip, and if his brain wasn't defective before, it is now, and he has to say something, but Clark's hand is hot and... and strong. Clark's hand is on him and all Kon can do is grab weakly at Clark's arms and -- "Clark --"
Clark stroking him, and it's -- he's stronger than Kon and Kon can feel the muscles working in Clark's arms and it feels --
"So good -- God --" And it just falls out of his mouth and Kon feels himself blushing, but ducking his head just brings him closer, and Clark's so... he's a furnace, and a wall, and he's not -- Kon pushes his face against Clark's chest and groans.
"That's it, Conner. That's..." Clark doesn't finish the thought, and his voice sounds a little... rough. Kon can feel him breathing now, and he can smell him, and Clark smells like he always does. Like the sun, and like heat, and like... sweet, good, right things.
Only now Kon can also smell his own... He whimpers again, and squeezes Clark's arms before he can think, and it's too hard, only... not. It's Clark, and Kon can't squeeze him too hard.
He's the only breakable person here, and Clark's doing a fucking great job of proving that with every slow, hard stroke.
And then Clark's other hand is on his head again, pushing through his hair and then just... pushing. Holding him. Kon gasps, and he knows he's about ten seconds from losing the TK like he hasn't in years, but he also knows he won't fall.
He won't be going anywhere Clark doesn't want him to go. He groans into the slickness of Clark's uniform, and feels himself sweating, and --
"Conner." And Clark grips his hair and pulls his head back and Kon wants to make himself look less like an idiot, but he's so hard he hurts, and it's... it's Clark.
Staring down at him with those perfect blue eyes and intent and something that looks a lot like hunger.
Kon thinks he sounds like a dying animal, but it makes Clark tighten his grip with his other hand, and Kon moans and thrusts helplessly. Too hard. Too -- but the grip Clark has on him won't let it be too hard. "Please --"
"Y-yes -- yes. Clark --"
"Shh. It's... too loud."
"Sorry. I'm -- mmph --"
Clark's hand over his mouth and Kon stares, and Clark... smiles at him. Rueful and amused, and Kon can't -- He licks Clark's palm and he thinks he's probably as red as the freaking cape, but Clark tastes...
He tastes a little like him.
Kon comes, just like that, clutching at Clark and pumping into his fist and licking him, he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop, because stopping might make his brain try to put words to this, and he can't deal with that at all.
He whimpers when Clark pulls his hand away from his mouth, but it's just a little bit. Just for a second, and then Clark's fingers are pressing against his lip.
Don't make me talk. Please don't make me talk.
And he isn't sure what's on his face, but it makes Clark... moan. He doesn't look intent at all anymore. There's... nothing like focus. Kon breathes against Clark's fingers and eases one hand down from Clark's bicep. Just... down, and.
So much heat. He can hear himself breathing, and he doesn't know if it's better or worse that he can hear Clark breathing, too. Like he... wants this. It shouldn't feel this good.
Or maybe it shouldn't feel this fucked up It --
"Conner." Those fingers are still on his lip and... pressing. And it's. Clark never orders him to do anything.
He doesn't have to.
And if he'd never really thought about controlling his TK so he could do a decent job of kneeling in the sky, well, maybe he should have. It's not like everything doesn't come in handy, sooner or later, and there's a part of his brain that's laughing like it can't stop, but it's not really an important part.
The important part is pushing his face against Clark's groin, or maybe that's just the hand on the back of his head. He smells like sex, and like him, and nothing like him at all. If Kon smelled this good to himself he'd probably be more flexible.
And... he's still not laughing. He doesn't think he could if he wanted to. On his knees to Clark, to Superman, and how many people would kill to be right here? Kon nuzzles him, as hard as he wants, and Clark jerks against his face and Kon thinks maybe he's going to die.
Or come again. Something like that. There are... words bubbling up at the back of his throat, but they feel like 'I'm sorry,' and 'don't stop liking me,' and just a million different varieties of useless, stupid, and pathetic, so it's just one more reason to get Clark's shorts and tights down, to get him out, so big and hard and thick and... slick.
Right at the tip, like an invitation, and Kon takes it, licks it.
And that hand is back in his hair again, grabbing him, holding him, so Kon sucks on just the head and feels Clark shooting pre-come on his tongue. Tastes it, and moans and squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to drool too much. It's not like he hasn't done this before, but that thought just leads to remembering the look on Clark's face the day Kon had all but flown into the man after stumbling out of one of Metropolis' better clubs.
The taste in his mouth then hadn't been nearly as good as it is now. As... Clark.
Kon whimpers and grabs his own hardening, idiot dick, and Clark pets him. Strokes him. Says 'Conner,' over and over, but when Clark starts to thrust, Kon doesn't have to hear anything but the pound of blood in his ears and the wet sounds and his own muffled groans.
Better. So much better.
Because it's not like he wants this to be anyone but Clark, or... no. He's not thinking. He's not. It's just that if he can have a Clark who wants this from him, from just him, as opposed to... no.
He sucks as hard as he can, and it's like breathing, like coming home, because Clark doesn't scream like that first, human guy had done. Clark moans.
And strokes his head harder.
And... pumps. Hard, vicious little motions of his hips, until Kon's universe narrows to muscle and sex and Clark's dick, fucking his mouth and maybe fucking his mind, too. It has to be good for something.
Kon takes his other hand off Clark's hip and brings it down to his balls, strokes and squeezes himself, and when the thrusts get deeper, Kon just swallows. Again and again.
He doesn't have to think.
He doesn't. Even when Clark pulls out, he can just focus on licking his lips, and on stroking himself faster, and on --
Getting yanked up into Clark's arms and kissed, and Kon's eyes fly open for that, but thankfully Clark kisses with his eyes closed. Kisses...
He didn't want to know that.
He whimpers and waits for Clark to stop, and buries his face against Clark's shoulder when he does. And whimpers again, because he's still so hard, and because he knows that won't last at all when Clark wraps his fist around him again.
Kon comes gasping, and shaking. A little. Too much.
Clark strokes his back with one hand, and touches his mouth with... the other. You don't have to talk when you're doing other things with your mouth. Even if 'other things' is sucking your own come off Superman's fingers until he pulls out.
His mouth feels... exactly as used as it should.
Kon breathes, and stares at Clark's chin, and... looks up.
Gentle eyes, rueful eyes. "I didn't... quite see that coming."
Before or after you started jerking me off? "Um... no."
Clark strokes his cheek, with the backs of his fingers. Warm skin, and still so good. Kon leans into it. "Sometimes..." Clark sighs. "Things get a little complicated, don't they?"
"Just a little."
"I don't want to make things harder for you, Conner." A slightly harder stroke.
"I know." He does, actually. That's the part that's going to drive him insane.
"Are you... all right?"
He thinks about repressing the laugh that wants to come out for that, but in the end... smiling's probably a good idea right now. So he does.
Clark's expression is somewhere between troubled and distracted. Kon concentrates and hears... sirens. Maybe. They're not too far from Metropolis.
"You have to go," he says.
Clark blinks at him, and narrows his eyes. "Conner --"
"Um. My hearing's getting... better."
The briefest moment of surprise, and then Clark's smiling ruefully again. "It's easy to forget..." And then he squeezes Kon's shoulder. "I'll visit soon."
Kon swallows around the lump of feeling in his throat. "I'll... uh. Tell the Kents you said hi?"
And Clark beams at him, and flies. Faster than he can manage.
And it's just... way too much. Way too much. He's going to visit, and then... and then what, exactly? What the fuck did he just do here?
Thinking about it... thinking about it puts too many images in his head, and too many... Clark doesn't think he's hiding anything anymore. Clark thinks this was his secret, and that's just...
Convenient. Really incredibly convenient, if you can ignore the fact that sooner or later Clark's going to want to...
Because he wants Kon to be happy. Because, no, it can't just be Clark liking Kon's wrong, wrong mouth. That would be too easy, and Clark isn't... like that. If he was...
Kon wouldn't be going back to Smallville right now.
Maybe Tim can get him a nice room in Arkham. He could draw things with crayons. He could...
Crawl right back into the window to Conner Kent's room and strip out of Conner Kent's clothes and lay down in Conner Kent's bed and try really, really fucking hard not to think about Conner Kent's brand new sex life.
Who... isn't family.
Maybe that's the point. Maybe he was right the first time.
He's not supposed to have a family. He's just supposed to... act like he does? Think like he does?
Pretend he does. And... lie.
He still wants that syllabus from Clark. Wants it bad. Because.
He pretty much has to be missing the point.
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Fandom: Teen Titans
Title: World In Your Hands
Author: Te [email] [website]
Details: Standalone | NC-17 | *slash* | 27k | 03/26/04
Characters: Superman, Superboy
Summary: Kon's trying. Really.
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