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It was a balmy summer’s night in Gotham as Dick rested back on his custom motorcycle. He spread his gloved hands behind him on the seat and crossed his boots away from the tailpipe, despite that it’d cooled awhile ago. Staring at the people passing by and the glowing lights of the movie theatre, he wondered if he should leave. His date, whoever she is, was due an hour ago. He reached into his jeans’ pocket to snag his phone and call Tim, the mastermind behind this blind date. Instead, he snagged the short list of his date’s description. Opening the folded paper, he read Tim’s scrawl:
Younger and shorter than you. Black hair. Athletic and tanned body. Probably wearing semi-casual clothing. Blue eyes. Looks out of place. Bring your bike. And Dick, don’t worry. Your date knows who you are. –Tim
He squinted at the words, trying to figure if he’d missed anything.
“Dick?”
No, it couldn’t be-
“Hey, Dick!”
He glanced above the crowd and there was Kon smiling and waving. Shocked, Dick raised a hand in return as the other walked toward him, the people parting before him. When he came near, they bumped fists.
Dick slid his hand through his hair, grinning with genuine surprise. “Conner, how’d you get – did you get a haircut?”
Kon ducked his head and laughed. “Yeah, you like it?” He asked as Dick reached to rub the shaved sides. “I’m bringin’ back the whole 90s thing.”
Nodding his head he brought his fingers to curl around a strand of Kon’s bangs. “Looks good. You pull it off. Anyway,” he released the other’s hair and pushed off his ‘cycle to stand. “What’s up?”
Conner shrugged. “I dunno. The east coast always has stuff to do.” He nodded at the theatre behind him. “Plus, Tim suggested this new action flick.”
Dick’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, did he?”
Kon hummed a yes. “Said the aliens beat you guys in the end, too. About time we win one.” He winked, shoving his hands into his leather jacket.
Dick brought out his phone to check the time; an hour and ten past the meeting time. He slipped it and the note into his front pocket and hitched a thumb at his motorcycle. “My date stood me up. You want-“
“Dude!” Kon cut him off, brushing past him to drool over his ride. He dragged his fingers along the fuel tank and along the handle bars. “Is this a Suzuki Hayabusa? Aw, man, these things rock.”
He laughed at his fascination. “I didn’t know you liked motorcycles.”
“Only the fast ones. I raced them down on the farm.” Conner motioned a request to mount.
“Sure. You have a bike?” He asked as Kon pushed it off the kickstand and straddled its weight between his legs with ease. Dick walked in front of his motorcycle, appreciating the view.
“Naw. The other guy’d have the bike. Like I said, I’d race ‘em,” he tilted forward and gripped the handles, resting his chest against the tank, “with my own two legs.”
The crowd felt much closer, inquisitive, and suffocating. Dick stepped to either side of the front wheel and curved his body over the sleek nose and windshield. He clutched the inside of the handlebars, glancing if anyone unwanted might be listening. “Why don’t we ditch the movies and go someplace else? Someplace quieter?”
There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Our date will just be super.”
Snorting and shaking his head, Conner laid back on the seat with a smirk. “That was weak.”
“I think you mean corny, Kansas boy.” As the other laughed and buried his face in his palm, Dick stood up and walked around to the bike’s side. “Come on, stop molesting my motorcycle and let’s go.” He prodded Conner’s steely shoulder, but all he received was a raised eyebrow.
“What’s in it for me?”
“You mean besides a night with me?” Kon didn’t look impressed. “Couple of sodas?”
“Pop,” he corrected. “And you’re getting warmer.”
“Fine. Pop and fast food?”
Conner beamed. “Deal. Oh, and can I drive?”
-∞-
The tears in his eyes distorted the world in waves, but he couldn’t wipe them away through his helmet’s visor. Shoulders shaking, Dick coasted to a stop beside the littered curb. He kicked the stand down, doubled over, and gasped for breath. His helmet clattered on the sidewalk after yanking it off. Laughing. No, he’s roaring and failing to breathe. A swift punch to his kidneys made him yelp.
“That wasn’t funny,” Kon tried to complain. Dick waved a hand at him and wiped his eyes. “Really, I was about to pull some serious TTK action back there.”
“Oh, oh,” he snorted, choking on air. “You should have seen your face.” Glimpsing between his fingers, he saw Kon’s disgruntled, childish pout and bit his lip.
Conner crossed his arms. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
His nose wrinkled and eyes squinted with the effort.
“Don’t do it, Dick.”
A snort.
“Don’t-”
He burst. “Your face!” Doubled over again, he clutched Kon’s arm for support. “Oh! It was…so perfect. It was so-“He mocked the expression.
Conner couldn’t help but snicker as he wrapped Dick into a headlock. “Yeah, yeah, pretty boy.”
“¡Aló, Dick!” A street vendor wheeled his steaming, squeaking cart to a halt. A worn sign dangled off the side, advertising the city’s best “comida española.” It reeked of spices and cooked meat and its tattered canopy hung limp above the rusted framework and a thin, smiling man. “Quién es aquél?”
The man in question made no attempt to free himself. “Hola, Miguel. Él es un amigo mió. Nombre es Conner,” he muffled through Kon’s sleeve, gesturing the introductions. “Conner, this is Miguel.”
Kon released his grip on him and nodded, wishing he hadn’t ignored those Spanish lessons. “Um, Hola?”
Dick slipped away and smoothed his crumbled clothing. Hopping onto the pavement, he walked to and leaned an elbow on the cart. “Think we could get a couple of quesadillas and two pops.” he paused, casting a pointed look back to Kon who sat at a loss on the idling bike.
Miguel set to work stirring ingredients, shifting pans, and tossing bread. He spoke excellent grammar through his accent, “You only take mujeres calientes on your motocicleta. He doesn’t look like a mujer to me.”
“Sí, but he is muy caliente, isn’t he?” Smiling at the reluctant nod, he played further, lowering his voice though he knew Kon could still hear him, “I’m just showing my nuevo novioaround the city.” He peeked at the confused eyes staring at him from the street then to unfazed Miguel. Ten bucks says Tim’s drilled on his Spanish tonight, he thought.
“Don’t break his corazón. Aquí,” he handed over the warm food and drinks as Dick fumbled for his wallet. “No need,” he assured, “on the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course! Anything for amor.”
Dick thanked him and made his way back to Kon where he dumped the goods into his lap. Holding something hot made him sweat. Next time, he told himself, definitely go for ice cream instead. He bent down, picking up his tossed helmet and upon standing he came face to face with a certain Superboy whose food-stuffed face was already sticky with gooey cheese. After shaking his head and mounting his bike, he refitted his gear, twisted the throttle, and glided into traffic. Kon asked where they were going, however he kept silent for he would see soon enough.
-∞-
Squeezing between the pedestrian posts, Dick drifted them into Aparo Park, a forlorn squat of grass by the docks that was avoided by most in the daylight and feared at night. Sure, it was a known criminal port, but he felt comfortable in his and Kon’s level of personal safety. He killed the ignition and waddled the bike beside an unbroken bench overlooking the shore. After removing his equipment and securing the motorcycle, Dick took the remaining half of his quesadilla, the rest of which was eaten by Kon who was being abnormally quiet. He strolled over and sprawled himself onto the bench, patting for Kon to join him.
They sat in silence. The world slept for them. No fireflies or lamps to light the lawn, just the moonlight and city glow. Slender, sparkling waves caressed the beach with teasing touches and hushed hisses before they slid away. Shy winds crept through the abandoned grounds and brushed past them, careful not to disturb. In the distance, the blinking bulbs of a plane taking off from the Goodwin Airport captured their attention before they were swallowed by the darkness. The dirt and the crime and the noise were far away, left behind in a weary place where they had to hide. They had to lie and deceive people who cared about them, friends who never understood the distance and the walls they must build between them. Smile like the whole goddamn world is just a game. Laugh like each night isn’t your last, each alley isn’t your grave, every decision you make doesn’t crush you under its deadly severity. Live like your life isn’t fucking faked.
Stretching his arms, Dick dangled one over the side and slung the other behind Kon. “You know what the worst part is?” He whispered, staring at the glittering water and wary of the soft tension between them.
Kon watched another plane fly into the hazy abyss because he couldn’t answer, not yet. If he opened his mouth then all the worries, the masks, his life would suffocate him. Not yet. Let him just exist without existing as the world spun. Dick turned and looked at the other’s profile, his turmoil so evident. Thoughtful and reticent, he smoothed his fingertips along the back of Kon’s neck. He traced the spine ridges, dips, and curves without a word.
“Yeah,” Kon murmured, “I do.” He waited for reality’s rush and his heart’s sinking, but none came as Dick continued his spider web of touches; here and there he was pressed, weaving a pattern that felt so random yet connected, trapping and fragile. He closed his eyes and breathed.
That was it. Everything was understood.
Tilting to look at Dick who sat curled in the bench corner, Kon grinned. Dick felt his own smile as he ducked his head, licking his lips. He tried to pull his hand back but Kon grasped his fingers and held them to his cheek. Dick leaned forward and stroked with his other hand below his jaw, down his neck, and back. Kon wrapped the collar of Dick’s jacket and shirt around his fist and tugged him closer. Eyes darting from Dick’s playful eyes to his open lips, he intertwined his fingers between those of the hand he held captive. Kon hesitated, soaking in the heat from the breath on his flesh. Dick ran his free hand along the defined edge of Kon’s chin to rest his thumb on that tempting, unsure mouth. His smile grew while he rubbed the bottom lip and Kon’s brow furrowed.
“You going to kiss me or what, flyboy?” He hinted, yet Kon merely drew himself closer, too lost for words; so Dick moved the other’s mouth like a puppet and answered for him, “Yes.”
The tingle buzzing on their lips, the pressure of their colliding bodies, the taste of quesadilla, and the grooves on their skin left by teeth were all fine indicators that this was reality, but Kon had to ask if it was between remembering to breathe and letting his tongue lavish everything. Dick chuckled, weaving his hands into the curl of Kon’s hair.
“I know. I’m unbelievable.”
“You cocky,” Kon swore the rest into Dick’s mouth as he guided him backwards onto the bench.
He wrestled his leg to rest against Dick’s crotch and leaned forward, nipping his unmarked throat. The pulse throbbing under his lips made him suck that much harder and Dick shudder. Moaning, he rolled his hips and held them down while Dick tried to buck into him. What the hell were his clothes still doing on? A hand burrowed beneath his shirt while he worked to throw his jacket off. It rolled over each of his flexing, tense abdominals and his ribs then scratched down to his waistline. Kon opened his heavy eyes and there he was, shivering in this summer smog like it was winter. The way his chest and nose flared with every breath and how goddamn real it felt to have him call his name. Sighing, he drifted his nose to where Dick’s flesh peeked between his shirt and pants. He pushed the shirt higher on his chest and nuzzled the sable, twisted hair that coiled its way to a peak below his naval. Hands nudged a shoulder of his jacket off and Kon got the hint.
After flinging more articles of clothing to the ground, he hooked his thumbs into Dick’s belt loops and yanked. It didn’t go far, but enough for Kon to grip the tops of his thighs and run his fingers along his Apollo’s belt. Dick’s voice cracked and this wasn’t going to last long if the burn and wetness of his jeans was an indicator.
A branch snapped and Kon jerked himself upright. Dick muttered a question but he shushed him, scanning the grimy park. He, of course, spotted him before Dick: A homeless man shuffling towards them about 200 yards away. Flushed and a little overwhelmed, Dick fell back with a huff. Kon stood up, trying to put clothes back on and shove enlarged areas into confined spaces. Tension and awkwardness smothered them. This wasn’t how either of them wanted tonight to end.
“Hey,” Dick poked his leg, “Want to race?”
Kon paused, a hand midway down his jeans to pull his boxers down.
“First one back to my place gets to call who pitches.”
“Do I get to fly?”
“Just don’t let Bruce catch you.”
And with that Kon spun on his heel, leaned in, kissed Dick with a smirk, and was gone. Dick laid there and laughed at what Kon didn’t know: Yesterday, he’d moved apartments.