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Tim’s apartment was quiet, just like always, but it felt smaller than usual that night, the Gotham rain tapping steadily against the windows like it was trying to get in. The living room was bathed in low golden light from a single floor lamp and the flickering TV, volume turned down but still playing reruns of the low-budget drama series Bernard likes.
Empty tea mugs from earlier sit forgotten on the kitchen counter, the smell of disinfectant and a Tim’s citrusy cologne lingering in the air.
Tim’s left leg, encased in a heavy black boot from mid-thigh down, rested on a mountain of pillows on the ottoman. Every tiny shift sent a dull, throbbing ache up through his bones—broken tibia and fibula. Painkillers helped, but they also made everything feel soft and distant, like he was floating just outside his own skin, like the world was wrapped in cotton and everything was soft around the edges. Just a warm, floaty feeling that made his thoughts drift and stick in weird places.
Bernard had been so careful with him all day; he always was gentle, in fairness. Currently, he had Tim leaning back against the couch cushions and was half straddling his lap. Their kisses had started slow and sweet - just part of Bernard’s constant struggle to keep his hands to himself around his boyfriend - but had gradually deepened into something warmer, more urgent. Bernard’s mouth moved against his with quiet hunger, tongue tracing Tim’s lower lip before slipping inside. One of Bernard’s hands slipped under Tim’s shirt, palm warm against his stomach, fingers tracing the line of his ribs with just enough pressure to make Tim sigh into the kiss, thumb stroking lazy circles over warm skin, while the other cupped the back of Tim’s neck, holding him steady.
“You’re floating again,” Bernard murmured, lips and nose brushing Tim’s. “Cmon, stay with me, baby.”
“M’here,” Tim mumbled, the words a little slurred. He threaded his fingers through Bernard’s blond hair, tugging gently until their mouths connected again. It felt good. Safe. Bernard always made things feel manageable.
Bernard’s hand slid higher, careful over the bruises on Tim’s ribs, then back down, pressing just enough to feel grounding. Tim sighed and rocked his hips up a tiny bit, chasing the contact. Bernard rewarded him with another deep kiss.
Bernard tasted like the mint tea he’d brewed earlier and something sweeter that was just him. Their bodies pressed closer—hips grinding in a gentle, careful rhythm that didn’t jostle Tim’s leg. Bernard’s hand stayed under the cotton shirt, exploring and warm against Tim’s perpetually damaged ribs and hardened abs, mindful of the bruises blooming there. It felt safe. Good. Tim made a quiet sound into the kiss, and Bernard smiled against his mouth, encouraging.
The balcony door slid open with a soft whoosh of night air, and it was like a lightning strike rang through the apartment, ruining the peaceful moment.
Cold, damp air rushed in along with Kon’s voice. “Timmy? Bart said you ate shit pretty bad—oh.” Kon stood just inside the door, hair messy from the flight and Gotham weather. His blue eyes flicked from Tim’s flushed face to Bernard’s hand still halfway up Tim’s shirt, then back again. The easy smile he’d walked in with crumpled. “Shit. I didn’t… I didn’t know you had company?” Kon’s voice came out higher than he probably meant, an unintentional question. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going pink under the faint glow of the apartment. “Sorry. I’ll—just—yeah.” He gestured vaguely behind him like he was about to bolt back into the rain.
Tim’s brain felt like it was lagging two seconds behind everything. “Kon—no, wait—” He tried to sit up straighter and immediately regretted it. A sharp hiss escaped him as his head swam, his broken leg protested, and he remembered he still had his boyfriend on his lap simultaneously.
Bernard didn’t move at first. He stayed right where he was, steadying Tim with a hand on his chest, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Kon. Really looked. Then something shifted in his expression—surprise, then a flicker of realisation, then something hotter and more complicated.
“Oh,” Bernard said quietly. Not angry. Just… processing. “You’re that Kon.”
Kon winced. “Yeah. Hi. Kon-El. We’ve, uh, met, I think? Briefly.”
For a long second, the room was thick with silence. Bernard’s expression shifted—first surprise, then a flicker of something sharper. Realization. His gaze lingered on the way Kon was looking at Tim: not just concern, but something deeper, hungrier, years in the making. Bernard’s jaw tightened for half a beat, then smoothed out.
Tim’s heart hammered against his bruised ribs. Heat flooded his face. “Kon-. Fuck, ow-” He tried to sit up straighter, but the cast turned the movement into an awkward lurch. Pain made his vision spark, and he hissed, gripping Bernard’s hip with white knuckles.
Bernard steadied him immediately, one hand still firm on Tim’s chest, the other moving to rest possessively on his thigh. His eyes flicked from Tim’s flushed face to Kon, then back. For a long second, the room was thick with silence. Bernard’s expression shifted—first distrust, then a flicker of something sharper. Realization. His gaze lingered on the way Kon was looking at Tim: not just concern, but something deeper, hungrier, years in the making. Bernard’s jaw tightened for half a beat, then smoothed out in a well-practised facade.
Tim opened his mouth to explain, to find some sort of explanation as to why Kon shows up unannounced, but Bernard had only just been granted access to Tim’s apartment last month. His leg throbbed in time with his rapid pulse. “It’s not—I didn’t—” He didn’t know how to finish.
Kon shifted his weight, looking miserable. “I can go. Seriously. You’re hurt, and this is… I didn’t mean to walk in on anything.”
Bernard studied them both for another long moment. Then, like flipping a switch, he took charge. He always did when things got messy. “No. You’re not going anywhere.” He stood up, as smoothly as he could, careful not to jostle Tim, and pulled his phone from his pocket. “We’re ordering Thai food for dinner. Kon, sit down. You’re staying for a movie. Tim needs people who care about him right now, and from the look on your face, that includes you.”
Kon blinked. “You’re… sure?”
“Positive.” Bernard’s smile was small but real, before his gaze slid back to Tim, who was still trying to catch up. Tim could feel the flush crawling down his neck. He’d told Bernard about Kon—best friend, teammate from years gone by, the guy who showed up no matter what reckless plan Tim had devised. But he’d never said the rest. The part where Tim sometimes caught himself staring too long, or how Kon’s touches linger. The part he hadn’t even let himself name, not even in quite post-mission hours when he’s most vulnerable.
Bernard exhaled through his nose, then smiled—small, sharp, and in control. “Well. This is awkward.” He finally sat back properly, though he kept one possessive hand on Tim’s thigh and scrunched his nose. “Tim’s told me a lot about you, but he must’ve accidentally left out the part where you look at him like he hung the moon.”
Kon’s pointed ears went red. “I don’t—”
“You do.” Bernard’s voice was calm, almost conversational, but there was heat under it. He glanced at Tim again, eyes dark. “And Tim looks back. Even if he’s my boyfriend, and even if he hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.”
Tim’s mouth felt dry. “Bernie… c’mon. It’s not—” The words tangled. Because Kon was looking at him like that right now—raw, and hopeful, and a little bit devastated. Cassie would’ve said he looked like a kicked puppy…And Tim’s chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. He’d always chalked it up to friendship. The same deep, ride-or-die friendship that he had for the rest of the Young Justice team... but the meds made it harder to shove the truth down, and Kon had always known. Tim could see it in the way Kon’s jaw tightened, the way he didn’t deny anything.
Bernard patted Tim’s thigh once, then stood. “Stay. Both of you. I’m ordering Thai.” He was already pulling out his phone, completely in charge, like he’d decided how tonight was going to go, and everyone else was at the mercy of his choices.
Kon hovered (literally, an inch off the ground, a subconscious nervous habit). “Are… you sure? I really can—”
“Sit down, Superboy.” Bernard’s tone left no room for argument, especially coupled with the firm look he pairs with it. “You flew all the way from Metropolis because your ‘best friend’ got hurt, right? You’re not leaving because things got interesting."
Kon hesitated, then sank onto the far end of the couch, careful not to jostle Tim’s leg and to leave a gap. The awkwardness still crackled, but Bernard bulldozed through it—phone out, ordering pad Thai for Tim (extra peanuts), Pad See Ew, Green Curry, spring rolls, and mango sticky rice. He chatted lightly about Metropolis traffic and how Gotham rain always smelled worse, like nothing was weird at all. While they waited for the food to arrive, Bernard fussed. He tucked another pillow under Tim’s cast with gentle hands, brushed hair out of Tim’s eyes, pressed a quick kiss to his forehead like a promise and definitely not a subtle act of possession. Kon watched every movement, something soft and yearning in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.
The food arrived, and Bernard rearranged pillows again, making sure Tim was perfectly propped, despite defiant mumbling that “I’m not a baby”. They ate with the TV playing some loud, mindless action movie—cars exploding, heroes punching buildings. Tim barely tasted his food, the meds still made everything warm and distant. Kon sat on his right, thigh pressed warm against Tim’s good leg. Bernard sat on his left, fingers occasionally brushing Tim’s wrist or feeding him a bite of his own half-eaten spring rolls. Explosions lit up the dim room in bursts of orange, and gradually, the awkwardness eased. The painkillers pulled Tim deeper into that warm haze. He ended up leaning mostly on Kon, head on his shoulder, because it felt natural and Kon was warm and solid and smelled like rain and ozone. Bernard sat on his other side, fingers laced with Tim’s.
Halfway through the movie, Kon’s hand found Tim’s under the shared blanket. Warm fingers laced together, a habit they’d had for years. Tim didn’t pull away. Kon’s thumb stroked slow circles on the back of his hand, reverent and careful. Bernard noticed almost immediately.
He leaned in, lips brushing Tim’s ear. “Look at him,” he whispered, voice low and hot. “He’s been dying to touch you all night. You gonna let him keep suffering?”
Tim’s breath hitched. “Bern…”
Bernard kissed his neck, slow and deliberate. “It’s okay, baby. Go on.” Then louder, calm and commanding, “Kon. Kiss him. Properly. I want to watch.”
“What?”
“I said Go on, Kon. If you’ve been waiting this long, kiss him. I want to watch.”
Tim blinked slowly, heart thudding. “You… you don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t have to.” Bernard’s hand settled firmly on Tim’s good thigh, squeezing once. He was in charge, guiding this strange new current. “But I’m not blind, and I’m not cruel. You two have been circling each other for years. It’s written all over you. So kiss him, Kon. Gently. He’s hurt.”
The silence stretched, thick with possibility.
Tim’s heart hammered. He was floaty, overwhelmed, but the want was bright and undeniable now.
Kon looked at Tim, searching. “Timmy… you sure? I’ve wanted this forever, but I don’t want to screw up what you two have.”
“Yeah,” Tim breathed. “Please. Kiss me, please?”
Kon cupped his jaw—gentle, so gentle with the broken boy between them—and kissed him. It started soft, almost careful, like Kon was afraid he’d disappear. Then Tim made a small needy sound, and Kon deepened it with a groan, tongue sliding against Tim’s, hand sliding into his hair. Years of unspoken feelings poured out. Kon tasted like mango and spice and all of Tim’s best memories.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Bernard was watching with dark, hungry eyes.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered. He leaned across Tim and pulled Kon into a kiss of his own—bossy, demanding, tongue teasing until Kon moaned into it. Tim watched, dazed and aching, as Bernard’s hand gripped the back of Kon’s neck, controlling the angle. Kon melted into it, one hand still resting on Tim’s stomach like he couldn’t let go.
Bernard pulled back with a satisfied hum, lips reddened. “Good boys.” He turned and kissed Tim next—deep, claiming, while Kon watched with blown pupils. Then he guided Kon back to Tim’s mouth, directing with soft commands.
“Slow this time. Yeah, like that. Hand under his shirt—gentle on the bruises.”
Tim floated in it, lost in sensation and emotion. Light touches everywhere—Kon’s palm warm on his bare stomach, thumb stroking just above his waistband. Bernard’s fingers tracing his thigh, squeezing possessively. Soft kisses traded in a lazy rotation, sometimes all three mouths meeting in messy, breathless presses. Nothing rushed. Just heat and care and the overwhelming feeling of being wanted.
Eventually, Bernard settled back, smug and satisfied, pulling Tim against his chest and gesturing for Kon to scoot even closer. “There we go.” He kissed Tim’s temple, then Kon’s. “You two have been idiots for years, huh? All it took was a little kissing to realise?”
Tim laughed softly, watery and med-loose. “This is insane. My leg is killing me. My brain is soup. And I love you Bernie, but i… i think… I think I love you, Kon. Like, really love you. Not just friend stuff.”
Kon’s eyes went bright and soft. He kissed Tim’s knuckles, then his cheek, then his mouth again—gentle and sweet. “I know, Timmy. I…I’ve known for a long time. Me too.”
Bernard hummed happily, carding fingers through both their hair, petting them. “See? Honesty. We’re doing great.” He squeezed Tim’s waist, then reached over to rest a hand on Kon’s bicep, thumb stroking. “I’m not giving Tim up, but I’m not pretending you two aren’t stupidly in love either. So we share. Slowly. With lots of Thai food and bad movies and me telling you exactly what to do.” His grin turned sharp and playful, the same type of smile that made Tim fall in love with him in the first place. “Because I’m a little bit of a freak, and I’m really enjoying this.”
Kon let out a shaky laugh but leaned into the touch. “Yeah. I can see that.”
They stayed tangled on the couch for hours. The movie ended; no one bothered putting on another. Bernard directed lazy rotations of kisses—Tim kissing Kon while Bernard watched and murmured encouragement, Bernard kissing Kon while Tim rested his head on Kon’s shoulder, soft kisses pressed to Tim’s hair and neck and knuckles. Hands wandered gently under shirts—light groping, warm palms mapping skin, thumbs stroking hipbones and ribs—but nothing more. Just comfort and warmth and care.