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“Is this—mmph—your idea of being subtle?” Damian pants in between Jon’s fervent kisses, swaying closer despite the halfhearted bite in his tone. “Accosting me in a supply closet, of all places?”
“Wasn’t really going for subtle, babe. I just missed you,” Jon murmurs back like it’s a simple fact, pausing for Damian’s benefit to let the words sink in. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Jon has missed his boyfriend something fierce.
Damian’s scowl softens, a subtle flush rising to his cheeks at Jon’s unabashed sentimentality. Jon stares back at him with such open affection, heart nearly bursting with love.
“Wipe that look off your face,” Damian grumbles, lowering his own gaze in embarrassment.
“What look? That’s just my face, Dames,” Jon grins impishly. He runs a hand down the side of Damian’s flank, relishing in the way that his breath hitches. “Besides, I can’t help the way I look at you.”
“Tt,” Damian sniffs, eyes narrowing as he leans back to properly meet Jon's gaze. His expression is now, if possible, even more flustered than before. But he looks pleased, despite his best efforts to hide it. “Sentimental fool.”
Still, Jon can hear the way Damian's heart — usually so calm and steady — skips a beat. Damian might pretend to be exasperated by Jon’s casual but heartfelt displays of affection, but he knows that Damian’s just as much of a “sentimental fool” as he is.
“Maybe, so why don’t you do something about it then?” Jon goads, just to be a little shit.
After a moment of deliberation, Damian’s the one to lean in to close the distance between them this time, going so far as to push himself to the tips of his toes to reach Jon’s lips. Damian kisses him with a single-minded focus, pouring every bit of passion into the press of their lips. There’s a sort of restless energy buzzing beneath his skin, Jon can feel it in the taut lines of Damian’s muscles. He might not say it in so many words, but Jon knows Damian’s missed him just as much.
Sentimental fool, indeed.
Jon smiles into the kiss, raising a hand to cup the side of his face. He tenderly rubs his thumb over Damian’s jaw, tilting his head just so to deepen the kiss. He presses his boyfriend more firmly against the wall of the cramped supply closet, swallowing his soft sigh with a languid swipe of his tongue. Damian melts at his ministrations, like the last strings of tension have finally been cut.
It’s not the most glamorous place for a post-mission make out session but, oh well, needs must and all that.
Jon tips Damian’s head back, sliding his thumb over the line of Damian’s throat to feel the subtle way he shakes at the gentle touch. Their lips slide over each other, desperate and hungry all at once. Damian cards his fingers through the short curls at the nape of Jon’s neck, sending pleasant shivers racing down Jon’s spine. In between this kiss and the next, they steadily grow more heated, barely pulling apart for air like the very idea of a second apart is unthinkable.
There’s a persistent need for more that has Jon sliding his free hand down the curve of Damian’s back, urging him closer until they’re slotted together like puzzle pieces.
Jon slides a leg between Damian’s, brushing his knee against his athletic cup. With the hand Jon has on his back, he coaxes Damian to rock against his leg, slow and sensual. Damian jolts as if he’d been electrocuted, moaning filthily into their kiss. Jon feels the vibration of it on his tongue, and damn if it doesn't do things to him, to have Damian unravel from his mouth and hands alone — it sends a thrill of arousal coursing through him, burning hot and fever-bright.
Damian urges Jon closer by the grip he has on the nape of his neck, hooking a leg over Jon's hip, desperate to get him where he needs him. Jon exhales raggedly through his nose, hiking Damian higher against the wall so that he can rut against him in quick, desperate thrusts.
When Jon slides a hand between them, intent on undoing the buckle of Damian's utility belt, Damian halts his movements with a hand over his wrist.
Jon tenses and pulls back with a wet smack. He can't help but feel transfixed by the way Damian’s eyes flutter open slowly as he catches his breath, his impossibly long lashes brushing against his cheeks. He then firmly shakes his head in an effort to clear his head of the fog.
"Shit, sorry," Jon swallows thickly after a beat, voice shot to hell.
“If you think you’re going to fuck me in this closet like I’m some dirty secret, you’d better think again, Jonathan Kent,” Damian pants, trying to sound firm but coming off as breathless instead, his own voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "I do have standards."
Some of the tension from before unspools, and Jon swoops down to kiss that devastatingly pretty pout off of Damian’s mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Nothing but the best for his royal highness,” he teases lightly in between kisses, laughing at Damian’s strangled, indignant noise.
“Ass!” Damian jabs his knuckles against Jon’s ribs in retaliation, something Jon’s sure would have hurt on a regular person. As it is, he’s more worried about Damian hurting himself.
“Okay, okay,” Jon concedes, pulling back with a smile. He lifts Damian’s hand to his lips, pressing an apologetic kiss to his knuckles. “No quickies in a closet.”
“Jonatha—"
He presses another quick kiss to Damian’s knuckles, rubbing his thumb over the same spot after. “I’m sorry, I just really missed you.”
“So you’ve said,” Damian returns dryly, a bit of clarity returning to his hazy eyes but he doesn't bother to pull away from Jon's loose embrace. If anything, he seems be basking in their close proximity.
“It bears repeating,” Jon says softly, his teasing grin softening to something more genuine. It sounds intimate, whispered in the small space between them. Damian shivers at the unguarded emotion in his voice. “I missed you every day I was off-planet.”
Jon leans down to brush his nose along the curve of Damian’s cheek, who tilts his head to return the gesture with a nuzzle.
"It's only been a week, Hayseed," Damian huffs in exasperation, a hint of amusement in his tone. Still, his eyes flutter to half-mast, like it's an effort to keep them open.
Jon hums absently, kissing a line from the apple of Damian’s cheek to the hinge of his jaw. "And what a long week it's been," he quips, voice muffled from where he’s diligently working to leave a smattering of marks on the side of his neck. Damian’s sure to flay him alive with a Kryptonite knife for it later, but now he seems rather receptive to the special attention Jon’s paying the thin skin behind his ear, letting out a throaty groan for his efforts.
"Well," Damian pants, tilting his head obligingly when Jon reaches the sliver of skin on his throat not covered by the high collar of Damian’s Robin uniform. “Why don’t we take this to my bedroom? I’d be more than happy to show you how much I’ve missed you.”
Jon pulls back, quick enough that he blurs in motion as he unconsciously taps into his superspeed. He wraps his arms securely around Damian, pulling him away from the wall. "You don't have to tell me twice."
“We could have been there by now if you’d use that super brain of yours and taken us there instead of this musty old supply closet, you know,” Damian snarks back with a roll of his eyes, but the corners of his lips quirk in a smirk nonetheless.
”Coulda, woulda, shoulda," Jon shrugs with a smirk of his own, adjusting his hold on Damian. "Let's go make up for lost time then."
Damian wraps his arms more firmly around Jon's shoulders, bracing himself for a burst of Jon's superspeed. "Well go on then, Superman, up up and away."
Jon snorts, leaning in to kiss Damian once more before they disappear in a blur.