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When Grandma calls him downstairs saying that his friend is at the front door, Jonathan is expecting Cece from school, or Kenny from down the road.
What he definitely isn’t expecting is a very disgruntled-looking and erect-postured Damian Wayne, dressed in a sweater and slacks combo that seems like it’s trying a little too hard at being casual.
So naturally, Jonathan blurts out the first thing to come to mind:
“What are you doing here?”
“Jonny,” Grandma scolds, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “Your friend came all the way from Gotham to see you; be polite.”
“Sorry,” Jonathan says, unhindered. “Damian, is everything ok?”
“Everything is - well, I should like to speak with you in your room, if you wouldn’t mind,” Damian says, carefully avoiding Grandma’s curious gaze.
“Yeah, ok.” Jonathan circles his fingers around Damian’s wrist, pulling him along. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
He has no idea what could be wrong with his best friend, but it must be something serious if he came all the way to Smallville to tell Jonathan about it. Already, Jon can feel anxiety swirling around in the pit of his gut, but he steels himself and waits to see what Damian will say next before losing his head completely.
At least his hand on Damian’s arm helps Jon in keeping his nerves in check.
Jonathan shuts the door behind them, flushing slightly as he gestures around the bedroom. “Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly. “It’s not that clean right now.”
“I don’t mind.” Damian lowers himself onto Jon’s bed and braces his hands on his knees. He’s scowling - that’s normal for him, but usually he’ll at least look Jonathan in the eye when he talks to him.
Jon gingerly sits next to Damian on the bed, leaving a careful three inches of space between them. “Come on, dude. What’s wrong?”
Damian rolls his eyes. “Right. Like you don’t know.”
“Huh?”
“It’s been all over the Internet,” Damian says, rubbing at his temples in an exhausted fashion. “Come on, Jon, I know you’ve seen it. Don’t play dumb with me. It’s been number one on Twitter’s trending for at least twenty-four hours.”
Jonathan blinks. “Dami,” he says, very slowly. “I live in Kansas. Smallville, Kansas. Do you honestly think that I’m on Twitter?”
If nothing else, he finally succeeds in getting Damian to look at him; he turns toward Jon, eyebrows raised, and says, “For the past day and a half, the Internet has been speaking of nothing but my father’s sexual preferences.”
Because his dad is Clark Kent, who becomes disgruntled at the first instance of anything remotely inappropriate, Jon’s cheeks flush almost instantly.
“Wh - “ He coughs slightly, swallows. “What?!”
Damian’s face looks sour. “Apparently, it is a great interest of the public as to whether or not Batman performs oral sex on his romantic partners.”
Jonathan coughs again, ears burning. “Um, well…Does he?”
Damian shoots him a withering glare. Jon wisely decides to drop it.
“It was bad enough to begin with, but then Mother somehow got involved.” Damian’s expression looks incredibly pained. “And she - well, you can see for yourself.”
He thrusts his phone into Jon’s hands and immediately hides his face behind his fingers; Jon stares down at the screen to see a tweet by someone named “Tegan Al Mhul" that plainly says, I’ve been with Batman before, and not only did he go down on me, he also let me peg him.
“Oh,” Jonathan says vaguely, trying valiantly not to laugh. “Oh no.”
“‘Oh no’ is an understatement,” Damian hisses. “And it’s not funny,” he snaps, glancing at Jon’s expression.
Jon holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say it was,” he says, but he fails to keep the grin out of his voice. He manages to compose himself, though - making sure his friend is ok is much more important than however hilarious this whole situation might be.
Though, to be fair, if there were ever an online debate about Superman’s bedroom preferences…
Ew. Jon does not want to think about that.
“Can I hug you?” he asks Damian, because Damian prefers to be asked. Damian glares at him.
“What, you think just because all this is happening, I’m weak?” He shakes his head. “I don’t need you to cuddle me, Kent, thank you very much.”
Jonathan shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He hops up, heads for the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” For someone who doesn’t want to be cuddled, Damian sure sounds upset at the prospect of Jon leaving him.
“I’m just going to get some snacks,” Jon says. “I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”
Damian’s shoulders relax. “Oh. All right.”
Jonathan’s so distracted thinking about his friend’s whole predicament that he burns his first bag of microwaveable popcorn, and Grandma has to open all the downstairs doors and windows to air out the house. She makes him sit while she takes care of the second bag, and sends him back upstairs with a bowlful and two glasses of apple juice.
Damian is exactly where Jon left him - he hasn’t even taken off his shoes. Jonathan sits down again, handing a glass to Damian and setting the popcorn bowl between them on the bedspread.
“Hope this is ok,” he says.
Damian takes a handful of popcorn and shovels it into his mouth. “We never get the fake butter kind at home,” he says, almost wistfully, and Jon feels a sort of savage pride in that.
But Damian still looks a little upset.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” Jon says sincerely. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”
Damian shoves more popcorn into his mouth, staring somewhere at the floor instead of at Jonathan’s face. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
And then he does something truly remarkable; he leans across the bowl sitting between them and rests his head stiffly on Jon’s shoulder.
It MUST be bad, Jon thinks, stamping down the butterflies that erupt in his stomach at the touch. If Damian’s actually initiating physical contact.
Jonathan sets the popcorn bowl in his lap, reaches around, and pulls Damian in closer by the shoulder, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his arm. Damian tenses slightly, but soon relaxes into it, shutting his eyes, the ever-present scowl still adorning his face.
“It’ll all blow over soon,” Jon says consolingly. “That’s how things work on the Internet, dude. Don’t worry about it.”
Damian hums, burrowing a little closer into Jon’s shoulder. “If you say so.”
They just sit there like that for a while, the sound of Grandma’s bluegrass music filtering upstairs through the kitchen as Jonathan keeps track of Damian’s steady breathing, his inhales and his exhales.
“Do you want to stay the night or something?” Jonathan asks eventually. “You can borrow some of my clothes if you want.”
Damian shifts slightly and says, “Yes. Thank you.”
“‘Course.”
And then Damian does a very strange thing; he leans away from Jonathan, opens his eyes, lays his hands on Jon’s shoulders, and leans forward and kisses him.
Jon’s frozen in place for a good five seconds before Damian pulls away again.
“Sorry,” he mutters, folding his hands in his lap. “I sincerely apologize if that made you uncomfortable.”
Jon has never kissed anyone before. Damian, his best friend, just kissed him. Damian was his first kiss.
So Jon figures he can be his second, too. He shakes his head and pulls Damian back into him, his fingers ending up loosely wrapped around Damian’s wrists (he isn’t sure what else to do with them) - Damian tastes like apple juice and salty, fake popcorn butter, and Jonathan’s stomach rushes like it does when he first takes off into the air in one huge bound.
When they pull away again, Damian hums. “That was…nice.”
“Yeah.” Jon bumps his nose against Damian’s. “Yeah, it was nice.”
Damian leans his forehead against Jonathan’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
Jon rubs his back. “Yeah, any time.”
He smiles softly to himself, feeling his best friend move against him. He feels content, comfortable, and very, very happy. He wonders, distantly, if this is what Dad feels like with Mom.
“…Ha, Dami, our first kiss was because your dad went viral ‘cause your mom told everyone that she - “
“Kent, if you finish that sentence, I will kill you.”
“Just kidding.”
“…I know. Me too.”