Tim was half-listening to the comms in his ear, tuning out most of the post-mission chatter while finishing up a systems sweep through his wrist computer. He stood near the transport van, quiet, efficient, typing with rapid precision and already thinking about the next report he’d have to file. His hood was down, dark hair windblown from the earlier fight.

He didn’t hear Kon approach.

One second he was standing alone—and the next, Kon all but crashed into him from behind, arms sliding tight around Tim’s waist like a weighted blanket, body pressing flush to his back.

Tim startled, caught himself before they both toppled over. “Kon—?”

A soft mumble. Then the unmistakable sensation of warm breath against his neck as Kon buried his face there and let out a deep, content sigh.

Tim froze. “What are you doing? Are you—injured?”

“Powder,” Kon muttered against his skin, voice slurred just enough to raise concern. “Some powder. Villain threw it at me. I feel fine. Just… need you.”

Then he nuzzled into Tim’s neck again like he was trying to memorize the feeling of him. Tim blinked, stunned, heart skipping.

That had been an hour ago.

The anti-toxin had worked fast—Cleared his bloodstream in ten minutes. Medical said he was stable. No side effects.

And yet Kon hadn’t moved.

Not away from Tim. Not one step.

They had relocated to the rooftop above the crime scene where things were quieter, and still—Kon’s arms stayed locked around Tim’s waist, lips pressing again and again to Tim’s jaw, temple, cheek, lips. Slow, overwhelming kisses that didn’t let Tim come up for air for long.

Tim had tried to pull back. Once. Maybe twice. Kon growled and held on tighter.

“You’re good,” Kon murmured into his ear. “You smell like coffee and ozone and I love you.”

“You’re high,” Tim whispered, breath catching when Kon kissed him again.

“Not anymore,” Kon said between kisses. “Just honest.”

Tim’s datapad was somewhere on the ground. Forgotten.

So was the mission. The report. The lingering bruises from earlier.

Kon only stopped to breathe—and even then, just barely—before dragging Tim into another kiss, holding him like he’d never let go again.