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“This feels claustrophobic.” As if to prove his point, Damian’s knee rams straight into his cheekbone and Jon yelps. Damian doesn’t so much as offer an apology.
“Says the person whose idea it was to go camping.” Jon groans at that, the lamplights of Wayne Manor painting the tent wall a sickly yellow.
“I meant like outside–in the mountains or something. Not in your living room.”
“Well.” Thunder booms in the distance. “Too bad your powers don’t include super-weather control.”
“And what do your superpowers include?”
“Tt.” Jon grins as he finishes unpacking the rest of his duffel. He’s brought his pillow and his worn-out comforter from home, though it pales in comparison to Damian’s two-foot thick duvet. (He’d left his plush Superbunny at home to avoid any further teasing.)
“I can’t believe you own Superman-themed pajamas,” Damian says, eyeing him disdainfully. Jon rubs at the blue-and-red buttons and shrugs.
“Says the person wearing Gucci pajamas.” He gestures at his whole silk get-up, done in red-and-black pinstripes that are more fitting for a person five times their age. (Come to think of it, he’s pretty sure he saw Alfred wearing matching ones earlier.)
Damian smirks at him, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow because he’s Damian fucking Wayne.
“It’s Yves Saint-Laurent actually,” he says because of course it is. Robin - 1000000,
Superboy - 1.
Jon wrenches at the edge of his sleeping bag miserably as he crawls inside. His leg bumps against the corner immediately, his whole body practically squashed halfway against the side of the tent.
“Can you move over? You’re taking up three-quarters of the space.”
“Look who knows their fractions.” Jon’s rolled away from him but he already knows the expression painted on his face, self-satisfied smirk in the dark. “But no. I move around in the night.”
“You what?” Jon yelps, whipping around to face him. Did I just get in bed with an assassin who fights shadow-villains in their sleep? he thinks and then instinctively blushes at the wording. I mean, did I just get into a tent with someone who will definitely kick me in their sleep?
Damian’s sprawled across the floor with his silk night cap and his luxury pajamas and his two (two!) pillows and his ridiculously fluffy comforter. Jon could shove him with superstrength but that feels like cheating so he settles for bodychecking him instead. He’s still got a couple inches on him and Damian concedes a sliver of space, which is probably the most Jon’s going to get so he takes it. He shoves his duffel bag between them in some attempt at a feeble wall to prevent the impending onslaught when Damian falls asleep.
“You suck.” There’s a beat. “Are we still going on patrol tomorrow?”
“Tt. Obviously.”