This isn't exactly what Kon had in mind when Tim had said that some day he'd need his help dealing with something important. Not that he thinks he can predict what Tim will do, or anything, but this...
...is, like, pretty much a never on his Tim-needs-help list. Destroying downtown Tokyo with giant robots, sure. Taking out angry aliens hell-bent on destroying planet Earth, okay. Shielding the guy from a massive explosion -- yeah, he does that one a lot.
And to think that up until a few minutes ago, he'd been totally geeked to have an excuse to get away from the farm for a few hours. On a school night, no less, to go fight crime in Gotham with his best bud while Batman and Superman are off saving the world.
Some other world somewhere else in the universe, anyway. JLA stuff sometimes makes his head hurt. Kinda like his homework. Which he still hasn't finished, but hey, duty calls. Too bad Krypto won't be learning how to chow down on Kon's history paper anytime soon. Stupid Superdog.
He really hates being stuck all week with his feet on the ground. Especially when the ground smells like manure. So when Tim calls, Kon follows Tim's totally anal directions, lands on the roof, and waits patiently.
For about five whole seconds. The gargoyles always make him twitchy.
"Hey." Tim's voice comes from the shadows.
Kon squints at the darkness. "Hey. What's up?"
As usual, Tim's all business. "There's been a string of murders in this neighborhood. All male, under eighteen, and in the same line of work."
Kon crosses his arms. "What line of work is that?"
"Prostitution," Tim says, and steps out of the shadows.
And Kon... gapes.
Tim's not in uniform. He's so not in uniform. Because last time Kon checked, Tim's uniform didn't include a black leather skirt that's barely longer than his short pants, with fishnets above and below. And instead of a mask, there's smoky eye shadow, and what --
"-- the hell?" Kon says.
Tim smirks. His lips are red and shiny-wet, and his eyes are so very blue. "I'm working undercover."
That just begs for a snappy reply, but Kon's too busy staring. He could probably stare for a couple of days at this point, because Tim's legs are long for a little guy and there's something totally different about seeing those legs in Robin tights. All that pale skin and muscle showing everywhere except for the scrap of skirt and his combat boots.
Tim has really long legs.
"Did you shave for this?" Kon finds himself asking. His face heats, and he shakes his head. "Never mind. Please don't answer that."
If anything, it makes Tim smirk harder and close the distance between them. Tim usually walks with calm self-possession, like, not so much grace as... sure-ness. And the tight, tiny skirt he's wearing makes him have to walk with this little swing to his hips, and...
Kon really, really can't stop staring.
Especially once he notices the tattoos curling around Tim's arms and chest, easily visible through the fishnet shirt. And then he sees the nipple rings.
Kon blinks really hard, but when he opens his eyes, the little silver rings are still there. "Are those real?"
Tim glances down at his chest. "The tattoos are fake."
"I needed something to cover the scars. And the lack of track marks."
"Right," Kon says, because that's such a Tim answer that's it almost a relief. "So you're the bait and I'm the backup?"
He's secretly pleased that Tim called him in on this, because it's not like there's any place to hide Tim's usual armory of non-lethal weapons in that outfit. And he really likes the idea that Tim trusts Kon to keep him safe.
Trusts him enough to show up wearing a skirt, because if the rest of the team had come along, the jokes would've been never-ending. He can't picture any of the guys on the team doing this. Bart doesn't seem to have a problem dressing up like a girl, but he definitely can't sit still long enough to put on mascara. Vic just isn't pretty enough. Maybe Gar, though...
What's he thinking? Definitely Gar.
"A little more than that, actually," Tim says. "You'll probably want to turn your shirt inside-out."
Kon's shirt is halfway off before it really registers. "Wait -- you want me to be your pimp?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Tim says.
Kon tugs off his shirt, turns it inside-out so the big red S isn't showing, and pulls it back on. "Yeah. If you wanted a pimp, you should've called Nightwing, because I've seen the pictures, man --"
"I need a john. For authenticity."
"For..." Kon gapes some more, and there's what feels like a tiny explosion in his brain. "Huh?"
"Here. You'll need this," Tim says, and tosses him something.
Kon snatches it out of the air. It's a small wad of twenty dollar bills. And it's making it a lot harder to pretend that this isn't happening. "What? What am I supposed to --"
"Communicator," Tim says, holding it out.
Kon takes it from his hand, tucks it in his ear, and tries not to boggle at Tim's black fingernail polish.
"After I'm in place, wait for a little while, and then approach from the southwest. About seven blocks in that direction, the neighborhood becomes much more affluent. And conservative."
Sometimes Kon wonders exactly how much time Tim spends thinking to come up with all of this stuff, and the amount of time it must take usually scares the crap out of him. "Right. And if at any point you feel like filling me in, that would be cool."
Tim looks like he wants to be smiling. "Give me fifteen. Approach from the southwest. Awkwardly proposition me for sex."
Kon snorts. "Well, that explains everything."
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Tim asks.
"It's kinda stunned."
Tim walks backward toward the edge of the roof. "But is it pining for the fjords?"
There's a reference there that Kon isn't getting, but he doesn't let it distract him. "No offense, Tim, but why'd you call me?"
Tim blinks at him. "I didn't think you'd mind."
"What?" Kon splutters, but Tim's already off the roof, moving silently on the fire escape. It's kind of good that he's gone, though. Because otherwise Kon might ask the questions that are running around his head like demented ferrets. Like, 'What makes you think I wouldn't mind?' and 'Since when do you have sex with guys?' And most importantly, 'Did you call anyone else before you called me?'
He crouches at the edge of the building and watches Tim get in place, walking like he wants people to look at him for once. Open and inviting and sexy, standing hipshot against a wall with his messy hair falling over one eye.
Any minute now, Kon will wake up to Ma cooking breakfast and realize that this all a very disturbing dream. Except that he can't decide whether it's more disturbing to be dreaming of Tim as a hooker, or just looking at Tim the hooker.
There's really no way for this not to be weird. And insane. And probably for the first time ever, Kon's happy that he's stuck with stodgy old Superman as his mentor, because dressing up like a hooker is never gonna be part of his battle plan.
He checks his watch at least fifty times before Tim's fifteen minutes is up. The streets aren't very busy yet. People walking past Tim's bit of sidewalk either ignore him completely or eyeball him like a juicy steak. The only one to approach him is a scruffy homeless guy wearing a pair of pink shoes, and Tim drives him away by yelling in a voice that isn't his own.
Kon's kind of disturbed by how much he wants to beat the homeless guy's face in, so he's happy to distract himself by flying into position. He lands in an alley a few blocks away from Tim. It smells totally gross, thick and almost sweet, like something died in there. Then again, something probably has.
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walks with his head down, and it occurs to him that he has absolutely no idea what he's doing. He's never picked up an honest-to-god prostitute, and he never anticipated this being a problem until now.
This sucks. Tim owes him big-time.
He's walking fast with his eyes down, so he almost speeds by Tim completely until a whistle pulls him up short. Kon glances to his right and sees Tim staring at him from underneath the uneven fringe of his hair, his thumb hooked in the waistband of his skirt. He almost trips over his own sneakers as he comes to a stop, and stares at Tim, up close and looking slutty. Kon's pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, but then again, he can always blame it on his cover.
"Hey," Tim says, and does this rippling thing with his spine that makes Kon's mouth go dry. Tim's shirt -- or his not-enough-fabric-to-be-a-shirt -- rides up to expose the cut of one hip and his bellybutton.
"Hi." He steps closer without really meaning to, and it doesn't make Tim look any less hot.
"You looking?" Tim says casually, like he's asking if Kon wants paper or plastic.
"Um. I don't -- I mean..." Kon looks over his shoulder, but nobody's watching. Which is good, because he has no idea who they're going to call if their underage vigilante butts get busted by the cops. "Um."
"Tick-tock," Tim says, and looks at him in a really smug way.
It pisses him off a little, because it isn't like he had time to prepare for this. "How much for you to suck me off?"
Tim's smile is slow and lazy, and nothing like him. "Fifty."
"Seems kinda high," Kon says.
"I've never had any complaints."
Kon bites his tongue hard, but it doesn't stop him from saying, "Oh really?"
"Yeah. Come on," Tim says, and curls his fingers in the belt loops of Kon's jeans. He tugs, and Kon follows him into an alley. Tim puts his hand out as they move, and Kon stares at him in confusion until Tim says, "The ride isn't free, stud."
Kon flushes and digs in his pocket for the cash, and silently promises himself that he will get even with the little jerk even if it kills him. Tim takes the money and tucks it away somewhere that Kon can't see, and then pushes him behind a rusting metal dumpster.
"So how long do you think we should --" Kon says, and then Tim flicks open the top button of his jeans. "Uh, what are you doing?"
"Attempting verisimilitude," Tim says.
"What?" Kon's whisper turns into a hiss as Tim undoes his zipper and slips his hand into Kon's boxers. His hand is warm, his palm is rough, and Kon's stomach muscles are twitching like crazy. "Dude --"
"Feel free to moan loudly," Tim says. His teeth gleam in the darkness when he smiles, and then the gleam abruptly disappears as Tim drops to his knees. Frozen and wondering if it's physically possible for him to have a heart attack, Kon watches Tim pull his cock out the front flap of his boxers and jack it a few times. His hand is warm and tight, his grip sure, and Kon's already half-hard when Tim leans in, opens his mouth, and licks the head of Kon's cock. Like a sucker or an ice cream cone, only Tim's tongue is wet and warm, his lips are red, and sweet Christmas, how did this happen?
"Oh, god." Kon clenches his fists and bangs his head against the brick wall when Tim stops licking and starts sucking, still jacking his cock with one hand while he uses the other to squeeze Kon's thigh. Tim sucks a little harder, and Kon can't help but slide his fingers into Tim's hair. Like maybe he'll pull Tim off, stop him long enough to find out if Tim really wants to do this or if it's some stupid kind of duty thing. But god, Tim's mouth feels so good, and Kon's knows he can't focus enough to be sure of his TK or his strength right now.
Of course Tim's good at sucking cock. He's good at everything, the overachieving little freak. His hair is soft and a little sticky from product, and he's making these wet, slurpy noises around Kon's dick that are driving him nuts, and --
Tim's watching him.
His blue eyes are open, his lips stretched around Kon's cock, and Tim's watching him like an apocalypse couldn't distract him. Kon moans and thumps his head against the brick again, because Tim looks hungry, and Kon has to believe that he wants this, because anything else will break his brain. Tim pushes the back of his head against Kon's hands, winks, and then goes down. Down down down, until Kon can feel Tim's nose against his belly, and it's probably the sexiest, most fucked-up thing he's ever seen.
Kon also considers it an engraved invitation to fuck Tim's mouth. He tightens his fingers in Tim's hair, holds his head still, and uses him. After the first hard thrust, Tim closes his eyes and groans around Kon's cock. That should not be hot, but it totally is, and Kon can't help but pant and moan, and screw his cock into Tim's mouth over and over again.
"Tim, I --" The rest of his warning gets lost in his throat somewhere, but Tim seems to know what he means because he's groaning again, and the vibration of his throat is going to kill Kon. Every girl who's done this for him has hated swallowing, but Tim doesn't back off at all, and Kon comes in his mouth. Tim eyes are open now, open and staring at him like blinking just isn't gonna happen, and Kon can't look away. Tim keeps sucking him until Kon sags back against the wall, and then he sits back on his heels and coughs. Tim's makeup is smudged and Kon has red lipstick on his cock.
This is so deeply weird.
"I -- you -- god!"
Tim rises from his crouch easily. "I find complete sentences aid communication."
"You are such a jerk!" Kon snaps, and bangs his head against the brick a few more times.
Tim squints a little. "You dented the building."
"You're lucky I don't dent you. What were you -- why did you --"
"Are you always this cranky after sex?" Tim asks curiously.
"I -- what? No! I mean, I don't know!"
"Hmm," Tim says.
Kon thinks about smacking him. "Stop looking at me like I'm an experiment."
"I'm not --"
Tim turns before Kon hears the scuff of a shoe on pavement, and then he's stuffing his dick back into his pants because there's suddenly a big guy coming at them with a butcher's knife. Tim dodges when the guy slashes at him, slams home a few punches, and then drops into a crouch and sweeps the guy off his feet with a hard kick to the backs of his knees. Kon tries to ignore how good Tim's ass looks in his skirt, and hauls the big guy up by the lapels of his trench coat. Up close, the guy looks middle-aged and creepy, and he reeks of sweat and filth like he hasn't showered in at least a week, all crazy-eyed and snarling at Kon to let him go.
"No can do," Kon says, and shakes him when the guy kicks him in the shins. It doesn't exactly hurt, but it's the principle of the thing.
"Kill you," the guy howls, spit flying everywhere. "Kill you all!"
"Uh huh," Kon says, and turns to Tim. "Think this is the guy, Rob?"
Tim zip-strips the guy's hands and says, "I don't think it's likely that he's here to offer us choice cuts of meat."
Normally, Kon would be all over the 'meat' thing like white on rice, but... he stares at the zip-strip, and then stares at Tim's outfit, and tells himself very firmly not to wonder what else Tim's got hidden under there. He might not be the brains of their outfit, but even he knows that there are some questions better left unasked. Kon keeps an eye on the crazy guy while Tim contacts the Gotham PD, and it's only a few minutes before the sirens get close. Kon flies them both to the roof, landing easily with his hands on Tim's hips.
"Okay, so, talking would be a good thing right now," Kon says.
Tim just blinks like he doesn't remember that he's not wearing his mask.
"That would be you talking," he clarifies. "About what just happened down there."
"It was good work," Tim says. "We got the bad guy, didn't destroy anything, and you'll be home before curfew."
"Right," Kon says. "Not what I meant."
He yanks Tim forward and kisses him, and he groans when he realizes that he can still taste himself in Tim's mouth. Smooth lips, slick tongue, and teeth, slipping and sliding and biting. Kon likes kissing. He likes it a lot, and he likes kissing Tim a lot more than he should for his own well-being. Someone is gonna want to kill him for tonight. He's just not sure who yet. Actually, he should probably just start with how many people will kill him for tonight.
"Kon," Tim says, and makes a really interesting breathy noise when Kon slips his hand up Tim's skirt. Tim's thighs are all taut muscle covered in fishnets. He's wearing a jock under there, and for that, Kon's pretty much ready to forgive him anything.
"Were you trying to break my brain?" Kon says, leaning down to press his forehead against Tim's. He closes his eyes. Tim smells good. He feels good.
"...possibly," Tim says. Kon squeezes Tim's cock through his tights. "Yes."
"You suck," Kon says, and then laughs, because his best friend is a cock-sucking, crime-fighting freak, and that... pretty much rocks.
There's a smile in Tim's voice. "Yeah. Do you?"
"Yeah," Kon says. "Oh yeah."