Chapter Text
Don't play dumb, I know you fantasize
You could have me on my back every night
I don't mind the things that you've been doing
Think you need someone like me to get through it
And I know you can see
We'll let people talk
And you know we can be
Just what they want
'Cause I've been out until the morning
And I don't think I'll last another night
I knew the feeling would be forming
After I took a look into your eyes
But are you ready for it, darling?
I'll take all your responsibilities
And you've got everybody calling
But I know that you're calling after me
- Calling After Me, Wallows
Tim was in the middle of looking over Davis' very lackluster pitch to collaborate with Lexcorp on a public transportation project when his phone started beeping in his pocket. Tim of course had set his phone to silent the moment it came out of the box, like a normal person, so he almost didn't recognize the noise. He looked down at the screen and froze, wondering if he was having some sort of breakdown.
Joker assassinated on Main St. flashed up at him as he stared at the notifications streaming in.
"it has to be a hoax," he thought, but then a video link popped up in the feed and – oh, that was a video of Joker getting blown away in the middle of his monologue. The camera shook as it swung wildly, until it landed on a man wearing a red hood and a mask, standing on the old bank building. He just shot the Joker! a woman yelled and the man in the hood gave her a lazy salute before he dismantled his gun. Slowly, like he had all the time in the world.
"He's a pro," Tim thought, definitely not thinking about the way the shooter's tac pants stretched over his thighs.
Footsteps were rushing up and down the hallway as the notifications kept streaming through:
Is it true?
This has to be a joke.
No fucking way.
I can't believe some random guy got the Joker before Batman did and - oh god, Bruce.
Tim stood up and poked his head out the door. "Tam, tell everyone Wayne Enterprise is closing for the rest of the day."
She nodded and started typing away, but Davis cleared his throat. Oh right - they were supposed to go over his pitch.
"With all due respect, sir, it's only 10 AM," Davis said, and it took every single shred of self control Tim had not to roll his eyes.
"It's the first annual celebration of the Joker's death," he said, with his hand on the door knob. "No one's going to be productive today."
Davis tried to argue, but Tim was already gone, power walking down the hallway so he didn’t have to hear Davis sing Lexcorp’s praises. (Why didn’t he just work for them if he loved Lex Luthor so much?)
“O, what's going on?” he asked over the comm as soon as he was in the elevator.
“It's like New Year's meets Fourth of July meets Mardi Gras,” she said, and her voice was jubilant. “I think Harley Quinn is trying to start a parade.”
“Good for her,” Tim said. “Better than robbing a bank in all the commotion.”
“Well, the Penguin’s got that covered,” she said drily. “Robin volunteered himself and Nightwing to go.”
“I'm surprised he got Nightwing to join him,” Tim said. “He's all about a parade.”
O laughed, and Tim decided to finally bite the bullet. “How’s B?”
“He's… in shock, we think,” she admitted. “A has him under observation.”
Tim breathed a sigh of relief. At least Bruce wouldn't be out in the field when the inevitable meltdown hit. “Do you think I have time to go get the rainbow bat suit?” he asked as he headed for the cave.
She laughed. “Send me any photos if you do,” and Tim smirked.
“Will do.”
Unfortunately the rainbow bat suit was “out for maintenance” (someone must have tried to sneak it out… again) so Tim put on his own suit and headed out.
O hadn't been kidding. People were literally dancing in the streets – which was unheard of in Gotham. Mr. Freeze had frozen the fountain downtown, so kids and teens and even a few businessmen in suits were skidding across the ice, arms outstretched to keep from falling. Someone was inexplicably blasting Post Malone on a loop, and everyone was smiling. Some teens tried to shoplift snacks, but the owner just smiled and waved them on. It was unlike anything Tim had ever seen. Someone set off a glitter bomb, and he couldn't even be mad about being covered in glitter from head to toe. It would be a nightmare to get the glitter off the latex, but that was future Tim's problem.
He gradually made his way to the scene of the crime. GPD had blocked the street off, but that hadn't stopped the denizens of Gotham from leaving their own memorials. “Rest in piss” signs featured prominently. Tim took a mental note to come take some photos later.
There was a GPD officer guarding the entrance to the building the shooter had used as a stake out spot, but it was comically easy to grapple up to the roof without him even noticing. He looked around for evidence markers, but didn't see any. The shooter must have taken his casings with him. He was definitely a pro.
Tim stood where the shooter had stood, lining up the shot. It was honestly impressive. Tim only knew a few people who could have made that shot, and they were all out of town. So there must be a new player on the Gotham crime scene.
“It's nice to have fans,” a low voice drawled behind him and Tim whirled – to find the shooter watching him. He hadn't even heard footsteps. He did a quick scan for weapons – none visible, which didn't mean much, but at least there wasn't a gun pointed at him. That would have been a bummer.
“Do you always come back to the scene of the crime?” Tim asked, and the shooter’s laugh crackled over the voice modifier.
“Only when I get a chance to see the Big Bat,” the shooter said. “The Joker would be devastated his arch nemesis couldn't be bothered to attend his funeral parade.”
“Batman's not in Gotham at the moment,” Tim said, his voice carefully neutral. “I can send him your regards.”
“No need, baby bird,” the shooter said, and Tim's stomach did a little flip at hearing baby in that low, raspy voice. “I'm sure we'll see each other sooner or later.”
“So you're staying in Gotham?” Tim asked, and the shooter laughed again.
“You’re quite the detective,” he said. “I can see why they sent you.”
“So that's a yes,” Tim said. “If you're going to stick around, you're going to need a name.”
“Oh, that's easy. I'm the Red Hood,” the shooter said, and Tim's eyebrows shot up.
“Came into town and decided to get rid of the competition, huh?”
“Not so much competition as the Joker’s chickens coming home to roost,” Red Hood said. “Since Batman couldn't be bothered to finish the job, I figured I'd do Gotham a favor.”
He stepped forward, his boots still eerily silent for someone so big. “Figures Batman's still sending his little birds to do his dirty work. At least he didn't send the littlest one.”
“Robin can hold his own,” Tim said, as much as it pained him to defend Damian, and Red Hood snorted.
“Sure, all four feet and eleven inches of him. You'd think Batman would be a little more careful after the last one went and got himself blown up.” Tim’s stomach did another flip, but this one was more nauseated. “I guess he just wrote that one off. A stupid fledgeling that jumped out of the nest too soon.”
“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” Tim snapped, and Red Hood chuckled.
“Oh, that hit a nerve. Did he promise he would protect you? That he would care?”
“Shut up,” Tim said. Red Hood laughed, but it was bitter.
“Batman's made a lot of promises to Gotham, but he doesn't seem to keep them, does he?” Red Hood said. “He doesn't care about the little guy, even when he's riding Batman's coat tails.”
“Shut UP!” Tim said, extending his bo staff with a snap.
“Awww, you gonna fight me, baby bird?” Red Hood asked, but Tim didn't bother to answer. He came out swinging, hitting Hood’s elbow, and then the gap between Hood’s body armor and his neck. Red Hood laughed, catching Tim's staff with one hand on the next swing and pulling him in close.
Tim used his momentum to spring forward, knee aimed for Hood’s chest, but Hood side stepped. Tim dropped into a crouch, and Hood spun his bo staff lazily. “You know what they say, didn't bring a stick to a gun fight,” he drawled, swinging for Tim's head, but Tim ducked, slipping under Hood’s guard. Red Hood kicked, and Tim slammed his elbow into Hood’s shin.
“Oh you're mean,” Hood said, but he sounded delighted. He put his weight on his other leg, and it threw him off balance. Tim took the opportunity to jump at him, knocking him to the ground.
It was stupid trying to out wrestle a bigger opponent, but something was familiar about the way Hood grappled with him, and he managed to get his arm around Hood’s throat, his elbow pressing against his Adams apple. “Yield,” he gritted out, but Hood grabbed Tim’s arm and rolled, pinning Tim to the ground. He struggled against Red Hood’s grip, stupid, stupid, stupid. Red Hood’s hands were unyielding on his wrists, and Tim tensed, waiting for another blow.
But it never came.
“D’ you want a job?” Red Hood asked, and Tim stared, his chest heaving.
“What?”
“You're good,” Hood said with a shrug. “I'm setting up a new operation here, I could use someone like you.”
Tim blinked up at him, bewildered. “You’re shitting me.”
Red Hood held up two fingers. “Scout's honor.”
Tim pushed up, kicking out at Red Hood and sending him sprawling. “I'll take that as a no,” Red Hood said ruefully, climbing to his feet. “If you ever get tired of taking the Big Bat’s orders, come find me.”
Tim snatched up his bo staff. “Where am I supposed to find you?”
Red Hood laughed. “I'll leave that to you, detective. I'm not hard to find.” He turned and took a running leap off the roof, leaving Tim speechless as he started to fall. He pulled his grapple and swung to the next building at the last second, and Tim watched him until the darkness swallowed him up, Gotham welcoming him with open arms.
🦇
It turned out that Red Hood wasn't lying when he said he was easy to find. Reported sightings started popping up online – Red Hood seemed to hang around the Bowery, but he might pop up anywhere. He might be seen stopping an armed robbery of a corner store one day just to rob an armored truck headed to Gotham City Bank the next. He was quickly becoming the Robin Hood of Gotham.
Bruce was… not taking it well. He'd finally started sleeping in his own bed instead of the Bat Cave (at least occasionally) but without his nemesis, he became obsessed with discovering the Red Hood’s identity. He watched the video of the assassination over and over, looking for a clue he and the GPD had missed. The murder board with his notes had more scribbled theories than actual clues, but Bruce was determined to discover his identity himself.
But when had that ever stopped Tim before?
He dug through some of Bruce’s old files, looking for anyone who might have been left to pick up the pieces after a run-in with the Joker. Someone who had met Jason – Red Hood had clearly noticed Jason’s absence and connected the dots. But even if he narrowed the search to the time Jason was Robin, the list of people who might have a grudge was so long, Tim might as well be looking for a needle in a field of haystacks. He finally gave up when he ran a report and the whole system crashed. Looked like he was going to have to do this the old fashioned way.
He started passing through Red Hood's territory during his patrols, hoping for a glimpse. It felt like the old days, when he would sneak out of his bedroom window armed only with his camera, hoping for a chance to see Batman.
He didn't have to wait long to find Red Hood. He saw some finance bro in a bad suit harassing the corner girls, but Red Hood turned up before he could intervene. The finance bro was quivering in fear, and Tim couldn't even blame him. Red Hood was terrifying, a hooded figure materializing out of the darkness like a ghost. He leaned in close, whispering something that Tim couldn't hear, but whatever it was had the erstwhile sex pest blubbering apologies. Tim couldn't help but be impressed.
Red Hood sent the finance bro off with a shove, and he ran as fast as his shaky legs would take him. One of the girls whispered in Red Hood’s ear, and he turned his head, looking right at Tim.
Tim waved and Red Hood waved back – who knew a wave could be so sarcastic? And Tim laughed, holding his hands up in surrender as he turned to go. Maybe that was enough poking the bear for one night.
But Tim had never known when to leave well enough alone. He started coming more and more often, adding notes to his mental file. He watched Red Hood return a little kid’s bike one night and chase off a few jerks throwing beer cans and trash at a guy busking for tips another. He even helped an elderly woman cross the street when the bus ran late.
One night, Red Hood was unloading a truck of stolen guns – Tim had no idea where they’d been headed, but it was nowhere good – and he caught sight of Tim, watching from a nearby billboard. “Are you gonna help or just stare like a stalker?” Red Hood called, and Tim paused, before he swung down to the ground.
Red Hood’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded at a large wooden crate. “Pry open the top, we’re gonna send them off with a little surprise.”
Tim grabbed a crowbar, wondering what he would find inside – and then he laughed. “Paintball guns?” he asked, holding one up.
Red Hood shrugged. “Who knows, maybe some moron will be out here bringing a paintball gun to the gun fight.”
Tim laughed again, grabbing an armload of the paintball guns and moving them to the crate Red Hood had just emptied. “Where are these going, anyway?”
“Ah ah ah, baby bird,” Red Hood said. “I’m not gonna do your homework for you. If you wanna tell the Big Bat, you’re gonna have to figure it out on your own.”
Tim snorted. “I’m not going to tell Batman.”
Red Hood turned, the lenses of his mask glinting in the fading light. “You’re not?”
Tim remembered Bruce, running his hands through his hair as he mumbled, It’s like he appeared out of thin air! to himself. “Batman’s keeping his investigation pretty close to the vest right now,” he said.
“So your little stalking routine is an extracurricular activity?” Red Hood said drily and Tim shrugged.
“I was curious,” he said. “It’s been a while since we had someone new on the mask scene.”
“So I’m special?” Red Hood asked, smug as can be.
“I didn’t say that,” Tim said, and Red Hood barked out a laugh.
“Wow, that hurts, baby bird,” he said, but his voice was amused, and Tim rolled his eyes as he reached for another paintball gun. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s in my file?”
“I’m not going to do your homework for you,” Tim said. Two could play that game. “I haven’t figured out your whole tragic backstory, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who says I have a tragic backstory?” Red Hood asked, and Tim raised an eyebrow.
“Nobody ends up in this business because they had a good childhood,” he said, and Red Hood chuckled.
“You’ve got me there, birdie.” He leaned on the crate. “You’re really not going to tell me anything?”
“How about this?” Tim said. “I’ll tell you my theories, you tell me if I’m right. Deal?”
“Sure,” Red Hood said, to Tim’s surprise. “Fire away.”
“Mmk,” Tim said thoughtfully. “You’re a Gotham boy, born and raised – the accent gives you away on that one.”
Red Hood laughed. “You can take the boy out of the Bowery…” He leaned against the crate and drawled, “That’s an easy one, though.”
“Ok,” Tim said, pursing his lips. “You’re somewhere between nineteen and twenty-one, you spent time with the League of Assassins, and you’re lactose intolerant.”
Red Hood’s jaw dropped. “How did you –”
“Come on, where’s the fun if I tell you?” Tim asked, his grin widening when the wheels in Red Hood’s head started turning double time.
“You’re gonna give the Big Bat a run for his money,” Red Hood said, and Tim shrugged.
“You’re the one who said stalking was one of my extracurricular activities…”
“I was obviously wrong about that,” Red Hood said. “Clearly you’re a pro.”
Tim laughed. “We all have to be good at something.”
“You can’t see, but I’m rolling my eyes so hard they’re about to roll down the street,” Red Hood said as he set the lid back on the crate of newly packed paintball guns. Tim handed him a hammer because he was helpful like that.
“You might want to get that checked out, I don’t think eyes are supposed to do that.”
“I have a feeling it’s a problem that strikes a lot when you’re around,” Red Hood said as he started hammering the lid back in place, like it had never been opened. Tim smirked.
“It’s an occupational hazard,” he said, his grin widening when Red Hood mumbled oh my god under his breath.
Eventually all the crates were filled and sealed, and Tim helped Red Hood reload the van. He wasn’t sure how Red Hood had unloaded it alone in the first place, until Red Hood grabbed a dolly.
“Work smarter, not harder, baby bird,” he said, riding the dolly down the ramp.
“You’re going to break your fucking neck,” Tim said, but Red Hood was right, it did get done a lot faster.
They stepped back, admiring their handiwork before Red Hood locked the truck. “Now I just have to drive in the shipment and make some excuses about getting lost,” he said.
“What happened to the other driver?” Tim asked, and Red Hood chuckled.
“He had engine trouble, decided to head to Mulligan’s for a beer while he waited for the tow truck. He’s gonna wake up in the alley wondering how many beers he had and what the hell happened to his truck.”
Tim snorted and Red Hood smiled – it was hard to tell, but his cheeks crinkled around the mask.
Red Hood turned and patted one of the crates that now held the stolen guns. “You did good work today, birdie.”
Tim leaned against one of the other crates, aiming for casual. “It’s all part of the job.”
“Yeah, part of the job that Batman doesn’t know about,” Red Hood said, eyebrow raised. “Can’t imagine he’d like you handling guns.”
Tim shrugged. “Like I said, Batman’s not really taking input from the peanut gallery at the moment.”
“Then he’s stupider than I thought,” Red Hood said, and that shocked a laugh out of Tim. “Seriously,” he said, and Tim just shook his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “Next time I hit a dead end I might hit you up.”
Tim tilted his head. “Yeah?”
Red Hood looked down at him. “Yeah, why not? You interested?”
Tim hummed. “It depends on how interesting the case is,” and Red Hood shouldered one of the rifles.
“Don’t worry, birdie, I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, his voice a low rumble, and Tim was still thinking about that when he finally collapsed into bed to catch a few hour’s sleep. If he dreamed about Red Hood groaning baby bird while Tim sucked his dick, well, that was between him and his pillow.
🦇
One night, after a long stakeout that turned out to be a bust, Tim was so wired he knew he was never going to be able to turn off his brain. Normally, he would go back to the Nest, drink an unadvised number of energy drinks, and DDoS Lexcorp – that would at least be more productive than sitting on a roof for no reason. But somehow, his feet carried him to the edge of Red Hood’s territory before he really considered where he was going. He should have known that making the Bowery a regular stop on his way home would bite him in the ass.
He paused, looking over the Bowery. He still had time to go home. Nobody would ever know. But then he heard a familiar voice call, “Hey, birdie!” and he knew he wasn’t going back to the Nest. At least not yet.
He swung across the roof, walking the beam with his arms outstretched as Red Hood climbed up the fire escape. He’d lowered the hood today, revealing dark curls with a shock of white falling into his eyes.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled, leaning on the railing. “You don’t usually come by my neck of the woods this early.”
Tim cringed internally. God, was he really this obvious? “Stakeout was a bust,” he said, with a shrug. “Not ready to go home yet. I’m too antsy.”
“Hmmm,” Red Hood hummed, and it crackled over the voice modulator. “We could rob a bank.”
Tim gave him an unimpressed look. “Ha ha.”
Red Hood laughed. “You’re missing out, baby bird, they’re a blast.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tim said. “I’m gonna pass though.”
“Boo,” Red Hood said. “You want to spar?”
And Tim decided to go for broke. He’d felt Red Hood’s gaze linger on him more than once. What could go wrong?
He reached out and played with the tail of one of the red straps wrapped around Red Hood’s arm. “Not exactly.”
Red Hood looked down. “Oh. It’s like that, huh?” he asked, voice soft. Tim looked up at him, heart in his throat. Red Hood leaned in. “You wanna fuck the Joker Killer?”
That pinged an alarm in Tim’s brain – he knew what it was like for people to try to fuck you because of your job description and not you. So he blurted out, “I mean, it doesn’t hurt, but I’m gonna be honest, it’s mostly because of how good your ass looks in those tac pants.”
Red Hood laughed, hooking a finger in Tim’s belt loop to pull him closer. “Is that so?”
Tim looked up at him, let himself be reeled in. “Yeah.”
Red Hood hummed. “I’m a bad idea, baby bird.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Why, cause you use guns?”
“...That’s one reason, yeah,” Red Hood said slowly, like he was trying to figure out why he was the one explaining this to Tim. “You don’t know who I am.”
“You don’t know who I am, either,” Tim pointed out.
“Birdie –”
“Are you Lex Luthor?” Tim interrupted, and Red Hood sputtered.
“What? No!”
“Are you the Riddler? Clayface? R’as al Ghul?”
“No, but –”
“We already know you’re not the Joker,” Tim said. “Are you Jeremy from coding bootcamp?”
Red Hood snorted. “No.”
“Ok, well we pretty much went through my list of hard nos,” Tim said. “If you don’t want me, that’s one thing. But you don’t have to defend my honor or whatever.”
“I kill people, birdie,” Red Hood said.
“I blew up a League base,” Tim said.
“You wh— That was you?”
“Yeah. I’m the last person who could judge you.” Tim stepped closer. “I’m not scared of you, Hood.”
“You Bats have terrible self preservation instincts,” Red Hood said. Tim started to laugh, because wow, understatement of the century. But then Red Hood reached out and ran his thumb along Tim’s bottom lip.
Tim gasped and his mouth fell open, and Red Hood chuckled. “Who knew that was all it took to get some peace and quiet around here?”
“You like my mouth,” Tim said. He made direct eye contact as he left a kitten lick on Red Hood’s thumb.
“Je-sus, birdie,” Red Hood said, his voice deeper over the voice modulator, and Tim smiled as he pulled Red Hood behind the HVAC, in case there were any security cameras on Babs’ – or God forbid, Bruce’s – radar around.
“Can I –” he said, reaching out for Hood’s belt.
“Maybe let me, don’t want you to get zapped,” Red Hood said, reaching down to disarm his belt. As soon as the belt was unlatched, Tim undid the button and zipper, sliding Hood’s tac pants down as he dropped to his knees.
“Whoa, birdie, you don’t have to. I can’t – with the mask –”
“It’s ok, I want to,” Tim said, resting his cheek on Red Hood’s thigh – they were as amazing as he’d thought, holy fuck.
“O-ok,” he let out on a rasp, and Tim tugged down his boxers and jock strap. His cock was just as pretty as his thighs – he wasn’t fully hard yet, but Tim’s mouth was watering already. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the head of Red Hood’s dick – it was a little weird not being able to read Red Hood’s face because of the mask, but the way his head fell back as he moaned, “Fuck, birdie…” as Tim swallowed him down did a lot to boost his confidence.
He smelled like musk and leather and boy, and Tim hummed, luxuriating in the weight of Red Hood’s cock on his tongue, on the pleasant burn in his jaw. Red Hood’s hand dropped to Tim’s head, tangling in his hair, and Tim groaned, which made Red Hood tug on his hair again. His breathing was audible over the voice modulator, and it grew more and more ragged as Tim worked him over.
Red Hood’s hips bucked and Tim choked a little bit, and Red Hood reached down, tracing the line of his throat. “Sorry, sorry…” But Tim just shook his head and swallowed him down again in a slow, dirty glide that had Red Hood swearing at the pigeons on the telephone line.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna --” he gasped, tugging on Tim’s hair as he came, spilling on Tim’s tongue as his head fell back. His thighs were still trembling when Tim pulled back, his face a mess of spit and come. Red Hood reached down, swiping away some of the spit away with his thumb. “Fuck, birdie, your mouth…”
Tim felt a savage spike of pride – he had done that, he had Red Hood wrecked and staring down at him like he could see straight through the domino.
“Come here, birdie,” Red Hood said, his voice rough like gravel. He pulled Tim to his feet so quick it had Tim’s head spinning, and Red Hood propped him up against the HVAC.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and Tim’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“What?” And then it dawned on him. “Wait, you don’t have to, I meant it, it’s ok…”
“I want to, birdie,” Red Hood murmured, and it sent a thrill down Tim’s spine all the way to his toes. “Please.”
Maybe it was stupid, but Tim didn’t even think twice before his eyes slammed shut. It was disorienting, to be so close but not be able to tell what Hood was doing. He heard the click of a buckle, and then a deep breath, so soft without the modulator’s echo, and then he felt Hood’s mouth on his, burning hot. It must be from having the mask on, but it was enough to make him gasp in surprise, and Red Hood took the opportunity to lick into his mouth, tasting himself on Tim’s tongue. Tim whimpered into Hood’s mouth. He was burning with want, and he clutched at Red Hood, his legs unsteady already.
“Just lean back, just like that,” Red Hood murmured, and his voice was so smooth, with just a hint of that gravel rumble, and then his hand was on Tim’s chest, pushing him gently back until the HVAC unit was taking his weight. Hood’s hands traced down his belly as he dropped to his knees. Tim had a brief panic that he wouldn’t be able to undo his belt – it was one of Bruce’s original designs, so of course it was tricky to figure it out if you didn’t know the trick. But Red Hood had it undone in a second, and Tim didn’t have time to think about that before Red Hood’s hands were at his waistband, and then the brush of cool air on his heated skin made him shiver. He felt exposed, caught in limbo as he waited, one, two breaths, and then Red Hood’s lips against his hip, leaving a sting in its wake, like a brand. But then Red Hood’s hands were on his hips, pinning him to the HVAC, and his mouth was on his cock and Tim’s train of thought promptly crashed.
He was distantly aware that he was being too loud – anybody in the neighborhood could look up and see them and he felt a rush of fear and arousal flood his veins. He clenched his eyes tighter, reaching out for Hood’s hair, but his hand caught on fabric instead. Hood hummed and dropped one hand, just long enough to push the hood back and guide Tim’s hand to his hair and Tim realized he really hadn’t thought this through. He was never going to forget this. Every time he saw Red Hood in the news, his picture plastered all over the front page, he would remember Hood’s hands holding him up, the searing heat of his mouth, the way his boots slipped on the gravel as he tried to hold himself up. The way he couldn’t stop those little ah ah ah’s from echoing too loudly against the brick.
Hood’s hands tugged his hips closer, taking him impossibly deeper and Tim cried out. He could feel the pleasure drawing tighter and tighter, like a grapple line stretched so far it was ready to snap. Hood pulled back until his lips were pillowed around the head of Tim’s cock like a dirty kiss. Tim groaned, “Fuck, Hood, I—” and Hook’s head dropped, swallowing Tim down once, twice, and then the grapple broke, leaving Tim in free fall as he vision went white.
He was still leaning against the HVAC when he finally came to himself. Hood had tugged his pants up and redone his belt, and Tim could feel his cheek resting on his thigh. Hood sat up further, and his voice was rough when he asked, “Doing ok there, birdie?”
Tim let out a breathless laugh. “I think you killed me,” he said, and Red Hood laughed. Tim heard the jingle of a buckle, and realized that Hood was putting his mask back on.
“Can I look now?” he asked, and Red Hood chuckled, his voice distorted over the voice modulator.
“Sure, baby bird,” and Tim opened his eyes, blinking despite the sun protection from the domino lenses. Red Hood stood, unreadable behind the mask, but his curls were sticking up wildly from Tim tugging at them.
Tim snorted. “Come here, I got you all messed up.” Red Hood ducked down and Tim ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame his curls a little. “Can’t have you running around Crime Alley looking like you stuck your finger in an electrical outlet.” He tugged the hood back in place and smiled. “There you go, a respectable Gotham supervillain.”
“Thanks birdie,” Red Hood said, and Tim shrugged.
“You sound like Darth Vader now,” he said, and Red Hood laughed.
“Luke, I am your father,” he said, his voice pitched low, and Tim rolled his eyes.
“I’m gonna regret saying that, aren’t I?”
“Probably,” Red Hood said, unabashed. Tim shook his head, and Red Hood laughed. “You good to get home, birdie?”
It was Tim’s turn to laugh. “I’ve made it home with a concussion and a fractured ankle before, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
Red Hood hummed, his voice disapproving. “Batman should really take better care of his little birds.” He reached out and Tim froze as Red Hood touched his cheek. “Let me know if you want to switch careers.”
Tim swallowed. “Does it come with dental?” he asked and Red Hood laughed.
“Sure. I’ll even match your 401k.”
“Tempting,” Tim said, deadpan, and he just knew Red Hood was grinning ear to ear under that mask.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Hood said, and Tim laughed, gave him a little salute, and set off for the Nest, where he promptly inspected his face in the bathroom mirror – his mouth was kiss-bitten and red, and he showered and collapsed into bed with “Fuck, birdie, your mouth,” echoing in his mind until he finally lost consciousness.
His throat was sore when he woke up in the morning, but it was worth it, to finally get it out of his system. Now things would finally go back to normal.
🦇
So things didn’t go “back to normal” as much as hooking up with Red Hood became a regular occurrence. They had fallen into the same orbit somehow, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about the way his feet always seemed to take him to Hood.
One day Hood leaned against a brick wall, his shoulders curling in, shielding Tim as he jerked them off. Tim knew his hands were big, but the sight of his hand wrapped around both of their cocks was almost as good as the velvet feeling of Hood’s cock against his, their pre mixing and making the glide impossibly good.
Tim almost bit through his lip trying to be quiet, and of course Hood noticed, reaching up with his clean hand to soothe Tim’s bruised lip. “Come on, birdie, let me hear you,” he said, and Tim was helpless to do anything but lean his head back against the brick and wail when Hood tightened his hand just so on the upstroke and sent him into the stratosphere.
Another night they had both stumbled on an old warehouse that had belonged to the Penguin, and after they’d combed through the shipping records, one thing led to another, and Tim found himself bent over a crate, Hood’s hand wrapped around his cock as he fucked Tim’s thighs. Caught between Hood’s hand and his cock, Tim was overwhelmed, blinking back tears that fogged up the domino. “You sing so pretty, baby bird,” Red Hood growled in his ear, and it would have been embarrassing how fast Tim fell apart if Hood hadn’t been right behind him.
Hood was in the middle of cleaning him up when Dick called in and needed backup, so Tim had to rush across the city, his cheeks burning, all too aware that he had Red Hood’s come on his thighs.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when he finally made it back to the Nest, but he took his time in the shower, thinking about the next time, when maybe Red Hood would fuck him for real. Just thinking about it had him hard again, and he moaned Red Hood’s name into his hand as he came, his blood thrumming with the memory of Red Hood’s hand on his cock instead of his own.
Tim was officially fucked, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Red Hood had been right about one thing – his self-preservation instincts were abysmal. But it was too good to stay away from Hood for long.
🦇
The sun was just starting to set one night when Tim was getting ready for patrol, when Alfred’s voice came over the comm.
“B is on the move,” he said, and Tim froze.
“On the move, where?” Babs asked. “I don’t have any movement on any of the major villains tonight.”
“I believe he’s going after Red Hood,” Alfred said, and Tim’s blood ran cold. “He was headed for the Bowery.”
“What’s his ETA?” Tim asked, and Babs hummed, her keys clicking away at lightning speed.
“Looks like he’s 15 minutes out. He took the Batmobile and traffic is backed up downtown.” and Tim breathed a sigh of relief. If he hurried, he might be able to beat Bruce there and do – something. The siren going off in his brain was too loud for him to think of any brilliant plans right now, so it looked like he’d have to improvise. Winging it always worked out great, right?
He threw on his uniform and grabbed his grapple gun, praying he’d get lucky and beat Bruce.
Of course, he wasn’t so lucky. He heard raised voices, and Bruce’s trademark growl as he approached the Bowery. He dropped down onto the catwalk of a billboard – the same one where he’d watched Red Hood unload the stolen guns – and Red Hood and Bruce were too busy arguing to even notice.
“What gives you the right to take a life?” Bruce thundered. “Who died and made you judge, jury, and executioner?”
Red Hood laughed, cold and bitter, and he pushed the hood back. “I did,” he said, pulling off the mask, and Tim blinked, sure he must be seeing things. His eyes were an eerie bright green instead of blue, and the white streak was definitely new, but the telltale J on his cheek proved – it was unmistakably Jason.
It looked like Tim had known Red Hood’s tragic backstory all along.
Bruce stared, his face blank. “Jay –” he murmured, reaching out to touch Jason’s face. But Jason flinched, and Bruce’s face crumpled. “Jay,” he whispered, his voice broken, and Tim had seen this play too many times to not know the ending.
He swung down to the roof below, planting himself in front of Bruce. It had been so long since he’d had to use the code phrase, but it might as well have been yesterday. He put his hand on Bruce’s chest plate and said “It’s one short day in the Emerald City.”
Bruce wavered, looking between Tim and Jason, but Tim continued, soft but stern, his best Alfred impression. “The wizard will see you now,” he said, low and insistent, and he could almost see the old wheels turning in Bruce’s head. He turned and jumped down to the street below without a word, heading back toward the cave.
“O, B’s on the move, headed to the cave,” he said into the comms. “He’s in emotional distress, tell A to start the wizard protocol.”
“Will do,” Babs said, professional as always. But then she added, “Good work, kiddo,” and Tim was suddenly thirteen again, his heart hammering in his chest, the only thing standing between Bruce and a violent meltdown that would tear the city apart.
“Did you just quote Wicked at Batman?” Jason asked, bewildered, and Tim laughed, only semi-hysterically.
“It’s a code phrase. A took us to see Wicked as part of our ‘cultural enrichment.’” He flushed. “It sounded less ridiculous when I was thirteen.”
“Thirteen,” Jason whispered. “That’s the year B took me to see the show.” Tim turned and Jason looked skittish, like he was ready to bolt at any moment.
“Thanks for the assist, birdie,” he said, smiling weakly. “You can kick my ass now, I won’t stop you.”
Tim gaped at him for a solid five seconds before he finally managed to string together a sentence. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because I lied to you and then I fucked you,” Jason said, guilt written across his face like a billboard. “You should kick my ass across Gotham for that.”
“You didn’t lie though,” Tim said. “You didn’t say, ‘My name is not Jason Todd and I’m not back from the dead.’”
Jason stared in disbelief. “Pretty sure keeping a secret like that counts,” he said. “I knew who you were, I should’ve known better.”
But Tim stepped closer, tipping his head back to look at Jason’s face. “I’m a big boy, Jason. I knew what I was doing, and I wanted you. I still want you.” It was Jason’s turn to gape at Tim, and Tim stood on tiptoe, pulling Jason down to kiss him – their first kiss since that first rendezvous on the roof. But this time Jason scooped him up, holding him close enough for Tim to feel his heartbeat. This time Tim got to see the way Jason blushed.
“I have some serious questions about your self-preservation instincts,” Jason said, and Tim laughed.
“Get in line,” he said. “I’m pretty sure there’s a wait list.”
“I fucking believe it,” Jason said, kissing the laughter out of Tim’s mouth.
Later, they’d go back to one of Jason’s safe houses, and Jason would take Tim’s domino off so gently, like it was made of glass. Jason would press Tim back into the pillows, kissing away the tears that caught in his eyelashes. Tim would doze off, waking up to Jason carding his fingers through Tim’s hair. “Why’d you have a code phrase for Bruce?” he’d ask, and Tim would explain it was their code that Bruce was emotionally compromised and needed to go back to the cave.
“He made you responsible for that? All that, to protect the psychopath who killed me?”
And Tim could only murmur, “I know,” holding Jason close and letting the tears wash the anger away, like rain putting out a forest fire.
But for now, Tim kissed Jason under the streetlights, smiling into Jason’s mouth as night fell over Gotham.