Chapter Text
As with most of the best (and worst) things to happen in his life, Tim gets the notification while on patrol. At 4:30 in the morning.
Oh, and the notification is from Grindr.
1 New Notification
Kinda Fucked Up: Hey
God his life’s a mess if that’s enough to intrigue him.
But Tim still takes it as a promising sign for the rest of night, because patrol’s running slow enough that he actually has the chance to check his fucking Grindr, of all things. Not for the first time, he partly curses the app. It really can be a hellhole at times. And yet Tim still hasn’t deleted it. Mostly because it’s kind of fun to humour himself at 4:30am while chilling on a gargoyle, just like he is right now.
As far as introductions go, a “Hey” is pretty lame. But standard for dating apps (if Grindr can even be called that). After all, everyone’s on the app for one thing, and one thing only. Including Tim. He’s a horny single guy, sue him. So it makes sense that no one really bothers with complex questions or the like. May as well get cut straight to the chase.
Tim’s still half-ready to ignore the message, even as he opens Grindr. He’s got a few other previous chats with unread messages that he should probably reply to. But then he’s met with the sight of abs and fuck – he’s shallow. Already, his interest in Mr. Fucked-Up has skyrocketed. Especially when Tim gets a better look at the one available picture. The dude is built.
No facepic though, which is kind of a bust. He usually ignores faceless profiles on principle. But again, it’s 4:30am and Tim’s bored and a little horny. It’s not like he’s actually gonna meet the guy. So as bad as it is of him, he may as well have some fun with it before the eventual block comes.
Besides, Tim doesn’t exactly have an identifying pictures on his own profile either. Because, you know… being famous.
Ah, what the fuck. He’s done stupider things.
Kinda Fucked Up: Hey
You: Hey man
Kinda Fucked Up: Wow. Riveting conversation here
You: To be fair, you started it
Kinda Fucked Up: Touché
So what’s a pretty thing like you doing up this late?
You: Work, yourself?
Kinda Fucked Up: Insomnia
You: Fucking mood
Although I’m hoping there’s more to “kinda fukd up” than just that though
Because then I definitely have you beat and that worries me
Kinda Fucked Up: Wait, what?
You: Ur profile name
Kinda Fucked Up: Oh
Your spelling is just so atrocious
It made me lose the ability to process info
You: Wow… ur mean
I’m not normally this bad. Am multitasking
Kinda Fucked Up: Good. I find proper grammar sexy
But yes don’t worry, I’m a lot more fucked-up than you
Promise xx
You: Green flag to look for, right there
Kinda Fucked Up: Ha!
Your pics are hot as hell, by the way
You have a great body 😍
You: Thanks!
I want to lick all your muscles
Kinda Fucked Up: Can definitely be arranged
God, this conversation is so goddamn stupid. Even by Grindr standards.
Tim’s not lying, though. Those abs are fucking delectable. As the Gotham traffic hums underneath him, some asshole honking their horn every two seconds, Tim snorts and leans back on his perch. Nothing’s come through on his private radar, and Oracle is still awake as well (maybe she should have a chat with Mr. Fucked-Up about insomnia struggles), so Tim’s confident he’s not going to miss anything.
Which means he has time to zoom in on the dude’s sixpa– nope. That’s an eightpack. Hnnh.
And pecs that Tim wants to bury his face between. Seriously. He could fucking motorboat those damn things.
Kinda Fucked Up: Still there?
What’re you looking for?
Shit, he forgot to reply. Too busy drooling over muscles, again. Even though it’s nearly 5am. Tim should probably leave Grindr alone for a bit.
… Or not.
You: Mainly a big cock to fuck me stupid
Yourself?
Kinda Fucked Up shared their private album with you
Kinda Fucked Up: This big enough? 😏
Fuck. Tim has to pause in replying again, because holy fucking damn, that’s a lot of cock. The exact size is hard to judge by the size of the pictures alone, but Tim can already see that it’s well above average. At least eight inches, maybe? Nine? Hard to tell, but it’s thick as all shit, too. And he now all he can think about is that dick ripping him to shreds. And how much he wants that
You: Oh fuck
Yeah woah that’ll do
How big?
Kinda Fucked Up: Big enough to make to make you scream
You: Rearrange my guts then, Daddy
Kinda Fucked Up: Omfg you didn’t just say that
I could tell you were a basic bitch
… I’ll do it, though
Tim is snorting, even as he types out the reply. God, it’s cheesy. May as well though. It’s not like he’s gonna actually meet this tool with his monster schlong. It’s just a bit of fun.
“Oracle to Red Robin.”
Fuck.
Tim is closing out of the app in an instant (although it’s not like Babs can track him – Tim established his own network ages ago… he thinks). Ejects Mr. Fucked-Up and his horse dick out of his mind, already back to business as he activates his comms.
“This is Red.”
“Ah, so you are awake. I’ve got what looks to be an armed robbery on the corner of Fifth and Mason’s. Batman is ten out, could you–”
“Already headed that way,” Tim interrupts, swinging off his gargoyle and in the direction indicated. Fucking finally, he was getting bored. “Tell B he can help with clean-up when he arrives.”
Tim forgets all about Mr. Fucked-Up after that. Because, as it turns out, he actually does have better things to do then mindlessly scroll through dating apps at whatever the fuck o’clock in the morning.
So why he’s on Grindr now, Tim doesn’t really know. He only opens the damn app at the most inappropriate of times. Mostly out of boredom.
Case in point – arriving back in Gotham from San Francisco, after spending the entire weekend helping Kon fight Metallo. If there’s any time he should be going to sleep, it’s after almost two full days of analysing a new strand of kryptonite, and then playing decoy/punching bag to distract a certain half-robot asshole. His everything hurts. And that had been before he and Kon had gotten drunk and fooled around a little.
Kinda Fucked Up: Omfg you didn’t just say that
I could tell you were a basic bitch
… I’ll do it, though
Come over?
Today
Kinda Fucked Up: Still alive?
Whoops.
Tim’s not wholly surprised he left the poor bugger on ‘read’. He tends to do that, and it’s not something he’s proud of. Sure, real-life things like actual crimes are definitely a good reason to stop prowling for dick, but it’s not like it’s something he hasn’t done before. Almost all of the chats Tim has had, whether it be on Grindr or more… er… wholesome dating apps, have fizzled out because of him. The eternal flake. Or even because he never intended to meet up with them in the first place.
He should really go to sleep. Preferably for at least a day.
So naturally, it only takes a moment of reorienting himself to Mr. Fucked-Up’s muscles and dickpic, before Tim is messaging back.
You: Define alive
Kinda Fucked Up: Ooft. That bad?
You: I’ve been awake for nearly 36 hours
Kinda Fucked Up: You know what helps with that?
You: Passing out with your dick down my throat?
Kinda Fucked Up: Well
I was going to say sleeping
But I am also happy with this alternate plan
You: Well if you fuck my throat until I can’t speak
then I don’t have to go to work tomorrow
Kinda Fucked Up: Genius
You should probably go to bed though, buddy
You: Buddy?
What the fuck
I say I want my throat turned inside out
And you call me buddy
Kinda Fucked Up: Hahaha
Lmao, my bad
How about I make it up to you?
What’s it gonna take to ruin that pretty throat of yours for real? 😈
Tim’s fingers hover over the screen, a smirk tugging at his lips. The guy’s got a bit of chat to him, at least. That’s rare on Grindr. Most of the time, it’s just dickpics and “u up?” messages that go nowhere. But Mr. Fucked-Up? He’s keeping up, and Tim’s too sleep-deprived to care about how reckless this is. He’s already half-hard just thinking about that monster cock from the private album, and bantering with someone who doesn’t bore him to death is... well, it’s doing something to him.
And isn’t that just a referendum on the sorry state of his love life?
Tim shifts on the couch in his safehouse, the ache in his muscles from the Metallo fight screaming at him to lie down and pass out. But his brain’s buzzing, and his dick’s apparently taken the wheel. Fuck it.
You: Oh, you’re gonna have to work for it
I’m thinking you pin me down and don’t stop until I’m choking
Bonus points if you make me cry 😘
Kinda Fucked Up: Fuck, you’re filthy
I’d make you kneel and fuck your face until you’re a mess
Tears streaming, drool everywhere, begging for air
You’d look so fucking pretty crying on my cock
Tim’s breath catches, his dick twitching hard in his sweats. He’s fully hard now, no denying it. The mental image is vivid – too vivid. He can imagine the beautiful strain in his jaw, the burn in his throat, the way his body would surrender to it. Fuck, he’s such a useless slut. Tim’s always had a thing for being overwhelmed, for letting go of control just for a little while. And this guy’s hitting every button like he’s got a goddamn manual to Tim’s brain.
He should stop. He should close the app, jerk off to some super kinky porn, and crash. He’s got a WE meeting in, like, six hours. But Tim’s fingers are already moving, and his brain’s too far gone to care about consequences.
You: Oh, I want it rough
I’m not some lightweight
Don’t break so easily
Kinda Fucked Up: You’re a fucking brat, aren’t you?
Fine, let’s play dirty
I’d gag you on my cock, not let up until you’re choking
Fuck your throat so hard you can’t say your own name
You’d be screaming if you weren’t so busy gargling cock
Coughing up all sorts of shit and then some
Red faced and looking ugly as fuck by the time I’m done
Even redder after I smack you around
How’s that for rough? 😘
Fuuuuuuck.
The messages stream in one after another. Like Mr. Fucked-Up is sending whatever filth comes into his mind at that moment. And Tim’s hand is in his sweats before he even realises it, palming himself through his boxers. He groans, low and rough, his head tipping back against the couch. This guy’s good. Too good. All of Tim’s red flags rolled up into one hot, muscled package with a monster schlong. Dangerous as fuck.
He types back one-handed, his other hand still jacking himself harder. He’s not ready to give in yet, but fuck, he’s close.
You: Finallyyy you show some fucking balls
(Which I hope you make me gargle btw)
But I’m not that easy
I’d fight you every step of the way
Bet I’d have you moaning first 😏
Kinda Fucked Up: Oh yeah?
You think your slutty face is the only thing I’m slapping?
I’d spank your ass red for talking back, then eat you out until you scream
Turn your hole into a sloppy mess by the time I’m done
You: Ugh I looove that you eat ass
Kinda Fucked Up: You’d be squirming and desperate
But I’d keep you pinned, make you watch me stroke myself while you can’t touch
And when you finally break and beg for my dick?
I’d fuck you so hard you’d feel me for days
You: Fuuck yeah
Destroy me baby
With that huge fucking dick
Kinda Fucked Up: This one?
Kinda Fucked-Up sent 1 picture
You: Fucking pound me until I can’t think straight
Kinda Fucked Up: Bet you scream like a bitch, huh?
I’d make you scream my name until you’re crying
Tim’s groan to himself is more of a whimper, his hand slipping under his boxers to grip himself properly. He’s leaking, cock throbbing, and his brain’s a haze of want. It’s so messed up, and he’s so into it. He doesn’t even know this guy’s name, doesn’t know what he looks like, but he’s ready to let him ruin him in every way that matters.
He’s about to type back when his comms crackle to life again, Oracle’s voice cutting through the fog like a bucket of ice water. Grand-Mistress cockblock herself.
“Red Robin, you there? Got a situation in the Bowery. Looks like Black Mask’s crew is moving something big. Your safehouse is a block away.”
Tim freezes, his hand still on his dick, his phone glowing with the most depraved shit he’s ever read. He wants to scream. Of course this happens now. Of fucking course. Fucking Babs. He’s not even meant to be patrolling tonight.
“Red Robin? You copy?”
“Yeah,” he croaks, clearing his throat and forcing his brain back into vigilante mode. Shit, he sounds like a mess. “Y’woke me up, but I copy. Gimme a second to suit up.”
“Thanks, Red.”
He closes Grindr without replying, his heart pounding and his body still screaming at him to finish what he started. Mr. Fucked-Up’s gonna have to wait. Again.
And even after suiting up and getting outside, Tim’s still half-hard in his suit, the cold Gotham air doing fuck-all to calm the heat pulsing through him. He’s running on fumes, but sleep deprivation mixed with a side of blue balls is a hell of a drug. He pushes the image of Mr. Fucked-Up’s filthy promises out of his mind and focuses on the task at hand.
Oracle’s intel is spot-on, as usual. Tim lands silently on a rooftop overlooking a dingy warehouse. The kind of place that screams of criminal activity, with its busted windows and flickering streetlights. He spots three goons unloading crates from a van, their movements hurried but sloppy. Amateurs. Black Mask must be scraping the bottom of the barrel these days.
He’s about to drop down and start breaking bones when a familiar figure melts out of the shadows, and his stomach lurches.
Jason fucking Todd.
Of course it’s Jason. Because Tim’s night wasn’t complicated enough already. The Red Hood’s in full gear – leather jacket, red helmet, and enough guns strapped to his body to no doubt start a small war. Tim hates how much he notices that Jason’s still built like a brickhouse. Hates how his brain immediately catalogues the way Jason’s biceps strain against his jacket, the way his pants tighten over his ass as he crouches near the edge of the roof below.
Fuck, he’s a walking wet dream, and Tim’s still keyed up from that Grindr chat. This is not the time.
He could just slip away, let Jason handle this, and go jerk off in peace somewhere.
So naturally, Tim drops down beside Jason, deliberately landing just close enough to make the older man tense. “Fancy meeting you here, Hood,” he drawls, keeping his voice low and sharp. “You lost, or is your new hobby crashing my op?”
Jason’s head snaps toward him, and even through the modulated voice, Tim can hear the smirk. “Your op? Cute, Replacement. Last I checked, you were too busy playing detective to handle real work.” He shifts, his body angling toward Tim, and fuck, he’s so big. Tim’s not small, but Jason’s sheer presence makes him feel like he’s drowning. “What’s the matter, Timmy? Oracle send you to babysit me?”
It’s not unreasonable for him to think that, Tim supposes. But Jason’s still on… spotty ground with the rest of the family, at best. Babs probably doesn’t consider him a viable option for an op, which is sad. If she’d called him, then Tim could’ve stayed on his couch and jacked off a little.
… He’s such a hot mess.
“Nah, I’m just here to clean up your mess before you start shooting everything and contaminate the evidence.” Tim leans in slightly, just enough to push Jason’s buttons, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “You know, the usual.”
Jason’s laugh is low and rough, sending a shiver down Tim’s spine. “Keep talking why don’t ya, you little shit. I’ll have these assholes dealt with before you finish your little quip.” He stands, towering over Tim, and the movement makes his jacket ride up just enough to show a sliver of skin above his tactical pants. Tim’s eyes flick to it before he can stop himself, and he prays Jason didn’t notice.
The air between them is icy, but Tim’s just hyper-aware of how close they are, how easy it would be to shove Jason against the wall and – nope. Not going there. Jason fucking hates him, and they’ve got goons to take down.
Stupid Mr. Fucked-Up, getting him all riled up and horny. He’s meant to be a professional.
“Plan?” Tim mutters, crouching beside Jason and forcing himself to focus on the goons below. There’s five now, two more having joined the party, and they’re armed with ARs. Sloppy, but dangerous. “I don’t need to tell you not to drop any bodies, do I?”
Jason’s helmet tilts slightly, and Tim can feel the grin behind it. “I go in loud, you go quiet. Pick ‘em off while they’re distracted. And maybe I’ll think about leaving a few alive if you tack on a pretty-please.”
Tim rolls his eyes. He’s ninety-percent sure Jason is kidding. He thinks. “Just try not to get shot, Hood. I’d hate to have to explain your corpse to B.”
Yeah, that one’s a low blow. But Tim’s never claimed to not be an asshole.
He’s already moving before Jason can respond, slipping over the edge of the roof and into the shadows. Still, he feels the eyes that follow him, low and infuriatingly hot.
The takedown is quick and brutal. Jason crashes through a skylight like a goddamn wrecking ball, guns blazing (non-lethal rounds, Tim manages to note), drawing every eye in the warehouse. Tim uses the chaos to his advantage, dropping silently behind the first goon and knocking him out with a precise strike to the neck. He moves like a ghost, disarming and zip-tying two more before they even realise he’s there.
Jason, meanwhile, is a whirlwind of violence, fists and boots leaving a trail of hopefully just unconscious bodies. He’s efficient, brutal, and – fuck, Tim hates how much he’s staring – hot.
By the time the last goon hits the ground, Tim’s panting, his body thrumming with adrenaline and something else he’s not gonna name. Jason’s standing over a pile of crates, cracking his knuckles, and Tim can’t stop his eyes from raking over him. The way his huge chest heaves, how his thighs flex as he shifts his weight. It’s unfair. No one should look that good covered in sweat and blood.
Jason turns. “Don’t think I didn’t see you staring holes into my back, Replacement. Daddy Bats got you on crazy-watch, or something?”
Tim scowls, crossing his arms to hide how flustered he is. Even if Jason’s got the totally wrong impression of his staring. “Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”
Jason steps closer, too close, and Tim’s throat tightens. “You wanna try that? Be my guest.” His voice is low, taunting. “But we both know I’d break you first.”
Tim’s breath hitches, and for one stupid, reckless second, he wants to grab Jason’s jacket and yank him down, consequences be damned. But then Oracle’s voice crackles through his comms, snapping him back to reality.
“Red Robin, Hood, nice work. GCPD is en route for cleanup. You’re clear to exit.”
Tim steps back, forcing his heart rate to slow. “Copy that. There’s evidence I want to collect first,” he mutters, shooting Jason a glare. “Try not to get arrested on your way out, Hood.”
Jason laughs, already turning toward the exit. “No promises, princess. Don’t stay up too late agonising at the thought of working with me.”
He’s gone before Tim can snap back, melting into the night like he was never there.
Tim stands there for a moment, alone in the warehouse, his body still buzzing with adrenaline and unspent tension. He’s pissed and exhausted, and still turned on for some reason.
When he does eventually get back to Grindr (far sooner than Tim would like to admit), he’s surprised to see the dreaded follow-up message from Mr. Fucked-Up is only a few minutes old.
Kinda Fucked Up: Still there?
You: Yeah I am. Shit, sorry
Got held up with something
It’s late enough that Tim had figured he missed out for the night. After all, he left Mr. Fucked-Up on read for, like, an hour and a half. But the fact that the guy only bothered to follow-up a moment ago? It either means he’s just as busy as Tim, or was shooting one last shot before calling it quits and going to bed.
His phone pings on the way back to his safehouse, and Tim’s stomach flips. Maybe Mr. Fucked-Up is a little busybody after all.
Kinda Fucked Up: Fair
Thought you might’ve finally gotten some sleep
You: Sleep is for the weak
Kinda Fucked Up: Damn fucking right it is
Still dreaming about my cock stretching you out?
You: Fuck
Yes
Want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name
Kinda Fucked Up: That I can do
Do you have any kinks
You: Ha!
Try all of them
Urself?
Kinda Fucked Up: Does my name not give me away?
Tell me what you’re into
… Tim’s only a little embarrassed to say that he grapples to a gargoyle to type out his list of kinks. Which is, admittedly, going to give Mr. Fucked-Up a competition for his name.
You: Buckle up then, son
Spit, throat-fucking, worship, pits, feet, role play
cumplay, degradation, ws, toys and stretching my hole
rough shit (choke me Daddy vibes), group sex, gangbang,
blindfolds, bondage, filming, choking, public sex, spanking
edging/overstimulation, knife/gun play
and probably some other shit I’m forgetting
Your turn, tough guy 😈
He hits send, before grappling away from the gargoyle. It’s a lot, even for Grindr, but Tim’s not here to play it safe. Still, listing it all out feels like baring his soul. This faceless guy isn’t Kon. He isn’t a guaranteed safe space.
Doesn’t stop Tim from being hard as a motherfucking rock, though.
Feeling stifled, he hightails it back to the safehouse as quickly as he can. Because he can feel his damn phone vibrating again and again against his hip. Responses coming in so fucking fast. He barely pauses to disable the security alarms on his safehouse, before sliding in a window and throwing himself on the couch. Desperate as all shit.
Kinda Fucked Up: Holy fuck baby
😍
That’s one hell of a menu
I’m into a lot of what you’ve got listed, or at least I think I could be
Looove getting rough, fucking up pretty boys like you is my jam
Maybe not the biggest fan of group though – trust is a major thing for me
There’s a fair few things there I haven’t tried. But I want to
You: Fuck yeah
As if you cock wasn’t big enough
Now you gotta be a perfect match as well huh?
Kinda Fucked Up: Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it
Help me get off? 😏
Tim’s grinning, already having pulled down the pants of his Red Robin suit to grasp his aching cock. This guy’s not just keeping up, he’s matching Tim’s energy, and that’s rarer than it should be. He leans back, one hand furiously jacking himself off as he types, letting his imagination run wild.
If Mr. Fucked-Up wants him to talk dirty, then Tim’s happy to deliver.
You: Holy fuck, I want you to do so much to me
Fuck, where do I start?
Want you to pin me down. Spit in my mouth
make me swallow it
Wanna lick every inch of you
press my face between your massive pecs
sniff your pits, lick your boots
Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, ngh
Kinda Fucked Up: Fuuuck, bby, you’re a goddamn freak and I love it
I’d pry your mouth open, spit right in it
make you hold it on your tongue while I slap your face
my nasty little whore
I’d make you swallow, spit again
I’d make you lick every inch of me
You’d be on your knees, worshipping my body like it’s your fucking religion
I’d make you crawl across the floor for me, beg to touch me, laugh when you whine
Tell you your only purpose is taking my cock, that you’re a pathetic slut who lives for my spit and cum.
Kinda Fucked Up sent 1 picture
Holy fucking shitballs. Tim doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life.
The safehouse is dead silent, except for his ragged breathing and the faint buzz of his phone as Mr. Fucked-Up’s messages keep coming. His whole body’s on fire, and the latest dick pic sent isn’t helping. Because Mr. Fucked-Up is huge. Thick like a coke can, long and veiny. Precum dribbling from the slit.
“Fuck me,” Tim whines to no one in particular.
Mr. Fucked-Up’s into it, really into it, and Tim’s dizzy with how much he’s getting off on the guy’s responses. Probably because they’re still faceless profiles to each other (which is, yeah, a whole other problem).
You: Holy shit, that cock. I’m fucking drooling
Spit in my mouth, on my face, make me lick it off the floor if I spill any
Call me a filthy pig while I’m choking on your cock
Kinda Fucked Up: You’ll thank me for every bit you get
You: Ngh fuck
Want you to shove my face into your pecs
smother me until I’m gasping. don’t deserve to breathe anything but you.
Make me crawl, kick me down if I move too slow
Tell me I’m a useless hole without you – make me believe it
Humiliate me, make me beg for anything you’ll give me.
Laugh in my face as you fuck my throat
Kinda Fucked Up: How hard you want it?
Because I can go rough when I fuck a throat
Tim groans, loud and broken. This is getting pretty extreme now. In the way that only faceless anonymity can bring. He pauses quickly to peel off the top half of the Red Robin suit. Until he’s left in nothing but his boots, gloves and domino. Probably a fucking look and a half.
You: Fuck, you’re gonna kill me
I want it brutal. Gag the fag vibes
Kinda Fucked Up: Oh fuck yeah
Someone’s an early 2000’s porn connoisseur
You: Only good blowjob is a wet one
Make me gag until I’m crying, hold my head down until I’m dizzy
Don’t stop even if I choke
just keep going until I’m a wreck of my own mess
Kinda Fucked Up: You know it
I’d ram my cock down your throat until your nose is buried in my pubes
Hold you there, let you choke, watch your tears mix with the spit
Pull out just to slap your face with my dick, then shove it back in
Keep going until you’re a slobbering, crying mess.
I’d make you kneel in front of a mirror, force you to watch yourself get fucked up.
Tim’s panting now, his hand a blur on his cock. The safehouse is spinning, his whole world narrowed to the phone screen and the filthy promises pouring in. Even if it’s a lie, he swears he’s never been this turned on, never felt this exposed and alive. The thought of being used like this, of being reduced to nothing but a vessel for this random dude’s pleasure, it’s making his head swim. Problematic as hell. His phone buzzes again, and he’s almost afraid to look, but he can’t stop himself.
Kinda Fucked Up: And then when you’re a complete mess
I’d turn you around and use your hole
Fuck you so hard you walk wrong for days
Pin you face-down on the bed, spread your legs, and ram my cock in deep
Make you scream while I split you open, your hole gripping me like a vice.
You: Fuck me
Ur so hot
I’m so close
Kinda Fucked Up: Wanna see you blow for me
Useless cock slut
I’d spank your ass raw, choke you from behind
I’d bury my cock so deep in your cunt you’d feel it in your throat
He can’t breathe. Tim can’t fucking breathe it’s so hot and so wrong and Mr. Fucked-Up just won’t stop messaging–
Kinda Fucked Up: Pump you so full of my cum it’d leak out
then fuck it back in, make sure it stays
Put my seed in you
Tim’s vision whites out, a choked sob ripping from his throat as he comes hard. His cock pulses, spraying thick cum across his abs, his chest, even hitting his chin. It’s intense, messy, his body shaking through wave after wave, his hand milking every last drop as he gasps for air. The breeding talk – fuck, it broke him, as ridiculous as it is. Just another useless bi, apparently.
He’s a mess, cum cooling on his skin, drenched in his own fantasies. So when his phone buzzes again, and Tim’s still catching his breath.
Kinda Fucked Up: You like the idea of that?
You: Well I just drenched myself in cum
So I’m gonna say ye
*yes
Kinda Fucked Up: Fuuuuuck
Send me a pic
Tim’s heart skips, a mix of post-orgasm clarity battling nervous excitement. Because even though he just came, and he’s not nearly as riled up as just before, he’s still human. Plus, it would be a total dick move to just dip out the moment he’s done using this guy for inspiration.
He props his phone up, angles it to show his cum-slick abs, his softening cock, and the splatter across his chest. Just the very tip of his chin, complete with seed dripping off it. Avoiding any trace of his identity or any parts of the Red Robin suit. Snapping the picture, hands still trembling, Tim sends it before he can overthink the matter anymore.
You sent 1 picture
Kinda Fucked Up: Oh god
You’re stunning, baby
I wanna clean you up with my mouth so bad
Tim’s panting, his body spent but still buzzing with adrenaline.
And then the next message comes through.
Kinda Fucked Up: Can we meet?
Well fuck.