“Remind me why I’m the one on my knees again? I look ridiculous.” He’s not kidding. He doesn’t have the fucking physique to pull off submissive kitty cat. He’s broad, hairy, and thick with muscle. The expensive ears on his head, the detailed mitts on his hands, and the tail attached to his leather short shorts can’t possibly look anything but stupid. Not to mention the heavy black leather collar around his neck and its stupidly delicate Property of Timothy Drake-Wayne tag. He doesn’t know what the fuck Babs was thinking when she asked him to help Tim with this mission instead of Steph. Except he does, because of course their target just had to be into degrading big men. Fuck, but he hates honeypot missions.

"Hell, Pretender. Look at you being all assertive and shit. You gonna ask me to call you Daddy while you're at it?" "Depends." Tim doesn’t miss a beat. He runs his fingers lower, caressing Jason's perineum and the back of his balls with his knuckles. "Do you wanna be my good boy, Hood?" Jason sucks in a sharp breath, hips jerking as his cock pulses. "Fuck off. Of course not." "I think you do. But you're right, Daddy doesn't really fit, does it?" Tim tilts his head, remembering Jason's propensity for feminine pet names. "How about Mommy?"

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?" "It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.

He shouldn't be the one to explain this shit to him. It should be someone he trusts, someone who hasn't tried to fuck him up and fuck him over so many times, someone he actually likes. But he's here and he's asking Jason now and it occurs to Jason that Tim's lost so many people, maybe he really is the only one he can come to.