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    Summary

    “None of you are helping right now,” Tim all but whines as Kon mouths at his clothed neck. Tim just hopes Kon’s still coherent enough to not do anything even more mortifying in front of Bruce and his brothers. But… judging by the way he’s been humping Tim’s leg like a dog in heat… probably not. “What do I do? Do I actually help him or just… leave him be?”

    “I’m sure Bruce can help you with that,” Dick answers, the corner of his lips twitching. “He’s surprisingly experienced with Kryptonians.”

    Bruce shoots Dick a glare.

    “What?” Dick raises his hands, the picture of innocence. “Did you really think eight-year-old me wouldn't find out?”

    “Tim,” Kon whines again, his fingers trying to sneak beneath Tim’s suit. Tim slaps his hand away. “Baby. Princess. C’mon… please? Can we go now?”

    Once Kon is back to normal, Tim is going to drill the importance of not throwing himself in front of mysterious pink substances into his head.

    God, he sounds like Bruce now.

    Ew.

    Kon gets himself into a little mishap and Tim is his target.

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