jamjar

Title: Participant-Observer
Fandom: DCU
Notes/warnings: Written, somewhat belated, for the lady who loves Clark/Tim.
But where has the porn gone? I asked

brown_betty for help coming up with a ~~thinly veiled excuse~~ plot for Clark/Tim, and she said, "Rentboy!" And I said, "Rentboy!Clark, but undercover!" and then I wrote it, and I'm very sorry,

thete1, I don't know how it happened and I tried and tried but dammit, it still turned out gen. So I guess I should put a warning for a gen plot, with undercover-rentboy!Clark and porn as a plot-device.

Gotham's tastes really aren't any more exotic than any other cities. Tim has good reason to know that this is true. There is, in fact, a limited number of sexual variations, and really, very few people tend to the more extreme versions. Gotham's bellcurve is no different than any other significant metropolis. Gotham's kinks, on the whole, are unsurprising. A tendency to black leather and Kevlar costumes. The occasional Robin suit -still based on Dick, mostly, though he's pretty sure Dick never wore a thong- and a lot of Catwoman-style accessories.

In Metropolis, and despite Superman's well-document senses, blue, red and yellow are still the default colour scheme in a lot of what Dick still calls, "Adult Toy Stores." The colour-scheme is brighter, but what they sell isn't really any different. If Tim was a different kind of Robin, he'd probably make mail-order deliveries in Bruce or Dick's name. Instead, he leaves the brochures where Roy or Babs or Selina can find them. It's an indirect method, but it works.

He thinks Bruce suspects his handiwork, but Dick has enough friends capable of doing that to cover for him.

Travelling to other cities is like that; the similarities as shocking as the differences. Metropolis is utterly unlike Gotham, except for the ways in which it isn't. Gotham's famous architecture is echoed, sometimes, in the older buildings around the city centre. The copper beeches that line the streets in some of the neighbourhoods also run along a few of the clinging-to-the-city suburbs. Gotham wears its kinks openly, claiming them as style. Metropolis is just as showy, but in a brighter, aren't-we-healthy-about-this! Kind of way.

Differences in social structure, in morality and identity, and Tim isn't sure which he finds more comfortable, but he chooses to be amused by the fact that in this particular shop in this particular neighbourhood, he almost blends in. Red and yellow and green is close enough.

The shop-keeper is dressed in, as far as Tim can tell, piercings and a ripped up, plastic version of the Steel costume. She folds her arms and looks at him.

Tim looks back. Waits. Raises an eyebrow.

She sniffs. "So, you're Robin, huh? Got any ID?"

"I left it in my other cape."

"You're not the first guy to wear a Robin costume and walk into this store," she says, then adds, "First to do it in tights and not just the little panties."

"I would appreciate your help, Ma'am," Tim says, and the word, the speech-patterns come out of his mouth so easily in this city. He sounds, he knows, like Superman. Like Clark, more accurately.

"Ma'am. Are you even old enough to be in here? Strict over-18s only, you know, no exceptions."

"I'm not here to buy," he says. "I'm here because something bad is happening, and I think you can help me." He leans in, and it's different from Gotham. She doesn't trust him, doesn't respond to the symbol the same way they do back home. He's not hers, the way he is the citizens of Gotham. But she is from Metropolis, and she has faith in a higher power, enough, even, to share with outsiders.

"I'm confidential," she says. "I've always, always protected my customers' privacy. Even the freaky ones."

"I can keep a secret."

She shrugs, then uncrosses her arms and toys with one of her eyebrow rings. "So we do a lot of costume work, right? And custom stuff, 'cause let me tell you, most people that want to dress like big blue, they aren't gonna fit into his spare outfit. And that's not even including the ones that want the extras, in leather or pvc or with a matching Batman outf-- Well, you know the stuff."

Tim nods. "So we get a run on a lot of these. And not just me, but the community, you know? And it's not for the local community, or I would have heard. But that's fine, not everyone wants to buy their toys in their own neighbourhood. And I'm not exactly surprised when someone starts selling a lot of brand new, freshly made, just let me finishing wiping off the camara, porn. Nothing strange about that, right?" She looks at him again. "You are old enough to watch porno, right?" She leans over the counter. "So I always flick through before I sell on, especially when I don't know the company. They looked official, copyright and everything, but… So I'm watching and it's fine. Not great, mostly. Basic stuff, Catwoman whipping Batman, JLA gangbang, normal. Amateur actors, not amateur productions. But then I see someone I know." She stops playing with her eyebrow ring, recrosses her arms and looks at him. "This guy, Todd. I'm not saying he wouldn't do it, but… you know, Superman pulled him out of a burning building once. He had a real thing about him. Not a kink thing, but a thing-thing. Like… Like, if he was hardcore-Christian and someone wanted to watch the Virgin Mary getting her rocks off."

"He was dressed as Superman?"

She nods. "And going down on some guy with a shaved head and a power-suit. And Todd… so I phone him, right? But he didn't pick up, and then I got a message on my answerphone from him saying he'd met someone and was taking a trip with them. And that's exactly the sort of thing he would do, except…"

"Except you think he didn't."

She shrugs. "It's not just that. There are some, based around the Titans, and some of the actors, they look borderline. I wouldn't let them in hear without checking their driver's license first, you know?"

Tim nods. "Do you have any copies?"

She raises an eyebrow and gives him a surprising grin. "Gonna need to see some ID first."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "If I showed you some pictures, could you identify the actors from them?"

She shrugs. "Depends what the pictures are of. Lot of the videos, they're wearing masks."

"People have gone missing," Tim says. He slides the pictures over to her. Some of them are mugshots, or photos from the Family Services records. "Generally, the sort of people that won't be missed."

"Except by you, huh?" She says, smiling at him almost sweetly. She looks down and taps one. "This one, I remember. She was dressed as Starfire and her make-up rubbed off. She had this tattoo, right there."

Tim doesn't know Metropolis as well as he should, so his first step should be finding more information. He does this by hacking into the Daily Planet computers and decrypting Lois Lane's files on her current projects. He finds an address in an area that's probably the equivalent of Gotham's downtown. The club is unsurprising, as are the people, men and women, standing on the street around there.

Tim is also resolutely un-shocked when he recognises one the cars crawling past as being on loan to the Daily Planet, with Lois Lane at the wheel. The presence of Clark Kent in ripped, cut-off and too-tight denim shorts and a mesh T-shirt is a little more unexpected.

He can't get a good angle to read either of their lips, and he's not sure Clark knows him well enough to recognise his heartbeat, so he stays in position. Watching.

It's not a long wait. Someone drives by, makes Clark an offer. Clark refuses, looks apologetic and the car moves on, only to be replaced by another. This one looks better, but the number-plates are at least two years older than the car itself. The driver stops by Clark, says something, Clark starts to say no, when--

The change is almost subtle enough for Tim to miss it, but Clark's body-language shifts, just slightly, then he says something, hesitates, then gets in the car.

It's harder to follow cars in Metropolis, where the roads are wider, straighter and less prone to sudden shifts and random one-way systems, but Tim manages to stick a tracker on it at the first set of lights and his bike, one of several Dick has left in major cities around the globe, cuts through traffic here as well as anywhere. They end up at one of the satellite towns around Metropolis, some place that's five years and a zoning commission away from being part of it proper.

They stop outside what looks like a warehouse. Three men get out of the car, one of them tugging Clark along. He doesn't looked drugged, exactly, but his body language isn't what Tim would associate with either Clark Kent or Superman. It could be an act -he's not Batman or Bruce or Matches, but Clark is adequate at undercover- but Tim thinks not.

"Come on, you'll like it. You already look the part. Big," the man holding Clark says. He strokes across Clark's chest.

"But I'm not," Clark says. "I don't wanna, it doesn't feel right. Can't I be Batman instead?" He sounds plaintive, almost whining. "I did that before."

"Come on, baby, we can't put that pretty face behind a mask. You just do what I tell you, okay? No different from what you were gonna do for me back there, right?"

"No," Clark says.

"Baby, don't worry. It's just easy money for an easy thing, right?" The man steps back, then calls out to one of the others, "Hey, bring in that new boy, the one you picked up back east. They look alike, maybe we can work that." He moves back to look at Clark, strokes one hand down his chest and out of sight. "Come on, big boy. You're gonna get all nice and pretty for me, then we'll get this show on the road."

They disappear into the house. Tim follows, going in through a window open on the third floor. Closer examination show that the place is probably a decommissioned factor rather than a warehouse, floors of abandoned machinery shoved to one side. He has to find Clark.

He follows someone with a handful of red and blue. The man stops off outside one room, opens it and throws in what looks like a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. "New costume, kid."

And that's-- well, really not all that surprising either. The man moves on and Tim follows, stopping outside the door. It sounds like only one person's inside, so he opens it up cautiously.

There's a boy sitting in there, the same age as him, possibly younger, taller, with closely cropped black hair. He looks up at Tim and blinks. "Are you in the next one, too?" He looks at Tim and smiles, too widely. "That's cool. I like the Titans ones much better."

There's something, a smell in the air, almost covered up by aftershave and sex, something almost subliminal, and it isn't until Tim sees the plant in the corner he has an idea what it is. Ivy's plants, the more elaborate ones, generally don't flourish so well outside of her influence, but it looks like someone here took cuttings.

That explains a lot. Ivy's good at that, control without diminishing the abilities or intelligence of her targets. He dismisses the possibility that she's directly involved, partly because it's not her style, but mostly because of the age of some of the targets. He gives more thought to the odds of her finding out, the likely results and what damage control he'd have to do, while getting the basic antidote out from his utility belt.

The boy, who really doesn't look like Kon, aside from apparent age and rough size, frowns at him. "Are you taking stuff? I don't do that, man."

"Vitamins," Tim says, and that seems to be enough of an answer for the boy. He nods and gets up to change into the outfit, and for the first time, Tim realises he's dressed in the lower half of Kyle Rayner's Green Lantern costume.

Tim almost stops him, but jeans and a T-shirt are more practical for escape than cheap and ripped spandex, so he waits until afterwards, then says, "Change of plans. Can you drive?"

The boys shrugs. "I've got my learner's."

"It'll have to do. I need you to get out, as quietly as you can, without anyone seeing you. Can you do that?"

The kid nods. "Sure. Fire-escape outside my room." He frowns. "But they said I should stay here."

"I'm saying you should go. They have a car outside, they left the keys in it so they must've wanted you to take it, right?"

He nods. "That makes sense."

"Go back to Metropolis, then--" Tim hesitates, then says, "Phone this number and tell the woman who answers what happened and answer any questions she has. Tell her Robin says they used some of Ivy's plants. Got that?"

The boy nods and leaves. Tim leaves the room and heads downstairs. There are people talking, the sound of things being moved about. There's some debate over setting which is distracting them, giving him time to find Clark.

In the end, though, Clark finds him.

"Robin," he says, his voice pitched low and clear.

Tim nods, but doesn't say anything, not sure what to call him.

Clark's smile is huge, genuine. "It's good to see you," he says. "You don't usually come to Metropolis.

"Criminals cross-pollinating," Tim says. He looks at Clark. "Do you need an antidote?"

"I thought it might be something like that. I thought I smelt something, but when I tried to focus on it…" he shrugs, helplessly, hapless and apologetic Clark Kent. "I don't think an antidote would help me, but I think I'm okay now."

"You'd know if you weren't?"

Clark's smile sharpens and he claps Tim on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'd tell me."

His hand is warm. People under Ivy's influence tend to run a couple of degrees hotter than average, but Clark is naturally warm. It's no sign of anything.

"I saw a boy back there," Tim says. "How many other are there?"

"Just him, I think. They're not keeping people here," Clark says. "It's just where they seem to pick people up."

"Why here?"

Clark shrugs. "Metropolis has more than its fair share of people who--" He hesitates and looks embarrassed, "--emphasise any resemblance to Superman."

"Like you," Tim says.

Clark blinks, somehow giving the impression that he's wearing his glasses and off-the-rack suit instead of his rentboy costume. "A lot of people say we look alike," he says, laying on the rural Kansas accent. "You know, if I was bigger and taller and better looking."

"I don't see it," Tim says.

"Thank you." Clark nods, taking the words as a compliment. He smiles again, and Tim wishes he knew if that was an indicator or not. "There are similarities, but… well, I'm proud of everything I've done. The little picture next to my byline means a lot to me." He ducks his head, and Tim is very aware that Clark has a fake -it must be fake- nipple-ring, visible through the black mesh of his top. "Did you read--"

"Yes," Tim says. "They were recommended to me by a--" he pauses, deliberately. "By mutual friends." He watches Clark smile. "And you are still under the influence, because you're yet to ask me anything about the boy I found or any information I have, and curiosity is a pretty significant trait of most reporters."

Clark frowns. "I just-- just didn't think of it. That's not right, is it?"

Tim nods, then reaches out. Pats his shoulder awkwardly, but kryptonians have been seen to respond better to suggestions accompanied by contact. "Stay here until I take care of this."

"I don't like you doing this on your own," Clark says, but it's not an objection, so much as a statement of fact.

"But you know I can," Tim says.

Clark nods, as if that's obvious. "Of course, Robin."

It's a different city, a different state from his home, but Tim recognises the particular trust that comes from knowledge. Not the granted faith of the woman in the store, but one that was earned, proven.

Metropolis is, in its way, both the same and utterly different to his home.

End.