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"I would like it stated for the record that I did not agree with this," Hood said, propping his hip on the council table and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Sure Boss," Turk said easily.
"Yeah," Ross agreed. "You agreed you shouldn't go to the meetup alone."
"And you agreed someone who could listen and remember without looking suspicious," Gladys added, mouth pursed in concentration.
"And you agreed lap candy was the most obvious choice," Jenkins said, although he had also objected to this plan initially. Hood glared at him behind the visor. He didn't appear to notice.
"And you vetoed any of the working girls," Robert said, mouth twitching to hide his grin. "And then in the same breath said you didn't care if the cartel knew you were into men."
"So really I don't know what you expected," TJ said cheerfully, once Gladys was done with his mouth. He was sitting on the council table with Gladys between his knees as she painstakingly applied makeup to his face.
Hood grunted. It wasn't even that he didn't think TJ could handle it. It was that he didn't want TJ to come to anyone's attention as anything important to Hood. So far they'd been astoundingly lucky that no one had attempted to grab any of the council members or higher ups, except Mask's one go at J which hadn't worked out for him at all, and that was just leadership. Hood's boyfriend would be an incalculable prize.
Except of course that Hood's boyfriend was secretly Nightwing, and could handle himself perfectly well.
That didn't mean Hood wanted to risk it.
Also, TJ looked insanely hot, in his leather pants, half-see-through shirt, and a braided-leather necklace just thin enough to not be a collar, with smoky eyes and just a touch of gloss on his already-ridiculous mouth.
TJ, doubtlessly, read all of this subtext in the grunt, and winked at him.
Unfortunately, the cabinet had been around long enough that most of them probably picked up the vast majority, if not all, of that subtext too. Turk and Ross were certainly laughing at him.
TJ hopped off the table, Gladys done with him, and the slight heels of his knee-high boots made his legs and already-fabulous ass look stupidly good.
Hood grunted again as TJ sauntered over to him, lower lip pouting playfully. "Come on, Boss," TJ purred. "Let me help you out."
"Jesus H," Robert said dryly.
"You know what's really good exercise?" TJ asked cheerfully, straightening out of his seductive sway. "Pole dancing." His grin was shit-eating, mischievous, and not any less attractive than his previous smoulder. Although maybe that was just Hood's preferences speaking. He liked TJ better than whatever character he'd been playing, there.
"I hate you," Hood said, and the vocodor turned it flat and dry.
TJ beamed at him. "Love you too, pumpkin."
"Fuck no," Hood said immediately.
"Baby?" TJ asked.
"That's you," Hood replied.
TJ laughed, head tipping back to bare the distracting line of his throat. God, Hood needed to get it together if they were going to a meeting with the cartels like this. Then TJ batted his lashes. "Boss," he purred, low and sweet and lilting.
"Too on the nose," Jenkins objected.
Hood abruptly remembered their audience.
TJ's head tilted, all dangerous calculation again. "If you're calling me Baby," he said slowly.
"No," Hood said forbiddingly.
Turk snorted a laugh. "Live a little, Boss."
"It would obfuscate your age and relationship," Jenkins said dryly.
"He doesn't really look much like our TJ anyway," Gladys said reasonably. "The eyes make him look about a decade younger."
"Because that's a reputation I want Hood to have," Hood grumbled.
"Okay, that's a fair point. His thing about kids," TJ said.
"You're not a kid, though," Ross said reasonably.
"Oh I'm dumb," TJ said. "Cariño."
Hood smiled helplessly. "That can stay," he grumbled, letting the vocodor flatten the fondness out of his voice. He knew TJ could hear it anyway.
TJ stretched his arms above his head, baring a strip of skin between his clinging, half-see-through shirt and the equally clinging leather pants, which he didn't bother to recover. Then he smiled at Hood. "We ready?"
"I remember when I used to be in charge here," Hood sighed, and looped his arm around TJ's waist. He did need to get to the meetup, and he would be glad of TJ's help.
TJ, boots making him exactly the right height for Hood to hook his chin over TJ's shoulder, leaned into his chest and batted his eyelashes.
They were early to the bar where the meetup had been scheduled, a dive near the docks, well outside Hood's territory.
Delia was already at the bar, nursing a drink, and Hank and the rest of the strike team were on standby a block away. Hood hadn't promised to come alone, not this far outside the Alley.
Maradona knew better than to demand something like that.
Hood paid for a drink and settled in a dim corner near to Delia without being obvious.
TJ settled in his lap, curling small to tuck his head into Hood's shoulder. Somehow, the tailoring of the shirt and trousers made him look small despite the boots and his frankly absurd gymnast's shoulders. His tousled hair, glistening mouth, and smoky eyes made him look soft, if you ignored the steel glint in his pretty blues.
There was just enough give in the sinful cling of the leather for Hood to casually tuck his gloved hand into the back of TJ's pants.
TJ huffed a soft laugh, snuggling down more firmly into his lap. They were getting some side-eyes from the patrons of the bar, because the Hood was really recognizable and TJ was gorgeous.
The tension in the room ratcheted up immediately when Maradona and his three lieutenants walked in the door, and then dropped marginally when they walked straight to Hood and settled across from him.
"Hood," Maradona said. His gaze skittered dismissively over TJ.
"Maradona," Hood replied. He nodded shortly to the lieutenants. Then he tucked a fifty into TJ's back pocket and said, "Baby, go get a round for our new friends."
"Sure," TJ said easily, rolling fluidly out of Hood's lap and sauntering to the bar. He jolted but didn't otherwise react when Hood swatted his rear as he went by.
Maradona ignored him, but two of the lieutenants' eyes were fixed on TJ's ass. Hood couldn't really blame them; it was a struggle to keep his eyes on Maradona where they belonged. "Thank you for coming to meet with me," Maradona said. "I know it can be. Unpleasant to get out of your home grounds."
Hood inclined his head. "I'm not entirely bound to a specific neighborhood," he said. "The Alley's just a starting point."
Maradona laughed like the thought didn't make him very uncomfortable. "Still, I appreciate you coming. I think we could be very good friends."
Hood inclined his head again, a small, magnanimous gesture of his hand seeming to invite this idea. "I was very interested to hear your proposal," he said, managing to make noncommital sound like an agreement.
"May I-" Maradona said after a beat, his attention suddenly over Hood's shoulder instead of on Hood. "Ask an impertinent question?"
Hodd chuckled, knowing how the vocodor turned it ominous. "By all means," he agreed.
"You have never indicated any interest in," he tipped his chin over Hood's shoulder. "People before."
Hood glanced back, following Maradona's gaze.
TJ had propped his elbows on the bar, batting his eyelashes and flirting playfully with the bartender, all play and no intent. His position put his best assets on display to the bar at large, and Maradona and his lieutenants weren't the only ones staring.
"He's new," Hood acknowledged. "But well," he gestured in TJ's direction illustratively.
"Yeah," one of the lieutenants sighed.
Hood was very glad the helmet hid his grin when Maradona shot the man a look, and one of his fellows kicked his ankle discreetly.
Maradona inclined his head. "I am intrigued to discover all speculation about your preferences to be," he hummed. "Incorrect."
Hood shrugged. "Not incorrect," Hood said. "Just missing some pieces. I'm an egalitarian guy," he added, making room for TJ in his lap again as he returned with the four drinks for the cartel. "But he caught my eye for now."
"None for you?" Maradona asked TJ, his first outward acknowledgment of him. He took his own drink, and slid the others to his men.
Hood gestured at the drink on the table before them. "That's his," he said. "I don't drink when I'm working."
"A wise decision," Maradona said with conscious irony, taking a drink of the beer TJ had brought him.
TJ gathered up his drink and curled himself small in Hood's lap again, one foot tucked up against Hood's thigh on the bench. Hood returned his glove to the back of TJ's pants, thumb stroking idly along the exposed skin of his lower back.
"So," Hood said flatly.
Maradona shifted in his chair. "Yes," he said slowly. Then he seemed to square himself, and lifted his chin. "I will be honest, Hood. The border crossings are more difficult than they used to be. Gotham is a long way from the home country. My business grows more expensive, and my customer base remains the same."
"You want to trade with my dealers," Hood said.
"In brief, yes," Maradona agreed.
Hood remained still except his thumb moving in slow strokes on TJ's lower back. Finally, he said, "I have certain standards that I expect to be met in any material that moves in my territory. Cleanliness, storage containers, purity." He tilted his head a bare incline, "But we're willing to pay to make those possible." He gestured with the hand not on TJ. "I'm listening. I make no promises, I would need to talk to my distribution team and my accountant to be truly certain."
"We also have purity standards that we maintain," Maradona said hastily. "And we would be willing to discuss storage and cleanliness procedures, if they're reasonable. Particularly if your interest in them extends to monetary support."
TJ shifted in Hood's lap, fidgeting. "Cariño, I'm bored," he murmured against Hood's neck.
Hood tugged on TJ's necklace warningly. "If I think changes need to be made to the infrastructure of your operation in order to do business with you, and if I think it's worth it to me to do business with you, I will certainly share in the costs of those infrastructure changes," he said easily.
Maradona seemed to ease a little. That he wanted this so badly rang some alarm bells.
TJ squirmed again in Hood's lap.
Hood freed his hand from his waistband and landed a brief, stinging slap on TJ's rear. "Baby, if you can't be still you're going to have to get out."
TJ pouted. "I'm bored," he whined again.
Hood sighed, and made sure the vocodor caught it to crackle. To Maradona, he said, "I don't suppose any of your boys play pool?"
TJ perked right up, catching his lower lip between his teeth and looking hopefully through his eyelashes.
The three lieutenants had a hasty, wide-eyed, silent conference, and then one said, "I don't mind, Señor."
Maradona nodded.
TJ bounced right out of his chair. "Muchas gracias, Señor," he told Maradona sweetly, the clipped consonants of his Bludhaven accent thicker on the Spanish than it ever was in English.
Hood watched him go, leaned lazily back in his chair, and didn't try to control the smirk on his face as the cartel enforcer racked the balls and TJ found a cue he liked. Only then did Hood turn back to Maradona. "Sorry," he said dryly. "You know how it is."
"I do," Maradona agreed, though Hood could see the distaste in the twist of his mouth. "My Aitana always wants my attention, even when I am working."
"So," Hood said, leaning forward now that his lap was clear. "Let's talk logistics."
Maradona sat forward as well. Whatever his issue with Hood was—and Hood was betting it was homophobia at its finest—he was desperate enough to ignore it, especially now that TJ wasn't right in Hood's lap. "What are your concerns?"
"Well, if you're already having trouble at the border, won't an increase make you more likely to get caught?" Hood asked.
Maradona shook his head. "We are not likely to get caught. Our bribes simply grow more expensive and expansive since the increase in border patrol. Increasing the amount brought over will make no difference to us except to make us more cost effective."
Hood nodded slowly, always aware of TJ in his periphery, flirting and chatting with the other lieutenant. "And what product are we talking? Just cocaine?"
"No," Maradona said. "Also heroin, meth, and fentanyl."
"I'm not interested in your fentanyl," Hood said. "It's cut too easily."
"I promise our product is clean," Maradona said, sounding scandalized.
Hood shook his head. "We've already outlawed in the Alley proper, and I'm pushing that out to the Bowery at large as soon as it's feasible. We've had too many overdoses."
Maradona yielded gracefully. "But the others?"
Hood nodded. "Probably," he said. "Like I said, no promises till I've talked to Alex and Ross, but to be perfectly honest, if your heroin is cleaner than the Russians, I'd be pleased to swap over."
Maradona smiled silkily. "I will ensure that it is," he said. "How much time will you need, to confer with your people?"
Hood shrugged. "Let's give it a few days. Can I call on you on Monday?"
"That would be ideal," Maradona agreed. If he was frustrated by the delay, he didn't show it. "Here again?"
"Yeah," Hood said. "Baby seems to like the atmosphere."
Maradona's smile froze, but he managed not to drop it.
Hood rolled to his feet and ignored the two lieutenants' flinches. He stalked across the room to press himself to TJ's back. "Having fun, Baby?"
"Cariño!" TJ said cheerfully. He'd been chatting brightly with the other man in Spanish, but as he turned into Hood embrace to nuzzle his neck briefly, he said in English, "Eduardo is very nice!"
The lieutenant turned wide eyes on Hood. "Just playing the game, Señor," he said hastily.
Hood waved him off. "Good, Eduardo, thanks for keeping him happy," he said. "You almost done?"
TJ pouted up at him. "You don't want to play?" Then he stepped out of Hood's arms to line up his own shot, hips popped intentionally high to show off his ass.
Hood waited for him to take the shot before sliding his hands over the back of TJ's pants affectionately.
TJ's shot sank three balls. He leaned languidly upright and flashed his teeth at Eduardo.
Eduardo shook his head sort of ruefully. "Su turno, señor," he said.
TJ grinned and sank the eight ball with barely a glance. He leaned back into Hood's arms around him, resting his head back on Hood's shoulder.
Eduardo held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing up from the table. He tipped his head respectfully to Hood, and then retreated to his boss's side.
"Pretty Baby," Hood purred against TJ's neck, letting the vocodor crackle low, "Don't play with your food."
TJ giggled, leaning into him. "Never, Cariño, I would never," he said, low and teasing. "Come on, papi," he teased. "Take me home."
"I warned you," Hood growled. "What would happen if you called me that."
"You didn't," TJ replied, giggling again and dancing away towards the door. "You just told me not to."
"Brat," Hood growled. He growled again when he realized TJ had lifted the keys to the motorcycle, and was waiting at the curb with his hands on the handlebars. Hood settled behind him and tucked himself against TJ's back.
"Get anything good out of Eduardo?" Hood asked at a stoplight.
TJ huffed. "They're desperate, and Maradona's hold on the cartel is tenuous, because he's making promises to the lieutenants he can't keep. These three are loyal to him, but the others aren't going to like playing nice with your rules."
"He hates my guts," Hood reported at the next light. "And the feeling is resoundingly mutual. Do we have enough to send to the FBI?"
TJ chuckled. "Do we," he said easily. "Eduardo even name-dropped the border official they bribe."
"Bless stupid criminals," Hood said cheerfully.
At the next stop, TJ asked, "Does this mean I get to play lap candy more often?"
"Maybe," Hood agreed grudgingly, tightening his grip on TJ's waist as they entered the Bowery and TJ gunned the engine. Nobody was going to pull them over here.
"Come on!" TJ protested as he parked at headquarters. "I was so good at it!"
"You're distracting is what you are," Hood shot back, swatted his ass, and stalked past him into the building.
TJ laughed happily behind him. "Yeah, but more to them than you."
"You say that," Delia said dryly, arms crossed. "But I could see where the helmet was pointing."
"How did you beat us back?" TJ asked.
"I didn't stop to canoodle at every stoplight," she answered.
TJ blew a raspberry at her. "Your loss then," he said, even as Hood protested, "We don't canoodle." He unsnapped the necklace from around his neck and pulled the microphone out of the weaving. He passed the little device to Alex, who'd watched this whole exchange with wry exasperation.
"Report to the FBI?" Alex checked.
"Yeah," Hood agreed, shedding the hood and setting it on the corner of the table to scrub out his hair. "Apparently the idiot name-dropped their purchased official on Teej's recording."
"I love it when they're dumb," Alex said, and set to work.
TJ came over to ruffle Hood's hair into some semblance of order. Hood caught his hips. "Who lent you the clothes?" he wondered.
"They're mine," TJ replied. "Cherie took me shopping yesterday. You like them?"
Hood rubbed their noses together briefly. Slouched back against the table as he was, he and TJ were almost the same height. "They'd look better on my floor," he replied, grinning.
TJ groaned.
Delia groaned too.
Hank, halfway in the door with the rest of the strike team behind him, tried to turn around and walk back out. Delia called him back, because he "had to suffer through this if she did."
"We can handle it from here," Ross said. "Please take him away," he asked TJ.
TJ saluted, catching Hood's belt loops. "Come on, Boss," he said cheerfully. "Your floor awaits."
"You know, I swear I used to be in charge here," Hood said, and let TJ tow him out.