Chapter Text
It had been a rough day. A long annoying day, because Booster had found himself fighting the “Condiment King,” seriously? what kinda dumbass name is that?
Booster had never heard of the man, not in any of his history classes, or his time at the museum, and not even during his six months in the 20th century. So when Booster was met with the ketchup-wielding man on his way through Gotham he was caught off guard. So off guard in fact that he ended up doubling over laughing at “the” Condiment King.
Turns out that laughing at a supervillain does little to calm their “bloodthirsty ways”, it does quite the opposite.
Booster realized this after only half an hour of scrubbing the sticky mix of ketchup and mustard off his suit.
“Skeets, why the hell is this so embedded in my suit? It doesn’t make sense!”
“Well sir, it may be due to the cloth you’re using is only scrubbing it further into the leather.” Skeets hovers above Booster, while Booster drops his head to his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me this thirty minutes ago?!” Skeets fly around Booster, “You never asked sir.” Booster groans and collapses on his couch.
Booster throws the mustard-stained cloth in the general vicinity of the laundry hamper, hitting the edge of the basket and then landing on the ground with a splat.
“Eugh!” Booster lays dramatically, “Skeets I feel like such a failure.”
“You did lose to one of Batman’s lowest-ranking rogues.” Skeets replies matter of factly.
“That is not making me feel better Skeets,” Booster sits up grunting, “I mean I've been in the 20th century for six months Skeets, and people are already tired of me,” Booster rolls to his stomach groaning.
“Sir, I am sure that the public will regain interest in you soon enough.” Skeets flies next to Booster watching him as he sits up.
“I just need to get out Skeets,” Booster walks to his bathroom splashing his face with water, Skeets following him. “I mean the most socialization I do with anyone is meeting with the marketing team and occasionally punch a few bad guys,” Booster starts combing his hair, “and trust me skeets, if I get a hard-on by being punched in the face by some villain of the week ill kill myself right then and there.”
Booster then squeezes a blue gel in his palms spreading it through his blond locks. Booster moves taking off his shirt and replacing it with a snug white tank top. “I'm going out Skeets. To a bar or something,” Booster tugs on some black leather skinny jeans stumbling as he continues, “Hey, maybe if I'm lucky I'll get laid too. It’s been too long man.”
Booster grabs his shoes and approaches the front door, “Hey Skeets isn’t there a bar next to that place where I busted those guys trying to break into the ATM? You know the one on Merrimon?” “I believe so, Sir.” “Great.” Booster opens the door, waving back to Skeets and leaving.
The bass from the speakers made the whole club shake as Booster entered the club. People swarmed around pushing and dancing like hornets in a nest. Booster felt eyes on him which made him puff out his chest. It felt good to get the attention that didn't involve golden costumes or microphones shoved in faces, just the feeling of a normal hot guy.
It wasn't long until Booster was jumping and dancing with a hot chick to the beat of the music, the girl ground on Booster, her long black hair whipping around and in this moment. Booster was definitely not regretting his decision to go out until he saw a man sitting at the bar.
The man was older probably in his early 40’s he had dark brown hair with white peppered through it. His dark blue eyes slightly closed as he tipped back his beer, finishing it off in one swig, wiping the remains off his scruffy beard. Now this one image did more for Booster's dick than the girl grinding on him all night.
Booster knew the past wasn't the most accepting but he had not witnessed any witch burnings or protests so he figured he might as well see if this guy had any interest in him.
“Sorry,” Booster pulled himself off the girl, “I've gotta go.” Booster makes his way to the man and sits down next to him.
“Want me to buy you a drink?” Booster asks the man his dark eyes meet his, and he nods signaling for the bartender.
“So what do you want, kid?” The man grunts, taking his drink from the bartender and taking a swig of it. Booster tries his best to appear suave as he takes a sip of his own drink, “Just wanted to see what your deal was. I mean a handsome man like you sitting alone, I wonder what you did to scare off all the chicks.”
The man lets out a chuckle, “I could be a serial killer for all you know, you should probably be more careful who you buy drinks for.”
“I might have to check on that,” Booster laughs, “what's your name?”
“John. Yours?”
“Boo-Mike.” Booster cuts himself off. The man, John nods taking another swig of his drink, slightly grinning. Booster slides closer his knee hitting John’s.
“Well John, what are you doing tonight?” Booster puts on his best sultry voice looking at the man, “Cause we can take this conversation to my bed.”
John looks at Booster, his face changing to one of disgust. “ I shoulda known you were a queer with them tight-ass pants.” John pushes himself back aggressively from Booster, slams his drink on the counter, and looks at Booster with a face of pure disdain, “I am not some little faggot like you so fuck off before I bust your damn face in.”
Booster steps forward puffing his chest out at the man, the urge to sock the man in the jaw was overwhelming. Then he sees the bartender and a few clubbers staring at him. The same look of disgust was on all of their faces.
Booster feels hot shame fill his body, he didn't understand why. He wasn't ashamed of liking men but the look from the crowd made him want to curl in on himself.
Booster gives the man one last look then turns and walks out, beginning his shameful trek back to his apartment. Booster opens his door and faceplants into his bed.
“I assume you did not get “laid”, Sir?” Skeets flies into his room.
“Yeah…” Booster trails off rolling onto his back. Booster hadn't expected this time period to be so different, and he didn't expect the shame that festered in his stomach after the encounter. Booster sighs and closes his eyes.
1986,
What a time to be alive.