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He grabs the edge of the mask and pulls it off with one smooth yank.
The sound of the adhesive ripping from skin lingers in the bedroom. Ra's was hoping to see a few tears, but Timothy's eyes are dry and cold as they stare back at the man. He supposes that means he'll have to work for it. He doesn't mind a challenge.
He traces with his fingers the irritated skin around the boy's eyes, it's slightly sticky where the mask once was.
"You should be grateful I didn't take it off in front of everyone."
Timothy bares his teeth.
"I know it wasn't out of kindness, Ra's."
The detective is not wrong. He knows there is power in being the only one with access to the full picture. He might have to rely on other criminal minds to achieve his goals, but he has never trusted them. Many of them don't share his vision for a greater, truer society, he knows it'll come a time when they'll be at odds again. Keeping information for himself is a strategy he is well practiced in.
It's also another card he can play to keep Timothy in check. Dangle the threat of exposing the secret they so fiercely protect over his head.
"Perhaps," He concedes. "However, I have saved your life Timothy. A thank you would be appreciated."
The boy's hands tighten into fists.
"Fuck you." He spits.
Ra's can't help but smirk.
"Oh, I will."
Timothy's arrogance falters. The boy must know he's in no position to fight Ra's, laid out on the green silk sheets beneath the man. Timothy is a good, even great, fighter, but he's no match for the Demon's head, he has proven so already back in Gotham. The boy is in enemy territory, with no means to get back to his home base, and no help coming to his rescue anytime soon.
Even after all that, Ra's wouldn't put it past Timothy to try to knock him out, make an escape attempt, even when all odds are against him. For that reason, one of his ninjas stands in the corner of the bedroom, a small, round remote in his hand with a single button in its center. The golden metal of the shock collar glints in the low light, it circles Timothy troath beautifully. Lexcorp has outdone itself with the little gadget.
He reaches into his robes and pulls out a small ornate knife, its sharp blade curves back and forth like a snake, and its handle is carved with intricate designs of dragons coiling around it. Beautifully delicate and deadly.
Timothy stiffens when he sees it. He stops breathing when Ra's closes the distance between them, holding the weapon within inches of the boy's neck.
Ra's puts the tip of the blade under the collar, letting it touch the skin there until a single bead of blood comes out. He lingers, letting Timothy imagine the worst-case scenario, like he's sure the Bat has trained him to do. The knife penetrating deeper, puncturing his artery, letting him bleed out. Or stabbing his throat, reaching his larynx, having him choke on his own blood.
Ra's drifts the blade down until the tip of it catches on the edge of the Red Robin's costume. The fact that the boy is still dressed is a problem he's more than happy to solve. He slices downward, cutting through cloth and kalvar as if they were made of water. He feels like he's unwrapping the most tantalizing of gifts.
Timothy stays completely still as Ra's slashes through his clothes, even when Ra's knows he has nicked his skin, the boy doesn't so much as flinch. His eyes follow the blade, and Ra's wonders if the boy is calculating the best maneuver to grab the knife from Ra's's hands. If he is, he doesn't act on it.
It doesn't take long before Ra's is satisfied with his work. The boy's costume had already been stripped of its belt and accessories when he'd been captured, leaving him in only thick fabric and armor, easy to peel off his skin. He takes especially great care in removing the tattered remains of the black tights, he finds the contrast with the pale skin underneath exquisite. The small red cuts peppered here and there, carved by his own knife, make the scene worthy of the most erotic of poems.
He takes a moment to appreciate the view, before taking off the boy's gloves and boots. He leaves the handcuffs on, even if they are nothing more than child's play for the detective, Ra's likes how the gold metal looks on the boy's wrists.
Looking away from the beautiful body in front of him is no easy task, but Ra's isn't disappointed when he sees the color on Timothy's face, sweet cherry red. The hateful gaze is all but a mask, not one made of dishonest emotions, but still, just a tool to cover his unease. Like an injured cat showing his claws.
Ra's traces the space under the boy's ribcage. He wonders if his stomach is sinking, if his lungs are burning, throat tight with fear. Ra's doesn't have to touch the boy's heart to know that it's beating frantically, he sees it in his neck, in the way his artery pulses.
Ra's wants the anticipation to build in Timothy's body. To choke him with its weight.
Often, in torture, it isn’t the pain the most effective tool. It's the idea of it, like a Boogieman, the moments before the fall can be as deadly as the impact.
So Ra's takes his time. He bends down and licks the drops of blood that have trickled out of the cuts. He caresses Timothy's skin with reverence just before he pushes his nails into the open wounds.
The boy hisses, tries to turn away from his touch. Ra's keeps him down, hands on both sides of him. He kisses up his torso, sucks a mark into his neck, then bites the clavicle underneath. Blood coats his tongue, he sucks on the mark to get more of the taste.
"What are you, a vampire?"
Ra's can see the boy trying to play up his bravado, act as if he's still in control of his mental state. His voice shakes when he speaks. Ra's smiles against his skin.
"Not quite, my detective." Timothy twitches as he bites him in another spot on his neck. "I simply enjoy the taste of the nectar of life."
The boy looks unconvinced, so Ra's moves up to kiss him. His hand forces the boy's jaw open, he can taste a hint of semen still lingering in his mouth.
When he pulls back, Timothy's tied hands move up to rub at his jaw.
"Will you stop doing that?" He snaps, annoyed. The mask is made of porcelain, and Ra's wants to see it shatter.
"You must know, detective, when you tell me not to do something, I only want it more."
Timothy glares at him.
"If you would let me kiss you, I wouldn't have to keep forcing my hand."
"If I wanted to kiss you, I wouldn't have my mouth closed." The boy says, even as his face fills with disgust at the sole idea of it.
"And if what you wanted mattered, we wouldn't be here." He emphasizes his point by twisting one of Timothy's nipples.
The boy's face scrunches in pain, but he stays quiet and looks to the side.
"Did you want that detective?"
He doesn't answer.
Ra's trails his hand lower. Flicks Timothy's penis, making him gasp.
"What about that?"
Timothy kicks him in the stomach, forcing Ra's to move back.
"Fuck off."
He grabs the boy's ankle and pushes it up in the air, then he looks over his shoulder at his ninja and raises his pointer finger.
The collar buzzes, and Timothy's whole body convulses as he shouts in pain. When the electric shock passes, the boy is left panting, leg twitching in Ra's’s hand.
"You were saying?"
Timothy's nostrils flare, eyes full of venom. He stays quiet.
Ra's brings his lips to the boy's ankle, kisses a trail up his leg, and once he reaches the knee, he raises it and drops it over his shoulder. He sees the muscles in Timothy's abdomen work as the position forces him to raise his hips. He touches the abs captured by the body in motion. He follows the dark trail of pubic hair to Timothy's penis.
He strokes around it, without truly touching it. He knows it must be sensitive, having already ejaculated twice, at the Hall of Justice and on the plane ride to the League's headquarters. He lets his fingertips brush it, making it, and Timothy, twitch. He wanders further down, his touch light when he finds the tight ring of muscles underneath. The boy tenses, his heel digging into Ra's's back.
His finger lingers there, letting Timothy imagine what it will feel like. Let him build it up.
He kisses up his thigh, licks the hollow dip under his hip, bites where the pelvic bone juts out. He imagines his teeth sinking so deep they touch bone, denting it, making it forever marked. With his other hand he gets a better grip of Timothy's leg, squeezes his ass cheek, pulling it slightly. The skin is soft and supple. Timothy might not be a child anymore like he was when they first met, now taller and older, but he still retains some aspects of youth that Ra's himself has lost a long time ago.
He circles the rim with his middle finger, puts a light pressure on the muscle before he forces his finger inside. Dry. He knows the way Timothy's body bucks under him has nothing to do with pleasure, it's only a reaction to the stinging pain. He can't help but want to make him feel it. The pleasure.
He moves roughly inside, watching the way Timothy's face contorts. It's not easy, the tightness is so strong it threatens to cut off the circulation in his finger, he persists. He searches for the sweet bundles of nerves, and he worries after a while that his finger's length might not be enough to reach it, until a new angle makes Timothy kick out his leg over Ra's's shoulder, this time involuntarily. Ra's smiles and presses on the spot again, watching as Timothy tries to jerk away.
He keeps going with the same motion, over and over. He’s surprised to see the boy's penis stir with interest. Another indicator of his youth.
The opening remains dry, sadly Timothy does not have a woman's capability of natural lubrication. He knows that he could loosen him up enough like this, it will take time, which he has, but another option seems equally intriguing.
Ra's pulls his finger out and reaches back to grab his knife, left forgotten at his feet. Timothy's eyes were screwed shut, but as Ra's moves, he opens them a fraction, then widens them when he sees the weapon.
Ra's pushes the blade in Timothy's stomach, not deep enough to hurt any internal organ, but deeper than his previous cuts. The boy makes a small, hurt noise as Ra's pushes his fingers against the wound to coat them in blood. He brings them back towards Timothy's hole.
"Wait-"
He pushes his middle finger back inside, now wet with fresh blood, which makes the movement much easier.
Timothy gags above him.
He pushes and pulls at the tight muscle, enjoying every flinch and gasp from the boy when he pushes against his prostate. It takes some time before he can put a second finger inside, it gets easier to loosen Timothy once he has two to work with. When the blood starts to dry, he makes a new cut.
Timothy has turned on his side, he clenches the bed sheets underneath him, looking away at nothing in particular with a furrowed brow. Ra's decides to let him look away if he so chooses, he's already growing bored of their position anyway, so he turns the boy completely on his stomach.
Ra's takes his time fingering him. He likes watching his fingers disappear inside the flesh, feeling the ring of muscles loosen the more time passes, the soft walls inside feel better than any silk man could buy. By the one-hour mark, he could fit his whole hand inside if he wanted to. Timothy's back has many deep gashes by now, and he's been hard for a while. Ra's sees the boy's hips jerk every time he touches his sweet spot, searching for friction on the mattress. Timothy is not relaxed, Ra's doubts he'll ever see him as such unless he drugs the boy, but he has grown used to the sensation.
Ra's reaches for the nightstand with his empty hand and grabs a chamberstick that has a lit red candle in its middle. Timothy doesn't shift from his position, his head stays lowered on the bed, but his shoulders draw slightly together at the sound. Even in this state he's still vigilant. Ra's strokes his prostate, fascinated.
He tilts the chamberstick, letting hot, melted wax dribble onto Timothy's back.
The boy shrieks in surprise, then again in pain once the wax flows over the cuts on his back. When he tries to get up from the bed, Ra's pulls out his fingers and clamps his hand on the back of the boy's neck, holding him down. Timothy thrashes against the hold, bucking like a wild horse, cries muffled by the sheets. The wax is hot enough to burn, but not enough to leave permanent marks once the wounds are treated. It still sizzles when it touches skin. What would Ra's give to record that sound.
He pours more wax, letting it flow down Timothy's back. It curves around the muscles, creating a serpentine path, smudging when Timothy's struggles are able to ruffle the bedding enough to disturb its wake.
The color is breathtaking. A deep and angry red that makes Timothy's skin look on fire. It probably feels like it's on fire too. The gold of the collar is a nice accent, all framed by the dark green covers.
A fine mix of colors.
He keeps Timothy down as the wax cools. Then, when the boy is calm enough, he stops holding his neck, wanting to see his face, Ra's grabs him by the hair and lifts his head. Timothy is breathing heavily, his eyes are half lidded when they glance at Ra's. Tired.
No tears yet, how interesting.
He lets go of the head, letting it fall back against the mattress. He puts a hand on the boy's back, feeling as it expands and contracts in time with his breaths. The wax is still warm, but nowhere near scalding. He slots himself behind the detective, lapping with his tongue at the sticky substance. The candle was made from raspberries and coconut oil, the flavors mix well with the irony taste of blood. When he reaches a cut, Timothy winces but stays still. He moves only when Ra's, who has now opened the front of his robe, rests the head of his cock against him.
Ra's does want Timothy to see this, so he grabs the boy and turns him around again.
Timothy closes his eyes and exhales deeply when his back touches the mattress, surely suppressing another wince. When he opens them again, that familiar scowl is back on the boy's face, gone is the tiredness.
The mask that had briefly slipped has been put back in its place. But it has its cracks, the anger is there, but so is the hurt.
"How are you feeling?" There's no false pretence of kindness in the question, only morbid curiosity.
Timothy doesn't answer immediately. He stares at Ra's with a wrinkle between his brows. Maybe he's mulling over the question to see if it's a trick, or maybe he's genuinely asking himself ‘How am I feeling?' and having trouble finding an answer.
"Does it matter?" He ends up saying bitterly. Ra's smiles.
"You learn quickly."
He grabs Timothy's legs from under his knees and brings them up over his own shoulders. It's not an accident that this position puts more pressure on the boy's back, by the way Timothy looks at him, he knows it too. It also gives the boy a clear view of Ra's cock coming to rest against his buttock.
He doesn't rush.
He rubs the tip against the boy's rim. Letting Timothy feel the texture.
He lets him imagine it.
Timothy's size is probably considered above average, when compared with Ra's he looks small.
Build it up.
Ra's has been holding himself back all day, anticipation doesn't work only for pain. Pleasure too tastes sweeter after having desired it for so long.
When he breaches that tight heat, it tastes sweeter than honey.
Timothy is tense, but the long preparation makes it so that Ra's can enter him smoothly and quickly. He bottoms out in one motion, the boy shudders. Ra's closes his eyes, lost in the feeling, those silk walls so warm and wet and tight.
He stays buried there, only his hand moves, raising to grab Timothy's penis, which had somewhat deflated after the wax pouring. He strokes him harshly, feels the boy clench around him, tight, but not enough. It could be more.
He grabs one of Timothy's hips and fucks him, quickly, deeply, where he knows the boy will like it. He moves his hand around his penis in tandem.
Timothy arcs his back, then whines when that causes him pain. He has his mouth open, panting, a line of drool slips past his lips. Ra's fucks him harder. The boy's knees close around Ra's neck, not trying to choke him but lost in the feeling. He's been close for a while.
When he comes, the tightness wraps around Ra's like a vice. He can taste the honey on the tip of his tongue.
A feeble amount of cum drips down Timothy's stomach, pooling in the center of his chest. But the moment is already fading, the boy is becoming loose and malleable after his orgasm.
Ra's moves his hand to the side and raises his pointer finger.
The effect is immediate. The collar buzzes, and every muscle in Timothy's body spasms, tightening so viciously around Ra's to the point of being painful. The boy screams, a sound so wrecked and guttural, Ra's isn't sure he has ever heard anything like it before. He wants to bathe in it.
He can feel the electricity move through Timothy, feels the zap of it where they connect.
It's intoxicating.
That moment too passes, but the tightness doesn't leave completely. Timothy's is strung higher than the hair on a bowstring. His head is thrown back, and his breathing stutters on every inhale, unable to fill his lungs completely.
Ra's doesn't stop fucking him. Honey coats his mouth, it curls around his abdomen, and tingles in his fingertips.
He lifts his pointer.
Timothy convulses as if he's having a seizure. Ra's feels the distant buzz of electricity through him.
The boy's hands are clawing at the collar, leaving angry red bruises in their wake. He's gasping for air. He genuinely can't breathe, the muscles in his ribcage don't expand enough to let him.
His eyes are shut tight. Tears roll down his cheekbones, they curve and disappear in his dark hair.
It's a beautiful sight.
Ra's reaches forward and brushes the palm of his hand on Timothy's stomach. The boy reacts as if he's been burnt, flinching so hard away from him his whole body shakes with the movement.
"N-o." His voice is barely above a whisper, and yet it still breaks over the two-letter word.
Ra's brings his hand out. Timothy unscrews one eye to watch it.
"Ple-ase. I can't-"
He points.
The feeling is indescribable.
Ra's bends over, overwhelmed, everything is tinged a sickly sweet honey-lemon color.
He wants to live in that moment, wants to cut it open and crawl inside of it.
He doesn't know how long has passed before he comes down from the Valhalla. Minutes, maybe days.
He pulls out when the honey starts turning bitter, satisfaction making his movements sluggish.
The body beneath him scrambles away, legs pushing at Ra's chest in haste. It bangs against the wall, cowering from him.
The sound of the porcelain shattering is quiet. It reverberates in the way Timothy's hands shake against the headboard, in the wideness of his eyes, his pupils small, trembling.
Terrified.