Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sand tickles the sensitive flesh between his toes when he lifts them, the warm granules sticking to slightly damp skin. He's on a well furnished beach chair, reclined back in memory foam cushions and two Egyptian cotton towels on each arm rest. The sun was high and the clouds were present but not heavy, light and fluffy while offering occasional shade. Everything before him looked like something out of a picture; perfectly posed, each rock and grain of sand so well maintained for his pleasure. The ocean before him, though, was vast. Aggressive. Violent and forever with a mind of its own, the one thing that won't ever be bought or controlled. She can be polluted, the life in her can be hunted but that will never lessen the force of her waves, it won't ever save a vessel from drowning, or stop someone from being swept in, never seen again. She's constantly free, constantly moving and never burdened by thoughts of purpose. Never worried if the waves crashing against shores and cliffs are useful to anyone else. To have all of this feet from him, always or never, or whenever he want's is something he can call a luxury.

Luxury wasn't something he's used to; not in the sense that he's coming to terms with, at least. Images, front's, pretty smiles with a picture perfect background was his form of luxury, his idea of a good time was pretending he's having a good time. Sure, money got him expensive things, but what good is it? Installing your own sauna sounded fun, until the only person whose stepped foot in it was your house keeper. Or cars, dozens of them and he hasn't even aired out the new car smell, plastic was still covering most of the floor mats for fucks sake. Actual luxury was a commodity he never had any real access to, and that was okay. No time for hot tub soaks, or a trip on his yacht, a good nights sleep. What with Drake and Wayne enterprises, then the entire Red Robin persona it was so easy to lose one's self in the constant rotation. Wake up, run, figure someone else's problems out, escape death, find something quick to eat and probably just go back at it again without the sleep. Budgets and deadlines and legalities just wore down at him, so without the comforts typically allowed in the human life, he's been slowly crumbling and cracking at his seams. Years of- not abuse, exactly. He knows his parents loved him, as much as they could have with how little time they spent around him. If they weren't there for his birthday and the garish parties they threw for publicities sake, it was a weeks old post card with vague wishes and no return address. They always made sure the home they shared was well decorated and properly staffed, that his tutors were of the best quality and their chef was catering his meals to his growth and necessities.

But that's all it ever felt like, to baby Tim.

Necessities.

A necessity to be well dressed, well groomed. A necessity to be clean and prim and proper, posture perfect and his 6-year-old handshake firm. He was imposing before he hit double digits, and were it not for their absence he believes Tim and his mother could have grown closer. She loved him, he has no doubt about that now, after the time he's been gifted with he's spent a lot of it contemplating, because Janet was not one for mistakes or time wasting, she wasn't the kind of person to do things if she didn't want to. And she had wanted a child. Tim has realized, in his time of relaxation and faux retirement from the cape, that the hatred he felt from his mother was terribly displaced; not wrong, but displaced. Not aimed towards himself, exactly, but towards those around her; his father, her family, anyone within her grasp. Maybe, it was that she had married the wrong man; she could have fallen in love with and married a simple man of a simple family, his father unable to process or see Janet's wants and feelings. Loving her nonetheless, but incapable of showing her how he loves her, not in a way she could understand. Janet, his mother, his copy, was all sharp insults and silver tongue; lined with stinging retorts and back-handed compliments.

Or maybe it was because the only way a woman of her standard could acceptably have a child was through marriage; settling for a well off, simple man who's easily charmed with a quick wit and smooth persona. Maybe she was a parasite searching for a host, a membrane for her tendrils to latch into and bend to her whim. Maybe, she just needed someone to use, someone to impregnate her with her next of kin. If he closes his eyes, Tim remembers vague images of dim rooms lined with intricate velvet red wall paper, his small infantile self perched on his mothers thin lap as she sings to him. He also remembers times his mother has lashed at him, her verbal strikes more fatal than anything Gothams streets could conjure. Tim took so much after her that memories of his father seem distant, blurry. His face was shadowed and Tim's memories of his voice grow fuzzier each month. But he has his nose, and his allergies, his migraines and he should be able to remember more about his own father, but he just. Can't. 

Standing and stretching, he chooses these rather upsetting thoughts as a sign to head back inside; even if he's freckled in his time off, he's still pale and easily burned. He instinctively goes to brush his hair behind his ear and his nails get slightly caught in the braided bun at the base of his skull. It's gotten prettier longer, he ponders mindlessly while he instead moves to adjust the sunglasses perched on his nose. One of them likes it better long, either himself or Ra's, he can't remember which one said it first, or if it was just a decision they had simultaneously made. Maybe it's both. Maybe it's neither. The gold on and in his body reflects the light of the sun, something he knows was Ra's influence. Gold was Ra's preferred accent to pair with Tim. The same kind of gold the shore glimmered with, granules mixed with soft gold flakes for Tim's satisfaction. Maybe Tim has developed a taste for it himself, now that he thinks about it. 

The path leading to the vacation home was short, but hand crafted. Each stone made to look natural, yet still managed to cradle each bare-footed step like they were made for it. They were, his brain supplies, reminding him how each detail was the same. Made for him. The home he was staying in was towering, imbedded in an artificial mountain, every wall made of glass and opening the interior to the beautiful view of the beach front. That was made for him; it's rooftop pool and bar, the parlor, the kitchen, dining room and library were catered to Tim's favor. The colors, the furniture, the fucking wall pattern was either hand picked by Tim, or in preference to his tastes. It felt heavy, weightless, and loud and silent. He feels like everything is at his fingertips right now, and it's getting easier to enjoy it with every passing day. It's hard to tell if that's a bad thing or not.

He was drunk the first time Ra's had started moulding him to his ownership. Drunk and flushed, reclining in a nice fluffy lawn chair under the stars and a wonderful glass of wine in his hand. He swishes it around lazily as firefly's dance around him and the garden before him. His feet were bare and he looks up from his book every once in a while to appreciate the beautiful and vast rain forest that was laid out before him. His legs had been crossed and only a thin cotton shirt covered him. Ra's had been adamant about Tim dressing to his comfort level, reassuring him that no one else would lay witness to him. Ra's hated the idea of Tim being seen in the states Ra's left him in. Whimpering, whining, moaning or even a silent, limp mess; Ra's insisted those were all for him. Only him.

Ra's had approached him, parting through the curtains hanging in front of the glass doors; the first of his many markings and claims felt unrealistically heavy in his palm. It was a step, the first proper step in having his Detective completely. He's in a reclining chair, body bare save for a thin shirt Ra's had tailored for him. All of his clothing was tailored for him now, only ever soft robes and suits and scantily clad silks; all best suited for his beloved. He was lax now, always softer and less hostile in his posture, soft and smooth with glowing skin. He was nosing through a novel, in ualle lacrimarum, a novel he had bought in Ireland long, long ago that Tim has taken a liking to. The leather was well worm but polished, loved and cared for by generations of servants. His beloved loved the access he had now, loved to read and pour over ancient note and formulas, had no issues translation them himself, or learning a completely new language; his Detective indulges himself in that, at least.

Ra's is very quickly registered in Tim's peripheral and at first, Tim had listed his head to the left, droopy eyes meeting Ra's'. He was slowly approaching, one hand behind his back and long emerald robe shielding whatever it held from Tim's line of sight. Months ago, this action would've sent chills up his spine, not knowing what Ra's withheld from him, not knowing what he could do. But those thoughts didn't process, because Ra's was no longer a threat in Tim's eyes; still very dangerous, still a worthy spar partner and still a killer, a conqueror. But he was also Tim's first protector, provider, proper lover partner. Many of Tim's firsts' had been taken by Ra's, all but one; and it seems like he's almost making up for that, with how often he's taken Tim. In bed, in the bath, along the balcony Tim was relaxing on, against the tree's in the very rainforest he was gazing at now.

Ra's was suddenly on his knee while Tim was relaxing into a well padded lawn chair along the curve of the balcony, his novel in one hand. Silent, refusing to allow his face to betray any of his internal thoughts. Because no matter what, he's nervous about this; about whatever Ra's is about to offer him. Tim just, can't yet shake the unease and anxiety at being handed things for no reason, other than Ra's thinks he deserves it. But all Ra's did was slowly lift Tim's left leg and clasped a heavy, intricate golden chain around the delicate limp ankle in his hand. It wrapped around smoothly, falling along the dips in his joint like liquid. There was a glimmering ruby in the center that reflected the soft glowing lights flittering in and out of the night sky. Ra's brings his palm back down and kisses the arch of Tim's foot as he does so, meeting Tim's eyes heatedly. "So what's this for then?" Tim asks the obvious question, not one to beat around the bush, and he's still in a hostile, 'I don't deserve this' mindset. Ra's finishes his smooch up to Tim's shin before he answers, his heavy pupils peeking up through dark lashes and brows, eyes alight with mischief. "It's my admiration for you, for staying. For accepting my influence, no matter how small. For allowing me to lavish you in luxury and desire. A gift of appreciation, for gracing me with your presence." His smooth, warm lips kiss along his inner knee and it tickles enough to make his leg jerk, instinctively. But again, Tim was a little drunk and he accepted the offer with a hum, tilting his head backwards and opening his legs further to Ra's. It's nice, being lavished in affection. Being cared for and having anything he wanted brough to him on a silver platter. It's an adjustment, for Tim's attention-starved brain. But he's learning to enjoy it, especially when he's high or drunk, another something he's learned he really likes to indulge in on his 'days off'. Anything of any indulgence was brought to him, handed to him. As if the idea of him even having to lift a hand to get something himself was a sin of the greatest caliber. 

Tim couldn't say he hated it; the comfort of being cared for, of being held in high regard. Being considered precious. It felt like an honor Tim didn't deserve, and that's the exact train of though Ra's was trying to ween him from. Ra's wanted him to grow bored of this basic care, he wanted his beloved to curl his nose at gold and silver, he wanted Tim to think of silk as a commoners shawl. He wanted to see this beautiful man grow into a deadly god, detesting the groveling peasants as his feet. And all of that growth starts with the destruction of his beloveds self doubt and fear. Worry, was man's greatest threat. Ra's wanted to demolish whatever doubt and worry and fear Tim had in him. And that all started with a simple proposition. Or, simple in Ra's mind at least.

"Where would you like to go, after this?" He asks, lips pressed to Tim's thigh and both hands now crawling up his hips. Tim had finished his wine by now, the glass long forgotten on the shiny side table, as he had relaxed further into the seat, thanks to Ra's ministrations. It takes him a moment to open his eyes back up, to bring his head down into a tilt deep enough to glance at his lover. "Hhhmmm, no clue; Peru, maybe. I like Hawaii, but the sun's too brutal for my delicate baby flesh. Maybe Greece? I don't know, where do you have the most secure grounds?" He's been moved every week since he left with Ra's; London, Ireland, France, Iceland, Taiwan, places that have kinda blurred and he's ashamed to admit he's not trying very hard to remember where he's been. Maybe it wasn't important to him at the time, to track where Ra's was taking him. He didn't think it important, to sober up and not indulge; to not just enjoy himself in the moment and let Ra's lead him wherever he was supposed to go next.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand me, which is to be expected; you haven't seen my recent blueprints. I have a plot of land planned, a personal island resort to build and I would like your preference as to where. It is to be built for you, of course." Tim's reclined neck arches up at this, drunken eyes wide and confused, as his flushed and newly moisturized lips spew out an undignified "Whu-buh-Huh?" And this honesty, this vulnerability no matter how silly or drunken it was, brought a heartfelt chuckle through Ra's, vibrating along Tim's thigh and bringing it with it even more confusion; what's so funny about his response? He was clearly caught off guard, his senses dulled with the thick slur of alcohol and it's so hard to answer a question like that.

"Wait, do you mean you're building a resort near a port? On a private island?" Tim wasn't a great judge in design; his parent's home was filled with expensive artifacts, covered with bullet-proof glass casings and tiny four-year-old Timmy knew better than to go near them, or anything in his home, for that matter. He doesn't know how to design a place for comfort, or luxury, or relaxation; he's stiff, and awkward and cold. Not the inspiration for something you'd want in a vacation home. Ra's hums smoothly and shakes his head, teeth nibbling along the inside of Tim's pale thigh as he answers. "No, I'm not building on an island, dearest. I'm building the island itself. With your preferences in every detail, of course. I'm thinking somewhere in the Atlantic, for accessibility. But it is still up to you, if you'd prefer somewhere closer to Europe." Tim's reeling, his brain struggling to catch up. Island, an entire island- not bought for him, no. Sculpted for him. Made for him, from the trees and rocks to the shore and whatever else Tim would want.

"Uhm, no. Nonono, no. I'm- I think I'm good, I don't know if I'm really the best one for design choices-" Tim was trying to pull himself up, away from the predator now kneeling above him with sharp jade eyes, piercing eyes that made his weak legs shake in a firm but forgiving grasp. He's being pressed down into the memory foam cushions, mostly-naked and vulnerable with a very dangerous man squeezed between his plush thighs. Ra's hovers above for a moment, shadowing Tim in and his smile was controlled, obviously working towards something. "No, my dear detective; I disagree. I believe I want your touch in every detail, I want to see your influence in each stone and plant. Every bird, every snake and fish and any other puny, insignificant life will be blessed to be there. Blessed and honored by being on something created for you, devoted to you." He's lowering himself down, face inching closer to Tim's trembling lips; too much, it's always just a little too much, sometimes. But Ra's had timed this well, started with a golden gift of ownership, a mark of beauty for his detective. Had pounced on him relaxed, soft curves and pale flesh exposed to the calming night air. A rich wine and ancient novel had dulled his senses and brought with it an image that could bring the strongest man to his knees.

The lights strung around him shone a soft, yellow glow across the scarred flesh, reflected in the dark silky strands that fell like a halo when his detectives head finally hit the pillow beneath him, and with no where to retreat Ra's ensures his small victory with a heavy, slow kiss that had silky quivering lips parting in a gasp. His wine stained lips tasted like tart berries, and the roses he had bathed in brought a mouthwatering concoction of scents to Ra's' nose. Tim allows Ra's to maneuver him, legs brought up and around narrow hips as Ra's takes a hand and slides the silk shirt up, exposing his detectives most delicate parts. As he forces Tim to swallow his tongue, Ra's runs his palm along his detectives smooth stomach reverently, ponders how Timothy's tongue would taste with a jewel in it while slowly massaging the shivering flank and using his hand to force the young man into a dramatic arch. It's purposeful, and strong and forces Tim to think only of what's happening here and now. No worries, no doubts, no fears or apprehensions about what is to come to him. As Ra's rakes his nails down Tim's back, his other hand moves from a delicate thigh, trails up and squeezes a thick ass cheek to help support Tim. Both of Ra's knees have planted themselves on the lawn chair and with Tim's legs already wrapped around him, all Ra's had to do was lift himself up into a sitting position. Once he feels his detective lay against his chest, it opens Ra's up to trail a hand between his cheeks and part them, exposing his twitching hole to the night air.

He had tenderly fucked his Detective open mere hours earlier, in the bathtub they shared together. Well, not in the tub necessarily; he had walked in on Tim, at the end of his bath and languidly playing with the rose petals that floated on the surface. Dragging him out and holding him over the edge of the bath, above the water as to not sully it, fingering hip open with the rosehip oil he was going to rub himself down with. Ra's had fucked hip harshly, had licked his orgasm clean from him then emptied himself deep into his Detective before lowering him gently back into the tub. He had brushed his hair and braided it to his shoulder by the time Tim had gathered his senses.

When the shirt is ripped from his frame, buttons fly to the floor and the ruined fabric is swiftly thrown to the side; exposed, naked in the soft lights, his detective is comparable to an angel. Ra's has buried his face in the delicate arch of Tim's neck, stubble bringing a red hue to his silky skin and teeth dig deep into the flesh, fingers dancing around his still loose hole as the detective can do nothing but wrap his arms around broad shoulders and take. His detective was made to take, made to be offered anything and everything. Made to be marked and cared for. Made for someone of power, made to be honored and made to sing. With his long fingers slipping back into the warm hole of his beloved, he is quick to set a brutal, unforgiving pace. It's in heavy contrast to the soft, slow nipping of hickey's being left along Tim's shoulders. Ra's follows the curve of his neck when Tim's head falls back, a moan vibrating up his throat as Ra's fucks three fingers up into him. He curls them tightly and watches in rapture from Tim's shoulder as Tim lets his eyes roll back, the tears in them falling as he breaks apart just a little more in Ra's arms, to his hands, his touch. 

He cums like this, embraced and held so tightly he can't even shake as his orgasm is ripped out from him, paired with a lewd wail. Ra's cuddles Tim to his chest as he pulls up and off of the soiled chair, relishing in the sight of his detective; head limp and leaned back, eyes squeezed shut with a flush of pink covering the bridge of his nose and cheeks, making a lovely trail down the smooth expanse of his chest to his pert nipples. And as Ra's walks him through the doors, to the beautiful bedroom they shared, Ra's mutters promises of their island, how he'll weave gold into every grain of sand, how he would have every type of plant and exotic animal Tim could ever want, and Tim doesn't say no.

He really, really couldn't; he doesn't say no to the gold, or hand sculpted hills and mountains, or the imported (AKA: previously believed to be extinct) wild life. In the weeks following the promise Ra's made, Tim learns to embrace this gift; he asks about it, mentions how he'd want the house to be close to the shore, less than a two-minutes walk. He want's a path directly from the shoreline leading up and he wants them to look like natural river stones, he want's a canopy with fluffy furniture, and a bar. Tim liked to think most of it was his idea, his influence but he knows it isn't true, he knows that if Ra's hadn't always asked, hadn't dug for answers those first days of the build, Tim might not have had anything to do with it. He'd have passively watched on as their little vacation spot was pulled together. But he didn't. He realized that he wanted things, he wanted it to look a certain way, he wanted and it's new, feel's wrong to want things, even more wrong to get them at the snap of a finger. Devotion was such an odd thing, and it was directed towards him by a man who has lived lifetimes over, who has ancient talents and secrets, a reach that most people wouldn't even be able to fathom. 

It took a little over a month to complete, as Ra's refuses to keep his detective waiting and he sails them out on a beautiful boat, barren of any other souls but himself and his Detective. He's good enough protection himself, he's sure. Autopilot allows for Ra's to meet Tim on the deck, completely nude and basking in the sun above. He's started to freckle, little dots and constellations marking his shoulders and chest the heaviest, the spattering thinning when it meets his abbs and trailing past his breathtaking hips, down his legs. The freckles suit him better, brings life to a porcelain doll that was once used till broken; now a doll dressed in the finest that can be offered, decorated with chains and jewels, silky hair and dewy flesh.

Piercings would do him good, through the nose and eyebrow, something to bring a wonderful contrast to that strikingly fierce face. This was something he has considered for a long time and he plans to do it tonight, if his plan unfolds. He has five wonderful rolls of marijuana with lavender ready in the bar on the rooftop, and with the lubrication of affection and care he could have his Detective glimmering, shining as brightly as his wit. Ra's had frowned when Tim donned himself as they neared their destination, dress pants and a button up shirt. No shoes, they weren't necessary. There's no glass or rubbish here, nothing to damage the now soft soles of Tim's feet. Ra's interlaces his arm with Tim's and gently walks him down to the shore, allowing Tim to stop and burry his feet in the cool damp sand, shimmering in the sun. He doesn't gawk at the reverence gift being handed to him, because he knew what it looked like, drew up the design for the house, the hotub with a connected bar and lounge, under a wooden canopy with flowering vines crawling up the supports-

Knowing what it looked like is one thing; drawings and photos just weren't the same as standing right before it, though. The sun was peaking above the grass covered mountain, trees soaring up with varying heights and a flock of birds chirping was the first noise that greeted his ears. Along with the crashing of the waves and Ra's chuckle at him, watching him process exactly what this all is, what it means. It's one thing to have someone invite you to their vacation home, it's another to have someone buy an island and build you a home; but here? The land was built from the ground up, supports and mountains and millions of pounds and dollars and solid man hours and resources used for his pleasure. It's-

Jarring.

An island. A home, for him. Not given, not bought, not bargained for or stolen. Built for him, made for him and it's entire existence hinged on what he wanted. This place could stand long after Tim's gone, long after the people who built it, generations of flora and fauna will live and die here because Ra's believes he deserved a simple tribute. And that's what it is, Tim's come to realize the longer he's stayed here. It's only the beginning, a simple foot in the door for what's to come. Ra's trains with him, does yoga and stretches, helps bend Tim into painful shapes and they relax in the library afterwards, maybe have tea and a sweet treat because Tim has come to like the tangy, spicy cakes Ra's pairs his drinks with. It's a point in life that Tim never thought he would reach; his life was supposed to be gruesome, tiring and filled with anything but this. Tim knew Ra's was still as is, was still organizing mass destruction and control. He knew Ra's was planning for domination in all things, for power that Tim still didn't know if he could handle. But as he is now, he can wait until that day comes. 

He does end up getting some piercings, everything handled by Ra's himself with solid golden jewelry, gems imbedded in the frame that probably cost more than Tim's old (Hand-built, thank you) bike. His first of many of Ra's favorite piercings were in his ears, stuck right above the ones Tim's already got. (Those studs had already been replaced, but it was months ago and done during a drug induced sleep. And so Tim ensured Ra's watched as one of his very expensive, very luxurious jets exploded right Infront of him. He's sure his small chuckle had given him away, and while he's still been drugged on occasions nothing on or in his person was replaced again, so lesson learned.) Tim was a little high, the first time in his young life and it made the experience a little exotic, letting Ra's put something of his own design right in Tim's flesh left him a little hot and bothered. By the time the needles had been disposed of, jewelry in and the fresh punctures cleaned, Tim's dick was throbbing in his pants and Ra's had taken him, standing before their floor to ceiling length mirror so Ra's could get the best of both worlds; being able to bury his nose behind his Detectives ear, being able to hold him around his waist and fuck up into him like a man starved. And also being able to look up and see him completely exposed, seeing his flushed face and blown pupils, his quivering legs as he struggled to take the fucking Ra's all but forced onto him. He came across the glass, Ra's following close behind as he buries his own cum into the tight hole gripping his cock.

He could have that anytime, that and more; so much more. Tim realizes all of this fairly early, once he allows Ra's to walk him around; to guide him across the smooth footpath sculpted of hand crafted porcelain, made to look like river stones. They were cradling Tim's bare feet as Ra's walk alongside him, his own sandaled feet leaving indents in the glittering sand. Tim is walked up bamboo stairs, into an open and luscious living room, glass walls on one side and well worn stone on the others. There was a golden chandelier hanging above him, crystals hanging from it that gave the whole room an ethereal glow. A large pit in the middle of the room, lined with red and golden plush cushions. A roaring fire within a glass cage was centered along the stone wall, and it brough with it a warm atmosphere that paired well with the cooling breeze filtering in from the open windows facing the ocean.

And Tim was shown the rest of the house later, much later because he wraps his arms around Ra's shoulders and presses his lips to the elders, letting the salt and pepper stubble rub his skin raw as he shows his own appreciation. He forcefully brings Ra's down to his level and grips him tightly, ignoring his training and drilling for the moment and just letting it happen. Ra's is still an enemy, still someone he would one day be forced to leave, but for now? Now, he can show Ra's that he see's it, he appreciates the thought and trust Ra's has been showing him, appreciates the care and genuine, no-string-attached attention he's been unknowingly raving for so long. 

Ra's goes down with the pull, encourages it with a thickly corded arm wrapping around a delicate waist, a tight grip on a plush and soft hip as he gently guides his detective to the soft silk cushions below. Right above them hung the chandelier, coloring the room in glittering flashes of light as he drops the young man down, letting him fall into plush comforters and pillows. Ra's gazes down at him, his thick hips hugged by tight, black fabric and his upper covered by a wonderful silk button up; alas, high quality or not they were infringing on his goal and that cannot be forgiven. Ra's plan, when he dropped down over his Detective on his knees, was to strip him bare and take him raw, stashes of lube and oils already hidden within every reachable place. But it's not his turn, not now; Tim has a goal and he's going to achieve it, no matter what.

The moment Ra's' knees make contact besides Tim's hips, he strikes; Ra's weight is only just landing when Tim surges up, strong abs engaging as his hands latch around the collar on Ra's silk button-up and pulls him the rest of the way down, canting his and Ra's body so that Tim lands on top. He immediately drops down, plastering his body to Ra's' own and shoving his tongue down the man's throat, a moan escaping Tim's lips while he does. With his hips slotted between the elders, he can grind his quickly hardening cock down against a slim hip, whimpers escaping him even as he latches his small hands in a death grip around Ra's' wrists, leaning his weight forward and locking his arms as tightly as he could, preventing the mans escape. He tries, Tim will give him that; but he's been trained by Batman, by lady Shiva, stolen moves from his predecessors behind their backs. He's locked Ra's down and is going to do the same thing to him; force his appreciation onto him.

He grinds down and moans into Ra's panting mouth for a moment, feeling the other mans dick harden against his thigh for a good long while before he disconnects their lips, a string of saliva connecting them. Tim breaks it with a lick and whispers very softly; "Thank you." As he crawls lowers down to Ra's throat, legs locking together and pearly white teeth nipping at a freshly shaven neck, tan skin suckled into his mouth to form a gnarly bruise. Ra's grunts and tries to force his arms out again, but all Tim does is moan breathily as he disconnects his teeth from his preys lovers neck, his hands locked in an almost white-knuckled grip, too firm and well trained to break loose from. Forceful, unforgiving; not unsimilar to the same chains and shackles Tim himself has been bound with, time and time again. It's a bit of a thing for Ra's, to see things dangle and trail after Tim. He must think it's nice, to be able to grab and restrain him whenever, wherever. But not tonight; it's Tim's time to take control, even if it's to force his own slightly bitter gratefulness down Ra's throat.

"Thank you." He's muttering as he uses his teeth to slowly undo the buttons for Ra's shirt, pulling it undone in a move he had to master quickly; Ra's never gave him enough time before to learn it. The moment Tim brings himself down that far, his mouth is already too busy on something else. Ra's always rushed him, but this is a chance Tim is forcing himself to have. He unravels Ra's slowly, a thick chest with taut tanned skin is revealed at Tim's pace, relaxed and tempered. Still charged, still hot with want but slowed, calculated as he noses the fabric to the side and licks his way up, past the solid pec and to a thick collarbone, nipping the flesh teasingly before releasing a quivery moan and biting down hard. 

This gets a more vocal response from Ra's, a flurry of half-formed words in a language Tim doesn't know yet, jutting his hips up into Tim's to seek friction; but Tim doesn't relent. Lining his hips more to straddle one of Ra's thighs, Tim continues his exploration, following the expanse of flesh, licking and biting down a pattern only he understands as he trails down to Ra's nipple. He bites down hard at his left, immediately suckling on it as if in apology, the sudden bite and sucking, pressure and attention turning the light tingles into a sharp sting of pain, sending a jolt of electricity down to Ra's cock and dragging out a haggard, grizzled moan from the man. Tim responds with something akin to a whine and sinks his teeth into the skin right above where he just bit, marking it with a dark hue and licking the bruised flesh afterwards. "Thank you," He hums softly as he goes, tongue flicking over Ra's nipple as he looks up, gazes at him through his lashes and licks towards the brand new hickey. 

He's got a solid grip on Ra's wrists and by the time Tim's managed to lick and suckle and bite his way down to Ra's waistband, Ra's' arms were dragged down with him, forced to lay by his sides, fists clenched tightly. Ra's teeth gritted together as Tim licks up along his hip bone, nuzzles along his happy trail and kisses the tip of his raging cock, tenting the front of his pants so hard Tim could see the pre-cum oozing through the fabric. Ra's rarely wore underwear, and encouraged Tim to do the same. It's just a nice habit to have, at this point. Tim licks at the fabric and whispers "Thank you" before dragging the fabric down with his teeth, just low enough to have solid access. 

Tim sucks more bruises into his hips, his legs entangled with Ra's' and ensuring he couldn't move, or kick, or properly struggle; he was at Tim's mercy. He could feel the slightly fluttering pulse beneath his lips and he laughs a little, airy and light and so very threatening that he could see Ra's cock jump, the veins beneath the velvety skin pulsing. His balls were tight, drawn up and ready, and Tim doesn't pity him so much as his mouth began to water, and once the waistband was removed and the hot, heavy smell of sex filled the room Tim couldn't help but have an end goal in mind. So he slowly trails back to Ra's twitching cock and rolls his tongue around the tip, collecting pre-cum along his tastebuds, making a show of it. He seals his lips around the tip as he swallows, sucking down and drooling as best he could; Ra's like it when Tim ended up a little sloppy, drooly and covered in whoever's cum landed on him first. He trails down, jaw stretching and throat constricting but he continues. Ra's had helped him with this, had rewarded him with every new record he could hold himself down on Ra's cock. 

But it's been a minute, with some of the other things they've been trying, and Tim did his best to keep this trick a secret. As he lowers he drags the tip of his tongue along the underside of Ra's cock, following a vein and pressing and drooling so very, very well. But as he's coming to the halfway point, where he normally stutters and gags and hesitates, he instead holds for a moment, breath paused due to the dick in his throat. He drags the flat of his tongue along Ra's' cock and relishes in the tightly breathed hiss that leaves Ra's' throat through strained lips, a hiss that turns into a guttural growl when Tim continues back down, Ra's tip sinking down into his throat and stretching the thin skin there. Ra's is looking down, reverent and awe struck and so hard in his Detectives throat. He can see the bulge along the delicate arch of his throat, can see where he's buried, nestled down into the tight, hot mouth.

Tim has his nose nestled in black and silver hair, spices and musk and sex filling the air as he grows slightly lightheaded. He can't breath, but that's okay because Ra's' hips are quivering, stomach taut and this would be the fastest Ra's has cum, his cock was swelling, and the searing heat in his throat becomes almost unbearable when Tim drags his mouth half way back up, only enough to allow him some breathing room. While he takes a moment to catch his breath, he uses his mouth to continue to milk Ra's length, his tongue swirling and massaging, bobbing his head and adding an obnoxious suckling noise with it. Ra's is close, close to begging for Tim to go back down, close to spilling down his throat, close to so many things and this just helps Ra's guide the sword through the heart. Tim does travel back down, his drool pooling down into Ra's' naval, dripping down Tim's chin and when his lips touch Ra's' base Tim groans, deep and hungry, hid eyes have never left Ra's own and this was the elders undoing; gazing down into bright blue eyes, hungry eyes that left Ra's breathless. 

Tim forces Ra's to cum like this. Arching, Ra's chokes on his gasp as his orgasm is spilled down a silky throat, pump after pump seeping down and into his Detectives waiting mouth. Tim hadn't let him arch very high, quickly removing his hands from Ra's wrists and trying to hold him down, force him to be still, keep him down as Tim does what he wants. But Ra's wasn't planning on trying to get away, and the half-formed thought of burying his hands in silky black hair and making his detective take another heavy load of cum was quickly dashed away when soft, calloused hands move from his hipbones and up. As Tim finishes swallowing everything Ra's had to give him, he's mapping out the elders body, as he's done so many times to Tim. Up his abs, spreading across his broad chest and Ra's could almost say his eyes had whited out, ears ringing but he could still see his Detective, still see's those piercing blue eyes and hear him moaning, whining around Ra's' cock, vibrations traveling up the sensitive, overstimulated nerves. 

Tim's done, has released Ra's from the confines of his throat and makes a crawl back up Ra's exposed body; shirt laid open, pants hanging half-way down his thighs, and an absolute monster hovering above him. Tim kisses him again, all teeth and tongue, the taste of the elders release still heavy on his breath. He parts wetly and breathes into Ra's ear, "Thank you," Allows Ra's to finally move, lets his arms wrap around a perfect waist and is brought down to the elders side. Ra's is chuckling now, breathy and he gently wipes Tims jaw and lips with his sleeve. Tim lets him, subdued now, compliant and his own dick throbs, the heat pressing a hot line along Ra's side; he plans to take care of that soon, will have his beloved squealing and panting and crying for more. But right now, Ra's runs his hand down a silky back and breaths into the dimming evening light; "You're very welcome, Dear Timothy."

Ra's could say that in the months following his initial offer, the time that has passed, his Timothy had blossomed beautifully. Softer now, no longer thin flesh stretched thinner over gangly muscle, but a filled ethereal figure that made Ra's hungry, as any man can get when offered a parcel of the gods. His flesh was dewy, brutal scars fading with his new care and freckles dotting the glowing skin like the gods had painstakingly painted them on, like they had caught him in sleep one night and spattered the galaxies across his skin. His hair was thickening, stronger now than before, falling along his shoulder blades and comparable to spiders silk; ordinary men would kill to hold him, would spill blood to be in his presence.

He had liked his new jewelry, has embraced the chains and necklaces, allowed Ra's to put more jewels in his ears, one in his nose; his tongue will come later, when Ra's will be able to restrain himself from stealing his mouth whenever he can. His beauty is not the only blossom in bloom, oh no; because what fool would have this at their fingertips and not want it to flourish? 

He feeds Timothy intel, ensures he never tires or bores of anything for long. He's always there, ready to indulge him in whatever has caught his fancy this time; Ra's has already imported new additions to his library, in fear that his Detective could grow bored of the options already at his beck and call. Ra's could feel the breath on his back, knows they're trying to close in on them but they never will; and if they do, it's far too late to unravel what Ra's had threaded together.

An intricate web of affection, care and admiration has caught his Detective, has ensnared his limbs, knotted his torso, wrapped around his throat. cutting it away is impossible, ripping it apart will destroy the seams of him it threads together, will render him unsalvageable and will they really do that just to keep him from winning? Will they so readily sacrifice their best just to spite him? Ra's wouldn't have it, refuses to allow their poison to seep into his Timothy any longer. They were venomous, leeches that sucked his Detective dry, emptied him of his uses and threw him in the corner until he was useful again. 

But no longer. Now, he will thrive, and shine, and any soul who's blessed enough to witness him will not live long enough to tell the tale. He want's to rule, yes; he want's power and control. But he want's his Detective to want, too. He knows he's earned that, he knows that even with his morals, his training, that Timothy will succumb soon; that what he's being offered feels so much better, even if he's been taught to think it's wrong. But he's already falling, his wax wings melting away as he plumets down into Ra's open arms. And he's fallen so beautifully, it's hard for Ra's to separate himself from that enticing flesh, that sharp wit and those deadly eyes.

His intellect is the real killer, it's just another wonderful blessing for Ra's he's as stunning as he is, pale flesh and rosy cheeks and a cascade of ebony locks that put Athena to shame. His beauty wasn't for others to see, it's not meant to be hid behind faux smiles and Kevlar masks; it was meant to be worshiped like a deity, treated like a god but only by him. He will walk his Detective down the path of debauchery of sin, towards knowledge and power and control. Because those suit him so much better than lofty morals that will surely shredding his psyche from the inside out.

Ra's watches as his Detective readies for the day, brushing his hair idly while he looks around their walk in closet, free hand running along the fabrics, picky fingers trailing along the seams. Ra's would prefer if he had stayed in the nude, but traveling out undressed while he had lookouts stationed, was a sure way to end dozens of lives. And they knew it, too; Ra's allows for Timothy to spar with them, allows them to guide him around when Ra's himself is not free to do so. But they are not spared from his blade, and the poor fool who was still positioned in the treetops when Tim had decided to skinny dip was the first, and hopefully only, example. He had not been fast enough in leaving his post, and paid the price.

And as Timothy pulls a golden robe on, sheer and shimmering, he's sure his seed has taken root; not a seed of doubt and misplaced guilt, but one of confidence and power, something that is far more fitting of his Detective. Tim turns and grins, holding his arm out expectantly and Ra's was quick to take it, guiding him over to the vanity to switch his jewelry out; emerald would pair with the gold better. Gently moving his Detectives hair from his ears, he replaces the multiple studs and bard in his left one first; using a hand on his his he tilts his head to the side slightly, making sure the gold and gems were well polished, would reflect just as brightly as the owner wearing them.

As he does the same to the opposite ear, Tim goes to bring a hand up and move his hair to the side, over his shoulder. But Ra's' hand gets there first, gathering the hair in one hand gently, leading it to lay down his left shoulder and running his fingers through it once, twice before resuming. Tim watches him in the mirror, watches as he threads the metal through his ears and feels something swell in his chest; when Ra's uses hands that have killed, hands that strip life away like its nothing, to make him look pretty, it brings up a feeling in Tim that he has yet to accept, let alone process. He just smiles at his own reflection instead, his mother own face blinking back. 

But Tim isn't all complacency and relaxed limbs; not even feet away from Ra's, in the drawer right above Tim's hand, is a letter. A specific letter, for a specific person; Tim already asked one of his personal ninja to deliver it, one who also specializes in terrorizing Ra's. He was gifted them, he's going to use them and Ra's had promised he wouldn't kill them unless he absolutely had to. So when their morning routine is done and Ra's is winding his elbow through Tim's own, Tim does so with glee, tucking himself into Ra's side and asking if he's allowed to rifle back through the library again. He's distracting, engrossing Ra's in their game and letting him lead Tim down, ensuring the figure in deep, scarlet red was unseen. 

She was trained well, hand picked and trained by Tim himself in everything he knew and things he's learned, has them train with Ra's own ninja and while they're a fleet of only12, it may as well be a battalion of thousands. She's in their room within moments, letter in hand and off the island within the hour, swimming to the closest shore 48 miles away. Easily done, and Tim trusts she'll be able to get it to where it needs to go before nightfall. 

The manor was quiet, now; sullen. It brings bad memories back to the forefront of Alfred's mind, of a grieving orphan, of empty rooms and promises falling on dead ears. Alfred still continues, still cleans and prepares food and cares for the foolhardy children who call themselves adults. Stitches them back up and comforts them in this most trying time, months of dead ends and no leads, months of regret and silence; it hurts them to see his suit, to see remnants of him and the memories can burn so easily, even though none of them have stepped foot into his room since. Alfred has kept it spotless, keep it dusted and remakes the bed so it's always fresh, had cleaned up the leftovers of-

And he keeps his charge, Master Bruce, from unraveling. Keep his head afloat and trusts his other, younger charges with keeping him from deaths door when he cannot. It is late into the night, while he's finishing up his rounds, his boys already out into the city sky, when he hears a knock at their front entrance. Strange, seeing as the multiple security features should have long since alerted him to any visitors; their pathway from the gates is far too long of a stretch for them to have been unseen. 

Bruce may have taken a vow to never end a life, but serving in the military all those years ago stripped Alfred of that luxury, so he grabs for his loaded double barrel and places a hand on the doorknob, pulling it open just wide enough to see, to aim and fire if need be. A tall woman stands before him, dressed only in a white button up shirt and dress slacks, barefoot and with an envelope in her hand. She's stocky, built and with a short bob of blonde hair. Her eyes are bright but sharp, and when she smiles at him his finger moves to hold the trigger. "Mr. Alfred Pennyworth?" She reads the name penned in a rushed calligraphy with a thick accent, her eyes darting back to meet his again as she stretches her hand out to hand him the envelope.

"Yes, and who may you be young lady?" She shakes her head in refusal and once more urges him to accept the letter. "I can't tell ya that, m'sorry. But! I can say that the little shit sent me all the way over here to hand this to ya in person. And he said to make sure I seen you, and that you're a-okay." The letter is still being held out, but what she says has dispelled all of Alfreds' previous worries of intruders. She had said someone sent her, to personally deliver a letter; and to ask if he was okay, and that could only mean-

"Young master Timothy?" Alfred doesn't allow the crack in his voice, doesn't let the unshed tears appear but she must sense them anyway, because she nods with a good-hearted grin and pushes the envelope in his hand. "I'm not allowed ta know what all's in it, but he said I'ma be back here again, so I figured we might as well get acquainted." And with that, she places a fist over her heart and bows deeply, from the waist then leaps up, climbing up onto the roof without struggle and disappearing into the night sky. Alfred's hands shook as he closes the door, latches it shut and locks it behind him. The calligraphy is new, penmanship wasn't Timothy's strength, he always wrote too quickly and Alfred see's it in the gaps, the splotches of ink dripping from a quill.

With a steadying breath, Alfred peels the wax seal off and unfolds the paper, reads the beautifully rushed handwriting with a near manic joy in his heart. He chokes a little, emotions mixing the longer he reads, and the tear does escape when he closes his eyes and clears his throat. Bringing out a handkerchief, he dabs at his eyes and mouth before refolding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. It won't do to be getting emotional now.

But he does have to prepare, has to buy ingredients and freshen the home up, try and clear away the dreary air that filled the spaces and cracks. Herding the boys out of the house for a days worth will be a little painful, it will sting at Alfred that he has to shoo them away for this. But if it is at Timothy's request, then he will do whatever possible to make his visit a comforting one. 

Chapter Text

Before Tim was living for himself, before he was adorned in silks and jewels, before he had his own army of deadly and slightly unhinged ninja; he was apprehensive. He was intimidated and skeptical, still sure Ra's was just going to stab another vital organ out of him, then dispose of the threat. He had left that night a little drunk and emotionally shocked, hadn't even packed a bag to leave with and fell asleep on the jet Ra's had herded him onto. But he was trained to be distrustful, trained not to take the vices being handed to him so freely. Before Ra's, before luxury, before his own fleet, before everything he was clean; dry and unlubricated, with no real indulgences other than a bloody nose and bruised fists. Rage was the only thing that they he allowed, and even then it needed to be controlled, reined in; nothing he was given or permitted ever came free. 

He always had a drawback, always had a hitch, a catch, some sort of repercussion that would turn tail and bite him in the ass. Being Tim Drake came with familial problems, came with drunken nannies and bilingual house maids that taught him their native languages' while they polished his parents dusty bedroom. Being Timothy Drake-Wayne came with never ending meetings and deadlines, came with budgets and employees' and a very troublesome ulcer; with baggy, dry eyes and migraines. Being Red Robin came with contusions and broken bones, with bloody noses and human trafficking rings, came with blood and anger and fight-or-flight.

Then came his alter-egos', Alvan and Jim and Jackson and every other name he's used, every other personality he's developed and honed, embraced; they wear down at him. They pull and tug and rip at skin, until all that's left is tender nerves and empty promises. They like different things, have different hobbies and joys' and tastes, while Tim had developed none of his own-

No.

No, it's not fair to say that. He likes the same things his mother liked, since they were the very few things she ever shared with him. Dark coco, rare steaks and rich teas, imported from India and Africa. He prefers softer, smoother fabrics bereft of wrinkles or loose threads, the same as his mother did. Tim hadn't realized he had developed his fathers taste for black coffee and dim rooms until these silent moments. He thought of this man every once in a while , because of their shared pains, his migraines making them both too sensitive to any bright, unnatural lights. Something he didn't realize his father had passed down until he found a moment to truly think of the man. He developed tastes, had things he liked but none of them had been his own; they were all things he had stolen from others to weave into his own being, the only real connection he has to any of them now.

Timothy Drake likes dark wines and lavish parties, he likes skinny dipping and riding rollercoasters; Timothy liked being right and refused to be wrong. Timothy thrived in the high socialite circles and embraced the judging eyes those parties entailed. He sustained himself on all of their weaknesses and ensured to never reveal his own, used a well trained smile to dispel his enemies fears or doubts. He was calculating and so, so  cold underneath such a comforting, warm facade. He hunted, fed on everyone around him so they wouldn't have the chance to do the same to him. Timothy Drake is a viper, a spider; a predator. He feeds himself on the foolish trust of the weak with his benevolent grin.

Red Robin was overflowing with sass and attitude, brimming with potential and hosted a tremendous hunger for adrenaline. He loved fighting, loved unpredictability and the dirty, dingey streets of Gotham were Red Robins home. The muggy clouds and empty skyline were Red Robins love, his mistress; Red Robins beginning, his life and his death only existed in Gotham. With their criminals and thieves and high-class mob families, all the same side to one coin. Just with different tactics, different steps and rules. All it is, is a different dance to the same tune. Red Robin was a bird of prey, an Eagle, a Hawk, was always hungry and searching for more.

But him? Himself, the one who started the rest of them? He didn't know what he enjoyed, what he found solace in; he knew he liked being right, like Timothy, and he loved the chase, loved action like Red Robin. But anything outside of that is null. He doesn't know if he likes to walk in a park or go sightseeing, he can't tell what kind of genre of book he'd enjoy or what movie is his favorite. everything is just an impersonation of his other personalities, his other parts that weren't ever really him. Tim was an empty canvas torn apart by the scavengers he was thrown in with, left with ripped cloth and shreds of possibilities, shadows of what could have been magnificent. 

But with so much free time now, he's learned things about himself. Things that he likes, or doesn't like, what views he enjoyed gazing at and the hobbies he's honed. He hates cigarettes and chew, but he does like some cigars; smooth, smokey ones, hand rolled in Cuba and delivered the same day he asks for them. He doesn't like straight liquor, rum or tequila or whisky, but he loves wine and White Russians and Long Islands and mixed drinks; he loves relaxing and not feeling rushed or pressured into being as useful as possible. He likes being high on whatever, anything smooth that doesn't make him sick to his stomach; he hates the harder stuff, hasn't even touched it and Ra's hasn't pushed. Only offers of everything now, and he kisses him no matter what Tim's response is. 

The stars are a wonderful view, he loves sitting out and looking, watching; tracking constellations and making up his own. He likes reading about the gods those stars were named after, straight from the original scriptures they came from. Old, smooth books that wore their time so well, the pages yellowed but sturdy, ink slightly faded but so colorful and bold. Tim likes exploring the places Ra's has brought him, he likes eating at new restaurants that were never bat-approved and blending in; hiding in ways he never had the chance to do before. He's not doing this for any other reason than he can, it's right there and why wouldn't he take that opportunity? 

Then there's the resources Ra's has given to him; more than any online database, more than any digital records or Government infrastructures. Ra's had everything he could gather written down, unaltered and untouched. Everything from when he could begin his own personal archive to current day, updated every few hours by the informants when they check in. Ra's really does have people everywhere, from newly gathered members to generations of families dedicating their lives to serve him. It's a little off-putting, a little deranged to be one living man, one memory but have thousands of lives pass being devoted to you. To have multiple generations of families serve for you and die for you. It's not an easy thing for Tim to wrap his head around; and he's not there, not yet. But he's getting closer every day, he can tell with how easily he's forgotten how weird he first felt about it. How..... odd it was, to have all of this so easily, just a snap of his fingers.

But he's getting comfortable, something that, before, would make him feel so uneasy he'd end up ruining it all himself just to stop it. But when it's the only option he has, when he's all but forced into accepting it, then he does so very bitterly. Oh, the first solid two months were a bit touch and go, in Ra's opinion. Timothy was reluctant to accept anything, and while he ate and slept and entertained Ra's, he was so worried about what would happen with any of the other indulgences the elder offered, that it often (Always) ended in a physical fight.

Ra's had weened him off of his micro-dosages', and it showed at first; he was very, very defensive to Ra's offers. He was hostile, angry and offended when Ra's had stopped lubricating him, stopped easing his worries with simple drugs. He was snarky, and bit at everything Ra's offered him, like it was a venomous touch.

And that's partly on Ra's, the elder has come to admit; he was pushy, would insist that it was the best thing for him, that he deserved it and would be a fool to pass up whatever he's gifting to him. But Timothy isn't some foolish primate that was so easily coerced, and he is also not one to let others get away with upsetting him, apparently. Ra's always made sure to fuck his Detective well after any and all of their altercations, made sure his Detective knew there was no ill will, drilled into him that there were no punishments or grudges; they both had to adjust, just a little bit.

It was three weeks after Tim had left with Ra's, too ashamed of telling anyone, terrified they'd hate him; then it was 21 days after he realized he had developed a real relationship with a technical immortal, 504 hours after he said "yes" , he had given in. He didn't know what to do with himself at first, but detested every offer Ra's had given him, taking it like an insult, like he was a child who didn't know how to occupy his own time better. Any attempt at appeasing him was often followed with more hostility, and always ended in blows being exchanged, in blood spilling and semi hateful, mostly amazing sex.

And then, like a dark and demented fairy tale, one day Tim had woken up slowly; alone, semi nude with a loose robe wrapped around his shoulders and waist. He felt good, his head wasn't pounding and the sun didn't hurt his eyes near as much as it used to. And the sun, it was peaking in through the large balcony doors, their golden curtains catching the gentle breeze filtering in. Their room was intricate but welcoming, warm and bright colors mixing together. He had stretched his arms over his head, and sighed; relaxing back into the bed and wondering if he should go back to sleep for another good while in the warmth, or get up and either take a long bath or bury his nose in a few ancient Japanese scrolls he noticed last night.

And it hit him.

These were choices.

And Ra's wasn't here to offer them by hand, wasn't there to push or prod; they just were. It sent Tim spiraling for a moment, too long of a moment. He's stuck on what he's just thought, listening to the same voice in his head as this reality washes over him. He'd never had a fucking choice in his life; had never been able to chose something he wanted to do. He's never contemplated going back to sleep. He's never been able to chose what he does for the day, or when he can wake up, how he spends his free time. Because he's never had any.

And this might be why Ra's was there to offer them, tried to be a buffer for Tim so he wouldn't feel so fucking empty like he does now. Giving him options wasn't meant to belittle him, or insult him; they were given to him so he didn't feel overwhelmed, so he wouldn't shatter. And he's not, shattering or breaking exactly; but something cracks a little, something deep inside him that felt hollow, felt heavy and light and noisy and so silent. It's demanding his attention and for the first time in years, since his mother, his father and Wally and everybody else in his pathetic, pushover of a life-

He cries. Hard. He cries his eyes out on a six figure bed, smears snot and tears and drool all over the silk and cotton sheets and pillows. He doesn't know how long he spends doing this, but by the end of it he feels frazzled and manic, so he gasps a shaky, wet breath in and lets it out as slowly as he could. His chest quivers and he can feel an abnormal chill making itself comfortable along his flesh so he leans up and wipes his face with the three-thousand dollar robe hanging loosely around his neck; standing was easy with how empty and weightless he feels now, and he does in fact take a very long bath. Two hours; he spends two hours soaking in a heated tub with goatmilk and oats, softening his skin and bringing a bright shine to his hair. He had drained that bath after a long while and unabashedly cleans it nude, rinses it out and draws another bath with lavender and sea salt soaks.

He's soaking, eyes staring blankly up ahead while his head swims with the rush of heat coming from the water. He cries again, because the only way he was ever allowed to live, thrive and do what he could genuinely was by being stolen away from the very people and environment he thought he loved most. Maybe he really did love it; it's hard to tell right now, with the tears soaking his cheeks and the steam clogging his vision. He sobs and feels almost pathetic for himself, soaking his body in lavish scents and oils, soothing himself for the first time in a long time, if not his entire life. 

Ra's finds him later in that same day, the sun now hung high in the sky and a tray of snacks paired with a spicy tea in his arms, opening his chambers doors to see his beloved sensually spread over a plush sofa and adorned with only a thin shawl around his shoulders, draping down to barely brush over his plump ass cheeks. Tim was calmer now, ignoring the nagging thoughts that threatened to rip him to shreds, trying so hard to dig into him with their piercing talons, and instead reveled in the articles Ra's had on George Washington's secret six; Ra's has letters, hand written letters between the secret agents, and he's grinning to himself while biting on his thumbnail because the drama was enthralling.

Ra's climbs behind him, lays his weight down slowly and Tim lets out an indulgent hum, placing the letters down on the armrest and closing his eyes, tilting his head when Ra's decides to enjoy himself and plants small butterfly kisses along that pale stretch of skin. Ra's hard length was already branding a searing heat along the back of Tim's thigh, and he presses back into it with an arch of his spine, brings a hand back and runs it through short, salt and pepper hair. Feels Ra's stubble dig under his chin and moans.

"You've been locked in here for too long, so I felt it important to come and check on you; but you've been faring well, I presume?" Ra's mumbles into Tim's hair, nosing around his ear and Tim debates his answer; should he tell Ra's what he's realized, what he feels? Should he spill to Ra's what storm of emotions is currently brewing inside of him? He chooses not to, and instead Tim just wriggles a little and lines Ra's' cock between his ass instead, bringing his hips up and grinding against his length. Ra's huffs out a breath at the friction, his own legs framing Tim's and creating a false sense of entrapment. Ra's and Tim both knew he could easily escape, so very quickly turn the tables. That's what drew Ra's to him, after all. 

"I just had a good morning, wanted to keep riding the high; figured I'd be nice to your lackeys for the day and keep the trouble to a minimum." 'Trouble' was an understatement, of course; Tim liked to try and lose them, the ninja tasked with shadowing him whenever he left their room. He would fight, or run or set traps to distract them, and it's been very entertaining for Tim. He liked being able to be a little shit, to give in to that sadistic freak in him, the voice that wanted him to break and burn and explode for the fun of it, encouraged chaos, demanded destruction. The same voice that kept telling him how much better he was without them, without their morals and strings and control, without their looming shadows milking him for all of the use he's worth. He was always promising Tim he would live better without them, kept telling him to gouge Jason's eyes out whenever he next saw him, to throw that little fucking shit over the railings by his hair. Or was this voice new? It doesn't feel new. It doesn't quite sound like Ra's.

"Well I appreciate the view, nonetheless; tell me, dearest, what would you like to do today?" And maybe Ra's knows what Tim's thinking, after all, because he doesn't offer Tim any choices and he is forced to ponder; he could wander the surrounding desert, ride a camel and demand he be guided around wherever he want's to go next. Maybe he want's to go down to the common area of Ra's temple here, and watch the flax weavers work their magic, learn how to do it himself. Or he could just lounge in here all day and do absolutely nothing, without Ra's drugs or any disease, or near death experience leaving him bed ridden. This would be voluntary, enjoyed.

But Tim isn't ready for that, not yet; he's still reeling, realizing that Ra's was serious. Ra's has given him so much, has taken such good care of him and has asked for nothing in return; not one secret, not one fault of Batman or Nightwing, has never asked Tim to divulge any weaknesses. And it's nice, not being used. "I think I'll go and sunbathe for a while, listen to some music and catch up on some celeb tea." Ra's had gifted him a beautiful laptop and smartphone a few days prior, and while he hasn't been able to hack into his personal accounts just yet he's sure he'll get there by five. "Hhhmmm, and will I be allowed to ravish you before you do?" Ra's drags his palms down Tim's sides and back up, pulling the thin cotton up and exposing all of him to the warm midday light. Tim doesn't verbally answer, but spreads his legs the best he can, feels Ra's purr against his neck at the movement before Ra's gives his ear lobe a nip.

Tim feels Ra's shuffle, hears something slick being pressed between Ra's fingers. He moans like a filthy whore when Ra's presses those fingers in, Tim's cock twitching with the burn, the stretch; being forced to take it, to enjoy it has his head swimming. Tim's eyes are closed, his neck arched up so Ra's can tongue down his neck and to his shoulder. Noises leave him in stuttered breaths, his nerves firing off with pleasure. Ra's other arm has come up, framing Tim's side and trapping him down against the upholstery, his fingers curling around Tim's forearm gently, as if to bring him comfort. Tim's pale legs quiver when Ra's curls his fingers up, in, hard against his prostate, it has his voice quivering around the wail that bubbled out of his throat.

Something warm and slick was coating his hole, dripping down his cock and joining the precum oozing with it, creating a pearlescent streak against the couch. He's warm all over, sweat beading at his temple and along his back, bringing a glowing sheen to Tim's skin. Ra's drags his tongue down Tim's spine, petting along his flank with his free palm while fucking a third finger into him, pressing down on him slightly when Tim jolted and cried with the addition. "Oh, fucking god. Ra's please, I wanna- I want..." He trails when he realizes what he was about to say, but Ra's doesn't allow it. He stops, pauses everything expect for the heavy press of his fingers inside of his Detectives hole; that remains persistent, his fingertips pressing against a bundle of nerves and his Detectives quivering muscles keeping him locked in. "What was that, Beloved?" Tim's hole clenches without his say, tight around the intrusion.

"No-Nothing, It's, nothing please just keep going, I- AH!" Ra's doesn't let him misdirect, doesn't let Tim lead him off topic and instead Ra's bite down onto the closest bit of tender flesh he could, capturing one of Tim's back dimples and digging his teeth in so hard he's surprised blood hadn't welled up to the surface, sucks hard enough to bruise black and blue. Tim was about to make a request, make a choice in their coupling and tell Ra's what he wants, and Ra's will hear it. "Please Detective, I implore you to continue what you were saying, I do so very wish to hear what it is you want me to do." But Tim refuses, feels Ra's' breath along his lower back, so Tim clenches his eyes shut and moans, tries to force his ass back and further down Ra's' fingers. But Ra's will have no distractions. Tim's vision swims when his head fly's up with a cry into the open air of their bed as Ra's delivers another bite, higher up along Tim's spine. "Is this what you wished for me to do to you, mark you up and down until all I can see is what I've done to you? Make sure you wont rest without the feel of me all over you, consuming you?" Ra's asks right as he goes to bite again, the indents of his teeth and the suction he's paired them with is already purpling along that tantalizing skin. He holds Tim's body down against the wriggling and squirming, sucks kisses and grisly hickeys into his beloveds flesh.

"No! No, no it's not, not right now please Ra's I'll do any-" Tim chokes on his spit when Ra's then continues the pace he had before, his fingers thrusting inside of Tim so hard it's making his ass jiggle, his moans choppy and matching Ra's unforgiving punishment. It feels good, it's amazing but it's not really what Tim want's to be given right now. It's still too much, too fast and he's about to cum, the tension stringing along his muscles like his strings are pulled taut. When his insides clench and his open mouth spills over with drool, Ra's slows his pace down just enough to teeter Tim away from the edge, kisses along Tim's stinging back and the young man groans deep in his chest. Why, why now? Now's not the time to fuck with his head.

"Ah, so this must be what you wanted; you wanted me to hold you down, dangle you above the precipice until all you can do is drool for me, moan for me. Have me drag you where I want you, keep you in whatever position and state I feel suits you best." And it's involuntary, a reaction Tim couldn't stop if he tried but he shakes his head no, his face buried in his arms and cheeks welling up with a red hot heat. Ra's keeps this slower pace going, but brings himself to dangle above Tim, his weight supports with his knees and his free arm bracketing Tim in, holding him down and sheltering him. Tim's eyes are welling up but he still doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to give in and tell Ra's what he wants.

Ra's knows he hasn't gotten there, not yet, but he's so close; he just needs another push, another little step. Tim has decided what he wants but is refusing to indulge himself, fighting the care Ra's is so willingly offering. So Ra's brings himself up to kneel above Tim's back, rips his fingers from that pliant, warm hole and revels in the scream it pulls from his Detective. Ra's grasps both of Tim's lush hips to pull him back and up. With his ass arched into the now heavily charged air, the last bits of cloth covering him slid upwards, and Ra's takes advantage of the new opportunity. He quickly grasps both of Tim's arms, locking his forearms together tightly, kissing the free fingertips before he drops the limbs back down. his dick is lined up with Tim's ass, and he presses his clothed member along the sopping hole.

His dress pants are soaked now but that's okay, he encourages the grinding of the younger mans hips with his own, pressing forward into the round buttocks before him. He enjoys himself for a long stretch of time, listening to the shaky moans escaping Tim. But suddenly Ra's hand leaves Tim's hip, drawing back and striking Tim's ass hard, the sound echoing throughout their walls, accompanied by Tim's howl. Ra's hand print is already welting along the quivering muscle, and his fingers gingerly pet and sooth the swollen flesh until the quiver in Tim's breath had disappeared. But Ra's draws back once more and strikes Tim's ass again, harder this time and forcing tears to stream down flushed cheeks. He's crying now, begging in unintelligible words and pleas. Ra's ignores the words, the begging in favor of switching, hitting his other cheek with the same ferocity. Ra's would strike him and watch his whole body twitch, listen to his voice grow hoarse as he gently soothed the bruising flesh under his hand. Sometimes Ra's wouldn't give Tim any time, would smack over and over, just to watch him try and shy away from the strikes with high-pitched whines in his throat. He repeats this process Tim's body is purple and begging for relief, his cock as dark as Ra's' markings along his body.

"Tell. Me." Ra's punctuates each soft whisper with a brutal smack against the globes and Tim feels like he can't breath, his whole body was on fire and numb and tingly and he just wants to cum, but Ra's won't stop until he answers him; Tim curses his small slip of the tongue. His lashes were clumped with tears and his body no longer supported itself, his cheek mushed into the cushion beneath him and his arms hanging limply over the armrest above his head. The only thing keeping him up is leaning against Ra's, still clothed and cock twitching against Tim, distracting enough that he can't prepare for the next blow and cries out again when it lands. He's weak, vulnerable to pleasure and pain is so close to it, the two mix together in a horribly addictive cocktail. But Tim's spent, and his purple leaking cock begs for release, so Tim gives in.

"I... I wanna...You to....." Tim can't get enough breath in though, his lungs too weak and voice hoarse. Ra's is so thankful that his Detective is face down, limp and pliant and finally willing to take something because if he had seen Ra's' grin, he'd certainly take it as an insult. Ra's shushes him and leans down closer, finally removing his palm from the searing flesh and instead massaging Tim's sides and chest, letting him catch his breath for a moment. Ra's holds him like he's delicate, fragile; a precious object to be loved treasured. Tim heaves and tries to recover a little; he was humiliated, and hurting and so fucking horny it's hard to think of what little fantasy had started all of this. But the image comes to the forefront of his mind again and he lets loose a high pitched whine when he imagines Ra's stubble rubbing his bruised ass raw.

".....Wanted you to...to eat me out..." Tim mumbles, lips barely moving and voice so soft, yet the blush along his cheeks and nose trail further down at the admission. He feels ashamed for requesting such a thing, even though Ra's had done so much worse to him. Had defiled him, inside and out over and over but asking such a simple thing seemed to wrench his guts out, burns him and Ra's will be sure to squash that part of him; give way to something so much better. Ra's wants to taunt, wants to coo to him, push to speak louder, and with how out of it his Detective seems to be, it wouldn't be hard to....Persuade him to indulge Ra's a little more. 

So Ra's does, he grasps a cheek in one hand and squeezes, massages and pulls at the throbbing flesh while Tim just sobs in his grasp, unwilling to escape. "Please, indulge me beloved; describe what it is you wish for me to do to you." Ra's is digging his fingertips into the swell of Tim's ass and drags Tim to sit up with his other hand, manhandling his bounds arms and pulling him up, wrenching his arms above his head so Ra's can watch as his body arches out for him, bruised and bitten, flushed and his cock dribbling a long line of shiny precum. Ra's gives in the his urge and lets go of Tims ass in favor of swiping a finger along his tip and licking it clean, listening to Tim's husky intake of air. 

Tim's silent for a moment, and Ra's worries he's pushed too far until he hears the soft, wispy voice next to his ear. "I wanted.....I liked how we were, uhm... Before...." Tim swallows and Ra's encourages Tim's newfound hungers and slowly brings them both back down, gently laying Tim's legs back down between his own and turning his head to the side when it hit the cushion. Ra's stretches Tim's arms up to lay along the arm rest, and Tim continues when Ra's hands met his ribs, slowly rubbing up and down to calm the goosebumps that had risen. "And I wanted you to... I like when you, grab me and... You pull me up, and you hold me there to... To eat me out. I like when it, it's deep and you.... I like when you put your tongue in and..." Tim's face is inflamed and he's barely getting the words out, but he finishes with a soft "And fuck me with it."  And Ra's is so elated that he presses an obnoxious kiss to his Detectives throat before doing as he is told.

Pulling those svelte hips towards his face, Ra's drags the flat of his tongue up and down Tim's hole, capturing leftover oils and letting it drip down his chin, between Tim's ass cheeks; it creates a sloppy, vulgar sound that has Tim throbbing, trying to turn and look at what's happening behind him. He's panting, too close to release for this to last much longer; Ra's had drawn this out and Tim doesn't think he'll be lasting much longer. Ra's arms were locked around Tim's upper thighs, cementing his hips at Ra's face and he uses this to his full advantage, as he was ordered to do. Ra's laves over Tim's hole until the skin is puffy and red once more, swollen and sensitive; only then does Ra's bury his tongue as deeply as he could. Licking, sucking and fucking him as hard as he could, feeling his whole body give in to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. He devours his Detective, swallows the cries and quells the tremble in his muscles as he cums, overstimulation and pain all overwhelming him. It's long, drawn out and he begs as he cums; for what, neither of them can really know. The voice is broken, the pleas empty but heavy.

Tim's upper body drops and Ra's has to grabble for him so he doesn't topple over the side of the couch. He out cold, trembling and his cock already softening against his belly. Ra's hums, maneuvers himself and the limp body so Ra's is kneeling next to Tim, stretched out and arms pressing against his chest. Ra's hums lightly to himself as he undoes the complex knots, soothing the inflamed skin with his thumb. Ra's felt something he hasn't felt in a long while, if ever; it's similar to when he's slain a bothersome foe, or something he's work for years on finally pays off. But it's better, more elated, higher; it makes Ra's feel like he's already conquered the world, as if he holds the universe in his palm.

He carries Tim to their shared bath and lays the Detective against his chest, gently working salves into his injuries and petting at his hair. Contentedness wasn't in Ra's deck of cards, domesticity didn't suite him well, the Demons Head had no time or place for simplicity. But, still.

This does feel rather nice. 

The manor was always large, too large for the amount of people it housed. Alfred had had thought this when Martha and Thomas first hired him on, and he thinks of this now; as he prepares his boys breakfast and checks his ingredients for restock. It's late, or too early, four in the morning and they'll be herding themselves in through their Cave, bloody and bruised and Alfred predicts a handful of stitches in his near future. Nice hot coffee, waffles with bacon paired alongside eggs were all plated and ready, settled carefully on the well polished trolly. He will ensure they are fed, tend to them and try to heard them to bed, as he has been doing the entirity of his employment with the Wayne's.

But the air about them is different, now; strained, between each of them. Master Bruce is continuing as always, plunging himself into finding his missing son as he prowls the darkened rooftops of Gotham. Exhausting each and every resource, stretching himself to the ends of the earth to find his boy. But Ra's was cunning, had planned ahead; many things have been moved around or destroyed since Bruce last knew, his information on Ra's and his whereabouts has become glaringly outdated and right now they were all out of their depth. Batman has been more vicious, brutal with his arrests and take-downs, breaking jaws and shattering femurs. He doesn't talk about it, never would but seeing him go through this all over again pulls at Alfred's heart. Sorrow soaks these halls, saturates the atmosphere until you can smell it; over the kevlar and latex, of course. He's fixed on what he did wrong in the moment, and not what he did that lead to it's possibility in the first place; like every time he's lost a child, driven his loved ones away. But it's not his position to correct them, only to care for and support them with whatever they ask of him.

Richard is barely ever home anymore, his guilt and the empty suit hanging in a glass case acted as a strong deterrent for the eldest son. He's just as grief stricken as his father, just as horrified that their Red Robin was gone, gone from the Manor, gone from the streets; from Gotham. From home. Richard has been staying in Blüdhaven or with the Titans, helping to lead them in their friends absence and expanding their strength to hunt the immortal down. All dead ends, all exhausted parties have started wearing their nerves thin. If he was home he was snide, snarky but with a bitter touch to each word that made them feel like flesh wounds. He's angry and pent up, chasing down danger just to make himself feel like he's earning what he deserves, and it's going to send Alfred into an early on-set heart attack at this point. Richard is burying himself in his sorrow just as his mentor does, refuses to resurface unless he feels he deserves it; and they never think they do.

Jason hasn't been home since two days after Tim had left, had exited the Cave with a crackling scream of how his father let another one go, how he always sits by and lets his own children be stolen, taken; killed. Alfred knows he didn't mean it, deep down; he knows he's feeling all kind of emotions regarding the disappearance of Red Robin. He's been ignoring calls and evading contact, making himself as scarce as possible; only to them, of course. Criminals have been dropping left and right and Alfred contest that this is the safest Gotham has been in a long, long time. It's just too bad this is all stemming from a missing boy. Alfred can only do what he does best, and piece them together day by day.

Alfred has made it down the stairs, trays placed before each of his boys and he's already over Bruce's shoulder, hovering forcefully until his presence is acknowledged. "Yes, Alfred?" Batman responds and Alfred will have none of this; he's done for the night, Batman has no place here right now. "Well, Master Bruce, I must implore you to eat while I tend to your wounds so you may go to bed uninhibited." His fingers still over the keyboard and Alfred tilts his eyes downwards at his ward, watches as he translates what exactly Alfred means. He means, 'I'm going to feed you and take care of your stupid ass, then send you to bed.' Bruce growls and Alfred raises an eyebrow at him, a corner of his upper lip turning down with his own displeasure at the noise. Damian had already changed, loose sleep pants and a grey sweater and he's hovering, waiting and watching what his father does. He would never admit that he want's to follow him, want's to copy him. He's a child, a young boy and he want's to imitate his father; lord help him if he find some young villain to end up with.

Alfred's blood pressure couldn't handle that, and as he watches his ward skulk to their changing area, he looks at their youngest evenly. "And will you be heading to bed yourself, Master Damian?" The child scoffs with a nasty twist to his lips, and answers "Not until I can ask father something; I will wait until you have tended to his wounds and pose my query then." Alfred bows to him and turns, preparing the medical bed with sutures, needles, antiseptics and all of his other necessary tools. The military had trained him well, and he finds comfort in the routine motions he's perfected in a lifetimes worth of living. He gracefully shucks his overcoat off and drapes it on the empty medical tray to his side. Within the near seven months of Red Robins disappearance, Alfred had become less of a care taker and more of an at-home doctor; the amount of wounds these boys come home with is immeasurable. 

Bruce walks back into their main room and lays down on the bed, squinting his eyes in an attempt to evade the blinding light above him. Alfred only lays a hand on his chest and slides his plate towards him. Damian is still hovering, watching as his father eats his meal and discusses his current objectives with Alfred while a needle is strung through his open wounds. "Ivy has been essentially cornered, I'm sure we'll get to her by the end of the week. and Joker's still in confinement, with his security on max the past seven months he wont be getting out anytime soon. Freeze is still loose, but he's going to end up leaving a trail for us somewhere; he always does. I'm still in contact with Superman about Red Robin's whereabouts. I'm positive we're close. Martian Manhunter is off world as of now, but once he's back in the hemisphere I'm sending him out to hunt, too. With his capabilities, there'll be no where to hide." 

Alfred nods and listens, doesn't mention how they've all been looking for months, too long for there to be any excuse as to why he hasn't been found. He's gone, as if he was never there in the first place; but his absence has left a gaping hole, an empty pit that everyone has been trying to ignore, with varying degrees of failure. It's impossible, of course, and the pull this void has is going to consume them all. The one source they all used, for information or support or just a willing shoulder, is no longer there. It jars them all, even still, that his com will ring if called, as if he's left it somewhere on charge, like he'll pick it up at any moment. Bruce has been paying for his rent and down payments, and he'll never admit the reason he still pays his phone bill is so that when he calls, at least there's a voicemail to greet them. "If you have this number you know it's important; say what's necessary and I'll get back to you. If it's D; no, I'm good. If this is B, I'm sure I have a back-up file of whatever you need on the computer. Trust me, it's there. Jay, I don't care." A high pitched beep, and silence. 

Alfred is almost finished with the large gash along Bruce's bicep when he notices movement out of the corner of his eye; it's close, too close and his eyes blink upwards for a quick moment while he ties off a stitch. Damian is there, right next to his discarded coat with a neatly folded paper in his hand. He holds it delicately, between three fingers as he flips it one way, then another. His eyes are simply curious at first, and Alfred takes this moment to save it, keep this from all unfolding beyond his control.

"Master Damian!" Alfred doesn't ever holler, or raise his voice; but the soft lit to it is gone, his tone is harsh and unwavering. The boy jumps and Alfred feels a disgusting lurch of regret in his gut; but this is the only way to go about this. Besides, there is a tiny lesson to be learned from this, no matter how small of an excuse it may be. "Has no one told you it is rude to rifle through peoples belongings? What right have you to handle my clothing?" Alfred begins removing the medical gloves  he's donned and Bruce watches, silent with his mug of coffee frozen to his lips; Alfred has never spoken to Damian like that before. Bruce, sure; plenty of times, he was a nightmare child. But he always enforced a gentle hand with Damian, always insisted and said that if violence and harsh words had worked on him before he'd be picture perfect by now.

But Damian still unfolds and reads the letter, and Alfred has no time to stop him, because he's still a thirteen year old boy; he will find ways to rebel. Damian reads, his eyes quickly scanning over the words and he's read it all before Alfred can rush to get to him. Damian's eyebrows furrow and he snaps his head up to look Alfred in the eyes, mouth snarling as he shouts "You've had a letter from Timothy this whole time!?" Alfred is looking into this young boys eyes, filled with betrayal and anger and sadness, unwilling to express he misses the older boy but still being pulled into that same void they all feel, nonetheless. And Alfred can do nothing else but nod, his spine straight as always but it felt so heavy, guilt encompassing him as he looks at the young boys feet before nodding. His ears pick up the shuffle behind him, the clank of silverware hitting a plate; Alfred goes to stop him because he shouldn't be getting up, his wound's aren't fully stitched up yet. But the moment he turns around little bare feet rush their way up to their computer.

By the time Alfred has laid Bruce back down, speaking to him in a hushed voice that everything will be explained momentarily, Damian has pulled his other two brothers into a call. He's speaking, very hurriedly, into a comm. "Alfred has word from Timothy. No, I don't know when- I don't know! Ask Alfred those questions yourself why don't you! Be here in fifteen minutes, or I will end you." Then he hangs up, very brisk and final. The sound of static across the comm's speaker rings deafeningly through the hollow cave. Alfred has a fire on his hands, everything could fall apart if he doesn't explain this oh-so-very delicate situation. He feels both of his boys eyes on him, knows the others will be here in less than ten minutes with a flurry of questions and demands and heartbreaks; he can explain it. Tell them it was delivered by hand, by someone Timothy clearly trusts, sent only to him to read but Alfred knows it's not enough.

They have worried about this boy for months, have dedicated hundreds of hours just to tracking them down and now Alfred has to go into detail of how he had received this letter, what it means and why exactly it was only sent to him. Bruce is frozen, his face a concoction of shock and deep betrayal; his son, his missing child has communicated with someone in his closest circle and he was told nothing. It's not like Alfred managed it easily, or without heartache; quite the opposite, actually; he felt horrible every time Bruce spoke of the boy, every time he mentioned the man hours he's put into tracking Timothy down.