Work Text:
You are . . . Tim.
Your name is Timothy Drake.
You have a burn on the back of your neck. There are scars up and down your left forearm, a mostly scarred over gash on the outside of your right. There is a scar in your gut, from a sword that nearly killed you.
There is a soft cock in between your legs.
You know these things about yourself, but this is not what your body looks like. Your arm is smooth, your body is intact. There is a hole between your legs.
Your body is not yours and neither is the place you live. Silk flicks along your ankles as you move. A bathroom, with soaps you would never pick out. A wall of paintings, some so old they’ve started to crack. Paper and a pencil. There are words written in what is not your hand.
Stay strong, Tim.
Your head hurts. You wrote that message to yourself, you know that. Ra’s would never. The servants are not allowed to be seen.
This is a terrible place to be. You feel it in your bones and in the space beyond your memory.
How did I get here?
You were taken.
Oh, of course. You remember now. Ra’s al Ghul. A particular kind of fear. A stronger kind of determination.
He walks in, after you sit down. He frowns at the paper and folds it with succinct motions of his fingers, pressing it into his robes. “Hello, Timothy.”
“Hello,” you say. You shouldn’t be glad for the company. You hate him, you’re reminded. His cape billows behind him.
Ra’s sits down next to you, and his weight makes the bed tilt down towards him. You resist gravity, pressing your palms to the bed to keep yourself upright.
He puts a hand over your stomach. “You will make a wonderful mother, arossa.”
Your head buzzes, and you fall up.
“And what’s your name?” he murmurs. His breath smells sweet, but his eyes are a sickly green.
“’M not telling you.” You curl up against the headboard, eyes narrowed. You lean back. Your body is clunky, too-big, like you’re on stilts but instead of just your legs it’s all of you.
“Oh?” He takes off his shirt. He has a lot of hair on his chest. (Ew.) “You’re not even going to tell your husband your name?”
“You’re my husband?” You pause. “Don’t I have to wait until I’m grown up to have a husband?”
“Not when you’re married to me,” he says. He’s taking off his pants now. You cover your eyes and look away.
“Why are you . . .”
A hand grabs your wrist. It’s peeled off of your eyes until you look up at him. “We’re married. That means we take our clothes off together.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then I’ll do it for you,” he says smoothly. He sits down. You fall into his arms as the bed tilts towards him. “Put your hands up.” A pause; a gentler voice. “My name is Ra’s. Ra’s al Ghul. I’m going to take care of you. You’re my wife.”
You look at his face, but not at his . . . below any of that. He pushes your wrists up and pulls on the dress. You have to shift to get it off. Your stomach is tight.
It’s cold without a dress on. With just the small slip under it.
“I don’t . . .”
He kisses you. Not like you see other parents kissing their children. Like you see other parents kissing other parents, when they think nobody is watching. His tongue is between your teeth, his hand pulling your head back. You struggle against him but it doesn’t end for too long. You try to breathe in. He’s so close to your face.
“You are beautiful, arossa,” he murmurs. “No matter which part you are. What’s your name?”
You push on his shoulders but even though you’re bigger than you should be you’re still too small.
“And how old are you?”
You look at him stubbornly.
His hands are so big. Fingers thread through your long hair, a thumb on your cheek. “You’re so very young, aren’t you? Little girls dream of their weddings. I’m very sorry you weren’t there for yours.”
“Was I in a pretty dress?” you ask. You don’t know if it matters. His hand is on your hip. But it’s under the slip. People don’t touch you there.
“The most beautiful,” Ra’s murmurs. He kisses you again, on the neck. You can feel his teeth. You squirm. You’re naked now, on the bottom half. He’s pushing you against the pillows. Is this what people do when they’re married?
“Shhh,” he says into your ear. “I’m going to make you feel good. Just relax.”
You try to do what he says but you can’t. He’s too big to move. His fingers are between your legs.
“Please don’t—”
His fingers are inside you. In a place where you knew that . . . that it could go, but . . .
Ra’s kisses you again.
No! Stop it!
You fight against him but all your hands do are claw at his chest. They leave long, red scrapes. He doesn’t move. The thing between his legs is bigger now.
You know what it is. It’s his penis.
It hurts. He presses his hand over your mouth. You can taste snot and tears. You can’t beg him.
Make him stop. Make it stop.
He’s hurting you.
It tears you open. It shouldn’t be able to fit but it does. You try to scream.
“Shhh,” Ra’s murmurs. “Relax.”
You try to kick but you can’t. His breath is on your forehead. You can smell it. You choke on your tears, sputtering and half-breathing.
He thrusts again. He’s over you, on top of you. You scream. You’re underwater. It hurts less than it could.
He said it would feel good.
He is a liar.
You turn to the next page. It’s poetry. Arabic doesn’t come as easy to you as it did minutes ago, so you have to squint at it and translate it back to English in your head.
You can't find Tim anywhere. He hates the poems too much, the romance and sexuality of the book Ra’s has given you to read.
Ra’s would be offended if you didn’t read it. He would not say it out loud but would narrow his eyes ever so slightly and his voice would be cold and all of you would be more likely to be hurt by his rage. Spurning his gifts does not end well. Nobody feels like fighting him today.
Ra’s says something. You look up, processing the words. Arabic. You call for your partner but he’s nowhere to be found in the depths of your brain. You’re left responding in English.
“It’s very . . . poignant. It paints a picture.”
Ra’s hums slightly, turning a page of the Odyssey in its original Greek. “Who am I speaking to now?”
You feel something in you go cold. “Tim. I mean—I don’t know what you’re—”
He looks up at you from the book with a short movement. It closes, firmly put on the table. You see a gleam of danger in his eyes and open your mouth to apologize. The backhand hits you across your left cheek.
You reel, swallowing blood. The side of your face throbs as you look up at Ra’s. He leans over the table, all of his focus bearing down on you. It hurts to turn back towards him. One of the rings must have cut your cheek, because you feel something dripping.
Ra’s reaches out. You flinch, but he only gently wipes away the blood. “Do not lie to me,” he says softly. “I will ask you again: who am I speaking to?”
Tim speaks Arabic to Ra’s. Fuck’s sake. Fear makes your hands shake, so you hide them behind the book. He isn’t supposed to tell you and Tim apart, that’s the point. You narrow your eyes back at him, considering. Your cheek aches. “I’m . . . part of Tim. I think. I don’t know my name.”
“Fascinating,” Ra’s murmurs. “Would you like one?”
You press your lips together and shrug. You don’t want to risk his ire again, but you don’t want him to give you a name.
“Are you a boy?” Ra’s asks. “Or a girl?”
“Boy.” That’s an identity you had to fight for, and you want him to know it. A breath. “Tim isn’t coming back. Not today.” You can’t have him, you think spitefully. “Just . . . if you wanted to know.”
“It is of no consequence.” You’re glad he’s not mad but you also wish he were. “You are all Timothy Drake. All mine.” His voice makes you shudder. “I know you believe you are sheltering him. But someone has to be here with me. And I intend to have all of you—each and every one of you—as my own.”
His hand rests on your cheek. You try to flinch away but his fingers tighten in your hair. “You are all beautiful, in your own way.”
“We share the same body.”
He smiles fondly. “It was not only your body which attracted me to you, Detective.”
Your eyes are as cold as you can make them. “You hurt Birdie.”
Ra’s considers. “Was that her name?”
You twitch. Bad idea. You gave away more information about her - information Ra's will use to hurt you all.
“She thinks of herself very much as a woman,” Ra’s muses. “Is that who you were in your childhood, Timothy? A little girl?”
Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.
“Leave her alone,” you say, icy and stiff.
“But she doesn’t truly want me to. She craves attention. Approval. Isn’t that right?”
“Not from you.”
“Then from whom?” Ra’s leans in, tilting his face to meet with yours. “Nobody appreciates you. Not your parents, who ignored you. Not the Bat, who died and left you all alone. Not the people you call your family and friends, who abandoned you.”
Your jaw works. No more giving him ammunition. “We survived our parents. We’ll survive you.”
“You don’t need to, arossa.” You can smell his breath. You hate him. “There is nothing to survive. Your parents ignored you, neglected you. I will do no such thing.”
“I—”
He stops you with a finger to your lips. “Shhh. I don’t wish to punish you again. Your visage is too beautiful to bruise more than once.” He cradles your face. “I will give you all the affection you ever deserved, Timothy. That is what will make you mine.”
He kisses you deeply.
You scream and scream inside your mind.
You hit the marble floor with an audible thump. The gauze makes a scratching sound on your thighs and ass as you move back. You push yourself to your feet.
“Timothy,” Ra’s says coolly, “come back here.”
You step back, bare feet cold on the floor. Dozens of eyes watch you. “I’m not going to play along. Not again. Not after what you—”
Ra’s stands in front of you. His cape is perfectly adjusted on his shoulders, every hair in place. “I don’t have time for your tantrum.”
“A tantrum is when a child doesn’t get what he wants. Like you.”
His eyes flare. You duck his backhand. You don’t expect the leg trying to sweep your feet out from under you and stumble backwards. You regain your bearings enough to jump back, near to the wall in this small space.
“You should know better than to fight me like this,” Ra’s says coldly.
“Fuck you,” you snarl. “You’re a sick, disgusting old corpse and—”
He steps forwards to hit you again; you duck—a feint. Fingers dig into your wrist hard enough to bruise. Ra’s whips you around with impossible strength and you slam into the long wood table with a crack. Pain shoots through your body. Ra’s leans over you. His palm is on your jugular, pushing down. Your fingernails dig into the skin of his arms, enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t flinch.
“How dare you disrespect me like this in front of my council.” His face twists into something monstrous. His eyes seem to glow with rage. “You are an ungrateful child.” His eyes really are glowing—green, a flare that grows more intense. The fingers on your neck constrict. Your stomach plunges and eyes widen as the fingers on his other hand push into your hair.
You brace in horror for the snap of your own neck.
His hands loosen. “No. Not even this part of you is afraid of pain.” His eyes are pitiless. Where did the fondness go? “You have humiliated me. If you choose to behave like a child, so be it.” One of his lackeys hands him a knife. You stiffen as it nears your body but all it does is slit through your clothes, barely leaving blood behind.
The dress slides off of you with the soft noise of fabric.
You know people are watching you. You can’t see them, staring up at the ceiling.
You can’t let this happen.
You push up at his shoulders, rolling to the side across the table and scattering paper. You’re face to face with someone’s chest. One arm is trapped under you. The other moves—
Pressure on your upper arm. A pop. You scream with the pain. Dislocated. Okay. You can handle that. You just have to use your other—
“You foolish, stupid boy,” Ra’s snarls. “Still you dare to defy me. Me. After all the hospitality I’ve shown you.”
How dare he. “You—You r—ra—”
He yanks on your arm. You scream again. Your eyes are hot with tears of pain. It takes a few seconds to notice the ropes being tightened around your wrists. Ra’s pushes you forwards across the table, scattering more papers. You’re facing a man’s chest.
“There will be no more words for you,” Ra’s says. Hands pin you down. “You may cry. That is all.”
You open your mouth, trying to work through the pain. Something to say. Maybe if you say something . . .
The hands press down, keeping you pinned to the table. So many eyes. You can see their shadows moving. That’s your body they’re looking down at.
You they’re looking down on.
“You.” Ra’s says. “Keep count. All of you—watch.”
Count of—
The slap of his hand on your ass is sharp in the room. You flinch forwards with a gasp, the tips of your toes almost leaving the floor. He’s—he just—
“One.”
It comes down again. You can feel the rings against your skin.
“Two.” An unfamiliar voice. It’s punctuated by another slap. It sends pain up your body and into your still-dislocated arm.
“Three.”
You open your mouth but there’s no time in between the onslaught. Ra’s is spanking you, over and over. A child.
Your face heats as you squirm, moving through the pain, trying to push yourself forwards. The next strike is harder. The one after that harder still. The noise of pain that passes through your lips makes you bite down.
“Does it hurt, Timothy?” Ra’s asks. You press your face down into the table. They’re all watching you, eyes as heavy as the hands holding you down. This was a meeting. They were supposed to listen to Ra’s but now they’re watching you.
Naked on the table.
He can do whatever he wants and they will not stop him. They will watch and they will see.
“Ten.”
Another spank. Some on your thighs, some further up your ass. Ra’s is relentless. You choke back a sob. You can’t cry. Your face burns. Your body jerks with every hit.
The shadows stand beyond you, looking at you on the table, watching every strike.
“Twenty.”
The tears squeeze out. Tears of pain, you tell yourself, but you know better. The sobs catch in your throat.
They’re all looking at you.
You know some of their names. They know yours.
“Does it hurt yet?” Ra’s asks. His voice is calm and cool. His hand spanks you again, and again. “They’re all here to witness your punishment. Your shame.” He growls the last word. His hand comes down hard.
You try to bury your face in the table. Pain from your arm sends your nerves singing like someone has drawn them tight and plucked them. Spit coats your lips and the wood under them.
The pain doesn’t matter. The pain is always the same. This is you being pushed into the dirt and Ra’s showing you off.
“Thirty.”
Your heat spins. Everything hurts. The sob in your throat breaks free of its confines. The eyes hang heavy, nails digging into your flesh.
Shame hangs over you, your body hot. You can’t cry in front of them. You try to stop degrading yourself but the air in your lungs can’t even be steadied. The sobs tear out of you with every hit. The humiliation burns your blood.
It’s the only thing you can feel, as hot as the tears rolling down your face. You’re pathetic. You shouldn’t be crying. You should have some way to stop this. To work your way out of this.
It stops only on Ra’s’s whim. You look up after the pain has lessened, the incessant tone of the man speaking has gone silent. Two men stand in front of you, clad in expensive robes, watching.
You can’t meet their eyes. You sob again. It’s loud in the small room. You taste snot and blood.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Ra’s says. “But especially to you, my bride. I do not tolerate disrespect.”
You choke on nothing, trying to breathe. Your face is smeared.
The hands press down hard. You scream as your arm is popped back into its socket, pain lessening in one agonizing movement.
Ra’s yanks you off of the table by your hair. You stumble back, legs half-functional. He lets you hang in his hand as you stumble to your feet.
He pushes you to your knees. Your thighs scream with bruises and cuts.
“You will stay there,” Ra’s orders. “Until we are finished.”
You trying to breathe evenly. In and out. Your thighs shake. Your face still burns.
You fall blissfully away.
“Would you like some?” Ra’s asks. You turn your head to see the peaches being offered, and you nod before taking one. The sweetness is overpowering on your tongue, for a few glorious seconds. Your teeth hit the pit with a crack.
“Careful,” Ra’s murmurs, and takes it from your hand. The juice drips down his fingers as he bites into it. He licks his lips, and smiles.
It’s a nice smile.
Fuck Ra’s. I hate him. I hope he chokes on peaches and fucking dies.
He wouldn’t die, you think idly. He wouldn’t stay dead.
“As I was saying,” Ra’s continues softly, “our expedition in Ireland is doing wonderfully.”
What was he saying? The memories don’t come to you this time. You look down at your plate. The peach juice has dripped over half-finished sweet potatoes. It’s just as well, you don’t like sweet potatoes.
“That’s good,” you say vaguely.
“Oh?” Ra’s’s brows raise. You look back up at him. “I thought you would be disappointed. You’re always upset when people are killed, after all.”
Whoops.
“I don’t approve of you killing people,” you snip at him. “You still feel the need to tell me.” A power play. He wants to remind you that you can’t save them. The juice stings in a cut halfway down your hand.
“Are you forgetting to pay attention, Timothy?” Ra’s says. “I don’t want to have to spank you again.”
No. No, no, no. The fear comes from the depths of you, and your hand shakes as you grip a spoon.
You don’t remember that. Did he do that?
“I won’t,” you promise. “I’ll be here.”
Your head hurts.
“And who am I talking to now?” he murmurs.
“I’m not sure,” you muse, and kiss him until you taste the dates by the bed.
Ra’s hooks his fingers into the ropes for better leverage. The other snakes its way up your neck, fingers locked in sweaty hair.
“Sing for me—Timothy,” he murmurs.
You don’t want to, but you do anyways. You suffer this, but you can make it easier on yourself.
Nobody will know if you don’t tell them.
The groans come out of your mouth in stuttered gasps. Ra’s’s cock pushes them out of you. The head brushes up against your womb and against your g-spot; the feeling is overwhelming as it slides in and out.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful like this. Perfect.” Ra’s breathes hard and hot. You twist in your bonds, feeling them chafe against your ankles and wrists. You could get out of it.
But that would cause more pain, not less. So you don’t. Instead you groan with the feeling of Ra’s’s cock and try not to cry.
He comes, yanking your head back and thrusting his length as deep inside your body as it will go. You pant, muscles starting to cramp from being tied in the same place so long.
I’m already pregnant, you think. Just barely enough for it to almost, almost show if you look. Enough to make you nauseous. Someone is screaming; you push them away.
Ra’s stays inside you, petting your hair. It’s been so long. This has been so long. He has to be finished soon. It’s been—how long since his last dip in the pit? Not too much stamina.
“You’re not Tim,” he notes.
“No,” you say.
“So what’s your name?” Ra’s says. His head tilts. This is a way to get him to stop.
“John,” you say. The first name you can think of. Not your name. Your father’s.
“And why are you here, John?”
“I don’t know.” That’s half-true, at least. Ra’s hums.
“It is wonderful to meet you.” As if you want to be here. You wince as he slides out. Come drips down your crack. You try not to squirm. Sweat drips down your back.
Existence drags by. You grit your teeth. It’s you or someone else.
“You don’t enjoy being here.” Ra’s leans back. “Did you choose? Or were you forced?” A pause. “What is it like in your mind, Timothy?”
“I’m not Tim.”
“You’re all Timothy.” Ra’s leans in. “All my beautiful bride. Simply . . . cut into smaller pieces.”
You look away. Ra’s grabs your jaw and pulls you back. “You don’t want to admit it. You might think you’re someone else. But you’re Timothy Drake, trying to hide from me.” You can taste his breath. “Whoever you think you are, whatever you call yourself, you’re mine.”
Is this what the Mask was talking about? Ra’s wants all of you. Ra’s wants to take away who Tim is and he wants to take away who you are, too. He intends to replace it with devotion.
“I belong to me,” you say. You bite your tongue to avoid saying more. You didn’t come here to fight. You came here so that the others can rest.
“No,” Ra’s says. “You don’t.”
You look back at him. You want to say something, but that will get Tim and the others hurt. I’m Dick. Dick Grayson.
“You pretend to obey, but I can see what’s in your eyes,” Ra’s murmurs. He leans in, hand on your hip. Hand on your belly. “You still want to be a hero. You still hate me.”
You look away. This time he lets you.
“You’re not a hero anymore, Timothy.” Dick. “I have defeated you. You were a brilliant vigilante, but that time has come to an end.” He kisses you, warm and deep.
The real Dick wouldn’t have let this happen. He wouldn’t be here.
He wouldn’t be pregnant with Ra’s al Ghul’s child he wouldn’t be . . .
“Don’t be afraid, arossa.” Ra’s smiles fondly. “I love you.”
You look at the board. It’s not a good situation. It’s your fault for not paying enough attention—making moves without thinking about them.
At least it’s not as if it’s unusual for Ra’s to win. He always does, even if you get close at times. It’s hard to go up against a man who’s been playing it for hundreds of years.
“I concede,” you say.
“Truly, Timothy?” Ra’s leans forwards. “You are sure there is no way to win?”
“Yes.” The truth is, you’re too tired to try to find one. You hate yourself for that. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean you’ve given up. It just means you’re picking your battles.
You never used to do that.
“If you believe so,” Ra’s says in a tone that makes it clear he thinks Tim is wrong. A pause. “You seem rather absent minded.”
“I’m fine,” you mutter. You thought that gaps in your memory were going away when you were Robin, but they’ve been getting worse. You don’t know how long you can hide them from Ra’s.
You wonder if he’s drugging you. You’ve tried to avoid any food or drink that comes by him but he owns the ninja. He could be putting things in your drinks just by giving the word.
“There is no need to lie to me about your feelings,” Ra’s says coolly. “I know you well.”
“I’ve just been a little . . . dizzy,” you say. Dizziness is the closest you can get. It’s the aching in your head and the uncharacteristic lack of coordination in your body. Could you even fight him if you had to?
Your own mind is betraying you.
Don’t tell him anything.
Well, you have to tell him something. He doesn’t take no.
“You are no longer permitted to drink alcohol,” Ra’s says. He sounds concerned.
“I know,” you say, and try to keep the bitterness out of your voice.
You look down, and look swiftly back up again to meet Ra’s’s eyes. Your stomach turns. Pregnant.
Your stomach turns some more. You gag inside your mouth.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
The whole time Ra’s stares at you as if he’s worried. As if he’s done nothing wrong. He moves forward. You flinch back, but he grabs your arm to rest his palm against your forehead. “You do not feel overly warm,” he says. “Perhaps fatigue? A passing air?”
You inch back in your chair. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing.”
“Your health is always of primary concern to me, Beloved,” Ra’s says. “It is important. Do not disregard it.”
You scowl. You flatten it out into something more neutral seconds later, but you know he saw it.
“I am aware you do not appreciate my worry,” he says wryly. You hate him for being nice. You hate him for caring at all. The people who care—Kon, Bart, Cassie. People who care about you with no strings attached.
You stand up, a small step past Ra’s, and you flip the chessboard.
It’s not loud. You thought it would be loud. Instead, the pieces fall mutedly to the carpet.
“Are you finished?” Ra’s asks blandly.
You sit back down. “Yes.”
Nothing happened. He didn’t even hit you. He just watched as you got angry.
You’re ineffectual. Pathetic.
You can’t even fight back.
“I hate you.” Your throat is sore. You choke back something. It can’t—
You’re disgusting.
“You will not hate me forever, Timothy.” Ra’s is gentle. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you to him. He smells of expensive tea and incense. “You’re out of sorts. Hormonal and confused.”
He holds you tight. It feels constricting and warm at the same time. You are confused.
This is disgusting. You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you’re doing this. Get away from him. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re pathetic.
You choke on your own fear.
“Shush, darling.” His other arm wraps around you, holding you close. “I won’t ever let you go.”
Your tears are hot on your cheeks.
The ninja walk around below you. They think they’re sneaky—they think they’re alone, but they don’t see you crouching above. You’re secret and hidden. You’re the better ninja.
You had to take off all your noisy jewelry and tie up the stupid dress you were in. Now you crouch in the shadows and think about what the ninja are doing. If you had a camera you could take pictures of them. You don’t have your darkroom anymore. Or your charts.
A new ninja approaches. This one is important—you can tell because of the big cape, a rich green, that spreads out behind him. You know him. He’s been giving you food. You shrink back into the shadows, waiting for him to pass.
He doesn’t. Instead, Ra’s stops and looks up. His eyes are just as green as his cape and they pierce into you. He says something sharp in a language you don’t understand.
He’s not supposed to pay attention. You flinch, hoping he’s lying. You stop breathing.
He repeats it. The voice thrums in your bones. You press yourself against the marble, praying he doesn’t see you.
A pause.
“Timothy. Do you understand me now?”
You peek out again.
“Come down.”
You bite your lip before jumping out, scaling down the stone and hitting the floor. You look up at him, face defiant.
Ra’s tilts his head at you. “You’re hurt,” he says. You look down. Your bare feet were cut on the rock, and blood is smeared on the marble floor. You shrug, smearing the blood on your ankle in an attempt to wipe it off. Ra’s moves forward in a fluid movement, knocking you off your feet and into his arms.
You hiss, grabbing at his arms. They tighten like metal bands around your body as he starts to move. “Be still. You are injured.” You dig nails into him but you have no way of moving. Your breath comes shallow.
Shade, in and out.
In and out. You shiver.
You push yourself away when Ra’s sets you down on a carved wooden table. Ra’s wraps fingers around your ankle to stop you from moving further back. You didn’t realize your legs were that long. You watch as he takes a cloth wet with warm water and wipes away the blood from the cuts.
You wince. “This may sting slightly,” Ra’s says. You bite your lip to stop making noise as you watch him spread a faintly green salve on your cuts. He bandages them. They don’t need that much attention, you think spitefully.
You don’t trust Ra’s. He pays too much attention to you, cares too much about what’s happened to you. It matters to him that you’re hurt.
You wish he would leave you alone to watch ninja.
“You won’t walk on them for a few hours,” he says. “I’ll bring you to sit somewhere.” He regards you. “What do you call yourself?”
You shrug.
Ra’s narrows his eyes. You narrow yours. What does he want from me?
“Answer me,” he says coldly.
You push yourself back, foot aching. You wait a few seconds before answering.
You move your hands in front of your face in the symbol for shade.
“I understand. You do not speak, Shade.” His bright green eyes regard you.
You wish he didn’t speak either. Or do anything else. Why is he bothering you, anyways?
“Why were you hiding in an alcove?”
You glare. “I wanted to be,” you sign stiffly.
“Did you enjoy watching them?” Ra’s muses.
You shrug. You wanted to be left alone. Watching isn’t fun when people know you’re there.
“You’re very good at climbing. You’re very quiet, Shade. You could be a ninja.”
“I already am,” you explain.
“I wasn’t aware.” Ra’s gestures. “You don’t look like one.”
“That’s not my fault!” You sign angrily. “I didn’t have black clothes! Just a dress!”
“I could have one made for you,” Ra’s murmurs. “But you must do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“You must not injure yourself again. And you must stay with me until you can walk again.”
“I can walk,” you sign.
“Until I allow you to walk again. It will be only two hours.”
That feels like a long time. But . . .
“Fine.” You cross your arms.
Ra’s smiles.
You look at the ceiling. The off-white patterns swirl in and out of each other. Your head is light, ready to float away at the slightest disturbance.
“Beloved,” Ra’s whispers. “Timothy. Tim.”
Your eyes ever so slowly shift to him.
“You aren’t allowed to leave,” Ra’s whispers. You can feel him inside you. In and out.
Wet. How long have you been here? You want nothing more than to leave. To go back to sleep.
It would be easier if he would just rape you in your sleep.
Ra’s pulls you forwards. He locks eyes. “It’s only you and me, Timothy. There is nothing you can do to stop that.” Your head is yanked back by your hair so he can mouth at your neck. “You’re going to have our child,” he murmurs, breath burning. “Our children.”
You should be able to cry. Your eyes are still dry. Ra’s is all over you, fingers hot, cock still moving slowly but smoothly in and out of your cunt. He pulls on the chain in between your nipples; you don’t remember having it done but you feel it all the same.
You want to run. To hide. But you’re exposed, every bit of you for Ra’s’s perusal. Completely in the open.
“You’re beautiful when you’re with child. I shall make sure you always are.” Ra’s thrusts deeper. Your hands dig into the sheets. The fabric scrapes against your palms. Ra’s scrapes against your insides, hot and hard and slick.
“I’ll always be here,” he promises. “For all of you.”
It should be a comforting promise.
Instead it makes you want to scream.
There never was anywhere to run.
Ra's feeds you off of his fingers, pushing sweet fruit into your mouth. A ringed hand goes to pick up another piece. His fingertips slip past your lips and you let your tongue run over them.
His brows go up. “Timothy would not let me do this.”
“I am Timothy.” You tilt your head. “One of him. But my name is Queen. Your Queen, Beloved.”
Ra’s traces his fingers down your face, resting lightly on your chin.
“It’s a start,” he whispers. “Beloved.”