Updated 06/20/2017
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To be honest, this was the last thing Tim had expected… that after all this time, after being back for so long, that this was the reason behind everything… behind all the anger, the fits of rage, the panic.
He sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as his ribs protested as he was pressed harder against the parapet, arms pinned behind him, with no chance of budging.
The so called fits of pit rage? A theory. One Bruce had been so very, very wrong about… the man had not even been close.
Jason's breath was hot at his ear, the man panting as he clawed at his front, nails raking over the kevlar lining his chest as he fumbled to dislodge the catches of his cape. Tim squirmed, trying anything, and everything to get his arms free, even if only just a moment. But the effort was wasted. The grip was ironclad.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Tim could not help but wonder how the man had survived Arkham in his condition, especially if he became how he was at present if he neglected his needs. Clearly there was more going on behind those closed doors than they ever could have imagined if such things were being handled, without their knowledge, under their very noses. But that was an issue to address at a later time. If of course he survived.
The sound of the clips popping broke him out of his thoughts, and he stiffened as his cape slipped and fell to the ground, pooling at his feet.
Jason groaned, quite nearly a growl, as he reached up around his neck, slipping his fingers beneath the kevlar, probing at the lining, until he found what he was searching for. Without much warning, the cold night air hit him in the chest as the front of the suit fell open, unzipped to bare his flesh. Tim could not help the panicked squeak that broke free of his lips as Jason's hand returned to his throat, the wide expanse of it covering him, squeezing with pulsing movements.
"J-Jason… please? You don't… you don't want to do this-ngh!" Tim was cut off as the man's hand clenched tightly around his windpipe, cutting off the flow of air.
Tim bucked backwards frantically, eyes wide as he struggled against the man's solid grip, and Jason hissed into his ear.
Then all at once he was released. The hand gripping his throat retreated, his arms were suddenly free, and as he drew in deep gulps full of air. But before he could move, break away, do little more than breathe, he was thrust back against the stone, air leaving his lungs once more at the sharp collision of his back, and he cried out against his will at the rough contact.
Jason was upon him once again, pinning him by the shoulders against the solid ledge, looming over him with eyes far too dark… black, and wide, unshielded by helmet or mask. The man raked his nails over Tim's chest with his free hand, the first time Tim could ever recall seeing them gloveless since Jason's revival, and he sucked in a sharp breath. The amount of scaring on his fingertips was almost as alarming as the sharpness of his nails, nails that couldn't possibly be there on a normal day, not with the leather normally covering them. The hand lingered as it rose higher, petting at his jaw, thumb nail digging at his bottom lip, and Tim hissed as he felt it split down the center and a warm rush of liquid dribble down. He squeezed his eyes shut as the wound pulsed and tingled, the dull thrum of pain surfacing as the seconds passed. Clearly a poor idea, letting his guard down, even for the briefest of moments as Jason in that moment had lunged forward. Tim's eyes snapped open as he felt the tongue on his chin. He watched in half horror, half intrigue as the man lapped up the flowing stream of crimson seeping from the slice, as Jason inched upward, and swiped that tongue across his lips.
He could feel his body betray him as he shuddered within Jason's hold, and he knew the man had felt it when the whine slipped free of Jason's throat, and quite suddenly the man was sucking at his lip, tonguing at the slit.
Tim gasped at the feeling. He could feel the flesh swell with the pressure, with the agitation Jason's tongue caused the wound he himself had created, and he shoved roughly against the man's chest attempting to dislodge him with no avail.
When Jason did finally pull away, it was merely to change location, moving to nuzzle at his neck, breath tickling Tim's ear once more. Tim swiped his own tongue over his lips, cringing at the coppery residue, and winced as the swollen flesh protested at the touch.
He pounded his fists against Jason's chest, thrashed his legs about, and squirmed beneath the grip on his shoulders as he resumed pleading now that his mouth was no longer occupied.
It fell on deaf ears, and Tim could not even be sure that Jason understood him in his bloodlust state, noting that the man had yet to speak, only having uttered the few feral sounds that had broken free over the course of this encounter.
He was beyond terrified, wishing he had simply taken Leslie's advice to heart, and had hung up his cape for good. He had known that continuing his vigilante work would kill him, that without his spleen it would be a sure thing and in the near future if he wasn't incredibly diligent and proactive, but he never would have guessed that it would be Jason- at least not like this, that would do him in…
He could feel Jason's heated breath against his throat, the man's nose nudging against his carotid, and his stubble grazing against his clavicle. He could feel his own pulse skyrocket with the knowledge of what was coming, and suddenly it was hard to breathe, the panic welling up in his chest so severely that it physically hurt.
It would only take one bite, that he was convinced, regardless of how the virus worked. It was always a virus, and his immune system was shot, even with the plethora of pills he took each day. This would be it.
Except… he had already had Jason's mouth, his saliva, on his lips mingling with his blood, and he felt no different. Perhaps it really was solely within the fangs? It was a longshot, that he knew, but it was better than simply submitting and accepting his fate.
He slid his hand down Jason's side, gasping as the man practically purred at his touch, and he flushed deeply as he fumbled at the man's thigh, unlatching pouches, and rummaged through them.
He felt Jason's mouth open against his throat, and his hot, slick tongue brush against his flesh, and knew that if he was going to act, it would have to be then.
He clamped his fist down, whimpering as the kriss he had located sliced through his palm as though it were butter, and blood oozed from the wound. Jason's grip on his shoulder tightened, jaw snapping shut as he inhaled sharply, and Tim dropped the knife to the ground.
He bit his swollen lip as he shoved against Jason's chest with his uninjured hand, and was somewhat surprised when the man budged slightly, just enough for him to slip the other hand up in front of him, directly into Jason's line of sight.
His offer was not turned down.
Jason snatched him by the wrist with no hesitation, and in a flash had Tim's palm pressed against his mouth, lapping and sucking as Tim watched with lidded eyes.
Tim wasn't sure how he should feel about this… about this new development in the man before him.
He knew that this in no way meant that he would make it out of this alive, that he could very well be only buying himself time, and he knew that he should not be relishing in each stroke of Jason's tongue, or the grind of the firm thigh between his legs, but he could not help the pants that left his lips.
He hadn't even realized that he'd begun clinging to the man's jacket with his free hand.
Nor that he had wrapped a leg up around his hip.
And he surely could not say whether or not it was of his own free will, or if he was under Jason's influence, because honestly? Had Jason ever pinned him as such under any other circumstances, without intent to maim him, he'd have probably put up very little fight.
Because… Jason.
Once upon a time, Jason had been everything, and that had never quite left him, even after all the man had put him through.
But, you know, vampires. He had seen enough movies to know that sometimes their victims just melted into their embraces.
And as the minutes rolled on, or so Tim could only assume as time seemed to be passing unbearably slow, he was surprised to find that Jason's eyes were no longer black as coals and the teal blue was gradually starting to resurface.
He was even more surprised when Jason released his hold, and lay pressed and panting against his chest for a time…
But most surprising was when Jason pushed himself up and met his gaze, a most horrorstruck look upon his face as he looked down at the scene before him, and then… he bolted, leaving Tim able to do little more than watch his form retreat into the shadows.
He sunk to the ground, legs giving out as he shook, and clutched his injured hand to his chest as he let the shock roll over him.
It was well over an hour before Tim managed to compose himself enough to move from that spot, zip his suit, and secure his cape. He bandaged his hand, now crusted over with dried blood, and did not even bother trying to locate his gloves, or his cowl that had been ripped off earlier in the night before he made the long trek home.
He stripped as he stepped into his bathroom, not bothering to tuck the pieces together into a pile as he stumbled across the room, and into the shower. He ignored the sting of the water against the scratches, against his lip, and his hand as he washed the blood and dirt away from his skin.
And as he slid into bed, wrapped tightly within a fluffy robe, he knew that this would not be the last of this…whatever it was, even if he chose right then to put 'Red Robin' away for good.
Because Tim knew… and Jason was not one to leave that alone.
He slept fitfully that night, a miracle in itself that he managed it at all, mostly as a result of the blood loss and sheer exhaustion.
The whole ordeal repeated itself in his mind, over, and over again.
It wasn't until the scene ended differently that he awakened, his body slick with sweat, heart thudding against his ribcage.
Afterwards, he could not will himself back to sleep, for "Be my Robin" kept echoing in the back of his mind, and he could not stop staring at his now un-bandaged hand…
A hand that only had the faintest of scars lingering to prove that it had ever been injured at all.