Rating: High T

Genre: Horror

Character(s)/Pairing: Robin/Kid Flash

Summary: Robin's out for blood, and he's been waiting so patiently for Wally.

Trigger Warning: Blood, very mild violence, creepy-as-all-get-out!Dick

~ Bonds of Blood ~

A flash of silver in the dark.

Wally's eyes flutter open. A wan yellow light from the floor keeps some of the creeping blackness at bay – a flashlight, probably, strewn carelessly by the bed.

A bed. He wiggles down into the mattress - comfortable, familiar - his bed. His room in Mount Justice. The speedster shifts experimentally, but he can't straighten up - his wrists catch on rough ropes bound to the headboard above him. His lycra costume slides across the sheets smoothly as he bends his legs, but he doesn't get far - his ankles are tied to the far corners of the bed.

Okay, okay.

One deep breath.

Make that two.

Wally strains again and his sides complain. Bruising? Internal bleeding? Whatever had taken him down had been impossibly fast. The speedster couldn't even dodge it, whatever it was. The room is completely silent: not a single soft breath emerges from the darkness beyond him. Alone. The redhead opens his mouth to call for help, but there's that silver flash again.

Wally freezes and lets his eyes adjust. A figure sits – no, perches– on his desk chair. The glow of the flashlight outlines its form from behind; the silver flashes rhythmically as he – she? It?- turns a metal object over and over in its grasp. Holding his own breath, Wally twists just slightly, peering out of the corner of his eye as subtly as he can, trying to sneak a better look without it noticing. It does.

The rustle of heavy cloth, another glint, and now the silver obscures his vision completely and bites into his cheek. Wally hisses against the sting as it draws blood.

Oh God, a butcher knife.

The knife hovers at his cheekbone, and he can see the green of his irises, pupils constricted in fear, reflected dimly in the brushed metal. Each gasp against the pain brings the blade deeper into the cut. He still can't make out the thing braced above him, knees on either side of his hips, free hand over his right shoulder. It smells of metal, molten iron, but waves of ice-cold roll off it and over him. At the handle of the knife, where its fingers brush his face, its skin feels like silken steel.

The knife draws down over his cheek, scraping him so lightly, gently, just enough to abrade the skin, and a small strangled sound escapes the back of Wally's throat. The blade reaches his chin, and the thing peers over it, grin all too bright and familiar. He looks at Wally, overjoyed, like he hasn't seen him in an eternity.

"Robs," Wally chokes in surprise.

Robin tilts his head and examines Wally clinically, running the frosty pad of his calloused finger over Wally's skin where he had made the cut moments before. He draws it away with a frown, rubbing the still damp trickle of blood between his index finger and thumb.

"Already healed," the raven haired boy muses. "Amazing."

He grins as he sucks the liquid from his finger. "Let's fix that."

Almost too quickly for Wally to see, the knife slices across his cheek again, and Wally bites his lip to avoid a panicked cry. Rob's tongue – like melting ice, wet and freezing - trails after the blade, and he laps up the bit of blood that falls from the wound.

"Oh, Oooh," the younger moans in his ear. "Oh God."

A low chuckle. He pulls back a little, knife still poised at Wally's jaw. "Well. Good enough to almost make me believe in one."

Wally snorts. "Haha, okay," he says, his voice shaking only a little, "Great joke, Robs, but Halloween's almost two weeks away."

One long, freezing finger at Wally's lips: "Shhh," he murmurs.

Wally blinks - and then struggles much harder. A lazy, maniacal smile crawls slowly across the brunette's face in response to the speedster's renewed wiggling beneath him. The taller, larger throws his weight to the side, trying to knock his friend off, but it's like hitting a brick wall. The acrobat barely budges.

"You win, dude," Wally growls, panting. "Let me up."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he vibrates against the ropes in an attempt to shred them, and Robin throws his head back, groaning. His face falls forward again with a gasp, eyes glinting behind the mask, mouth in a half "o", dropped open in a wide, sultry smile.

"Mmmmm," he hums. Wally shudders to a stop.

"Robs, Robin." A note of desperation sneaks into the redhead's voice. "What … what are you doing?"

The tip of the knife flies to his windpipe. "I said 'shh', Wally," Robin whispers firmly. "There's time enough for noise later."

He gently turns Wally's face to the left - the blood from the cut wanders down the divot beside Wally's nose and between his lips. It tastes of heat and fear and … something sweet.

Robin drops his head into the crook of Wally's neck and inhales deeply, running his cheek over Wally's freckles and temple up to his hair. On his way back down the side of Wally's face, the speedster feels a tug on his Flash ornament: Robin catches the edge of his jaw on its sharp red point, slicing open a wound of his own. When the brunette presses his freezing lips against the redhead's, his tepid blood joins Wally's on them.

"Has anyone ever told you how good you smell?" Robin asks, smiling into the pressure of his words against Wally's mouth. "Like popcorn. And hot dogs."

He plays with the top edge of Wally's mask with his free hand and threads his fingers through the ginger locks. "Like a night at the movies. Or the amusement park. Like cotton candy."

Their blood trickles its way into the cavern of Wally's mouth, and he tries not to gag. Robin's full weight is pressed against him now, hips against hips, chest against chest. One calloused palms spread against Wally's pecs, knife flat beneath it.

"Mmm. You smell like heat, Wally," Robin continues, "Like red and yellow."

He lets his lips trace over the speedster's chin and down to his neck.

"Like a day at the circus," he whispers.

"Robin," Wally pleads. "Stop, stop. You're sick. Hypo – hypothermia or something. Delusions … uh ... s-s-slower respiration …"

… superspeed. Superstrength. You know, the usual.

"I … we need to get you to the infirm –"

Robin snickers, mouth open against Wally's throat, and the redhead feels the fabric of his uniform around his neck snag. On two tiny, razor sharp points.

Nonono, impossible. Impossible.

"… Dick, please," Wally whimpers thinly.

Robin sits up suddenly. "Yes. I'm going to take off my mask," he announces. He almost sounds like himself. "I want to do this right."

He produces a spray bottle from his utility belt and wets his mask with solvent; the satin fabric falls away and to the side, discarded on the floor. His eyes shine, glossy and bright, almost glowing. At first Wally thinks Robin's irises are solid black, but as the acrobat bends over him, peering at him for his reaction, he sees that the thin lines around the younger's pupils – blown wide in pleasure – are a thick, dark crimson.

Wally panics.

"Oh, nononono." He's pulling against his bonds as hard as he can now. "You're not fucking going all Twilight on me. That movie sucks."

Robin sits back and laughs, giggles echoing off the walls of the small room.

"Oh good, you can still make me laugh. Here I was worried I wouldn't have a sense of humor anymore," he says, smiling. He lets his hands plop back down just beside Wally's hips.

"I love you for that."

Wally sucks in a breath.

The words tumble from his tongue thoughtlessly, casually, like he'd said it everyday of his short life. But the brunette's eyes grow wide, and his mouth drops open in surprise. "Look at that. I said it."

"Huh." Robin hums as he runs his hands up Wally's chest and stretches - haunches back, arms forward - cat-like and grinning. The knife, still gripped loosely in Robin's fist, stops just at his throat.

"Oh, it's just so nice to be honest, isn't it Wally? Life's so short. Too short to not be." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "Kind of ironic how much easier it is, I guess, now that life's infinitely long. To be totally ceitful."

"Ro - Robs this isn't really you - it's not hon -"

"Isn't it?" Robin rolls next to Wally on his side, one leg still draped lightly over him. He lazily drags the butcher knife over Wally's chest and down his thigh ... The cloth starts to shred and split beneath the pressure, but it doesn't quite reach Wally's shivering skin beneath it.

"Don't worry. You'll get it. You'll underst ... No, way more than understand. You'll overstand soon enough." As Dick giggles inanely, Wally swears under his breath and stares heavenward for some sort of help.

Robin lets his gaze wander up Wally's face. "Those eyes, though."

He slides the knife under the bottom of Wally's mask covering his cheekbones and carefully slices away the fabric. "I'll miss the green. A lot. My favorite color. Did you know that, Wally?"

The speedster swallows and shakes his head.

"Man, I never told you anything. I regret it. Well, this is the first time I've admitted that, so I guess it's just a 'gret' for now."

Robin frowns. "Don't look so scared, Wally. Don't worry. It doesn't hurt that much. And it feels so nice after it's over."

Dick shakes his head in wonder as he carefully, gingerly, saws away at the cuts in Wally's costume. "It's almost … odd, how little I want to hurt you."

The lycra begins to break and curl back on itself: a rift down the center of his costume and a cut up his thigh. Perspiration pools in the ridges between his abs. Robin runs a frigid digit over them and tastes it.

"Hmm. Yeah, fear. People taste more delicious, though, when they're afraid. Er, that's what I hear." Robin bites his lip, almost shyly. "I mean, I wouldn't know yet. You're ..."

A strange bluish tinge flows to his cheeks. "You're my first."

Geezus.

"Rob - Dick," Wally whispers. "Who ... who did this to you?"

Robin is braced above him again, finger to his lips. "Nah ah ah," he scolds. "You might get jealous. I sort of inadvertently pressed the issue, anyway. Nothing personal; she had no choice."

Dick taps the knife lightly against Wally's insignia. "But I do, and that's what matters. And of course -" his teeth flash white, silver in the darkness "- I choose you, Pikachu."

Their leader chews on his lip shyly again with one razor sharp canine. It pierces his lip - solid as steel - effortlessly. A drop of blood slides over his silken skin and falls from his chin to Wally's mouth. Robin smiles and bends down to gently kiss the cool, red liquid away with one - two - three- soft caresses. Wally's breath hitches as they become successively more open, and by the last Robin is running the tip of his tongue along the line between Wally's lips. The redhead purses them tightly though, and his eyes shutter closed, brows knit with dread.

Dick's cheshire grin fades into a pout.

"Wally, aren't you glad? I passed over more than a few people waiting for you to get back." He sounds almost sad. "Don't you want it to be me?"

He slices open the rest of Wally's mask, and dropping to one elbow, leans into Wally's ear.

"Don't you like me, Wally?"

The redhead shivers and shuts his eyes: yesNO ... yes. Fuck. Wally bites his tongue.

"Just n-not sure I can take an eternity of wordplay, Robs."

"Oh?" says Robin as he lets his hands slip under Wally's rent yellow top and drift south.

Nononono, Wally flushes bright red and tries to squirm away from Dick's fingers. The brunette's lips twist into a smug smile.

"Hmmm, seems you like me at least a little bit …" Another wicked flash of bright enamel. "And - commando. I win the bet with Zee."

He folds his hands around Wally, who hisses at the icy touch. "Can't say I'm surprised."

Wally isn't sure which part of his previous sentence he's referring to.

Dick lazily traces a thumb up and down Wally's length, who's feeling dizzy and lightheaded, vibrating weakly, still going through the motions of getting away. The acrobat buries his head in Wally's shoulder and slices open the rest of his shirt.

"You smell sweet and savory now," he says softly, nuzzling Wally's bared neck. "I probably won't run across that particular combination often."

His friend's teeth scrape lightly over his pulse point and the speedster cringes. Robin chuckles.

"Your neck?" he scoffs. "Well, traditional, I guess, but sort of pedestrian, don't you think?"

The black cape rustles as Robin hops lightly back up on Wally's hips. "Hmm. So anyway, what do you think we should do first?"

Staring thoughtfully at the wall, Dick absentmindedly taps the flat of the blade against his chin. "I know! We should find Roy. I'll let you turn him!"

He turns back down to his friend, gleeful: "Or, oooh, we could race. How fun would that be? See if you can turn him before I kill him."

"K-kill..?" Wally chokes. "Why ... Why would you want to kill Roy?"

Dick shrugs carelessly. "No real reason. Makes things more interesting, right? What fun is a race if you already know the outcome? Though now that you mention it ..." The raven haired boy's eyebrows knit and his expression darkens.

"... I wonder if your powers will carry over. Will you still be that much faster than the rest of us?" An eyelid twitches, and the knife flies to his throat again before Wally can blink. "That would be kind of annoying. And here I thought I'd finally caught up."

Wally vibrates a little from the strain of holding his jugular away from the knife's edge. Robin sighs and tosses the knife away; it lands just above the speedster's head. The redhead slowly twists his wrists, and he can just barely brush the unfinished wooden handle with his fingertips.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Dick murmurs, letting his forehead drop to Wally's warm chest, damp with sweat.

He slides his fingers into the grooves along Wally's ribs, and Wally shivers as goosebumps spring up around them. His best friend's fingers are frigid, but Wally's running so hot right now they're a welcome relief.

Almost almost.

Robin drags his forehead, his fingers, his lips down Wally's torso, and the goosebumps follow. A soft, wet, freezing, kiss, and Wally's desperately chasing away a fog overwhelming him as his fingers scrabble for the knife.

"Wally, you're sososo warm," Dick moans, cheek pressed against his abs, fingertips reverently tracing the ridges of each muscle.

Not Rob not Rob notRobnotrobnotrob.

"You almost burn."

Wally blinks away a drop of sweat that drips into the corner of his eyes, and he can … just … feel … the knife …

The knife finally frays a strand of the rope at his wrist, as Dick's teeth slice through a few threads still connecting his costume at his hips. The air is cool; Robin's breath is cooler, and they wash over his hips, and Dick's thumbs dig lightly into his hipbones, massaging them. It feels so so SO...

Wally's thoughts are derailed as Robin's tongue cuts a swath over his leg, barely brushing him, and traces its way to his … oh god his upper inner thigh. The path behind it starts to tingle and feel numb … anesthetic? Or just ….?

The redhead's holding his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sting of tears in the corner of his eyes.

Robin's mouth opens against his thigh.

Wally's fingers go slack; the knife clatters to the floor.

He kisses him.

Wally tosses his head back and screams Dick's name.

~End~