Title: Not the Time of Day
Summary: If Gotham was home to Ryoma, then Tezuka would be one of those rich guys. Vague Batman crossover.
Gotham City was home to many things: some strange things, a lot of rich things, and many bad things.
It was the playground where one of the richest billionaires in the world played; it was the cave to the darkest, smartest detective vigilante known to man; it was the breeding ground of crime, destruction and twisted, genetically mutated circus freaks.
It was the place one Tezuka Kunimitsu loathed to set foot in, but as temporary ambassador for Atobe Corporation he had little choice. The contract with Wayne Enterprise was important, but Atobe had been otherwise apprehended with a personal emergency and Tezuka was the only one he trusted enough to brave the world of the irresponsible, superficial playboy — Bruce Wayne.
Discussing contracts with Atobe's — and by extension his own — business partners, and ensuring that transactions would go through without any drawbacks, was a talent of Tezuka's. His sharp mind could pick on every slight change in tone, every shift of the eyes, and read every simple gesture. He could hear the lies sliding from slippery tongues, could see the manipulative traps, knew when a loophole was being twisted, was aware when deceit circulated around the crowd. Tezuka was able to turn it all around in his favor – his only fault, however, lay in his reluctance to engage in the business world on a daily basis.
Tezuka held little love for politics, even less when it revolved around money. Doing such a thing contradicted his pacifistic nature. Tezuka though, would never deny Atobe if he knew the reasons. The favor wasn't one he minded. It wasn't whether or not he owed it to Atobe, or if Atobe would owe him in the end, no, Atobe was a close friend of his, and he would ask for nothing in exchange.
Regardless, Atobe had supplied him with an entourage of bodyguards. Tezuka ordered them to stay stationed at the limo with the chauffeur. Walking from the car park to the restaurant surely did not require so much precaution, even in a city like Gotham. No one would dare in the high class square of the desolate city.
He was wrong, terribly wrong and careless and everything he swore he'd never be. And now he was pinned against a gritty wall, feeling uncomfortable not because of the filth that was no doubt staining his heavy coat, but because of the strong, muscled thighs clenching hard around his waist, of the fingers tangling through his hair, of the extremely sharp teeth pressing against his neck as his captor puffed warm air onto his chilled skin.
He saw furry ears flickering, felt the brush of a strong appendage batting against his thighs, heard the strange purrs vibrating along his veins—his first thought was of an overgrown cat.
He held his breath when he managed to focus his vision.
Atobe had warned him, quite melodramatically, of the abnormalities littering Gotham City. He hadn't thought Atobe was serious. This though, it denied all logic. Tezuka's mind was trying to come up with a reason, any reason, for how this could be possible.
It was a boy — teenager — that had him pinned to the bricks. His eyes, framed by a skintight mask, were large, were gold, were glowing. The ears that twitched with every gust of wind did not appear to be clipped on robotics, and Tezuka knew there was nothing in the world that could reproduce the movements of a real life tail so perfectly without feeling like a heavy clump of metal. There were claws digging into his shoulders, he realized when the boy—cat—thing hissed. They tightened warningly when he failed to respond.
A question? He could not quite recall what it was he'd been asked, much too preoccupied with the armful of leather in his arms. His mind whirled back into motion, knocking away the shock as it tried to adjust to what it was confronted with.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked politely. His voice was deceptively calm and steady. His eyes however, narrowed in warning.
The boy smirked slowly and pushed off his chest, not quite getting off of him. He was heavy, and he was not using anything as leverage as he straddled Tezuka's waist. Tezuka held back a grunt when the boy shifted his weight again.
Tezuka wasn't prepared for the deep, husky voice that pulled at all the right — wrong, he quickly corrected — places.
"You're that all important guy who's causing a stir in Gotham." His feline ears flickered back against his head with satisfaction.
Ransom then, Tezuka thought, eyeing the creature.
Tezuka placed his hands on the trim waist, holding back a flinch when his gloved palms squeaked against the obscenely tight material. He pursed his lips together in a straight line, and promptly shoved the stranger off his hips.
The boy hadn't been expecting it, and fell against the snow with a heavy thud. A flash of sympathy lighted Tezuka's eyes for a brief moment when he pushed himself off the wall. The boy at his feet jumped up within moments, and pinned him back to the wall with his claws. He was a fair deal shorter than Tezuka, but his ears, standing straight on his head in warning, added some leverage.
"What's your name?" the boy all but hissed.
Tezuka swore for a moment that he saw the large catlike eyes glowing. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Refusing to be intimidated, Tezuka leaned his head down to really look at the boy, and glared. His lenses caught the flash of the moonlight and shielded his eyes from view.
"Tezuka," he answered, tone mild. If news of his arrival were known to the whole of Gotham, he doubted his name would be left out.
"Tezuka," the boy parroted.
The grip tightened around his shoulders, and Tezuka was mindful of the additional tears in his jacket.
"Kunimitsu," was the grudging answer.
A playful smirk danced across the boy's face and made itself known in his voice. "Kunimitsu," he purred, eyes closing as if to savor the way the syllables rolled off his tongue.
It made Tezuka very uncomfortable, but he willed himself not to move, not even an inch. He didn't stop, however, to reprimand the boy for the use of his first name. "Tezuka," he corrected sternly.
The boy ignored him. "Kitty."
Tezuka stared at him blankly. He wondered if those words were supposed to mean something. He stayed silent.
The boy's eyes were open again, studying Tezuka intently. When Tezuka failed to respond he rolled his eyes. "But you can call me Ryoma, if you insist."
Tezuka didn't, but he couldn't deny that "Ryoma" sounded like a more reasonable name than "Kitty".
So the boy was Japanese, was the second thought that filtered through his mind.
He continued to remain unresponsive.
Ryoma's smug expression turned sullen. "Echizen Ryoma," he introduced at last.
Tezuka inclined his head politely, thinking about how familiar "Echizen" sounded. It wasn't a common last name.
The name slid from his mouth easily. "Echizen."
Ryoma looked placated, but not entirely satisfied.
"Please stop invading my personal space," Tezuka requested politely, as if people invading his personal space happened on a daily basis — it probably did.
Ryoma looked a little put out if the scowl was anything to go by. He stepped forward and pressed his body flush against Tezuka's in retaliation. Thus, Tezuka, a man with hot blood running through his veins, was squashed between the hard brick wall and a very warm, very tantalizing body.
The strange boy was indecently dressed, in nothing but bits of leather and chains. Tezuka felt, very unmistakably, the whip wrapped around the boy's chest digging into his own torso. He squashed the urge to violently force the boy from his body. Consequently his muscles were high-strung with barely contained tension, and his body extremely rigid. He held back a groan, just barely, when Ryoma jumped on him again, supporting his legs, and the brunt of his weight, around Tezuka's waist.
If only he could reach his phone and call for Atobe's bodyguards, damn it. Ryoma, if he was anything like a cat (and he was painfully too much like a cat for Tezuka's liking) then his reflexes would be as sharp as his claws. Tezuka absentmindedly frowned when he looked down at his shredded jacket.
In barely a few seconds Tezuka spun around quickly and slammed Ryoma against the hard wall.
The boy whimpered, his cat ears flattening against his head as his grip on Tezuka loosened.
Tezuka quickly pulled Ryoma's claws from his clothes and detached his legs from his waist before spinning around and hightailing. He only managed to pull out his phone and flip it open before something small and heavy collided into his back.
The air rushed at him as gravity dragged his unbalanced body down. His glasses clattered loudly against the concrete, scratching blemishes onto the smooth clear surface just as he lost hold of his phone in order to cushion his fall. He landed painfully flat with his arms taking the brunt of the fall. His forearms, while thankfully protected by thick material, still stung from the impact. He doubted his phone survived the fall as he watched the blurry device skid across the road. He had to cringe when it slipped out of sight through the bars of a gutter drain; he hated wasting money, but at least he had all his contacts and messages backed up in his daily planner.
Despite being slightly disorientated, he was utterly conscious of the weight on his back. A hand curled around his neck and the sharp claws were resting snuggly against his jugular.
Tezuka hated this, hated more than anything the feeling of helplessness, hated how absolutely vulnerable he felt. He wondered if the bodyguards had noticed him missing — Atobe claimed them to be the best of the best.
"What do you want?" he asked coldly.
Ryoma shifted his weight and slid his body down so that he was laying on Tezuka. Something hard was pressing against his backside, and Tezuka clenched his fists tightly, willing himself to concentrate on the icy, slush beneath his body and the heavy pollutants choking the air.
Ryoma purred again, the sound long and sensual and spreading fire right down to Tezuka's groin. Ryoma nuzzled the slope of Tezuka's shoulder as his ears flickered playfully against his neck.
The feeling was pleasant, the thought automatically drifted through Tezuka's hazy mind. He squashed it violently, wrapping mental chains upon chains around it as he stuffed it into a dark corner in the recesses of his mind. Snow, he forced himself the think as he struggled weakly beneath Ryoma. Pollution; smog; dirty, grimy, filthy ground—dear god no, that was not supposed to turn him on as much as it did.
Beside himself, Tezuka couldn't hold back the moan when a hot, wet tongue ran up his neck, right to that place behind his ear that always made him boneless.
The deep, husky chuckle did nothing for Tezuka's nerves, and he felt frustrated that his body was refusing to listen to him. This was wrong, it wasn't right, he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as—
Oh, Tezuka's eyes fell shut, and he gritted his teeth together to stop himself from making a single sound as Ryoma grounded his hips down, hard against the disgustingly dirty, wet, filthy ground.
"You like that don't you?" Ryoma breathed into his ear, just before biting down, gently, and nibbling on the lobe. "Kunimitsu."
Tezuka moved his arms weakly. He didn't like his position, being flat on his stomach with his offender pinning him, grinding him against the ground.
"Tezuka," he spat out in response, trying to sound angry. It came out resembling a strangled moan; pathetic, and more like a plea.
"Ryoma," the hot voice whispered into his ear, and then there was a sweet, searing tongue and ohdeargod. Tezuka moaned again, powerlessly.
"Ry—"
A loud clang, like metal against metal, echoed through the empty streets before the weight on Tezuka's back altogether disappeared. A feral hiss grated on his ears and he knew Ryoma was still there, still behind him.
"Molesting strangers now Kitty? Is that what Catwoman's teaching you?" a deep voice rasped.
It sounded disfigured to Tezuka, but still familiar. He looked up, but without his glasses all he could make out in the glow of the tall flickering street lamps was a dark shadow with distinctive points jutting from the head.
A bat?
The infamous Batman?
Tezuka pushed himself up, slightly mortified with being caught in such a situation, but relieved to have been rescued nevertheless. A small, very tiny (too tiny to be considered anything but minute) part of him was disappointed. He didn't give that feeling a second thought as it shoved it into the same closet as the other disturbing thoughts plaguing his mind that night.
He slipped on his glasses, rolled to his feet, and backed into the wall, careful to keep his long coat secure around his body. His eyes darted around, searching for a way out while ensuring the two Gotham residents were still in sight.
He stopped looking for an opening when Ryoma folded his arms behind his head, stretching indolently.
"Last I checked you hadn't a single complaint."
Batman stepped forward menacingly.
"I can call her out for you, if you want." Ryoma appeared unconcerned with the threat, only tilted his head questioningly at the tall caped vigilante. An ear twitched with the wind.
Something slid into the bat's hand, something sharp that resembled shuriken, only it had blinking lights — Tezuka squinted — and a screen.
"Heeh?" Ryoma, cat he seemed to be, didn't miss that action.
In a blink of an eye the whip around Ryoma's chest was in his hand, snapping lightning fast at the multiple flying discs. They exploded in a great show of fire and heat that forced Tezuka to shield his face.
Thinking quickly, he moved towards the direction of the car park, keeping a wary eye on Ryoma when he jumped onto the veranda of the closest building, a feat Tezuka didn't believe any ordinary mortal could do. The Bat followed him quickly, a wire shooting out and locking around the bars a few levels above Ryoma.
It was illogical to be worried about the teen who had just tried to molest him, but Tezuka stopped for a moment to watch.
Ryoma climbed to the next level, balancing easily on the thin bars as Batman rushed towards him. Then he grinned widely like a Cheshire cat.
Tezuka felt like his heart stopped beating when Ryoma jumped off the ledge, curling his body into a small ball as he shot by the unsuspecting bat. His whip lashed out, winding tightly around the man's neck. Ryoma landed in a graceful crouch, the grin turning manic as he pulled at his whip, hard.
Batman had to dislodge himself from his wire lest he was suffocated to death, and fell crashing to the floor.
Tezuka could only stand frozen as Ryoma skipped his way towards him, waving his whip around in careless circles.
With a light click, Ryoma landed in front of him, hands innocently folded behind his back. Tezuka could see beyond the mask the face of a young, mischievous teen. For a moment he wondered how Ryoma ended up in such a city, wondered how it'd be for him had he grown up in Japan.
Did he grow up in Japan? The thought occurred to him suddenly. Granted stories would have been in the news of a boy with traits of a cat, but Ryoma was certainly fluent enough.
He started from his thoughts as something whistled by his ear.
Ryoma's eyes widened in alarm. He ducked down, hands fisting into Tezuka's shirt to avoid getting hit by the bullet.
The golden eyes narrowed with distaste as he peered over Tezuka's shoulder. He hid behind Tezuka as another bullet flew by. "They could hit you, you know." He held Tezuka's gaze. "One step to the side and you'll be dead."
Seemed Ryoma had figured out they were his bodyguards. Judging by the downward curl of his lips he didn't think very highly of them. Tezuka smirked wryly. They didn't have impeccable timing, he had to admit, but it was good enough.
"I won't move," he assured.
"I could make you move," Ryoma countered, his fists tightening.
Tezuka raised a hand to cover Ryoma's. "You could," he agreed, not at all concerned. He was feeling calm and strangely energized all of a sudden. The earlier panic and feelings of helplessness seeped from every pore in his body and he doubted it had anything to do with the arrival of Atobe's bodyguards.
"You could," Tezuka murmured again, easily prying the claws from his vest.
Ryoma almost pouted, sensing his time to leave approaching. From behind them, the bat had disappeared (though he probably hadn't left the scene completely).
"For another day," said Tezuka, stepping back and away from Ryoma, making him an open target to the bodyguards.
In an instant a reign of bullets ricocheted from around Tezuka.
Ryoma was fast though, and immediately flipped backwards as he flung the whip out over his head. Whether it was because he had supernatural abilities due to his catlike nature, or he has speed faster than the eye could see, he became a black blur that quickly disappeared from the air.
The night plunged into a peaceful quiet when the gunfire ceased. Tezuka relished in the feeling, paying no mind to his dirty, tattered clothes, to the newly formed bruises on his body, to the concerned questions of the head bodyguard.
No.
Tezuka just wished he had a camera to capture that brief moment when he saw the impish wink.
And do check out the lovely little ficlet Kia wrote for me here: ka0richan(dot)livejournal(dot)com/50637(dot)html?thread(equals)1583565#t1583565 :3!