Dick felt the skin of his hands break as he slammed the palms against the exposed brick of the walls, a soft tang of pain he hardly ever paid attention to as he was overwhelmed by the want, the fire, the pure need as he buried his nose on the soft neck and he breathed in the smell of green apple soap and lime scented shampoo, the smell of gun powder and engine grease that had become a comfort and solace in his darkest moments.

The scent of his angel.

Tim's scent.

Tim's smaller, thinner hands slowly clung to his back, pulling him impossibly closer to his body, trying to swallow him whole in his warm and Dick felt himself wonder what would happen if he could crawl inside Tim's skin and burrow into his self forever.

Ahh...

How wonderful would that be, Tim's breathy, whispery voice let out a soft moan of completion at the same time as his powerful legs - same legs Dick tended to nap on whenever they were allowed a moment of solitude, which was rare - wrapped around his waist and suddenly their hips connected to one another.

It was glorious.

"Dick!" Tim gasped, his nails digging into the scars on Dick's back and shoulders, cutting thin lines of an angry red that sent shivers down his spine.

Deepening into his skin.

Marking him as Tim's.

"Tim," he hissed back, feverish, mad. "That's it, Tim! I'm yours! My life is yours! All yours, my angel!"

"Yes!" Tim whimpered, his lips caressing the shell of Dick's ear. "You are mine, Dick, only mine!"

Dick growled, breathing into Tim's skin, enjoying his moans. "You will never leave me!"

"Never!" Tim replied, back arching in pleasure when Dick thrust back and forth against him. "I'm yours!"

With a snap on his teeth against the joint of Tim's beck and shoulder, Dick felt his whole body shudder, the molten heat pooling at the pit of his stomach bursting into and explosion that forced his eyes to squeeze shut and a roar of pure pleasure to escape his lips.

He opened his eyes.

And promptly let himself close them again as he was not greeted by the sight of Tim's bright blue eyes but the peeling visage of the ceiling in his cell.

He groaned out loud, hands clenching and unclenching as his sleep-fogged mind finally registered the cooling, wet mess inside his pants and the creeping, mocking void in the back of his head.

It had all been a dream.

Of course it had been a dream.

It had all been a dream as all the other dreams he had experienced in the last year, a cruel mockery of his feelings for a man he owed everything to.

And wasn't twisted of him?

He had never even seen Tim even.

To him, Tim was a figure hidden on the shadows with tender, small hands and a soft lap he could rest his head on, with bright blue eyes that seemed darker and darker whenever he could see them...

... And that was it, really.

According to the whispers that littered the halls at night, Owlman's Timothy was basically a myth, a ghost of a person The Master kept jealously hidden from everything and everyone - save for the higher ups- , a creature one could only gaze upon before meeting their bitter end at Owlman's hands.

His own personal pet hostage.

Dick should count himself lucky he even knew the color of Tim's eyes, that he could smell the scent in his skin and feel his careful hands in the dark of night.

That he had these thoughts, these horrid, terrible, pleasurable thoughts about his angel made him feel wretched, torn.

He couldn't stop himself.

The digital clock on his walk told him he had another hour before training, so, with the sinking void in the back of his head creeping further and further to the front with its vast, unforgiving whiteness, he decided he might as well indulge in his sinful, disgusting absolution.

His left hand slid inside his pants, fingers trembling, sweaty.

He idly wondered how tall Tim actually was - given the size of his hands, not much - and the color and lengthy of his hair. He tried to picture another teenager with plump lips and high cheekbones, but the image refused to form in his mind, refused to keep away the void, the silence, the nothing The Master had cursed him with.

He groaned, wrapping his hand around his still erect cock and tugging experimentally once, twice.

"Tim," he whispered, seeking solace in his angel's name. "I love you, Tim. I love you."

The back of his eyelids turned violent red and purple as his head swam, blood like molten lava running through his veins.

"My Tim, you are my Tim," he dared to whisper just as his knees twitched, his hand quickening its ardent pace back and forth. "Mine!"

"Quite an interesting statement, Richard," a deep voice called from the scattered shadows of his room, making the teen jump high in the air and instantly fall to the balls of his feet on the floor, blade at the ready, a snarl on his lips.

His eyes, then, widened as he realized who was just stealthy enough, invested enough, to sneak up into his room.

"Master..." he whispered, feeling how his muscled tensed so hard they started trembling, his skin grew clammy, and the void roared behind his ears. "Master, I..."

Owlman smirked at him cruelly.

"I think it's amusing you feel Timothy, my Timothy, could ever be yours, Richard," the man hissed, his steps echoing deafeningly as he walked towards Dick, hand stretched until he could wrap his fingers around the boy's neck, squeezing painfully as he lifted him from the ground.

"I..." the teen gasped. "I just..."

"You nothing, boy," Owlman sneered. "You own nothing, much less Timothy's life. And you know why?"

Dick struggles, his hands clawing at Owlman's in a futile effort to breath, his toes barely touching the ground as he tried to get a hold of himself, to stare at his master and pay attention to his words, knowing the slightest inattention could cost him his life.

"Mas... ter..." Dick whimpered, his vision swimming.

"That's right, Richard," the man laughed maniacally. "I am your Master, you belong to me! Just like he is mine and will always will be."

"I'm sorry, Master," the teen whispered, his fingers growing slack and accepting of his fate even as his whole mind and soul rebelled against the very idea. He was not The Master's, he would never be The Master's.

He was Tim's, his life was Tim's, his very soul and body were his and he would always be his.

Nothing Owlman said and did would change that.

"Sir?" a soft voice called from the doorway, trembling, breath-like, frightened.

Owlman's grip on Dick's neck was released instantly and the teen found himself face first on the floor, his lungs painfully demanding air as he coughed and gasped, his limbs shivering by with stress.

Owlman's superior smirk turned into the ugliest leer Dick had ever seen.

"It seems like your pet is growing far too comfortable in his leash, Timothy," he said, slowly walking towards the door, cracking his knuckles as he did so. "I am afraid some discipline is in order, my child."

Dick raised his face, his eyes wide, his clammy skin losing color and his stomach pummeling to his feet as he felt the void, the horrible, white void, started expanding and roaring and swallowing the world.

For he now knew two facts that seemed to destroy his confidence, his very few certainties in the universe.

One, it didn't really matter if he was not The Master's. Tim was. And Owlman would forever hold them both in his grasp.

And two... His angel, the one who held his sanity, his very life. The creature he had been lusting after...

... Was a ten year old child.

He closed his eyes with a whimper of agony just as Owlman wrapped his powerful hand around Tim's small arm - a child's arm, a little boy's arm - ready to drag him away.

The void took him.