Songbird
Title: Songbird
Author: Wisia
Disclaimer: Own nothing from DC.
Rating: M (There is sex. So, yeah.)
Verse: Metamorphosis
Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul
Summary: He didn’t think about escaping.
Warnings: Sex. Well, more like one-sided and masturbation. And I don't think I need to say this, but Tim is female, so it's het sex. ;___;
Author’s Note: For those of you who can’t read sex, ignore this chapter. You do not really need it, and if I ever reference to it in the future, just know something happened. AND after this part, Tim will be rescued in the next. Because although I like Tim/Ra’s, this verse isn’t really set for that ending. And lectorel already did a fine job in writing that ending.
Special thanks to varebanos, nekochan114 & karmagoblin for looking this over and providing feedback. <3 They’re the best~
And also thank brokenseal and babybirdblues for helping me figure out those damn sentences.
------
“Timothy, my dear Timothy.”
The reverence in his name washed over Tim, flowing and addicting to hear. And Tim ached acutely. Wanting. He watched as Ra’s crossed the room, needing and distressed. That he needed. That Ra’s would make him need to the point he suffered withdrawal. To have his senses crave. For his hair to be stroked, to be held and to sing, sing like a bird for its petulant master. Because he was nearly there. To become Ra’s songbird.
And Tim couldn’t stop the words in his mouth from starting.
“Ra’s,” he whimpered, “I want-“
But Tim could stop that. Stop the ending, and he shook. He almost said those words. To give away his hope. To accept his fetters. However, Ra’s’ ears already picked up the faint whisper, picked up the want, the hesitation, and he pounced. Ready to play Tim’s strings. Always.
“Yes, Timothy? What do you want?” Tim hated how amused Ra’s was, how he was so near the edge. Craving, needing, wanting, yearning. But he pulled them back. Bundling them up. Because he couldn’t say those words. Half a year. He managed half a year. He could manage another half. He could fight this addiction that Ra’s trained him onto.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Tim said shortly, so short that it was clear nothing was everything. And he stared at the carpeted floor, ill and wavering. Shaking with need. Just another half year.
He couldn’t hide the catch in his throat as Ra’s came near, arms around his waist. Inviting. Tim sank into them. Willingly. Because he wanted. It was wrong.
Ra’s’ lips danced along the back of his neck, several chassesto pointed shoulder where Ra’s bit down, curling warmth, and it was just enough to take off the edge. Still, Tim’s mouth worked silently, unable to form speech, all too mesmerized by the feel, savoring. Desiring. Felt the withdrawal dissolving. Blood surging at the rush. At Ra’s’ touch. His mind heady and hazy.
Then a hand was passing chaînés across his side, over stomach and up, up, up-
“I’m not,” Tim breathed, and it was so hard to pull away, to force out the remnants of his resolve, “not going to sleep with you.”
He felt the heat in his face, Ra’s’ chest pressed so neatly against his back to be almost natural. Right. And he tried to remember. It was only half a year. Six months. Twenty four weeks and…
“No,” Ra’s murmured, agreeing. But his hand didn’t stop, didn’t pause, continuing undeterred. And Tim bit his lips at the pinch, the tweak to a nipple, teasing. Still wanting. Still addicted because Ra’s knew how to orchestrate his strings. And he sighed with Ra’s’ next words. “I am merely showing you the pleasures of your form.”
Another hand was ghosting down his thigh, fabric pushed aside. Tim wavered, eyes half mast, weakening. Bending to Ra’s’ every touch, every twang and pull of his strings.
“I don’t need to,” he replied.
He didn’t need to know Ra’s’ fingers, caressing, circling, and how they were committed to memorizing the details of Tim’s turned flesh. The details of how to play him when he didn’t even know how himself.
“Your body begs otherwise.”
And Tim was startled. By a finger entering and he leaned back into Ra’s unconsciously, shuddering as that one digit stroked.
“Ra’s…”
And Tim was so weak kneed, so pliant, so soft and melting, and he didn’t crumple only because of Ra’s.
“Do you feel that?” Ra’s asked, voice slipping low, dark and husky. And Tim felt it. The way Ra’s touched. The way he was slowly becoming tainted. Because Ra’s wasn’t just in his hair, but in his skin. “You are quite…wet.”
Ra’s added another finger, and Tim cried out loud at that.
“Please don’t,” and his legs were spreading, needing, wanting, and it was so wrong. He had never done this before. Tim’s head tilted back. “Don’t-“
“Stop?” Ra’s finished for him, still stroking. His fingers moved. Steady. Rhythmic.
“Of course not. I will not leave you in such a state, so unrelieved.”
The same devotion normally applied to Tim’s hair was repeated there. Focused. Intense. The sensations rippled through Tim. Blinding. Confusing. He arched, hips seeking. Unsure for what but that he needed. And-
“Lovely,” Ra’s purred. “So very lovely.”
Tim’s eyes fluttered close, throat tight and so close.
One brush against his clit sent him over, muscles clenching around fingers. When he opened his eyes, still reeling, he flushed to see Ra’s tasting his fingers, tasting him, saying “exquisite”.
Tim didn’t have time to react before he was carried, on the bed, lying back as Ra’s kissed a knee, head moving up the curve of thigh through open mouthed kisses because it wasn’t over (“I must taste you more thoroughly”) and it was all just, oh. Ra’s’ mouth was so hot, so eager. And Tim pulled at Ra’s hair, not knowing when his hands moved. To urge Ra’s closer. To cry and keen at every flick of tongue, delving and diving, teeth scraping across, beard tickling his thighs and Tim sang. Sang high, clear and loud for Ra’s. Sang sweetly, lovingly, adoringly. Because he was Ra’s’ songbird and he was being played so thoroughly, so well he barely registered the high.
And as he tried to breathe, to recover from the orgasm Ra’s so skillfully brought him to, he watched as Ra’s pulled away, pants shoved down to stroke himself. Watched as Ra’s groaned. Realized how much Ra’s invested in him. That he could use that, but his loins twitched as Ra’s came and finished. Wishing for more. To be filled.
Ra’s left, pleased, and Tim was left shaking. Trembling. Quivering from what transpired. That he enjoyed it. That he was addicted. He didn’t think about escaping. Not once.
Fetter
Author: Wisia
Disclaimer: Own nothing from DC.
Rating: M (There is sex. So, yeah.)
Verse: Metamorphosis
Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul
Summary: He didn’t think about escaping.
Warnings: Sex. Well, more like one-sided and masturbation. And I don't think I need to say this, but Tim is female, so it's het sex. ;___;
Author’s Note: For those of you who can’t read sex, ignore this chapter. You do not really need it, and if I ever reference to it in the future, just know something happened. AND after this part, Tim will be rescued in the next. Because although I like Tim/Ra’s, this verse isn’t really set for that ending. And lectorel already did a fine job in writing that ending.
Special thanks to varebanos, nekochan114 & karmagoblin for looking this over and providing feedback. <3 They’re the best~
And also thank brokenseal and babybirdblues for helping me figure out those damn sentences.
------
“Timothy, my dear Timothy.”
The reverence in his name washed over Tim, flowing and addicting to hear. And Tim ached acutely. Wanting. He watched as Ra’s crossed the room, needing and distressed. That he needed. That Ra’s would make him need to the point he suffered withdrawal. To have his senses crave. For his hair to be stroked, to be held and to sing, sing like a bird for its petulant master. Because he was nearly there. To become Ra’s songbird.
And Tim couldn’t stop the words in his mouth from starting.
“Ra’s,” he whimpered, “I want-“
But Tim could stop that. Stop the ending, and he shook. He almost said those words. To give away his hope. To accept his fetters. However, Ra’s’ ears already picked up the faint whisper, picked up the want, the hesitation, and he pounced. Ready to play Tim’s strings. Always.
“Yes, Timothy? What do you want?” Tim hated how amused Ra’s was, how he was so near the edge. Craving, needing, wanting, yearning. But he pulled them back. Bundling them up. Because he couldn’t say those words. Half a year. He managed half a year. He could manage another half. He could fight this addiction that Ra’s trained him onto.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Tim said shortly, so short that it was clear nothing was everything. And he stared at the carpeted floor, ill and wavering. Shaking with need. Just another half year.
He couldn’t hide the catch in his throat as Ra’s came near, arms around his waist. Inviting. Tim sank into them. Willingly. Because he wanted. It was wrong.
Ra’s’ lips danced along the back of his neck, several chassesto pointed shoulder where Ra’s bit down, curling warmth, and it was just enough to take off the edge. Still, Tim’s mouth worked silently, unable to form speech, all too mesmerized by the feel, savoring. Desiring. Felt the withdrawal dissolving. Blood surging at the rush. At Ra’s’ touch. His mind heady and hazy.
Then a hand was passing chaînés across his side, over stomach and up, up, up-
“I’m not,” Tim breathed, and it was so hard to pull away, to force out the remnants of his resolve, “not going to sleep with you.”
He felt the heat in his face, Ra’s’ chest pressed so neatly against his back to be almost natural. Right. And he tried to remember. It was only half a year. Six months. Twenty four weeks and…
“No,” Ra’s murmured, agreeing. But his hand didn’t stop, didn’t pause, continuing undeterred. And Tim bit his lips at the pinch, the tweak to a nipple, teasing. Still wanting. Still addicted because Ra’s knew how to orchestrate his strings. And he sighed with Ra’s’ next words. “I am merely showing you the pleasures of your form.”
Another hand was ghosting down his thigh, fabric pushed aside. Tim wavered, eyes half mast, weakening. Bending to Ra’s’ every touch, every twang and pull of his strings.
“I don’t need to,” he replied.
He didn’t need to know Ra’s’ fingers, caressing, circling, and how they were committed to memorizing the details of Tim’s turned flesh. The details of how to play him when he didn’t even know how himself.
“Your body begs otherwise.”
And Tim was startled. By a finger entering and he leaned back into Ra’s unconsciously, shuddering as that one digit stroked.
“Ra’s…”
And Tim was so weak kneed, so pliant, so soft and melting, and he didn’t crumple only because of Ra’s.
“Do you feel that?” Ra’s asked, voice slipping low, dark and husky. And Tim felt it. The way Ra’s touched. The way he was slowly becoming tainted. Because Ra’s wasn’t just in his hair, but in his skin. “You are quite…wet.”
Ra’s added another finger, and Tim cried out loud at that.
“Please don’t,” and his legs were spreading, needing, wanting, and it was so wrong. He had never done this before. Tim’s head tilted back. “Don’t-“
“Stop?” Ra’s finished for him, still stroking. His fingers moved. Steady. Rhythmic.
“Of course not. I will not leave you in such a state, so unrelieved.”
The same devotion normally applied to Tim’s hair was repeated there. Focused. Intense. The sensations rippled through Tim. Blinding. Confusing. He arched, hips seeking. Unsure for what but that he needed. And-
“Lovely,” Ra’s purred. “So very lovely.”
Tim’s eyes fluttered close, throat tight and so close.
One brush against his clit sent him over, muscles clenching around fingers. When he opened his eyes, still reeling, he flushed to see Ra’s tasting his fingers, tasting him, saying “exquisite”.
Tim didn’t have time to react before he was carried, on the bed, lying back as Ra’s kissed a knee, head moving up the curve of thigh through open mouthed kisses because it wasn’t over (“I must taste you more thoroughly”) and it was all just, oh. Ra’s’ mouth was so hot, so eager. And Tim pulled at Ra’s hair, not knowing when his hands moved. To urge Ra’s closer. To cry and keen at every flick of tongue, delving and diving, teeth scraping across, beard tickling his thighs and Tim sang. Sang high, clear and loud for Ra’s. Sang sweetly, lovingly, adoringly. Because he was Ra’s’ songbird and he was being played so thoroughly, so well he barely registered the high.
And as he tried to breathe, to recover from the orgasm Ra’s so skillfully brought him to, he watched as Ra’s pulled away, pants shoved down to stroke himself. Watched as Ra’s groaned. Realized how much Ra’s invested in him. That he could use that, but his loins twitched as Ra’s came and finished. Wishing for more. To be filled.
Ra’s left, pleased, and Tim was left shaking. Trembling. Quivering from what transpired. That he enjoyed it. That he was addicted. He didn’t think about escaping. Not once.
Fetter