Summer Spooktacular: Short Circuit

[bluezone]

From the very beginning, Aomine didn't like the withdrawn, insular, frequently absent yet faultless Tim Drake. The reasons at first were small and nebulous, mainly having to do with his own discomfort at the move to Gotham, the language barrier, the extremely shitty weather, and the even shittier basketball team that had nearly fallen over themselves in an effort to get him to join. He did, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he hated the city and he hated that the contract his parents - one Japanese, one Puerto Rican, both of them very skilled civil engineers - had signed would keep him here from the start of high school to all the way to its end. He got up surly and he went to bed surly and that meant that, at school, he was more than ready to find a reason to hate someone.

The first strike of Tim's: they were seated next to each other in nearly every class. It was plain bad luck that their subjects had so neatly lined up with one another.

The second strike: for whatever bizarre reason, Tim actually knew how to speak Japanese. That had put a quick end to Aomine's derisive comments to himself, especially when those flat, cool eyes would inevitably drift his way.

The third strike: his fucking attitude. His expression rarely changed and when it did, it was inevitably cold and unaffected, as if everything around him didn't matter, especially not the perpetually ill-tempered classmate that sat next to him.

The harassment was inevitable. A hard elbow or a knee as they passed each other, dropped books, spilled drinks, stolen lunches and supplies, nasty words spat in a language the teachers couldn't understand anyway, and a few confrontations where Aomine had tired to force a fight, despite better judgement and warnings. He was pent up, damn it, and if he was going to be stuck here, miserable and a thousand kilometers from all the shit that actually mattered to him, then somebody else, especially someone that just looked at him instead of fighting back, was going to be miserable, too. An outlet was an outlet, and everything else in his life actually benefitted from it, because with all his ire channeled toward Tim and Tim's expressionless face, his grades weren't so bad (shockingly) and his performance in games was as overwhelming as ever.

After three months, it was nearly routine, save for one thing: the absences.

Tim operated like any other sad loner with no friends, except there were days when he didn't show and nobody batted an eyelash. There were days when he left in the middle of class and nobody cared then, either. It drove Aomine fucking crazy. Why the hell could he just get away with it? Was it just his parent, or whatever? You couldn't live in Gotham and not know about Bruce Wayne, even if you made every effort not to pay attention, but it caused Aomine to bristle just the same, incised over an unfairness that didn't even technically apply to him.

That he would follow him one day was inevitable, too. The chosen day wasn't out of the ordinary; the afternoon was warm and breezy, pleasant with spring. There was still an hour of class, but a lie about using the restroom was all he needed to leave scant minutes after Tim had just gotten up and walked out.

He'd follow him, wherever he was going. He'd see it finally, whatever it was that he was doing.

Comments

[notlikeanyone]

Tim had considered asking the faculty to change his schedule, or his seating arrangements, to move him away from Aomine once the derisive attitude had escalated to physical harassment. He had decided against it in the end - it was already pushing his privilege as Bruce's ward to excuse his necessary absences, adding another request might irritate some of the teachers into paying more attention to him than he would prefer. And besides, having his very own dedicated bully constantly stealing his lunch, tripping or elbowing him and meeting no resistance... in its own way, it served his purposes, although Aomine couldn't know that.

After he silently excused himself from another class by getting up and walking out, Tim moved surprisingly quickly through the mostly empty hallways and out into the warmth of the afternoon. In defiance of rumours that it always rained in Gotham, the sun was out, peeking between scattered clouds, but the people milling the streets were just as uninterested in looking up to observe it beyond a quick glance as ever, too focused on their own business.

Wherever Tim was going, it meant heading into town - and then into an alleyway that turned out to be a dead end. As he climbed up the fire escape on one side, the rusted metal creaking under his weight, a cat wandered past him, and jumped down to the alley below just as he reached the top. It was the kind of thing that might draw someone's attention upwards at just the wrong time, but the alley had been empty, and the people around here were unlikely to be interested in a back alley - this early in the day, anyway.

[bluezone]

If Aomine hadn't been in such good shape, he never would have been able to keep up. Not only was Tim fast, he just didn't stop like a normal person would. Usually people paused to pick a direction, or to look at something, or just to rest, but once Tim got going, he kept going at the same tireless pace. From the school grounds, past the gate, out onto the streets and into--

The hell?

An empty alley. Where could he have...?

It was the cat that did it, of course. Aomine's gaze swung upward just in time to see a familiar pair of uniform-issue loafers disappear over the lip of the roof. He started in surprise, but there wasn't time to think about why or how. Aomine was after him in an instant, scrambling up the ladder and then the uneven, rusted stairs, his mind churning with questions.

Is this on purpose? Is he screwing with me?

[notlikeanyone]

Tim was completely focused on his destination, moving swiftly across the open rooftop. It was the tallest building in the neighbourhood, with some cover from the walls around the edges, so there was no chance of being observed from any overlooking point. Which was good, because the coffin-sized, shiny black capsule embedded into the concrete might otherwise have drawn attention. There were more subtle options for retrieving equipment, but for efficiency, this drop off was the method Bruce had chosen.

By the time Aomine reached the top of the fire escape, Tim had already unlocked the capsule using the keypad under the bat-shaped logo on the front, causing it to slide open. He was in the middle of stripping off his school uniform, placing the clothes inside the capsule. As it turned out, he'd been wearing a slick, black and red bodysuit underneath, the fabric clinging to the surprisingly well-muscled curves of his body.

Once he was down to just the bodysuit, he pulled on a pair of split-toed boots, reminiscent of tabi but with more armour. He pulled on a pair of matching gloves that were more like gauntlets, and placed two small black objects on his head, one behind each ear - a red curve of glass-like material slid out and joined in the middle to cover his eyes like a visor. It was slightly shaped, and contributed to such an odd looking outfit that it worked to disguise his features and identity - no-one would associate the quietly unassuming Tim Drake with someone who dressed like this.

Sufficiently armoured and disguised, it just remained for him to arm himself appropriately. He drew out a wickedly curved blade that fit neatly over his hand, and... that was it. He sealed up the capsule and strode to the opposite side of the rooftop, and - jumped off.

[bluezone]

Aomine's head made it past the top of the roof just in time for him to watch Tim's fingers dart over the keypad; just in time to stare, hard, at the logo that everybody in Gotham knew, even if they'd lived there less than six months.

You're - kidding -

The bodysuit was baffling. He thought, absurdly, that Tim was heading for the ocean for an afternoon of something ridiculous, like snorkeling. But as he went through that sleek black case and added additions to his outfit - boots, gloves, a weapon - it became increasingly clear that what he was actually up to had nothing to do with recreation of any kind. Aomine could try to fool himself into thinking what he was looking at some was kind of costume fetish, or a joke, or hell, even staged, but as far as he knew, Tim had no idea he was there, watching. The other boy still had the same expression, even, flat and business-like, nothing at all changing in his eyes or the set of his mouth.

He didn't even flinch when he jumped.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck -

Aomine was seconds late getting the rest of the way up onto the roof. It took too long to climb up, to cross over, his shoes crunching on the gravel. By the time he made it to the other side, Tim was gone. There was only another alley, and papers blowing about in the wind.

He was still for a long, long time. His thoughts were chaotic at first, wild with uncertainties and high emotions, but in the end his only action was pretty clear.

Aomine turned around, and looked at the capsule. He might never have been the best or more focused student, but he'd just seen Tim enter the passcode. He wasn't about to forget it five minutes later.

[notlikeanyone]

The capsule glinted in the sunlight, the smooth surface sleek like a sports car, save for the bat-shaped logo. There were faint lines, perfectly regimented imperfections where the panels would unfold, and what looked like concrete foam around the base, from where it had cushioned its impact.

It was easy enough to slide the Bat-panel up and access the keypad, though there was been very little sign that that was even possible - someone would have to know the keypad was there. With Tim's passcode entered correctly, the whole capsule seemed to unhinge, then the panels slid back as it opened with a low hiss, cool clouds of steam rolling out. Inside was Tim's school uniform, neatly folded and placed into one of the internal compartments. Alongside it were several other items of armour, what looked like a lightweight, flexible vest, shoulder guards, and spare gloves - and more weapons. Another knife, and a longer blade, just short of being a sword; two silvery sticks, and a pile of distinctively bat-shaped throwing weapons. And a gun, small but with a definite weight to it.

After a minute or two of being open, a feminine sounding computerised voice rang out. "Unregistered DNA signature detected. Countermeasures deployed."

Said countermeasures were several metallic lengths, like living ropes, that launched themselves out of the depths of the capsule at Aomine. If he didn't get out of the way...

[bluezone]

Aomine's disbelief didn't last as long as it might have for smarter, more skeptical people. He was a simple, straightforward kind of guy; in the face of overwhelming evidence, the most obvious explanation was also the only explanation. Even if there were details he didn't have, even if there was more to the story, when he pressed his hands onto the lip of the capsule and leaned over to look inside, he was almost fitting the majority of the pieces together.

Tim had secrets. Tim, who never spoke and was the ward of the wealthiest man in Gotham, was hiding something from everyone. He missed a lot of school. He was fast, and didn't seem to tire. Tim was dangerous.

Fuck, and those shiny, black things tucked into one of the compartments were shaped like goddamn bats.

Aomine was reaching for one when that cool, electronic voice rang in his ears. His eyes flicked back and forth, looking for the source, and he started to say: "What - "

Metal slid around his wrist. Aomine started, shouted, and pulled, but it was like pulling on an iron bar. It was slim, but strong, and he bared his teeth, adrenaline shooting through his system as he groped for the tendril with his other hand, the bottom of his shoe slamming into the capsule to try and jerk his body away.

[notlikeanyone]

Aomine could pull and jerk all he wanted, but now that the metal tendrils had caught hold of a part of him, they weren't letting go. Moving fast, like snakes uncoiling to strike, another slim tendril wrapped around his other wrist, and another around his ankle. They all curled tightly around their chosen spots, and then started slithering upwards, the cool metal sliding quickly against Aomine's skin, over his uniform and even under it, wrapping around him. Within minutes, the mechanical strands had him almost encased, entwined in shifting, unrelenting bindings, restrained in place right in front of the capsule.

"Target immobilised for detainment." Said that same cold, feminine voice. Then... that was it, for a long time. There was the faint sound of gunfire in the distance, but that was hardly unusual for Gotham, and the tentacles binding Aomine didn't seem bothered by it. After that, there was silence again...

Until Tim landed on the rooftop with a soft thud, standing slowly out of his crouch and walking over to Aomine. It was hard to see against the black of his outfit, but there was blood splattered all over him, dripping slowly down the blade of his knife as he walked over the crunching gravel. Easier to make out were a few bullet holes in his suit, on his arms and chest.

[bluezone]

By the time Tim returned, Aomine was exhausted. Mid-afternoon had wound down into early evening; no doubt back at school he would have been reported for skipping class, something his parents would probably take in stride. He’d been awful about it back during the last year in middle school and had spent many an evening since the move slumming it in various parts of the city once school was over – never a good idea in Gotham. It was a testament to outright luck, solid athleticism, and a damn good right hook that he hadn’t been mugged, stabbed, or both, though he did at least have enough sense to stay in the cleaner, more upscale parts of town (the criminals around there wore suits and had dinner parties, instead). That was why he didn’t expect anyone to come looking for him, not unless early evening turned into midnight, or tomorrow, or next week. He had to get loose himself, by any means possible.

He did try. He strained and twisted and pulled and pushed against those coiling arms, biting down his shivers when they slipped – on purpose? By accident? – under his clothing and across bare skin. He bent his head down far enough to try to bite at one, though all that did was make his jaw ache; he pulled something in his back trying to reach for the cellphone in his jacket pocket. He even spent five minutes shouting for help, his chest tight with humiliation and unease, because a vulnerable civilian didn’t always actually get help when they needed it.

But in the end it didn’t change anything. All it meant was that by the time he heard those boots thump onto the rooftop, he was slumped against the arms, breathing hard and with sweat dripping down off his face. He stiffened as soon as he realized what the sound meant, though he didn’t look right away, anxiety and anger and a little bit of fear clutching wildly at his chest.

Those feelings doubled when he did look, his tight, tense expression slipping into open shock.

That’s…blood –

More than just blood, though his tired mind struggled to comprehend what he was actually looking at.

At some point, a curse slipped out, unbidden. “Shit…”

[notlikeanyone]

Tim's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly upwards at the curse, just for a moment. This wasn't what he'd been expecting when the capsule's computer system had informed him of the security breach, but his expression didn't change beyond that, not even a flicker of surprise showing as he studied Aomine's restrained form.

"Aomine."

He walked forward slowly, raising his knife to wipe the blood off of the blade on his sleeve, and getting close enough to touch... but he didn't. Not yet. He threw the knife past Aomine's head, and it whistled past, embedding into the wall of the capsule behind the other boy with a thunk.

"It was not a good idea to follow me from school." He spoke in Japanese so that Aomine would understand him more clearly, his tone just as flat and cold as usual. "... You look tired."

[bluezone]

The same face. It was the same damn face, even though he was covered in blood. A normal person would have been pale, or breathing hard, or flushed, or maybe even disgusted, because the smell was so strong and there was just so much of it. But Time looked no different than he did every day of school, his brows and his lips flat and even, his eyes empty of anything.

That's not normal.

Aomine's brain finally supplied a solid idea of what was up with Tim's outfit: it had holes in it, small and ragged. A knife didn't make holes like that.

He's not...normal -

He flinched. It was an automatic reaction; who wouldn't, when metal went whistling past like that? It broke through the choking haze of fire to ignite something hot in Aomine's chest, allowing him to bare his teeth instead of stare in frozen silence. A small hint of surprise was reserved for the chosen language, but that just made the internal knife twist just a little bit more.

"...bastard." Aomine's voice was more than a little ragged; all that shouting hadn't done him any favors. "What the hell are you doing?"

And moreover: what had he done? That couldn't have been his blood.

[notlikeanyone]

It wasn't his blood. Far from it.

Tim tilted his head, and there was a dry edge to his tone when he answered. "Currently, what I am doing is not killing you. That could easily change."

He sighed quietly, and ducked his head to deactivate and remove the visor. He regarded Aomine with cool blue eyes, clear of the red tint the visor had lent them. With the silvery metal tendrils still wrapped tightly around him, the other boy really was quite a picture, and it was an image that Tim was carefully storing away.

"I would prefer not to have to kill you, but that depends upon several conditions. I could have killed you moments ago, and chose not to. I hope you are appropriately grateful." He somehow doubted that Aomine would actually appreciate it, but that was alright. He'd just make it very clear that the other boy was now alive only because he wanted him to be.

"You can't tell anyone what you've seen today."

[bluezone]

He said it so casually. Out of everything - the weapons, the outfit, the blood, the knife as it slid past his ear - it was how he said it that convinced Aomine that Tim wasn't lying. You could bluff almost anything, and in his time he'd seen plenty, but that flat, flat tone and those flat eyes didn't seem capable of lying. Each awful, promising syllable was honest and delivered with a frankness that sent a chill down his spine.

It was easy to be afraid. Normal people were afraid of things like bullet holes and a black logo with pointed wings. Maybe, because it was easy, Aomine struggled against it, his hands curling into fists and anger lighting in his eyes. He didn't doubt him, and what common sense he had screamed in his head, but his grimace of a scowl didn't disappear, only deepened.

"Why's that?" He spat it at him, his shoulders shaking, his own expression making up for Tim's emotionless stare. "Because you already killed someone? It's what you do when you skip class, right?"

Stupid. It was so stupid, what he was doing. He needed to shut up.

"You murder people?" Aomine strained against the metal arms, his voice tight and half-growled. "You're a criminal."

And nobody batted an eyelash. Nobody cared when he walked out without a word.

"You piece of shit."

[notlikeanyone]

Tim was used to being the target of Aomine's anger and derision, but it was a little surprising to see it now, in the face of the overwhelming situation the other boy was in. Most normal people would have shown their fear at the realisation that he had killed someone, but not Aomine. How stubborn.

"Technically, to commit murder and be a criminal, I believe I'd have to be human, but otherwise, you're right." Not that it took a lot to guess correctly when the evidence was right there in front of him, the blood and holes and Tim himself practically screaming that he was a killer.

"I've eliminated seventeen targets today. All of them were guilty of crimes including drug trafficking, murder, and rape. So far, I have only ever killed criminals, and it's... preferable for that to continue."

He paused, and his hand shot out, covering Aomine's mouth and gripping firmly. He raised the index finger of his other hand to his mouth in a shushing gesture, then turned away, facing out across the empty rooftop. He moved his free hand to press two fingers against his ear. "Reporting in. All targets eliminated, minimal damage sustained. ... Yes... it's been dealt with. Requesting a period of free time to effect repairs and engage in social camouflage protocols... yes, sir. ... Thank you."

With another quiet sigh, he dropped his fingers from his ear and turned back to Aomine, taking his hand away from the other boy's mouth. He kept it touching his face, though, just... slowly stroking his cheek.

"Now. Where were we?"

[bluezone]

Not human?

Tim's words ring in his ears, staying stubbornly senseless for long seconds because shit like that didn't happen. Maybe, maybe Gotham was home to a real, far less wholesome version of the fictional "heroes" in comics and shows, but this was pushing it too far. His mind was reeling under the implications, even if he was forced to accept them as fact, even if Tim's fingers were hard and immovable when they pressed against his mouth.

He's not human.

He was actually quiet when Tim spoke to whatever disembodied voice that was conversing to him through...a phone? An earpiece? It was impossible to tell. Anger and skepticism and bitter stubbornness might have been making his breath uneven as his head pound, but all that did was make his need to know stronger; if he knew he could...report this? Tell someone? Fuck, Tim was killing people; they could be criminals, or they could be innocent, it wasn't as though he was providing evidence and everything coming from his mouth was suspect. He was a thing, he wasn't alone, and nobody was stopping him.

Aomine was quivering with rage when Tim moved his hand away, his teeth gritted and an irrational need to bite was building in him. He paid more attention to that feeling than he did the wave of goosebumps Tim's slowly stroking fingers caused, a shiver slipping through his shoulders.

"...you're not the damn police," he said in a low, furious voice. Aomine, the delinquent who didn't care, snarled it at him, because there was a difference between teenage rebellion and real blood on your hands. "Decent people don't do this kind of shit."

His gaze flicked over his body, taking in the suit, the stains, the holes. "...what the fuck are you? Some kind of monster?"

[notlikeanyone]

Tim paid close attention to every twitch of Aomine's body, every reaction. The tell-tale shiver running under his rage was most... interesting, and he kept his hand in place, stroking along the line of Aomine's jaw, to the side of his neck.

"The police either can't or won't hold the people I kill. They buy their way out, bribe their way back onto the streets, and the system is too corrupt and decrepit to stop them. That's why I am... necessary."

He paused, taking in the depth of Aomine's rage, the distrust he could see in those furious eyes turned on him. "If you don't believe me, that's your choice. But ask yourself, why would I lie? To make someone who already hates me think better of me? That'd be pointless. To persuade you over to my side? Worse than pointless - you're of no use to me in my work. You'd just get killed by some mafia goon or something. It would be... a waste."

He hadn't flinched at the monster comment, but it did make him - curious, in spite of his programming. "I never claimed I was a decent person. But you believe in... monsters, Aomine? Tell me, what kind of monster do you think I could be?"

[bluezone]

He...believes that shit. He believes it.

Aomine was never the smartest guy. His grades were poor and he spent more time thinking about basketball than he did about philosophy or morality. But it might have been that much simpler outlook that made Tim's words sound so ludicrous. He knew about crooked cops, he knew the system had to be bad, everybody and their senile grandmother knew how screwed up Gotham was, but if you just started murdering people, where the fuck would it end? If you let one person decide everything, how long before it all went to hell?

Even he could see that. He could see it clearly.

But Tim believed otherwise. He wasn't lying at all.

Aomine's expression tightened; the rage in his eyes grew tempered by his first real dose of caution. His narrowed eyes sized up the young man in front of him - if he was a young man at all. His lips twisted, because even as dangerous as the situation was, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was suddenly being made fun of.

"Fuck, how the hell should I know? You're the - " Freak, he almost said, but stopped just in time. "...what, are you a damn ghoul? A vampire? You're full of fucking holes."

[notlikeanyone]

It wasn't exactly a matter of belief, for Tim. Those were the rules that he was programmed to follow, the logic that all his actions were derived from - he didn't have a choice to believe in it or not. It was just lucky that the one person calling the shots was Bruce Wayne, someone so narrowly focused on his mission and with a will cast in iron. He was even thorough enough to have programmed in protocols for his androids to deal with him if there were any signs that he'd become corrupted, or lost sight of his purpose.

But none of that mattered right now. Bruce wasn't even aware of what was happening on this rooftop, because Tim had hidden it from him.

"Bullet holes. I'm full of bullet holes... seven of them." He pointed out, and if it still felt like he was making fun of Aomine, well. Human emotions were a strange thing.

As were human beliefs and superstitions. "A vampire? Do I look like I suck blood and sleep in a coffin?" He ran his fingers up and down the side of Aomine's neck, tracing over the pulse point, and stepped even closer.

"Aomine... were you hoping to get bitten?"

[bluezone]

The look on Aomine's face then was an almost comical mix of disbelief and childish fear. It had been years since he had been spooked, to say nothing of scared, of anything remotely supernatural; the last time he'd embarrassed himself, it'd been during his first year of middle school and that could be excused because he'd still been a kid back then (and Tetsu had that effect on people, it wasn't just him). Horror films and ghost stories might be unsettling, but Aomine was never outright afraid of them.

That made the stab of surprised fear that much stronger and that much more difficult to control. From Tim's response, it was obvious that he wasn't a vampire, and yet Aomine's abruptly pounding heart wanted to belief otherwise.

It was almost funny; it really would take something entirely stupid like that to make him really feel and admit to his fear. "Who the fuck would...I didn't say that. Are you crazy?"

Stupid. Ridiculous. He shivered again, and it was visible and noticeable this time, a shudder that started in his shoulders and rushed all the way down his spine. His eyes slid sideways, toward the curve of Tim's arm, and though his fingers were light and he had yet to actually do anything, Aomine still pulled on his bonds, doing what he could to wrench his neck away.

"Don't touch me."

[notlikeanyone]

There it was. Aomine's fear, raw and sharp and almost comical, clear to see in his face and in every straining line of his body, the shudder that ran down his spine and made him shake right in front of Tim's eyes. The thought that he might be a vampire had the other boy more scared than anything else, even the blood and bullet holes and threats to kill him. It must have been some kind of instinctive fear, maybe some belief in ghosts and monsters that Aomine hadn't grown out of yet.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he rejected the protest not to touch Aomine flatly, moving his hand to keep touching the side of his neck, at first. Then he quickly slid his fingers round and up, over the nape of Aomine's neck and into his hair, and gripped tightly.

Aomine was so afraid that he might be a vampire, even though he'd all but said he wasn't.

Aomine, who constantly made derisive comments about him that no-one else could understand.

Aomine, who kept finding ways to trip him, or jam an elbow or knee into him. Who had spilled drinks or food onto him, just because he could.

Aomine, who had stolen his lunch for the past month solid... was deathly afraid of vampires.

"Plenty of people want to be bitten by vampires. There must be something appealing about it. Something... romantic, don't you think? They're always written to be kind of - erotic." It was true. Even before the romance novel trend of writing soft, goodhearted vampires to sweep women off their feet, the vampire narrative had been laced through with eroticism. Blood and sex, intertwined. He didn't have much time to himself, and spent even less of it reading vampire novels, but he knew that much.

"Maybe it's because the neck is such a vulnerable spot for you humans. Did you know, the skin there is so sensitive that, for most people, it's an erogenous zone?" As he spoke, low and soft, he inched slowly closer, until he could just - stand up on his tip toes, and bite the side of Aomine's neck. Just gently, and then he sucked on the skin a little, too.

Meanwhile, the tentacles must have been reacting to Aomine pulling against them. There wasn't any other reason for one of them slipping between the buttons of his shirt and under the fabric, sliding over the skin of his chest to coil around him, the cool, ridged metal rubbing over one of his nipples in the process.

No other reason at all.

[bluezone]

It was so stupid. It was so stupid; it was pushing beyond the boundaries of what even an idiot like him could reasonably believe. Knives and guns and the scent of someone else's blood, bitter and metallic, were real. The threat of murder was real. The capsule and its technology were real, that unmistakable logo was real, there was so much already that was real and provable that Aomine didn't need to, and in fact didn't want, to believe his own childish, ludicrous suspicion that Tim was a fucking vampire. But understanding that and stopping the irrational, out-of-control surge of adrenaline and panic were two entirely different things.

His pupils dilated. His breath caught in his throat. His heart seemed to stop, and then hammered wildly against his ribs. He felt sweat prickle on the back of his neck, and at his temples, and trail down the indent of his spine. His shoulders wound up tight and his fingernails dug into his palms as his hands curled into trembling fists.

In Aomine's head, the animal, instinctual parts of his brain cried out in fear. He tried to squirm away from Tim as he got closer, and closer again, and his lips parted in a wordless show of fright right before he felt the light, light scrape of Tim's teeth.

No...

No - !!

" - shit! Get the fuck aw-ah."

The cool, textured slide of metal over his hot skin made him jump, his eyes widening and his body lurching, back, presumably away from the arm that left a startling, tinglingly sensitivity behind. He wouldn't have thought it possible to actually feel something other than anger and shock, but Tim's lips were soft and the mechanical teasing at his chest combined to make a second, very different kind of shudder march unevenly through his limbs. His teeth clicked together painfully in the aftermath, a trembling starting up as he struggled to control the wild feelings battering about in his body.

"Stop." He managed to turn it into a snarl, a demand. "Stop, before I - "

Did...something. Anything.

[notlikeanyone]

Tim considered that this must be why many humans turned to bullying, and later to crimes that let them control and torment others. Aomine's reactions, the way his body tensed and his eyes changed, the hitch of breath Tim could hear in his throat and the way his heart raced... all caused by him. All caused by the fear he'd sparked, by his idea of teasing, and - there was something satisfactory in it. Something fascinating, and yes, he could definitely see where human psychology could develop a craving for this kind of response. It might even have been why Aomine started bullying him, trying to break his cool and create a reaction, but in that case, it was odd for it to continue when he'd barely ever reacted to it at all.

Then again, Aomine was remarkably stubborn.

"No." No, he wasn't going to move away, and he wasn't going to stop.

There was another reaction happening, given away by the trembling, by the shudder that ran through Aomine as the tentacle ran over his nipple. It wasn't like Tim could miss it - he was so close, he was practically pressed up against Aomine's body, just their clothes and the coils of gently shifting metal separating them. With a thought, he made the tendril start moving back and forth, rubbing over Aomine's nipple in a repeated pattern that couldn't be mistaken for a coincidence any more.

"Before you... what? What will you do if I don't stop? What can you do?" He asked, then moved slightly, so that he could bite the other side of Aomine's neck, right where it met his shoulder. He peppered small bites and licks all over Aomine's sweat-tanged skin, working his way up to the other boy's jawline. With his free hand, he nudged the other robotic ropes around, until they were framing Aomine's other nipple through his uniform, sliding either side of it and almost pinching it between them. That let him stroke the tip of it with his finger, pressing firmly to be felt through the fabric of Aomine's uniform.

[bluezone]

It was...on purpose. He was doing it on purpose. Even though Tim didn't so much as issue a verbal command or use any kind of signal that Aomine could detect, when that tendril slipped across his chest a second time, making him jump and hiss, he knew Tim was behind it. He could see it in his cool, focused expression, because for the first time since all of this had started, the bastard was actually looking at him. It wasn't that distant, empty regard that he'd earned every time he'd tried some new harassment on him in an effort to get a rise out of him; he was finally, finally paying attention to Aomine and everything he was doing, from how he bit his lip and swore to how his face lit with increasing alarm.

Tim's mouth was bad enough. It was already making him twitch, fear and heat spiking through him at the same time, all accompanied by irrational thoughts: was this going to taint him? Was he going to be a vampire, now? Or...fuck, his servant? That was even worse. And did he really think that, or was he just giving in to the roiling, unavoidable distress?

Aomine was shaking outright when Tim's hand nudged at the tentacles on his chest, and he made a noise when he felt that light, pinching grip on his other nipple. It was a noise he'd never heard out of his own mouth before, a faint, overwhelmed whine touched with confusion, because he shouldn't have felt it so strongly. It shouldn't have made his knees feel so weak when Tim started to tease him there, the inconsequential caress of his fingertip playing his agitated nerves like a finely tuned instrument.

"I won't let you...just - " It was just his nipples. It was just his mouth. He was tougher than this. It was barely anything. "You won't get off scott free. I'll make damn sure you...fucking...pay..."

The heavy thudding of his pulse sank down through his body. It dropped low and settled into his hips, dragging heat along with it. It was a feeling he knew. He knew what it meant.

That was why his eyes closed at the end of his little speech, expression tight with strain as he tried - and failed - to control his growing erection.

[notlikeanyone]

It would be inaccurate to say that Tim had previously ignored Aomine, but the attention he'd paid him at school, in the normal course of a day or even after yet another incident of harassment, had been necessarily distant. Detached, just as he was from every other student, although none of them tried to insert themselves into his life so forcefully. It was a pale shadow of the sudden, intense focus he had on Aomine now, the sharp attentiveness in those same cool blue eyes as they were turned on him. It was as if Tim was drinking in every detail, every twitch and gasp and noise, every squirm of Aomine's body, with the same unblinking stare of a camera lens given an extra depth.

He chose to ignore Aomine's obvious state of arousal for the moment - at least, directly. He kept the tentacles moving, though, kept pressing and rubbing with his finger, teasing Aomine's nipples to encourage the erection he could feel starting to press against him where he was lent against the other boy's lean, solid body.

"You're not in a position to let me do anything. I can, and will, continue doing whatever I please. You're only alive because I'm letting you live. Don't forget that." He was talking against the skin of Aomine's neck, and put emphasis on his point by biting him again, harder this time, enough to bruise. "If you keep insisting that you'll make me pay... it makes it very hard to justify keeping you alive."

With another thought, he made the tentacles shift again, and this time the cool metal lengths moved between Aomine's legs, around his waist and hips, until they were framing his erection. Making it seem to stand out all the more against the strained fabric of his uniform. "Aomine... you're hard because of me?" There was the slightest hint of feigned surprise in his voice, another tease. "I never knew you felt that way. So that's why you always picked on me."

He stopped gripping the back of Aomine's head so that he could drop that hand to palm the other boy's cock through his uniform, pressing and rubbing against the warmth of him before giving him a firm squeeze. "Since I caused it, of course I'll help you with it."

[bluezone]

He was still afraid. That might not have come as any kind of surprise, all things considered, but the reasons for his fear were slowing morphing, taking those juvenile assumptions and twisting into something more ruthlessly solid and undeniable. He didn't need to know or understand what Tim was in order to comprehend what was happening; he didn't need to believe or explain his nature in order to recognize where things were going. A quick, upward glance was even though to send a real chill down his spine, because for the first time Tim really did look inhuman, his eyes dark holes, his expression a blank wall.

Aomine was caught. He was caught and he was finally coming to understand what that meant.

Tim didn't even need to remind him. He felt the realization stick in his throat like a branch of thorns.

"Nngh, fuh...fuck..."

His head dipped, and then pushed back, rolling to the side. He looked at Tim through barely opened eyes, his shoulders shivering, his hips jumping nearly entirely on their own. He couldn't deny that he'd gotten worked up; the evidence was right there. It was in Tim's hand, and his hand was sending pleasant jolts through his body. He had to swallow a moan, a real one, when he squeezed him, and his jaw started to ache from how hard he was clenching it.

"I fucking hate you." That, at least, felt and sounded like nothing but the solid truth. "You've got your hands all over me, you're using your damn...vampire shit, or whatever."

That, however, sounded much more shaky. Sharp, intense unease settled in his stomach and, thorough he knew it was useless, tried to squirm his vulnerable dick away from Tim's hand. He didn't so much as budge, and only made those metal tendrils dig into his skin and make his clothing pull at his erection more tightly. If he kept up with that, he'd probably rip something.

"I don't want your help."

[notlikeanyone]

There was just the barest pause in Tim's movements, a stillness that was difficult to discern because he was usually very understated in his movements anyway. He'd registered that Aomine disliked him, of course, but hate was... a strong word. A strong emotion.

But it wasn't like he could expect anything different, under the circumstances. Aomine was his captive, hating him was... normal.

"So? You can continue hating me." Was his voice... colder? As if it wasn't cold and unfeeling enough anyway. It wasn't as if he was capable of caring whether Aomine hated him or not.

"I'm not a vampire, you know," he added, but still gave Aomine's neck a gentle nip before moving back. He pressed his finger hard against the other boy's trapped nipple, rubbing it in circles. "You're just surprisingly sensitive, especially here... and here," he flicked the tip of Aomine's straining erection with his finger, like someone flicking a paper football. It was no use trying to move away from him, not with the metal tendrils holding tight - in fact, it just drew his attention. He pinched the tight fabric of Aomine's uniform between his fingers, and pulled, ripping it away as easily as if it had been wet tissue paper. He studied Aomine's exposed cock with the same cool, intense focus as everything else.

"It looks like you need my help."