
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10951974.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_(Comics), Batman_-_All_Media_Types, DCU_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Roman_Sionis/Jason_Todd
  Character:
      Jason_Todd, Roman_Sionis, Tim_Drake
  Additional Tags:
      Rape_as_Revenge, Forced_Drug_Use, BDSM_as_punishment, Humiliation, Jason
      is_not_a_good_guy_here, Sex_Tape, seriously, it's_rape, that's_all_it_is
  Series:
      Part 2 of Viceroy's_kink_alphabet
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-20 Words: 2766
****** H is for Humiliation ******
by viceroy
Summary
     The Red Hood had only one rule: Don't mess with kids.
     Unfortunately he's discovered the Black Mask broke that rule a few
     months before he returned to Gotham.
Notes
     Done as part of my kink alphabet series. Original anon asked for
     humiliation with Black Mask and Jason. Not sure if this is
     specifically what they wanted, but I tried my best. Anywho, this fic
     is nothing but noncon, so if it doesn't tickle your fancy, leave now
     because beyond this warning, I don't give a fuck about what you like
     or dislike.
It was hot in the penthouse that evening; so much so that Roman Sionis was
drenched in sweat and decidedly uncomfortable. He tried shifting, but his limbs
felt restrained. Something likely a side effect of his half-awake status but
bothersome enough that the uncomfortable feeling of his own skin caused him to
squirm as his heart began to beat in a panicked staccato.
“Oh, look who’s finally come back to the land of the living!”
Roman snapped to at the sound of the voice. Electronically distorted, but with
enough ease to have him instantly recognize who it is. “Red Hood,” he spat out
as he forced his eyes open. Sure enough, standing in the middle of his
penthouse master bedroom was his enemy and rival in crime, dressed in the
crimson helm and biker gear that had become synonymous with his name.
“So glad you remember who I am!” the man piped up, taking a few steps closer to
the bed. Glowing white eyes peered down at Roman. “Now, the last few weeks have
been pretty hectic, what with Blüdhaven blown to shit and the world almost
coming to an end, but I hope you didn't think I’d forgotten about you, sweet
cheeks.”
Sweet cheeks? Sionis growled at the insult and flung himself at Hood, but only
got a few inches before his arms locked and he slumped forward. With a quick
glance, he saw his wrists were shackled to chains which wrapped around his bed
posts and moved on to a point he couldn't see. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you
fucking shit!”
“Promises, promises, Romey boy. Do I gotta remind you that not once in your
miserable life have you actually managed to pull it off.” The helmet cocked to
the side for a moment. “And do I really have to remind you that you're not
really in a position to make threats? Especially after what I heard about you
through the grapevine, too.”
“The fuck are you talking about, psycho?” Roman spat out.
“Oh, come on. You might be a shitbag, but you aren't dumb.” The Hood stopped
for a moment before gloved hands moved to press buttons on either side of the
helmet, and with a small click, it came loose enough for the man to clear it
from his head. Underneath was someone young with raven hair, damp with sweat.
His eyes were obscured by a domino mask, and before he could make out what
color they were, white lenses slid down. If Roman wasn't an idiot, he’d say the
guy was a teenager.
“I’m sure you know from the spies you keep hoping I don't notice in my
operation—I do notice, by the way. It's surprising how shit your men are,
really.” The hood smirked and sat on the edge of the bed, just out of kicking
range. Not that it’d help. His legs were shackled as well. How the fuck did
this kid manage all this without him waking up? “The point is, I know that you
know that I only have one cardinal rule. That rule being: don't sell to kids.
Don't recruit kids. Don't hurt kids. See where I’m going with this, yet?”
“The fuck do you care?” He almost stuttered as his thoughts started racing,
trying to piece together what the fuck the Hood was on about, but he couldn't
focus, not with the turning of his gut, or the roll of sensation across his
body.
“Oh, I care a lot, Mister Sionis. You see, a few months ago, before my grand
debut, you had a little uprising of your own. Killed Orpheus, took apart the
Gotham Underworld, and made a nice claim to the city when you were done. But,
you see, buddy, this isn't the first time we tangoed, even if you don't
recognize me.” The Hood grinned then, though contempt soured any humor there.
“You had help. Observe.”
With a flourish, he brought Roman’s attention to his TV set at the opposite
side of the room, where a DVD idle screen flicked lazily back and forth across
the display. Picking up a remote, the Hood pressed a button, and the screen
came to life with the sounds of screams and the desperate face of a teenage
girl, bloody and broken. “Stephanie Brown happened to underestimate you in her
own bid to take down crime in Gotham for good. So you beat her, got any
information you could out of her, and then left her for dead.” The Hood shook
his head and stopped the gruesome display. With another push of a button, the
screen changed, and from what he could see was like a mirror image.
“What the fuck is going on?!” Roman demanded again, writhing now as once again
another wave of sensation both unpleasant and so overwhelmingly good that he
couldn't suppress the groan that came with it.
The Hood ignored him. “She did die, by the way. Sixteen, Sionis. Not even an
adult, yet, and you killed her. Left her to die.”
“She was a goddamn cape! Any one of us would have done the—“
“Do not lump me in with the likes of you!” The man roared in Roman’s face,
suddenly right there punching him hard enough in the gut that Roman fell over,
unable to recover soon enough to retaliate. “The only people in this town dumb
enough to actually kill kids, let alone one of the Bat’s kids, are the ones
like Zsasz or Joker.” He paused, and his voice went treacherously low. “And I
guess you.”
With that, the Hood’s voice returned to normal. “Normally, I’d just kill you.
Maybe do it slowly, painfully, so that it's all you’re thinking about when you
finally get that sweet release, but no. Not only did you tape a snuff film of a
fucking kid, but you fucking sent out the tapes to gloat. Not even the Joker
did that, and he actually managed to kill Robin years before you even mattered.
So here’s what's gonna go down.”
He appraised Roman for a moment before standing up, divesting himself of
jacket, armor, and undershirt. From a pocket a worn ski mask surfaced and the
Hood stuffed his head into it. “You're going to live tonight. But come tomorrow
night, it won't matter. You’ll be the laughingstock of Gotham. Anyone smart
enough will come working for me, and what I can't handle, I’m sure Cobblepot or
Genovese will be more than glad to nab up. And, ah! Looks like the drugs are
kicking in!”
“The fuck did you give me?!” Roman raged, twisting himself to no avail.
“Oh, nothing you aren't peddling already. Just meth.” Roman’s eyes went saucer
wide and the Hood chuckled. “What? Good enough for your customers, but not you?
Well, just so you know what's going on, your adrenaline and endorphins are
flooding your system right now. So you're probably experiencing the best high
of your life. Gave you more than a few rocks.” As he spoke, he moved away from
Roman and pulled a black bag from the side of the bed. “Slept right through it,
too. That won't be a problem for a minute, though. You won't be able to sleep
for at least a day once the tweak kicks in.”
“You bastard,” Roman cursed as the Hood unzipped the bag. “Whatever you got
planned for me, it's gonna be ten times worse for you!”
The Hood just clucked his tongue. “Highly doubt it. Wish I could listen to your
little fantasies a little more, but I’m on a schedule. You ready, big guy?”
“What?”
“I asked you if you were fucking ready!” A hard slap accentuated the Hood’s
words and Roman grunted, biting back a hiss as the mask threatened to tear free
from the points it had fused on his face. Stars exploded across his vision and
he blinked for a few seconds. As his vision cleared, the Hood worked on the
fastening of his robes and pulled it away as far as it could go. Revulsion
coursed through Sionis and he tried to move away from his captor. The Hood just
laughed, his pitch higher than it had been, now completely unrecognizable from
the same tone he’d been using before.
“Know what? It doesn't goddamn matter. You're paying me for this bullshit,
we’re moving at my pace.” He stood again and began rummaging through the bag.
“Your pace? You little shit, I’m gonna—“ crack! Roman howled and flinched
before he saw the source of his pain. In one hand the Hood swished a riding
crop, tapping it against his own shoulder as he regarded Roman with a look of
disgust.
“Keep your mouth fucking shut unless I specifically order it. You might be king
of the streets, but in here, I’m King, and you're just another little pussy
boy. Like we all know you are. Understand?”
“Fuck yo-“ Crack!
“I asked if you understood!” The Hood leaned over Roman, one booted foot on the
bed. “Answer the question!”
Sionis growled and made an attempt to head butt him, only to find that same
boot now planted firmly against his chest, forcing him down. “You can take your
question and shove it up your-“ Crack! This time it coincided with another wave
of feeling, and the sensation of the crop spread across Roman’s body like
wildfire. He groaned and squirmed against it, willing the feeling to go away.
“So we’re doing the brat thing today, huh?” The Hood slapped Sionis again, but
this time with little feeling, more condescending than physically painful. “I
can shift, boy.” He pressed down harder with that boot and Roman gasped before
the force eased up. “Count ‘em out!” It was the only warning he got before that
crop came down again, hard. And again. And again.
All Roman could do was cry out at the pain, too lost in the high and the sting
to comply, even if he wanted to. The Hood was relentless, slow enough in his
strikes for Roman to feel the spreading pain, but without any sort of rhythm so
he never got used to the lick of flames across his abdomen, his thighs, or his-
“I’m. Not. Hearing. Any. Fucking. Numbers!” Each word was accentuated by
another strike and Roman couldn't help but jerk in response to each one,
howling out his displeasure. “This doesn't end until I hear you counting, or
your word, baby. So which one is it gonna be?”
Word? What the fuck was this loon even talking about? He couldn't process it
with the pain. So with a sinking inside, Roman called out “One!”
Crack! “Two!”
A chuckle from the Hood. “Restarting.”Crack Roman howled his indignation. “I
think you mean, one, Sir!”
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Crack! With that one, it felt as if something
broke in Roman. Nothing physical, to say, but emotionally was a different story
entirely. He relented.
“One, Sir!”
“Good boy!” The Hood crowed, and made no other corrections as they made it
through two, four, ten strikes. Finally the crop stopped. Roman's whole front
felt like a furnace, and when he had strength enough, he looked at himself. He
was practically glowing red at that point, and the Hood was gently stroking a
path back and forth across his stomach, igniting a different fire altogether.
“Aren't you going to thank me for your discipline?”
“The fuck should I—“ the crop raised again and before Roman could stop him
self, he was bleating a frightened “Thank you, Sir,” at at the Hood.
“Now you're learning. You learn respect, you get what you want. That's the way
this works, Roman.” The Hood tossed the crop away and removed the boot from his
chest. Roman sighed in relief and allowed himself to relax, until his captor
piped up once again. “Why, look at this! All that complaining and somehow
you're as hard as a fucking rock.”
Roman opened his mouth to protest, but all that managed to slip out was a
strangled noise, because, fuck it all, he was. “You talk all this big game,
boy, but you can't hide what you like.” A rough hand closed around his cock and
started stroking slowly. Sionis couldn't help but writhe, thrusting into that
tight heat that promised release. “Deep down, under all that bluster, at the
foundation of your whole empire, is a little fucking slut waiting for someone
to put him in line.” The Hood huffed out a small laugh, and he could feel the
breath around his cock, so close. “Don't worry, though. I can definitely
provide.”
But only if he was good.
--
Tim was packing up his room in Titans Tower. Bruce had told him the plan about
a week after the Black Mask was delivered to GCPD, buck naked and his blood
stream coursing with meth. Afterward something of a regular status quo returned
to the city as far as crime went. Nothing huge that the Birds of Prey couldn't
handle alone was on the docket, and Babs swore that she would reach out if
something major was taking place.
Months away from Gotham. Away from having to be the Dynamic Duo. Getting back
to basics with Bruce and Dick. To let his injuries Jason had given him heal. To
get some distance from the memories of his Dad and Steph. To give him some time
to actually grieve and heal over the Crisis. Maybe this was exactly what he
needed.
As he was getting the last box ready, his email chimed from his nearby laptop-
the desktop had already been packed, courtesy of Vic and Gar. Curious, since
nobody at school had bothered contacting him since Bruce formally took him in,
and everyone else who had that info was downstairs.
He moved over to check his inbox. Only one message, with a file attachment.
Subject: Sorry about almost killing you.
From: Youknowwhothisis@fakemail.com
Hey, Timbo.
Probably the last person you want to see an email from, but I heard about your
buddy dying. And your girlfriend. Can't do anything about the first one, but I
could re: Brown. Pretty sure you guys noticed by now that Black Mask is out of
the picture. If you wanna know why it happened, check out the attachment. Give
this to B if you like. Or don't. I don't care either way.
You’re welcome,
Jay
Tim frowned and clicked the link. It took a bit to download, during which time
his own curiosity began to build. But finally his media player sprang to life,
and Tim was less than surprised to see Jason’s helmeted face fill the screen
momentarily before pulling back.
A groan came out from the background, and Tim flinched when Jason moved and he
could recognize Black Mask tied to a bed in what could be none other than his
own penthouse. “Oh, look who’s finally come back to the land of the living!”
Tim shuddered as the tape played out, the honeyed threats Jason delivered
striking exactly where they were meant to, his promise to exact revenge in
Steph’s name. Everything that followed after. And when it was finally done,
three men burst into the room, rough housing a shivering Sionis out as Jason
reapplied his gear. When the others were gone, Jason strolled to the camera and
picked it up so that only his face was visible.
“So now you know all the gory details. I'm sending a copy of this to all the
big names still active after Sionis took over. People will be leaving him in
droves. No one wants to work for the weak guy, right? I’m editing out anything
that makes it look like it wouldn't be a sex tape that got leaked, but hey. I
like a good challenge and I’m putting this in your hands. When Stephanie died,
Bruce didn't lift a finger to stop the guy who did it. I managed to ruin him in
an hour.”
The Hood sighed and looked away for a moment. Tim leaned in to the monitor,
trying to catch what else may be going on. “Look, I know it's useless to try
and get you to see that Batman’s no good for this city ever getting better. So
I’m leaving you a choice: Give this to Bruce or Barbara and have them try to
sort it out, or you can leave me be, and be happy with the fact that someone’s
making a difference in this town. The choice is yours.” The video cut out then,
leaving Tim in silence.
He deleted the video.
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