“Well,” Zebra said. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Hyde didn’t say anything. Was that embarrassment, the way he scowled at the floor? Was there regret in the curl of his lip? Shame in the furrow of his brow?

Zebra ran his fingers through Hyde’s hair, brushing it out of his face and tilting his head up. Hyde still avoided Zebra’s eyes, but Zebra smiled.

“If you had asked,” he said, “I would have said I wasn’t up for this, yet. I’m still healing from last time. But, since you’re here…”

He forced Hyde’s head back even further, twisting his hair in his fist. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Hyde bared his teeth but still refused to speak. That was fine. Zebra didn’t mind them quiet.

Hyde was tied with his back to Zebra’s headboard, his arms draped over it, his ankles spread the width of the mattress. Zebra was straddling his prize, looking down at Hyde with his knees to either side of his waist.

He let him go. Hyde rocked his head forward again, resuming his examination of the floor.

“I just want you to remember—” Zebra got off the bed and fished a large box out from under it. “Whatever happens, this is your fault. You brought this on yourself.”

Hyde scoffed. “I hope you don’t think me impressed,” he said, finally, spitting the words out like they’d turned sour in his mouth.

“Oh, no, of course not. I can tell you’re a—” Zebra smirked. “Gentleman, of—” he snorted. “Refined tastes. And this is a very makeshift arrangement. I don’t usually entertain in here. But you caught me off-guard. Much like you were caught off-guard when you. Fell. Down the stairs.”

He laughed.

He was trying to contain his giddiness, to present an air of authority and nonchalance. He succeeded — if one could ignore the excited twist of his grin, the eager pitch to his voice, the way he almost bounced in his seat. Which is to say, he didn’t really succeed at all.

He spread his hands over the top of the box. It was black leather, a little scuffed but otherwise well-cared for, with silver corner-guards and rivets dotting the edges. It didn’t open so much as unfold, blossoming into a series of shelves and drawers. Zebra’s own collection of toys. His favourites.

“But we’ll make do.” He lifted a straight razor and held it to the light. “We’ll have a grand old time. I promise.”

Hyde watched the razor, light reflecting off its silver handle and dancing over his face. He looked bored. A little disgusted, but mostly bored. Zebra thought he could fix that.

He took a breath to steady his nerves and his hands before standing back up. He leaned over Hyde and flicked the razor open.

“Are you going to give me a shave?” Hyde asked, sneering.

It took Zebra a moment to realise Hyde had spoken. He was too busy drinking the man in, enjoying the feast laid out before him. When the words registered, his eyes snapped up to Hyde’s face, and he was pleased to see that Hyde was looking at him, now. That Hyde was ready to pay attention, to involve himself in their activities.

“Yes,” Zebra said, and smiled. He touched the corner of his razor to Hyde’s jaw, just below his ear, and the confusion that had crossed Hyde’s face turned into concern.

Hyde turned his head away from the razor and Zebra pulled it back, brought it to his own face, to the puckered scar on his cheek. “Remember this?” he asked, cocking his head. “We could match.”

Hyde watched the razor, his face carefully schooled into that bored disinterest he used so often. Zebra recognised that face. Recognised all of Hyde’s faces. He loved that. Loved how familiar Hyde was, how cosy.

“No,” he said. He closed the razor and climbed back onto the bed. Positioned himself, once more, over Hyde. “This is mine. We’ll find something else for you.”

“You still talk too much,” Hyde said.

Zebra shrugged, pulling the razor open. His tongue traced over the cut on the roof of his mouth, found its way to the one on the inside of his cheek. Finished at his incisors, at his lips. His smile faded away. “Call me a slow learner.”

“Let me out,” Hyde said, mocking him. “And I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“No, letting me out was your mistake. That’s not one I plan on making.”

Hyde glared at him. “You let yourself out,” he said, as though that were any better. “It won’t happen again.”

“You are right about that, at least.”

Zebra settled himself on Hyde’s lap. ‘Comfortable’ was not the word for it, but it was pleasant. Hyde was warm. Thin. Muscular, in the way Zebra liked. He pressed a hand to Hyde’s chest and leaned forward, bringing the razor back to Hyde’s neck. Zebra’s heart raced. His skin pricked, and his mouth watered. The air around them felt thick with anticipation.

Something had to happen.

He pulled the razor back and it caught Hyde’s neck as it came, slicing into his flesh below his jaw. Hyde hissed, flinched, turned back to Zebra with a snarl on his lips and hate in his eyes.

He was bleeding.

Zebra leaned even further forward, his free hand sliding up Hyde’s chest to his throat. He lay against the man, resting himself in the nooks and the corners of Hyde’s body, fitting himself there like it was his home. He breathed in Hyde’s scent, taking in the sharp, metal smell of his blood and his pain.

“I don’t want to impress you,” he said. He licked him, trailing his tongue along the wound.

Hyde hissed again.

“I don’t want to intimidate you,” Zebra continued. “I don’t want to scare you. I don’t care what you think of me, because I don’t care what you think.”

His hand curled around behind Hyde’s neck, up to his head and his hair. His fingers tangled themselves there, pulled Hyde’s head back and displayed his throat.

“I just want to own you,” Zebra said. “For one night. And then never again.”

Hyde started to say something — no doubt something very clever and very hurtful — but his voice broke as Zebra bit him, sinking his teeth into his larynx.

He didn’t break skin, not yet. He held himself back, showing off an amazing level of restraint. Even though he could feel Hyde’s pulse through his teeth, could taste his blood on his tongue, could feel Hyde trying not to struggle beneath him, he still did not bite down. Not as much as he wanted to, anyway.

Hyde jerked, spasmed, simultaneously trying (and failing) to get away from Zebra, and trying (and failing) to maintain his composure and some semblance of control. He was growling again, and Zebra could feel that too, in his mouth and in his chest.

“Do—” Hyde started, and again stopped with a twitch of Zebra’s jaw.

When Hyde had gathered enough of himself to craft a calm façade, Zebra let him go. He sat up, pulled his hands back, and admired the toothmarks on Hyde’s neck. The smear of blood across his throat.

He smiled.

Hyde did not.

Zebra hooked his fingers into Hyde’s shirt-collar and tugged it down. It reached its limit just below his clavicle and could not be persuaded to reveal any more of Hyde’s chest. At least, not while it was still intact. This was a problem easily resolved.

“I hope you’re not too attached to this,” Zebra said, taking his razor to it. He cut from the collar down, the razor held in a rough and savage overhand grip. He was careful to avoid taking any of Hyde’s skin with it — again wielding restraint and patience with as much skill as he did his toys.

“I’d let you borrow one of mine,” he said, “but you won’t be needing it. And I doubt it would…”

He trailed off, tilting his head and losing himself in thought. Distracted by an image of Hyde in a very tight shirt.

Hyde cleared his throat. “Fit,” he said, when Zebra looked back at him.

“Yes. That.”

“Do you plan on taking this seriously at any point?” Hyde asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He shifted under Zebra. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m deeply engaged,” he said, though his still-bored tone suggested otherwise. “And your supervillain speeches are appropriately terrifying. But are you actually going to do anything? Aside from the paper-cut you left on my neck, I mean.”

Zebra grinned, baring his bloody teeth. “Ah, then,” he said. “You mean, you want me to ‘do something.’”

Hyde rolled his eyes.

“No, no,” Zebra said. “No, you’re right, of course, you’re right. Do something. I’ll do something.”

He stabbed him. The edge of his razor cut into Hyde’s waist as he brought the blade down, and Hyde lurched forward, snapping at Zebra like a wild animal.

Zebra laughed, raising the razor and letting it bite deeper into Hyde’s flesh on the way. His sheets were already soaked with Hyde’s blood, and that would be a lovely reminder once all was said and done. A souvenir, for a little while.

He set his razor on Hyde’s exposed chest and it shed droplets of blood against his pale skin. Pale, and getting paler, if Zebra had to guess. Maybe that was wishful thinking. No matter what he said, he did very much want Hyde to be afraid of him — that always made things so much more fun.

He shifted, sliding over to Hyde’s other side, entwining their legs together. He got a look at the gash he’d created, and Hyde flinched when Zebra put his hands around it.

It was fine if Hyde wasn’t afraid, so long as he hurt. But if Zebra could have both, then he really, truly, wanted both.

The cut was good. Deep. Past the fat and into the muscle. It would be enough to kill Hyde all on its own, though Zebra had no plans on giving the chance.

He covered it with his hand, his fingers laying over it, almost in it, and Hyde very carefully did not react. Zebra turned to look back at him, laid his head on Hyde’s chest. Hyde glared down at Zebra and tried to kill him with his mind — or, that’s what his expression implied, at least.

It wasn’t working.

“You do need to breathe,” Zebra said, because Hyde was trying not to. With every breath, the wound spread a little, spilt a little more blood. Hyde kept his breath shallow, kept his sides a little tense — his chest barely moving, all while he glared at Zebra and pretended he didn’t care.

Zebra raised his head again, looking back down at his handiwork. “It’ll hurt either way,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for you to pass out already. Not this soon.”

“I thought you didn’t care about me,” Hyde growled.

“Oh, no.” Zebra curled his fingers and Hyde tried to flinch away from his hand. “I care very, very much about you. It’s what you think of me that I don’t care about.”

Hyde scoffed, still a little breathless. His muscles were twitching and tensing around Zebra’s fingers. Zebra slid his leg under Hyde’s, his arm around Hyde’s back, pulling himself close.

“You wouldn’t be here,” Zebra said, “if I didn’t care about you. I don’t break all of this out for just anybody, you know.”

“I took you as better than that.”

Zebra shrugged. He pressed his fingers in deeper, deeper than the razor had gone. “That’s exactly the thing I don’t care about.”

Hyde made a noise in spite of himself, strangled and animalistic.

Zebra grinned. “There you are.”

“What?”

“And there it goes, again.” Zebra pulled his unoccupied hand back out and waved it over Hyde. “This,” he said, “the gentleman. This isn’t really you — I’m an actor, I can tell.”

He curled his fingers back toward his hand, taking Hyde’s side in a fist, before shifting again and pulling himself once more over Hyde’s waist.

“I’ve seen a little past the act. I want to see the rest of it before I get rid of you.”

“Do you remember what I told you, last time?”

“What’s that?”

“You shouldn’t go looking for me.”

Zebra smirked. “Good line. It is a lovely act. It’s one reason why I like you.”

He pulled his fingers free. Hyde relaxed a little and his breath escaped him in something like a sigh, something like a groan.

“Maybe I need to make it clear,” Zebra said. “I don’t care if you’re afraid of me — I am also not afraid of you. I’ve seen your best, and I’ve had better.”

It was all lies. A small chill ran through Zebra with recollections of Hyde’s artistry. He could conceive of better, perhaps — he could imagine perfection. But Hyde was good. He was very good.

He also didn’t need to know that.

Hyde actually laughed. His voice was clear, again — no hint in it that he had sustained a traumatic injury, that he should be going into shock. “My best,” he said. “If I had given you my best, you would be dead.”

“Words.”

“I was bored.” His tone was halfway between amusement and disgust. Pity. “Killing time until I could find a more suitable replacement.”

Zebra frowned and Hyde laughed again.

“How quaint,” he said. “You’ve developed feelings for me. I’m sorry, Bastien, you were nothing more than a tawdry fling.”

Zebra’s frown turned thoughtful. “Feelings,” he said. “Maybe you could say that.”

“Truly tragic.”

“The tragedy here is that you will never have a chance to show me your best, if it’s true that you haven’t already. I guess my best is better.”

Hyde snarled. “You’ve done nothing,” he snapped. “This is nothing.”

“Patience.”

His hand was covered in Hyde’s blood. His fingers stuck together, stuck to his palm, as he flexed them. It was the same red as everyone else’s. Dried into the same brown under his nails.

He wiped it off on Hyde’s stomach before picking the razor back up.

“All good things,” he said, “in their time.”