INTERLUDE
INTERLUDE
Red Hood collapses wearily into a chair, pulling off his helmet and rubbing his hands over his face, exhausted. He should get up and go and talk to the others, discuss their next moves, make plans for Gotham.
He should go back to the hall, see Batman off to his own world, at least. He’s always hated goodbyes, and there’s been so many of them lately. At least this one doesn’t involve a coffin.
He decides to take a moment, though. To let the full impact of the past few days hit him, to mentally catalogue all the pain and bruises, defeats and victories. Then he’ll be alright to fight again. He’ll pack it all away neatly in his mind, become the faceless hero. He can’t afford to show weakness.
His muscles are still contracting painfully on their own, limbs twitching, a side-effect of the electric torture. He’s experienced it before - this wasn’t the first time he’s been captured - but never for that prolonged a period, never at that intensity. His thoughts still feel a little scrambled and he can feel every bruise, every muscle aching.
Still, no scars this time. No permanent damage, with any luck. He’s fared better this time than most of the occasions he’s faced his enemies.
Another shudder runs through him, a wave of pain he rides out, familiar with the sensation of waiting for it to pass. He wishes he had time to sleep, but doubts he’d be able to with these after affects anyway.
There’s a knock at the door and he wearily reaches for his hood, puts it back on. He’s needed. Enough of this self-indulgence.
“Come in,” he calls. The door opens, and to his surprise, it’s Batman standing there.
“Sorry, is it time for you to go? I’ll come out to the hall.” He stands up, careful to hide how weak his body feels.
Batman shakes his head.
“No, I’m not going yet after all. There are things we can help each other with here, information on our enemies. I can afford another 24 hours in this universe. I think it will benefit all of us.”
“And Owlman?”
“…Is locked up securely, with food and water. I’m sure he’ll survive waiting another day.” Batman hesitates, looks closely at him. “I wanted…also, I wanted to apologise. It was my fault you got captured. Tortured. That should never have happened, I should have realised what they’d do to you.”
Red Hood shakes his head. “You already apologised for that, you don’t need to do it again.”
“No, I do. I’m so sorry. I want to make it up to you, somehow. If I can.” He looks at Red Hood anxiously. “Are you alright?”
“I’ve survived worse,” he says.
“That’s not an answer,” Batman says softly.
Another shudder runs through him uncontrollably, and he has to clutch at the table next to him to stop himself from falling. Adrenaline will only take you so far, now it’s all catching up with him.
Batman is suddenly next to him, supporting him, and helping him gently back into the chair. “You should rest,” he says.
“No, no I have to go - General Grodd is expecting me to -“
“Actually, he sent me down here to tell you to, and I quote, “take the rest of tonight off or I will come down there and knock you out myself.” They’ve got everything under control.”
“…Oh.”
“Here.” Batman pulls something out of his utility belt, hands it to Red Hood. “Take this.”
“What is it?” he asks suspiciously.
“Muscle relaxant. It should help - believe me, I know. Actually, you should take one twice this strength but then you’d still be feeling sluggish tomorrow. I’m assuming you wouldn’t want that.”
“This has happened to you as well?”
“Our enemies…have similar techniques, apparently.” He grimaced.
Red Hood stares down at the pill in his hand. After everything that had happened, the question was: did he trust Batman? He had Owlman’s face, but not his aims. Not his personality. Not his appetite for terror and pain. He had proven that.
He turns his head away, even though Batman has already seen his face, and takes off his helmet. He downs the pill.
He sighs, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands, then jumps when he feels Batman’s hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Every muscle feels like it’s in knots.
“So…any other tips for dealing with this?” he asks, feeling more than a little awkward about the situation.
“Well, a massage would help relax the muscles. Last time this happened to me I called one of those masseurs that come to your house…didn’t tell her why all my muscles were acting like knotted metal, of course. Just said I’d been stressed lately.”
“And she believed you?”
“Had no reason not to. I didn’t answer the door in the Batsuit, you know.”
Red Hood snorts with laughter. “Well, okay, good idea. Except that I’m a wanted man and I don’t exactly pass for one of the populace out of the hood, so I can’t really call anyone in. Thanks anyway, though.”
Batman is silent for a moment, still rubbing his back. “I could give you one,” he offers.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”
“No, really. It would help you, and like I said…. I want to make it up to you.”
He is looking at Red Hood with an intense expression that he can’t quite interpret. He hesitates while he tries to work out if this is, in fact, the come-on it sounds like, and then after a moment decides he doesn’t care, whatever Batman’s intentions a massage would probably help. If he doesn’t mean anything else by it, then at least it will be nice to be touched by someone who isn’t just trying to kick him in the teeth. He tells himself he’ll just enjoy this for what it is, not expect too much.
“Well…okay. If you’re sure.”
“Good. Do you want to lie down, then? It would make it easier.”
He moves over to the bed and lies down, now feeling incredibly self-conscious and rather vulnerable. Batman looks down at him.
“You’re going to keep wearing that dress shirt?”
He realises that he is, in fact, still wearing most of his costume, bow tie and all. He sits up again, embarrassed. He takes off the bow tie, starts undoing the shirt buttons, then slows as he realises he’s not wearing an undershirt beneath it. Batman is still looking at him.
“Um…maybe I should go get a t-shirt or something.”
Batman looks surprised. “Well, if it makes you self-conscious…” He looks concerned. “Is something wrong? If I’m making you uncomfortable…”
Red Hood shakes his head. “No, it’s just…I have a lot of scars.”
How to explain that he rarely lets anyone see him without his hood, let alone anything more? He doesn’t even have any mirrors in his house, hating to see how he’s been changed from what he was, his skin bleached from the acid, his hair green, his face almost unrecognisable, even to himself. He thinks wryly that he probably should have thought that one through before he lay down on the bed.
Batman, however, looks sympathetic.
“So do I,” he says. “Comes with the line of work.”
Red Hood still doesn’t make any further moves to take off the shirt. After a moment Batman undoes some clasps and takes off his gloves, then reaches up and takes off his own cowl. Red Hood stares at the model-good looks revealed to him, and for a split second hates Batman for looking so normal, for being able to disappear into the everyday mass of humanity the way he’ll never be able to again.
“I’ve only ever done that in front of one other person before,” says Batman, looking rather shell-shocked. After a moment Red Hood realises he means taking off the mask.
“You mean, only one other person knows who you really are?”
“I think I’m really Batman. But, yes.”
“Who is it?”
“My butler.”
“Your…..butler.”
“Yes.”
There’s a long pause.
“…You have a butler?”
“Yes. Um, it’s sort of complicated. He kind of raised me…”
“You were raised by your butler?”
“Err…Yes?”
Red Hood decides that he’s not, after all, the person with the biggest problems in the room. And normality be damned. He takes off his shirt and lies down.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” he says, somewhat muffled by the pillow.
Batman runs a hand gently over the scars on his back, causing another shudder to run through his agonised muscles.
“Did Owlman give you these?” he asks.
“Him and the rest of the Injustice Society. I don’t know, maybe they draw lots to see who gets to use me as a punching bag each week.”
Batman settles himself on the bed next to him, and then warm hands are massaging his back in firm, even strokes, and every muscle is seizing up in their path, and it’s agonising.
“Just relax. It’ll feel better in a minute, I promise.”
Red Hood grits his teeth and tries to do as Batman says. The hands keep moving on him and gradually his overworked muscles finally stop convulsing and he begins to relax into it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s getting better. You’re right, this is helping.”
Batman continues kneading at the knots in his back and shoulders, and the steady movement begins to feel good instead of painful. Red Hood is beginning to wish there was someone to do this for him after every mission. It would certainly give him something to look forward to.
Although this isn’t the sort of thing team-mates generally do for each other. At least, not in his universe. He’s beginning to wonder exactly what sort of relationship this man has with the version of him in his own world, but decides now probably isn’t the time to find out. It’s just the two of them now, and some questions are best left unasked.
He feels like he’s sinking further and further into the bed as his body gradually releases tension he didn’t even know he was holding - from long before he was captured, or the current mission. Built up from his ongoing life as a crime fighter - he’s loathe to call himself a hero - he supposes.
He’s glad he won’t be expected to do anything else tonight, because his limbs are beginning to feel like jelly. He can forget, for once, that the rest of the world exists, and all that matters is the soothing motion of Batman’s hands sliding rhythmically along his back, the slightly rough feel of calloused skin against skin, and the undeniable pleasure of a warm body next to his own.
It’s silent in the room now, the only sound their breathing.
Red Hood’s muscles stopped twitching quite some time ago, and if there was a cue for Batman to stop, that was it. Instead, his touches have become increasingly sensual, almost caressing, hands moving from his back down to curve around his hips; slow, smooth strokes that linger a little too long and have Red Hood struggling to keep his breathing under control. He desperately wants Batman to go further, but isn’t sure whether to make a move himself: he might just scare him off.
Finally Batman runs his hands down Red Hood’s hips, down to his thighs, then back up, and stops with one hand resting on his inner thigh, inches away from where Red Hood’s arousal is becoming almost painfully insistent. He can’t help but let out a whimper.
“Do you want me to keep going?” Batman asks, and Red Hood is relieved to hear the slight unsteadiness in his voice, the proof that he’s feeling the same way.
“Yes,” he breathes out, his own voice shaking.
Batman’s hand continues downward, slides under him, and he can’t help but gasp and buck into it helplessly.
“Turn over,” Batman says, his voice a low growl, and Red Hood complies.
Then Batman’s hands are undoing his pants and pushing them down onto his hips, and the dark figure, still wearing the cape and armour, is crouching down over him and a warm mouth is suddenly engulfing his arousal and he cries out and thrusts upwards blindly.
Hands on his hips hold him gently but firmly in place as Batman’s mouth moves slowly down to the base and then back up again. Red Hood makes an incoherent noise as Batman pauses to swirl his tongue around the head, and then licks down his length, torturously slowly, thumbs now absently rubbing gentle circles on his hips.
He moans a sound that might have been “God,” or “More,” but whatever it is Batman understands and picks up the pace, and the feeling of that mouth moving up and down, tongue tracing patterns and then the hot, tight heat as Batman swallows has him writhing and gasping helplessly beneath him on the bed.
Batman keeps moving, working out quickly from the small noises he can’t help making what he likes, how to bring him right to the edge, and God but it’s been way too long since he’s done this.
A whole different kind of tension is building up now and suddenly he’s almost afraid at the feeling of the waves of pleasure going through him, unable to deal with the onslaught of sensations and quite abruptly terrified at the thought of someone else being so much in control. His nerve endings feel completely shot from what happened to him earlier and everything feels too intense, his skin too sensitive, the feelings overwhelming.
His gasps almost sound like sobbing now and he’s so close it’s agonising but he’s not even sure if he wants to do this anymore, if he can do this, and then Batman pulls away for a moment and looks down, his dark eyes filled with understanding, and says:
“It’s okay. You can trust me. Just let go.”
And somehow that’s all he needs, and this time when Batman’s mouth moves down over him Red Hood comes about as hard as he’s ever come in his life, thrusting upwards blindly and unable to breathe almost it’s so intense, coloured lights exploding behind his eyelids, a silent scream on his lips and the whole world feeling like it’s breaking into pieces around him.
And then he really is crying he’s so utterly overwhelmed, and Batman is gently brushing the tears away with his thumbs, cradling his face in his hands, and saying: “Shhh. It’s okay. Shhh…” and he clings to the armoured chest and lets it all wash over him, body limp and shaking in Batman’s arms.
When he comes back to something approaching coherent thought again, it’s to find Batman moving the blankets and gently shifting him under the covers. Then he strips off his armour and cape and climbs in too, and Red Hood is absurdly grateful that he’s staying with him. He sleepily watches the play of muscle in the scarred flesh and then suddenly realises with a guilty start that he’s hardly touched Batman in all this time, and it must be well and truly his turn by now.
“Um, do you want…should I…” he says, half sitting up again and gesturing awkwardly towards him (and he’s usually much more suave than this, and he can really only blame Batman for destroying his thought processes entirely with what he just did).
“No, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.” The rasp in his voice is genuine now, not like the one he normally fakes, and Red Hood is a little amused in some random corner of his brain at the thought of it being the result of their recent activities. “C’mon, you’re exhausted. Just rest. This was about you, not me.”
“But -“ Red Hood says helplessly.
Batman settles them so he’s curled against Batman’s chest, and the warmth of his body and steady heartbeat against his ear has him struggling to stay awake, his eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. Okay, it probably would be a little embarrassing to fall asleep in the middle of reciprocating.
“Go to sleep,” Batman says gently. “You’re safe here.”
“Was this really all about making it up to me? Because that’s a little above and beyond the call of duty, you know…” Red Hood says sleepily. “And I’m feeling like a bit of a bad guy here, not giving anything back…”
“You can return the favour in the morning, if you’re that worried,” says Batman, sounding amused.
“Okay, I’ll hold you to that.” He sighs and snuggles closer, already more than half asleep.
Batman tucks the blankets more securely around them both then settles down, one hand absently toying with a strand of Red Hood’s hair. Gradually their breathing both evens out. The hand slows, then stops, coming to rest around Red Hood’s waist, pulling him a little closer. Tomorrow they will take up their masks again, keep fighting their battles. For now, sleep claims them both. They rest.
Red Hood collapses wearily into a chair, pulling off his helmet and rubbing his hands over his face, exhausted. He should get up and go and talk to the others, discuss their next moves, make plans for Gotham.
He should go back to the hall, see Batman off to his own world, at least. He’s always hated goodbyes, and there’s been so many of them lately. At least this one doesn’t involve a coffin.
He decides to take a moment, though. To let the full impact of the past few days hit him, to mentally catalogue all the pain and bruises, defeats and victories. Then he’ll be alright to fight again. He’ll pack it all away neatly in his mind, become the faceless hero. He can’t afford to show weakness.
His muscles are still contracting painfully on their own, limbs twitching, a side-effect of the electric torture. He’s experienced it before - this wasn’t the first time he’s been captured - but never for that prolonged a period, never at that intensity. His thoughts still feel a little scrambled and he can feel every bruise, every muscle aching.
Still, no scars this time. No permanent damage, with any luck. He’s fared better this time than most of the occasions he’s faced his enemies.
Another shudder runs through him, a wave of pain he rides out, familiar with the sensation of waiting for it to pass. He wishes he had time to sleep, but doubts he’d be able to with these after affects anyway.
There’s a knock at the door and he wearily reaches for his hood, puts it back on. He’s needed. Enough of this self-indulgence.
“Come in,” he calls. The door opens, and to his surprise, it’s Batman standing there.
“Sorry, is it time for you to go? I’ll come out to the hall.” He stands up, careful to hide how weak his body feels.
Batman shakes his head.
“No, I’m not going yet after all. There are things we can help each other with here, information on our enemies. I can afford another 24 hours in this universe. I think it will benefit all of us.”
“And Owlman?”
“…Is locked up securely, with food and water. I’m sure he’ll survive waiting another day.” Batman hesitates, looks closely at him. “I wanted…also, I wanted to apologise. It was my fault you got captured. Tortured. That should never have happened, I should have realised what they’d do to you.”
Red Hood shakes his head. “You already apologised for that, you don’t need to do it again.”
“No, I do. I’m so sorry. I want to make it up to you, somehow. If I can.” He looks at Red Hood anxiously. “Are you alright?”
“I’ve survived worse,” he says.
“That’s not an answer,” Batman says softly.
Another shudder runs through him uncontrollably, and he has to clutch at the table next to him to stop himself from falling. Adrenaline will only take you so far, now it’s all catching up with him.
Batman is suddenly next to him, supporting him, and helping him gently back into the chair. “You should rest,” he says.
“No, no I have to go - General Grodd is expecting me to -“
“Actually, he sent me down here to tell you to, and I quote, “take the rest of tonight off or I will come down there and knock you out myself.” They’ve got everything under control.”
“…Oh.”
“Here.” Batman pulls something out of his utility belt, hands it to Red Hood. “Take this.”
“What is it?” he asks suspiciously.
“Muscle relaxant. It should help - believe me, I know. Actually, you should take one twice this strength but then you’d still be feeling sluggish tomorrow. I’m assuming you wouldn’t want that.”
“This has happened to you as well?”
“Our enemies…have similar techniques, apparently.” He grimaced.
Red Hood stares down at the pill in his hand. After everything that had happened, the question was: did he trust Batman? He had Owlman’s face, but not his aims. Not his personality. Not his appetite for terror and pain. He had proven that.
He turns his head away, even though Batman has already seen his face, and takes off his helmet. He downs the pill.
He sighs, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands, then jumps when he feels Batman’s hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Every muscle feels like it’s in knots.
“So…any other tips for dealing with this?” he asks, feeling more than a little awkward about the situation.
“Well, a massage would help relax the muscles. Last time this happened to me I called one of those masseurs that come to your house…didn’t tell her why all my muscles were acting like knotted metal, of course. Just said I’d been stressed lately.”
“And she believed you?”
“Had no reason not to. I didn’t answer the door in the Batsuit, you know.”
Red Hood snorts with laughter. “Well, okay, good idea. Except that I’m a wanted man and I don’t exactly pass for one of the populace out of the hood, so I can’t really call anyone in. Thanks anyway, though.”
Batman is silent for a moment, still rubbing his back. “I could give you one,” he offers.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”
“No, really. It would help you, and like I said…. I want to make it up to you.”
He is looking at Red Hood with an intense expression that he can’t quite interpret. He hesitates while he tries to work out if this is, in fact, the come-on it sounds like, and then after a moment decides he doesn’t care, whatever Batman’s intentions a massage would probably help. If he doesn’t mean anything else by it, then at least it will be nice to be touched by someone who isn’t just trying to kick him in the teeth. He tells himself he’ll just enjoy this for what it is, not expect too much.
“Well…okay. If you’re sure.”
“Good. Do you want to lie down, then? It would make it easier.”
He moves over to the bed and lies down, now feeling incredibly self-conscious and rather vulnerable. Batman looks down at him.
“You’re going to keep wearing that dress shirt?”
He realises that he is, in fact, still wearing most of his costume, bow tie and all. He sits up again, embarrassed. He takes off the bow tie, starts undoing the shirt buttons, then slows as he realises he’s not wearing an undershirt beneath it. Batman is still looking at him.
“Um…maybe I should go get a t-shirt or something.”
Batman looks surprised. “Well, if it makes you self-conscious…” He looks concerned. “Is something wrong? If I’m making you uncomfortable…”
Red Hood shakes his head. “No, it’s just…I have a lot of scars.”
How to explain that he rarely lets anyone see him without his hood, let alone anything more? He doesn’t even have any mirrors in his house, hating to see how he’s been changed from what he was, his skin bleached from the acid, his hair green, his face almost unrecognisable, even to himself. He thinks wryly that he probably should have thought that one through before he lay down on the bed.
Batman, however, looks sympathetic.
“So do I,” he says. “Comes with the line of work.”
Red Hood still doesn’t make any further moves to take off the shirt. After a moment Batman undoes some clasps and takes off his gloves, then reaches up and takes off his own cowl. Red Hood stares at the model-good looks revealed to him, and for a split second hates Batman for looking so normal, for being able to disappear into the everyday mass of humanity the way he’ll never be able to again.
“I’ve only ever done that in front of one other person before,” says Batman, looking rather shell-shocked. After a moment Red Hood realises he means taking off the mask.
“You mean, only one other person knows who you really are?”
“I think I’m really Batman. But, yes.”
“Who is it?”
“My butler.”
“Your…..butler.”
“Yes.”
There’s a long pause.
“…You have a butler?”
“Yes. Um, it’s sort of complicated. He kind of raised me…”
“You were raised by your butler?”
“Err…Yes?”
Red Hood decides that he’s not, after all, the person with the biggest problems in the room. And normality be damned. He takes off his shirt and lies down.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” he says, somewhat muffled by the pillow.
Batman runs a hand gently over the scars on his back, causing another shudder to run through his agonised muscles.
“Did Owlman give you these?” he asks.
“Him and the rest of the Injustice Society. I don’t know, maybe they draw lots to see who gets to use me as a punching bag each week.”
Batman settles himself on the bed next to him, and then warm hands are massaging his back in firm, even strokes, and every muscle is seizing up in their path, and it’s agonising.
“Just relax. It’ll feel better in a minute, I promise.”
Red Hood grits his teeth and tries to do as Batman says. The hands keep moving on him and gradually his overworked muscles finally stop convulsing and he begins to relax into it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s getting better. You’re right, this is helping.”
Batman continues kneading at the knots in his back and shoulders, and the steady movement begins to feel good instead of painful. Red Hood is beginning to wish there was someone to do this for him after every mission. It would certainly give him something to look forward to.
Although this isn’t the sort of thing team-mates generally do for each other. At least, not in his universe. He’s beginning to wonder exactly what sort of relationship this man has with the version of him in his own world, but decides now probably isn’t the time to find out. It’s just the two of them now, and some questions are best left unasked.
He feels like he’s sinking further and further into the bed as his body gradually releases tension he didn’t even know he was holding - from long before he was captured, or the current mission. Built up from his ongoing life as a crime fighter - he’s loathe to call himself a hero - he supposes.
He’s glad he won’t be expected to do anything else tonight, because his limbs are beginning to feel like jelly. He can forget, for once, that the rest of the world exists, and all that matters is the soothing motion of Batman’s hands sliding rhythmically along his back, the slightly rough feel of calloused skin against skin, and the undeniable pleasure of a warm body next to his own.
It’s silent in the room now, the only sound their breathing.
Red Hood’s muscles stopped twitching quite some time ago, and if there was a cue for Batman to stop, that was it. Instead, his touches have become increasingly sensual, almost caressing, hands moving from his back down to curve around his hips; slow, smooth strokes that linger a little too long and have Red Hood struggling to keep his breathing under control. He desperately wants Batman to go further, but isn’t sure whether to make a move himself: he might just scare him off.
Finally Batman runs his hands down Red Hood’s hips, down to his thighs, then back up, and stops with one hand resting on his inner thigh, inches away from where Red Hood’s arousal is becoming almost painfully insistent. He can’t help but let out a whimper.
“Do you want me to keep going?” Batman asks, and Red Hood is relieved to hear the slight unsteadiness in his voice, the proof that he’s feeling the same way.
“Yes,” he breathes out, his own voice shaking.
Batman’s hand continues downward, slides under him, and he can’t help but gasp and buck into it helplessly.
“Turn over,” Batman says, his voice a low growl, and Red Hood complies.
Then Batman’s hands are undoing his pants and pushing them down onto his hips, and the dark figure, still wearing the cape and armour, is crouching down over him and a warm mouth is suddenly engulfing his arousal and he cries out and thrusts upwards blindly.
Hands on his hips hold him gently but firmly in place as Batman’s mouth moves slowly down to the base and then back up again. Red Hood makes an incoherent noise as Batman pauses to swirl his tongue around the head, and then licks down his length, torturously slowly, thumbs now absently rubbing gentle circles on his hips.
He moans a sound that might have been “God,” or “More,” but whatever it is Batman understands and picks up the pace, and the feeling of that mouth moving up and down, tongue tracing patterns and then the hot, tight heat as Batman swallows has him writhing and gasping helplessly beneath him on the bed.
Batman keeps moving, working out quickly from the small noises he can’t help making what he likes, how to bring him right to the edge, and God but it’s been way too long since he’s done this.
A whole different kind of tension is building up now and suddenly he’s almost afraid at the feeling of the waves of pleasure going through him, unable to deal with the onslaught of sensations and quite abruptly terrified at the thought of someone else being so much in control. His nerve endings feel completely shot from what happened to him earlier and everything feels too intense, his skin too sensitive, the feelings overwhelming.
His gasps almost sound like sobbing now and he’s so close it’s agonising but he’s not even sure if he wants to do this anymore, if he can do this, and then Batman pulls away for a moment and looks down, his dark eyes filled with understanding, and says:
“It’s okay. You can trust me. Just let go.”
And somehow that’s all he needs, and this time when Batman’s mouth moves down over him Red Hood comes about as hard as he’s ever come in his life, thrusting upwards blindly and unable to breathe almost it’s so intense, coloured lights exploding behind his eyelids, a silent scream on his lips and the whole world feeling like it’s breaking into pieces around him.
And then he really is crying he’s so utterly overwhelmed, and Batman is gently brushing the tears away with his thumbs, cradling his face in his hands, and saying: “Shhh. It’s okay. Shhh…” and he clings to the armoured chest and lets it all wash over him, body limp and shaking in Batman’s arms.
When he comes back to something approaching coherent thought again, it’s to find Batman moving the blankets and gently shifting him under the covers. Then he strips off his armour and cape and climbs in too, and Red Hood is absurdly grateful that he’s staying with him. He sleepily watches the play of muscle in the scarred flesh and then suddenly realises with a guilty start that he’s hardly touched Batman in all this time, and it must be well and truly his turn by now.
“Um, do you want…should I…” he says, half sitting up again and gesturing awkwardly towards him (and he’s usually much more suave than this, and he can really only blame Batman for destroying his thought processes entirely with what he just did).
“No, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.” The rasp in his voice is genuine now, not like the one he normally fakes, and Red Hood is a little amused in some random corner of his brain at the thought of it being the result of their recent activities. “C’mon, you’re exhausted. Just rest. This was about you, not me.”
“But -“ Red Hood says helplessly.
Batman settles them so he’s curled against Batman’s chest, and the warmth of his body and steady heartbeat against his ear has him struggling to stay awake, his eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. Okay, it probably would be a little embarrassing to fall asleep in the middle of reciprocating.
“Go to sleep,” Batman says gently. “You’re safe here.”
“Was this really all about making it up to me? Because that’s a little above and beyond the call of duty, you know…” Red Hood says sleepily. “And I’m feeling like a bit of a bad guy here, not giving anything back…”
“You can return the favour in the morning, if you’re that worried,” says Batman, sounding amused.
“Okay, I’ll hold you to that.” He sighs and snuggles closer, already more than half asleep.
Batman tucks the blankets more securely around them both then settles down, one hand absently toying with a strand of Red Hood’s hair. Gradually their breathing both evens out. The hand slows, then stops, coming to rest around Red Hood’s waist, pulling him a little closer. Tomorrow they will take up their masks again, keep fighting their battles. For now, sleep claims them both. They rest.