Shattered (1/1)
Title: Shattered
Author: Rachel
Disclaimer: Sadly, DC owns them, not me.
Rating: PG13-ish
Notes: This is a one-off piece set in a verse I'm working on; a world in which Batman never existed. However, just because there isn't a Batman, doesn't mean there isn't a Bruce Wayne...
The room is still, except for breathing and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. It has taken you both so long to reach this point, because it was never supposed to be about you and him. It was supposed to be jewels, getting in with Gotham’s social climbers, the added thrill of complimenting one Gotham’s princesses about her boyfriend’s fine choice in diamonds, knowing that the next night they would be yours. You were bored; you didn’t need the money and if you had, there were better ways of getting it. This was for fun; this was a game. This was about expensive dinners, extravagant gifts and being the arm candy of Gotham’s wanted bachelor.
This wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was a philanthropist, a flake. He went through women like socks and treated him about the same. He would screw you and then leave in the middle of the night without so much as a note. You weren’t supposed to see past the facade, you weren’t supposed to look into his eyes and see the broken soul inside, you weren’t supposed to see the little boy who watches his parents die every night in his dreams. And most importantly, you weren’t ever supposed to spend the night together, but that was your first mistake, wasn’t it?
Because this isn’t supposed to be about you, you weren’t supposed to discover that, behind the air head, there was an intelligent, witty, enjoyable person and you were so goddamn lonely, and sick and tired of being alone, that you wanted more than the jewels, more than the rush of breaking in and sneaking off with the goods, only leaving a piece of cut glass in your wake. You wanted ... touch, companionship, maybe even love. You wanted him, you let this happen, and you didn’t even want to stop it. And maybe that’s what scares you more than any rooftop ever did.
Now you both have two-step tangoed into this relationship and for once, his guard is truly dropped and it is not all what you expected. For once, you stay the night, you allow yourself to bask in the afterglow and you don’t leave to prowl afterwards, because for once, you aren’t running from it as much as he is. Normally, he’s damn near insistence that one of you goes, but this time nothing. He’s letting you in, once it would have been a perfect crime opportunity, now you’re disgusted at the mere idea of it. Because after you saw, after you glimpsed into who he really was, you knew why he left you in the middle of the night, you knew that the cries you heard in the night were not imagined or your own as you had assumed. You aren’t a complete stranger to nightmares of lost parents, but you can figure that your dreams never had the same viciousness as his.
Your fingers trace down his arm, your find a scar on his elbow from when he fell off of his bike when he was six, the burn mark on his forearm from when he was twelve and bumped against the stove, and the long scars on his wrists from when he was sixteen, long faded, but you can still feel the raised flesh beneath your fingers. It sends unexpected tears to your eyes. Your hand passes over his ribs and stops over his heart, the most scarred part of him, even though no one can see it
A whimper breaks the silence in the room, and you pull him tighter against your chest, as you brace yourself for the upcoming onslaught. Whimpers turn into cries, and tears pour down his cheeks as the damaged memories of a little boy force themselves into his dreams. The sheer violence of his pain brings a sob from your throat, you start crying in earnest and worry that you might fall apart too. You press kisses into his shoulder and back as you curl around him like a kitten, as though you alone can hold together the pieces of this shattered man. And you wonder how you got here, and how you could be so in love with someone so broken.
Author: Rachel
Disclaimer: Sadly, DC owns them, not me.
Rating: PG13-ish
Notes: This is a one-off piece set in a verse I'm working on; a world in which Batman never existed. However, just because there isn't a Batman, doesn't mean there isn't a Bruce Wayne...
The room is still, except for breathing and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. It has taken you both so long to reach this point, because it was never supposed to be about you and him. It was supposed to be jewels, getting in with Gotham’s social climbers, the added thrill of complimenting one Gotham’s princesses about her boyfriend’s fine choice in diamonds, knowing that the next night they would be yours. You were bored; you didn’t need the money and if you had, there were better ways of getting it. This was for fun; this was a game. This was about expensive dinners, extravagant gifts and being the arm candy of Gotham’s wanted bachelor.
This wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was a philanthropist, a flake. He went through women like socks and treated him about the same. He would screw you and then leave in the middle of the night without so much as a note. You weren’t supposed to see past the facade, you weren’t supposed to look into his eyes and see the broken soul inside, you weren’t supposed to see the little boy who watches his parents die every night in his dreams. And most importantly, you weren’t ever supposed to spend the night together, but that was your first mistake, wasn’t it?
Because this isn’t supposed to be about you, you weren’t supposed to discover that, behind the air head, there was an intelligent, witty, enjoyable person and you were so goddamn lonely, and sick and tired of being alone, that you wanted more than the jewels, more than the rush of breaking in and sneaking off with the goods, only leaving a piece of cut glass in your wake. You wanted ... touch, companionship, maybe even love. You wanted him, you let this happen, and you didn’t even want to stop it. And maybe that’s what scares you more than any rooftop ever did.
Now you both have two-step tangoed into this relationship and for once, his guard is truly dropped and it is not all what you expected. For once, you stay the night, you allow yourself to bask in the afterglow and you don’t leave to prowl afterwards, because for once, you aren’t running from it as much as he is. Normally, he’s damn near insistence that one of you goes, but this time nothing. He’s letting you in, once it would have been a perfect crime opportunity, now you’re disgusted at the mere idea of it. Because after you saw, after you glimpsed into who he really was, you knew why he left you in the middle of the night, you knew that the cries you heard in the night were not imagined or your own as you had assumed. You aren’t a complete stranger to nightmares of lost parents, but you can figure that your dreams never had the same viciousness as his.
Your fingers trace down his arm, your find a scar on his elbow from when he fell off of his bike when he was six, the burn mark on his forearm from when he was twelve and bumped against the stove, and the long scars on his wrists from when he was sixteen, long faded, but you can still feel the raised flesh beneath your fingers. It sends unexpected tears to your eyes. Your hand passes over his ribs and stops over his heart, the most scarred part of him, even though no one can see it
A whimper breaks the silence in the room, and you pull him tighter against your chest, as you brace yourself for the upcoming onslaught. Whimpers turn into cries, and tears pour down his cheeks as the damaged memories of a little boy force themselves into his dreams. The sheer violence of his pain brings a sob from your throat, you start crying in earnest and worry that you might fall apart too. You press kisses into his shoulder and back as you curl around him like a kitten, as though you alone can hold together the pieces of this shattered man. And you wonder how you got here, and how you could be so in love with someone so broken.