Tough Touch pt. 1
Fandom: The Dark Knight Rises
Pairing: John Blake/Bane
Rating: Explicit - sexual content
Words: 1,405
Prompt by Tony: Bane is too numbed from the drugs in his system to get sexually aroused, so he can’t fuck John like he’d like to. So John goes out to the bars, gets drunk, and lures men back to his own apartment so they can fuck John while Bane watches. Whether Bane is in the room or watches through a two-way mirror or video system is up to the filler.
***
The first time John tried to touch Bane, the bigger man had broken his wrist. He hadn’t meant to, but that’s what the chemicals had done to his body. He didn’t know his own strength, and couldn’t feel pain the same way others did enough to know when he was inflicting too much, or any at all. In the same way, his body couldn’t feel pleasure. And he couldn’t inflict it; his body wasn’t tender enough. He’d never been intimate with anyone, in all his years, not even with Talia, or any other woman outside of the Pit. When Talia had been a child, he’d known how to be gentle, and had spent many hours playing with her and offering her entertainment. But all of that had ended when he’d freed her from the Pit, and had lost himself to constant pain.
He and John had been together for over four months, ever since John had discovered him living in the sewer, had painstakingly nursed him back to health and then brought him back to his apartment.
He was lucky that Bane’s mask hadn’t been damaged, and that he’d been able to control himself around the man. Bane didn’t know what would have happened otherwise.
Their relationship had been a distanced one at first, John sleeping for most of the day and leaving for the entire night, coming back in the early morning disheveled and looking bone-tired with barely enough energy to eat something and offer a polite greeting to the masked terrorist taking residence on his couch. Bane hadn’t noticed it at first, he had still been grieving and still living with his failure. He hadn’t taken in the slight spring in the former detective’s step, the way he seemed to always wear a small smile at the corner of his mouth, the way when he left there was a focused determination, and when he came home a warm satisfaction burning brightly in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed until many days later when John had come home earlier than usual, with a deep knife-wound bleeding heavily through layers of cloth, and an angry grimace twisting his face.
Bane had finally interacted with the man, forcing him to sit at the kitchen table while he set about patching him up - not willing to risk John making an even bigger mess and doing further potentially lethal damage to himself. He’d helped him to remove his blazer, and had been surprised when he’d unveiled angry looking bruises and wounds already healed and starting to scar.
He’d easily fixed the wound, and had sat with John in silence, until John told him.
After that, Bane had started keeping a closer eye on John, to make sure no wounds went untended or sloppily treated.
He didn’t know how he felt about living with yet another masked vigilante, much less one who had been specifically chosen by Bruce Wayne to carry on the Batman legacy. The League had known that Gotham would endure, and that the ideals Bruce Wayne had created out of hope would be impossible to vanquish, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as though he were betraying the ideals of the League and of it’s deceased leader.
But he supposed he no longer had a right to feel such things.
Yet John was different. There wasn’t a need to rid the streets of violence and law-breakers, it was a need to prove himself, to be the best that he could be for no one else but himself, to do good and right without selling himself short. Bane had found himself admiring the man, and wanting to offer himself as a guide - to teach John how to better protect himself, which John accepted hesitantly at first. Until weeks later when his performance on the streets had noticeably improved.
Bane felt jealous of Gotham. The city did not deserve him.
The second time John had touched Bane, Bane had immediately tucked his arms under him, pinning them with his weight while keeping his body completely still on the bed as he watched the former detective move over him. He could feel John’s hands running over his skin, could feel the gentle snag of his nails when he dug them in, the slide of a hot tongue in places he himself had never touched, and he could feel the disappointment when after forty-seven minutes there was still no reaction from Bane’s body. No matter how hard Bane tried, his body could feel nothing but a numb ache.
Maybe he was trying to enrage Bane, or maybe it was out of pure frustration, but John had let out an irritated sigh and leaned back, roughly pushing the band of his boxers down - slightly inhibited by the wide straddle he’d taken over Bane - and had started jerking himself off. He was painfully hard, Bane could see, and had felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t payed attention to John’s body, so focused on trying to rouse his own. Beads of precome leaked down his swollen shaft and landed on Bane’s belly, and at the feel of the hot spunk his entire body had lit up with warmth.
John, unawares, pumped his fist erratically, his hips twitching every so often. After a few moments, John’s eyes had fluttered shut and his jaw tilted slightly upward, a loud groan filling the silence of the room. Bane had watched, mesmerized as John quickly brought himself off, coming hard across Bane’s chest with a startled shout.
Bane, pulse loud in his hears, had reached down and rubbed the sticky fluid over his own skin, reveling in the way it shined in the light. John had simply scoffed in disgust and cleaned them both up.
He’d slept on his side, keeping his back to Bane.
Four hours later Bane is waking John up by gruffly wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him close to his chest, and sliding his hand down between John’s legs.
John muttered drowsily, his legs spreading slightly to allow Bane better access. His own hand reached up behind him to lazily clutch at the back of Bane’s neck, leading him to slot his chin between John’s shoulder and neck.
When a few moments pass of Bane simply holding John, the former detective opens his eyes and looks up at him, puzzled and sleepy eyed and his ever lengthening hair falling across his eyes.
Bane loved him. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved this brave, foolish, beautiful man just as surely as he had loved a strong, inspiring, beautiful woman, though in a way that he had never allowed himself to love before.
“What are you waiting for?” John muttered, licking his lips.
Bane pressed his forehead to John’s neck and felt the man shiver at the scrape of metal against skin.
“I will hurt you.”
John understood then, and touched Bane’s face, something he’d taken to doing on the nights when he came home early and found Bane hastily reattaching his mask. He’d traced every scar, every indentation where fingers had tried to tear him apart, and had proclaimed his trust and friendship and eventually his love with each caress. He does so now, softly, hesitantly, fingertips barely a whisper against flesh.
Then, he slid his hand down Bane’s arm and covered the large hand around his cock with his own. He rolled his hips, slowly at first. Bane could feel John’s muscles flex and shudder, and the realization that he was finally giving John pleasure - albeit not the pleasure he wanted to see John receive - sent a rush of warmth to the pit of his stomach.
“You deserve to be ravished.” He murmured softly as John moaned with abandon. “Since I cannot do this, you will go out and find someone who can. Someone strong.”
John’s thrusts stuttered, and he turned his head to look Bane in the eyes, still steadily fucking himself up into Bane’s fist. Bane pressed his forehead against John’s, making believe he could smell him.
“Then you will bring them here, and you will let them take you apart.”
John simply stares at him, swallowing audibly before saying, “And…and where will you be?”
“I will be here.” He promised, as he felt John tighten under his hand and a shuddering gasp wrack his frame. “Waiting for you to come back.”
Pairing: John Blake/Bane
Rating: Explicit - sexual content
Words: 1,405
Prompt by Tony: Bane is too numbed from the drugs in his system to get sexually aroused, so he can’t fuck John like he’d like to. So John goes out to the bars, gets drunk, and lures men back to his own apartment so they can fuck John while Bane watches. Whether Bane is in the room or watches through a two-way mirror or video system is up to the filler.
***
The first time John tried to touch Bane, the bigger man had broken his wrist. He hadn’t meant to, but that’s what the chemicals had done to his body. He didn’t know his own strength, and couldn’t feel pain the same way others did enough to know when he was inflicting too much, or any at all. In the same way, his body couldn’t feel pleasure. And he couldn’t inflict it; his body wasn’t tender enough. He’d never been intimate with anyone, in all his years, not even with Talia, or any other woman outside of the Pit. When Talia had been a child, he’d known how to be gentle, and had spent many hours playing with her and offering her entertainment. But all of that had ended when he’d freed her from the Pit, and had lost himself to constant pain.
He and John had been together for over four months, ever since John had discovered him living in the sewer, had painstakingly nursed him back to health and then brought him back to his apartment.
He was lucky that Bane’s mask hadn’t been damaged, and that he’d been able to control himself around the man. Bane didn’t know what would have happened otherwise.
Their relationship had been a distanced one at first, John sleeping for most of the day and leaving for the entire night, coming back in the early morning disheveled and looking bone-tired with barely enough energy to eat something and offer a polite greeting to the masked terrorist taking residence on his couch. Bane hadn’t noticed it at first, he had still been grieving and still living with his failure. He hadn’t taken in the slight spring in the former detective’s step, the way he seemed to always wear a small smile at the corner of his mouth, the way when he left there was a focused determination, and when he came home a warm satisfaction burning brightly in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed until many days later when John had come home earlier than usual, with a deep knife-wound bleeding heavily through layers of cloth, and an angry grimace twisting his face.
Bane had finally interacted with the man, forcing him to sit at the kitchen table while he set about patching him up - not willing to risk John making an even bigger mess and doing further potentially lethal damage to himself. He’d helped him to remove his blazer, and had been surprised when he’d unveiled angry looking bruises and wounds already healed and starting to scar.
He’d easily fixed the wound, and had sat with John in silence, until John told him.
After that, Bane had started keeping a closer eye on John, to make sure no wounds went untended or sloppily treated.
He didn’t know how he felt about living with yet another masked vigilante, much less one who had been specifically chosen by Bruce Wayne to carry on the Batman legacy. The League had known that Gotham would endure, and that the ideals Bruce Wayne had created out of hope would be impossible to vanquish, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as though he were betraying the ideals of the League and of it’s deceased leader.
But he supposed he no longer had a right to feel such things.
Yet John was different. There wasn’t a need to rid the streets of violence and law-breakers, it was a need to prove himself, to be the best that he could be for no one else but himself, to do good and right without selling himself short. Bane had found himself admiring the man, and wanting to offer himself as a guide - to teach John how to better protect himself, which John accepted hesitantly at first. Until weeks later when his performance on the streets had noticeably improved.
Bane felt jealous of Gotham. The city did not deserve him.
The second time John had touched Bane, Bane had immediately tucked his arms under him, pinning them with his weight while keeping his body completely still on the bed as he watched the former detective move over him. He could feel John’s hands running over his skin, could feel the gentle snag of his nails when he dug them in, the slide of a hot tongue in places he himself had never touched, and he could feel the disappointment when after forty-seven minutes there was still no reaction from Bane’s body. No matter how hard Bane tried, his body could feel nothing but a numb ache.
Maybe he was trying to enrage Bane, or maybe it was out of pure frustration, but John had let out an irritated sigh and leaned back, roughly pushing the band of his boxers down - slightly inhibited by the wide straddle he’d taken over Bane - and had started jerking himself off. He was painfully hard, Bane could see, and had felt a pang of guilt that he hadn’t payed attention to John’s body, so focused on trying to rouse his own. Beads of precome leaked down his swollen shaft and landed on Bane’s belly, and at the feel of the hot spunk his entire body had lit up with warmth.
John, unawares, pumped his fist erratically, his hips twitching every so often. After a few moments, John’s eyes had fluttered shut and his jaw tilted slightly upward, a loud groan filling the silence of the room. Bane had watched, mesmerized as John quickly brought himself off, coming hard across Bane’s chest with a startled shout.
Bane, pulse loud in his hears, had reached down and rubbed the sticky fluid over his own skin, reveling in the way it shined in the light. John had simply scoffed in disgust and cleaned them both up.
He’d slept on his side, keeping his back to Bane.
Four hours later Bane is waking John up by gruffly wrapping his arm around his waist, pulling him close to his chest, and sliding his hand down between John’s legs.
John muttered drowsily, his legs spreading slightly to allow Bane better access. His own hand reached up behind him to lazily clutch at the back of Bane’s neck, leading him to slot his chin between John’s shoulder and neck.
When a few moments pass of Bane simply holding John, the former detective opens his eyes and looks up at him, puzzled and sleepy eyed and his ever lengthening hair falling across his eyes.
Bane loved him. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved this brave, foolish, beautiful man just as surely as he had loved a strong, inspiring, beautiful woman, though in a way that he had never allowed himself to love before.
“What are you waiting for?” John muttered, licking his lips.
Bane pressed his forehead to John’s neck and felt the man shiver at the scrape of metal against skin.
“I will hurt you.”
John understood then, and touched Bane’s face, something he’d taken to doing on the nights when he came home early and found Bane hastily reattaching his mask. He’d traced every scar, every indentation where fingers had tried to tear him apart, and had proclaimed his trust and friendship and eventually his love with each caress. He does so now, softly, hesitantly, fingertips barely a whisper against flesh.
Then, he slid his hand down Bane’s arm and covered the large hand around his cock with his own. He rolled his hips, slowly at first. Bane could feel John’s muscles flex and shudder, and the realization that he was finally giving John pleasure - albeit not the pleasure he wanted to see John receive - sent a rush of warmth to the pit of his stomach.
“You deserve to be ravished.” He murmured softly as John moaned with abandon. “Since I cannot do this, you will go out and find someone who can. Someone strong.”
John’s thrusts stuttered, and he turned his head to look Bane in the eyes, still steadily fucking himself up into Bane’s fist. Bane pressed his forehead against John’s, making believe he could smell him.
“Then you will bring them here, and you will let them take you apart.”
John simply stares at him, swallowing audibly before saying, “And…and where will you be?”
“I will be here.” He promised, as he felt John tighten under his hand and a shuddering gasp wrack his frame. “Waiting for you to come back.”