[closed]

[deletar]

WHO: Tickles Mitch and Hot Cross Buns.
WHAT: Wounds need tending.
WHERE: Cross's place.
WHEN: After the return, in piss-poor shape, of Cross's team.

Comments

[crucifying]

Cross never thought he would be in a position such as this. Being bathed by a--well, scratch that. It'd happened in the past.

But he'd never thought it'd be Tyki fucking Mikk.

Then again, he'd never thought he'd had to form an alliance with somebody he'd murdered, either. Or that he'd be stuck on this island. Or be completely humiliated--indirectly, at that--by a man named Batman. Bat-fucking-man, what kind of name was that, god fucking damnit it all?

It was all some kind of sick joke--

The Queen knew how to fucking play her cards, didn't she.

Cross gave a soft hiss as Tyki touched his forehead, leaning away on instinct, shutting his eye. His mask was gone--not only because it had to be off for this, but because it'd been left behind down in the temple. He'd only realized that a little while ago, and actually found it to be one of the most infuriating small details he'd ever experienced in his life. It was worse than warm sherry. And Cross hated warm sherry.

"Don't fucking rub it in."

[deletar]

"I thought I said don't move," Tyki admonished, but it was an absent-minded statement--no real accusation behind it, though whether or not Cross took it as such remained to be seen. He was such an excitable man, jumping to conclusions so quickly, although there were occasional moments where he suddenly matured in the blink of an eye. Of course, that just made him interesting, and Tyki was interested by interesting

[crucifying]

Cross only grunted in response to Tyki's idle chiding of his actions. It made some distaste rise at the back of his tongue, and he remained leaned away so Tyki would have to reach a little farther to continue the task. Just to be difficult about it, however insignificant the action was.

"...don't want to think of that," he growled then, feeling his skin prick with heat and anger at the very mention of that man. God, there was no description for how much he hated those do-gooder hero types. Allen was fucking one of them. They'd always pissed him off, fucking glory hounds. "But it is fucking ridiculous."

And for once, Cross decided to refrain from any snarky commentary in return. Maybe he was just too tired to get into it with Tyki now.

[deletar]

Tyki tugged, lightly, at him, with the link between them, fingers permanently interlocked with palm. That was Cross's broken arm, wasn't it? Well, at least he wasn't too sharp with the action. Otherwise it might have hurt. But two could play at that game, and they were both stubborn men.

"You should find the humor in the situation," he suggested, lightly, his eyes bright with a smile. For once, he wasn't teasing. It was more like agreement. If only they could have a conversation, but Tyki had long since given up on that possibility. "Because really, consider the hilarity inherent in the fact that a man who calls himself Man of the Bat--oh, I'm sorry, I mean Batman--is currently the hero of this town."

He shrugged, very gently, with only one arm, then rested the warm washcloth against Cross's brow.

[crucifying]

Another noise, this time a huff. Cross gave in and leaned forward a little, bowing his head slightly. Lengthy hair fell back in his face again--Tyki'd probably have to fix it once more, because he did not care enough to.

"Man of the Bat," Cross said, and for once in the entire time he'd been attached to Tyki, sounded genuinely amused. There was even a tired laugh that followed, and he added, "That man. He's a fucking joke."