Welcome to 'Round Two' of The Dark Knight Rises Kink Meme. This round will close when it reaches four thousand comments and after two weeks, another prompt post will open.
[Fill] And down this path of thorny clouds 2/3
anonymous
September 4 2012, 09:23:15 UTC
...because LJ is a jerk for messing up my counting...
...
They weren’t always thieves. They had been young once, their reaches not quite long enough to snatch the pan of meatloaf from their neighbor’s sill. If the past several days are any indication, they are young still, with bigger stakes, more to lose than their lives at their misstep. John claws the floor when Bane finally deigns to thrust in. And it feels like someone’s shoved the wrong end of a baseball bat (hint, there is no right end) up his ass, it hurts that much.
He spits out his shirt with an explosive gasp, frantically swallowing down lungfuls of air as though it might ease the hurt. But it doesn’t because it isn’t a vagina the other man thrusts against, nothing was meant to go up that way but they still try and he twists his spine in two in order to accommodate him. Bane is not nearly as kind.
Every whore has a favorite trick or two up their sleeve for making a john come harder, faster and even though he’s never had as many clients as Selena, something that gave his sister no small relief, he rolls his hips a little and gets into it as though he’s in an alley getting fucked and not whatever disaster that is happening to him right now. The carpet, he huffs, compressing air in his mouth and down his nostrils, is definitely new.
Bane grunts in surprise though he never loses his pace, pushing into him like he is an odd end of machinery rather than a living, breathing human being. John bites savagely down on his wrist, his shirt a dirty bib against his soaked chin. The blood pools thick on his tongue as he stifles his screams. He doesn’t need to see Selena’s red-rimmed eyes to know that he is failing.
In the background, Selena makes a sound like she is dying. Not even when the johns were rough with her, spat on her, raped her and treated her like dirt had she ever sounded like that. She reminds him of the pitiful nest of kittens Garfield had led them to in the rain. Two of them died and two had lived, a brother and sister pair that he had been tempted to name Kyle and Blake.
Bane thrusts in wet, intruding on his thoughts, something slick like blood and cum spilling down the inside of his thighs. He shakes, in pain, shock, anger, maybe a combination of everything as he tries to keep it all in. If he doesn’t, he thinks he’s going to scream.
When he finally cries out, it is because he comes against the Persian rug, ruining the weave. It isn’t long before Bane too spends his seed inside of him, scalding, like boiling water poured down his throat, searing his insides and branding it forever as his.
He doesn’t know where the tears are coming from. Logically, eyes, but that’s impossible because his can no longer see. He squeezes his face against the inside of his elbow as Bane pulls free with a wet pop, utterly shameless as he wipes a hand against the side of his knee.
John shudders when Selena falls upon him, tossing away her mask like it is nothing and pressing their cheeks together. He wants to lean into her touch but at the same time, he wants to push her away, deny her their ruin because she has done so much for him already.
[Fill] And down this path of thorny clouds 3/3
anonymous
September 4 2012, 09:24:05 UTC
“Don’t you dare!” She slaps him, spitting mad and hissing into his face. Her cheeks are blotched, the red of her lipstick smeared across her chin. “Don’t you dare Robin John Blake!”
“Selena” He sighs, trying to wipe the lipstick away.
“Never mind that.” She hisses, laying him down against her lap and the Persian weave that chafes against his bare skin. On second thought, he thinks hollowly, maybe he wouldn’t have stolen the dammed thing. “Get him some help!” She shouts to the men standing in rings around them, watching curiously as they might two swans stranded in ice. “You’ve made your point.”
“He will live.” Bane says carelessly, gesturing to the windows as though dismissing her. But his sister is not a person to be denied.
“No! He will not ‘live’ if you’ve torn something important like I don’t know, his bowels!?”
“Gross” He mutters. She shushes him.
“He will be taken care of.” Bane says and that is the end of the argument.
“John, John, I’m coming back for you.”
“You still owe me a new pair of sunglasses.”
“I will buy you a hundred of those damned glasses.” She swears, hugging him tight past the blood and the jizz that clings to her catsuit. “Just hang in there okay? Promise me. I’m going to get you out. We’ll get through this together and we’ll start fresh. Anywhere you want.”
“Even Jersey?”
“Even if I have to fight Snooki myself.”
“I love you.” He says suddenly, just in case because he is so tired and knows that she won’t be here to wake him out. And as though she finds the dreadful providence in his eyes, she sobs,
...
They weren’t always thieves. They had been young once, their reaches not quite long enough to snatch the pan of meatloaf from their neighbor’s sill. If the past several days are any indication, they are young still, with bigger stakes, more to lose than their lives at their misstep. John claws the floor when Bane finally deigns to thrust in. And it feels like someone’s shoved the wrong end of a baseball bat (hint, there is no right end) up his ass, it hurts that much.
He spits out his shirt with an explosive gasp, frantically swallowing down lungfuls of air as though it might ease the hurt. But it doesn’t because it isn’t a vagina the other man thrusts against, nothing was meant to go up that way but they still try and he twists his spine in two in order to accommodate him. Bane is not nearly as kind.
Every whore has a favorite trick or two up their sleeve for making a john come harder, faster and even though he’s never had as many clients as Selena, something that gave his sister no small relief, he rolls his hips a little and gets into it as though he’s in an alley getting fucked and not whatever disaster that is happening to him right now. The carpet, he huffs, compressing air in his mouth and down his nostrils, is definitely new.
Bane grunts in surprise though he never loses his pace, pushing into him like he is an odd end of machinery rather than a living, breathing human being. John bites savagely down on his wrist, his shirt a dirty bib against his soaked chin. The blood pools thick on his tongue as he stifles his screams. He doesn’t need to see Selena’s red-rimmed eyes to know that he is failing.
In the background, Selena makes a sound like she is dying. Not even when the johns were rough with her, spat on her, raped her and treated her like dirt had she ever sounded like that. She reminds him of the pitiful nest of kittens Garfield had led them to in the rain. Two of them died and two had lived, a brother and sister pair that he had been tempted to name Kyle and Blake.
Bane thrusts in wet, intruding on his thoughts, something slick like blood and cum spilling down the inside of his thighs. He shakes, in pain, shock, anger, maybe a combination of everything as he tries to keep it all in. If he doesn’t, he thinks he’s going to scream.
When he finally cries out, it is because he comes against the Persian rug, ruining the weave. It isn’t long before Bane too spends his seed inside of him, scalding, like boiling water poured down his throat, searing his insides and branding it forever as his.
He doesn’t know where the tears are coming from. Logically, eyes, but that’s impossible because his can no longer see. He squeezes his face against the inside of his elbow as Bane pulls free with a wet pop, utterly shameless as he wipes a hand against the side of his knee.
John shudders when Selena falls upon him, tossing away her mask like it is nothing and pressing their cheeks together. He wants to lean into her touch but at the same time, he wants to push her away, deny her their ruin because she has done so much for him already.
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“Selena” He sighs, trying to wipe the lipstick away.
“Never mind that.” She hisses, laying him down against her lap and the Persian weave that chafes against his bare skin. On second thought, he thinks hollowly, maybe he wouldn’t have stolen the dammed thing. “Get him some help!” She shouts to the men standing in rings around them, watching curiously as they might two swans stranded in ice. “You’ve made your point.”
“He will live.” Bane says carelessly, gesturing to the windows as though dismissing her. But his sister is not a person to be denied.
“No! He will not ‘live’ if you’ve torn something important like I don’t know, his bowels!?”
“Gross” He mutters. She shushes him.
“He will be taken care of.” Bane says and that is the end of the argument.
“John, John, I’m coming back for you.”
“You still owe me a new pair of sunglasses.”
“I will buy you a hundred of those damned glasses.” She swears, hugging him tight past the blood and the jizz that clings to her catsuit. “Just hang in there okay? Promise me. I’m going to get you out. We’ll get through this together and we’ll start fresh. Anywhere you want.”
“Even Jersey?”
“Even if I have to fight Snooki myself.”
“I love you.” He says suddenly, just in case because he is so tired and knows that she won’t be here to wake him out. And as though she finds the dreadful providence in his eyes, she sobs,
“I love you too.”
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