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It wasn’t exactly part of Commissioner Gordon’s plan to send him down here.
This was his own idea. Yeah, it’s a little dangerous, and yeah, he’ll probably get written up for it or something. But he’s a street rat, a sneaky bastard by necessity, and he knows how to handle himself, thank you very much. Bane was holed up in the sewers, he knew it – he’s probably even got that bomb hiding away down here somewhere. If John could get a little intel on the terrorists’ position, the GCPD might yet be able to strike before it’s too late.
If anyone asks, that was his “official” reason for coming down here.
Deep down, however, he has an elaborate fantasy of bringing this crucial info to Gordon. Gordon would say, that was reckless of you, John, but his eyes would crinkle and the barest hint of a smile would ghost his lips. Proud. John’s heart flutters a little at the thought.
Encouraged, John pushes forward with light, soundless steps.
Some voices echo off the sewer walls, but John can’t make out what they’re saying. His heart races, but he tucks that fear away, tightens his jaw and unsheathes his gun. He doesn’t want to have to fire it – it’s risky to draw attention to oneself when there probably are enemy reinforcements swarming all over the goddamn place – but he figures he might as well be prepared.
They’re talking in a language John doesn’t understand, maybe Russian or some other eastern European language. John slowly peers around a corner and they come into view, sitting at some rudimentary table in what looks like a makeshift control room, surrounded by a haphazard arrangement of monitors, wires and computers. There are only two of them, but they’ve each got an AK-47 hanging over their shoulders. Moreover, they look like the type of guys who wouldn’t think twice about using them.
John turns back around the corner and makes a mental note of how he got here, in case Gordon would find this useful. Enter from the manhole next to that old warehouse on the west side of town. Third right, first left, keep going till you hit the T and hang another left.
Third right, first left, then left at the T.
Gordon will be so pleased. John smiles to himself.
John peeks around the corner again, but this time he locks eyes with one of Bane’s men. The terrorist says something as he begins to rise and his companion turns to look in John’s direction. They both reach for their AK-47s. Ok, time to go.
They’re after him and he’s running back in the direction that he came. He fires a few shots behind him, more to discourage them from following him than to actually make a hit. But if I did they deserve it. He’s not so much of a good shot when he’s sprinting.
Left at the T going in means right going back. Then... then it would be the first right. Or the second right? Fuck, this place all looks the same and it’s really hard to see, not to mention his heart is pounding so fast it would put a hummingbird to shame. Next time he’ll pull a Hansel and Gretl and leave a breadcrumb trail or some shit.
He feels the familiar click of an empty cartridge. He has more ammo on his belt, but just as he begins to reach for it, he notices he’s in a room he definitely hasn’t seen before. Fuck. That means he made a wrong turn somewhere....
There are a couple of beaten down pieces of furniture in here- an armchair, a bookshelf and an old desk against the wall.
He startles as he notices another one of Bane’s men in the room, standing so still he could have been one of the pieces of furniture. No wait, scratch that.
It’s Bane.
Christ.
Suddenly he feels like it’d be safer to run towards the dudes with the AK-47s.
John had only seen clips of him on the news, but that did not do justice to how immense he is in person. He’s muscular but not chiseled – more like a sheer mountain of hard flesh. His mask makes him look like a snarling animal. He wears combat boots and military fatigues, and his hands are hooked casually under the straps of his vest. It’s unnerving how incredibly powerful he looks just while standing still, emanating quiet authority in a way that makes John’s knees weak. He’s close to John, too close. A few more steps and he could have him by the neck, snap it like he did to that physicist’s. John knows he can’t afford to give Bane a five second advantage while he changes his ammo cartridge (Hey Bane, could you be a dear and hold on a sec? I’m just need to reload my gun....) so he does the next best thing: he bluffs.
“Put your hands in the air!” John shouts as he raises his gun. He’s a good actor, it sounds convincing – except Bane doesn’t even flinch. Then the mercenary takes a slow step forward, head nodding slightly with his stride.
Jesus. He’s huge. Like they shaved a grizzly bear and taught it to walk around on its hind legs.
“Back off,” John growls, hoping to sound more ferocious then he felt. “Back the fuck off or I’ll shoot.” Bane eyes him curiously, but says nothing. He steps forward like a great lumbering cat, eyes predatory. He doesn’t appear to give a single shit that he’s at gunpoint.
John holds his ground and grips the gun until his knuckles turn white. “I’ll fucking shoot,” he repeats, a bit more shrill than he’d like this time. He unconsciously takes a step backwards as Bane advances, then immediately chides himself for it. Fuck. If there was the slightest chance that Bane hadn’t known he had been bluffing before, John knew he’d just blown it.
John’s back is finally pressed against the wall, and Bane advances on him until the barrel of the gun is flush against his broad chest. He glares down at John, victorious.
“John. John Blake.” He rumbls slowly in that strange accent. “I’ve had my eye on you.”
.....He knows my name? John stares back at him, feeling his stomach drop in dread. And he thought he was afraid before.
There was nothing else John could do, there was no way he could fight this brute unarmed.
Run.
Panicked, John tries to maneuver past Bane’s massive frame and haul ass to the exit, but Bane effortlessly hooks him by the neck and slams him back into the wall. John’s vision goes blurry when his head hits the wall, sending shockwaves of pain through his body. The gun clatters to the floor, useless. Bane fumbles at John’s belt for a moment, then grabs both John’s wrists behind his back with one hand. The GCPD belt clatters to the floor. John felt his cheeks flush in humiliation at just how easily Bane slipped handcuffs – his own handcuffs, fuck, really? – onto his slim wrists, pinning his arms behind his back.
Bane then grabs John by the throat with one massive paw of a hand, pressure firm and unyielding.
“Has Gorden sent you down here, to find me?” Bane’s voice is deep and distorted.
John squirms a little, but stays silent.
“.....Because if so,” Bane continues, “You have succeeded.”
Yeah, thanks. Asshole.
“What do you want?” John says brusquely, finding it difficult to maintain his showy GCPD confidence with Bane pressed so damn close and solidly against him. His face feels stiflingly hot – maybe from the situation, or maybe because Bane is literally radiating heat.
Bane says nothing, but John could swear he saw his eyes crinkle slightly in amusement. It’s kinda hard to tell when he’s wearing that fucking muzzle. Bane stands there unmoving while John glares up at him, challenging his gaze. Bane suddenly shifts and forces his knees in between John’s legs, prying them apart. John breathes in sharply and let out a startled gasp.
“You’ve been prodding where you don’t belong, little bird,” Bane says leisurely. He accents his words by grinding his knee up between John’s legs. Damn him. John squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips together firmly, trying to stifle the panicked noises he felt bubbling up in his throat. “Is Gordon in the habit of sending young boys to fight his war?”
John bristles in anger. Yes, he knows he looks young, but he’s twenty five damnit. He’s a grown man, a police officer, for Christ’s sake. Although right now, he concedes, he certainly feels a lot less like a cop and a lot more like that puny, vulnerable twelve year old foster kid he once was.
----
The young cop, John Blake. Bane had his sources, knew Blake’s movements and plans. He had a lot to learn about being an effective detective if he was going to continue being so obvious. Bane knew he wouldn’t even have to send someone to take care of him - he’d come snooping around like an inquisitive puppy sooner or later, right into Bane’s waiting arms.
Blake struggles when Bane pins him against the wall. He seems to test Bane’s grip for a few moments before deciding (wisely) that resisting would simply be a waste of energy. Instead, he glares back at Bane, his dark eyes steely and defiant as he waits for his captor’s next move. However, Bane could sense the fear lurking underneath his controlled facade. As if in confirmation, Bane feels the young man’s Adam’s apple bob under his fingers when he swallows nervously.
Now that Bane had him, it would be all too easy to snap his neck. Wrap his hands around that elegant throat and squeeze until the life drained from his boyish features. Hang his broken body from a downtown lamppost to send a message to Gordon and the GCPD. But, upon finding him much lovelier in person than in any of his intel photographs, Bane had an uncharacteristic change of heart. How much more satisfying would it be if he could take his fill of pleasure before sending him back to Gordon, shamed, dirty, claimed?
Having come here to either kill Blake or fuck him, Bane settles definitively on the latter.
It is only now, with Blake’s frame pressing against his body, that Bane realizes he’s slim – much slimmer than he looks in his GCPD uniform. Delicate. Bane forces his legs apart and presses his knee upwards just a little, enough so that Blake’s heels lift off the floor for a moment. Blake lets out a breathy gasp, and Bane grunts in lust.
“Is Gordon in the habit of sending young boys to fight his war?” he taunts Blake, enjoying the sight of the young man bristling in anger even in his compromising position.
“Fuck you,” Blake spits back, thrashing a little. Bane admires his spirit, defiant even when he has obviously been bested.
Keeping him pinned by the throat with one hand, Bane uses the other to trace his fingers over Blake’s lower lip, relishing the feel of the boy’s hot shaky breaths on his skin. His chest heaves, but he is otherwise still. He is pretty – far too pretty for a police officer. Bane admires him for a moment before pressing two of his fingers just past Blake’s pink lips. The feel of Blake’s soft velvety tongue sends a heated pulse straight to Bane’s cock. What would it be like to press his prick inside, to feel that warm mouth work him to climax, to come all over his lovely face? He considers this for a moment before roughly shoving three of his fingers all the way into John’s mouth, to the back of his throat. He slowly thrusts them in and out all the way until John’s gagging, spit dripping down his chin. It’s obscene, and Bane hums in arousal.
---
Bane’s fingers taste musky, salty as they gently caress his tongue. John couldn’t help noticing the dirt embedded under his fingernails. Gross. I’ll probably get salmonella poisoning. The urge to recoil in disgust is overwhelming, but there’s really nothing he can do while Bane’s got him by the throat. Instead, John opens his eyes a crack to meet Bane’s, but he can’t read much of the mercenary’s expression with that goddamn mask on. John can see arousal there – he’s getting off on this, the sick fuck – and something else. Approval, maybe? Either way, a knot of dread forms in his stomach. He really doesn’t like where this is going.
Without warning, Bane forces three thick fingers into John’s mouth, all the way to the knuckle. John gasps, and gags. Saliva pools in his mouth as he chokes. Bane plunges in a little too harshly, and after a few thrusts John can’t take it anymore - he reflexively bites down. In hindsight, probably a mistake.
Bane pulls his fingers out, roaring. He steps back and backhands John across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. John lands hard, it hurts like hell without his arms to brace his fall. Pain muffles his thinking, but before he can collect himself, Bane has him by the back of his GCPD coat and half drags him up. Bane whirls him around and grabs him again, this time with two of his massive hands on either side of his collar. “That was most unwise,” he growls slowly, gripping fistfuls of cloth. Then, in one swift, violent movement, he tears John’s uniform open, sending buttons flying. John gasps in shock. It was like little more than tissue paper to him. Distantly, John cringes at the thought of asking for a new uniform when he was only just recently given this one. Yeah, I’m going to need a uniform....Why?....Well, this one time I was sorta felt up by Gotham’s most notorious terrorist ..........
John’s thoughts are interrupted as Bane manoeuvres him so that he is slammed face first on the desk, crushed into the wood from behind by Bane’s massive frame. He notices a cracked, dusty mirror directly opposite him, resting against the wall. John refuses to look in it, refuses to see himself like this.
He feels Bane snake his arm around his torso, running his hand along the soft flesh of his tummy before popping the top button of his pants and sliding the tips of his fingers just underneath the waistband of his boxers.
“You’re fucking crazy.” John stammers. He wants to threaten, to bargain, to plead, anything, but Bane is as solid and unrelenting as a brick wall.
Bane crudely ruts his hips forward against John’s ass, and it’s only then that he clearly feels Bane’s erection. He’s huge, fuck. Like a bull. He had been thinking all this time that it was his thigh, for Christ’s sake. John can’t even bring himself to consider what Bane intends to do with that...thing....
John thrashes again, more to convince himself he’s actually trying to put up a fight than to actually accomplish anything substantial. He feels his face get hot. “Don’t,” He said, voice cracking. “Please don’t....I, fuck.” His voice trails off as Bane sinks his hand further down until he’s gripping John’s dick. Bane squeezes it just a little, and John makes a whining noise. John wants to somehow wring himself free, but in his mind’s eye he imagines Bane tearing his dick clean off if he tried, so instead he clenches his jaw and stills. He feels hot tears prickle his eyelashes, but he refuses to acknowledge it by looking at the mirror. No. He won’t cry, no matter what happens. He won’t give this fucker the pleasure.
With his other hand, Bane reaches up and grips John’s hair and pulls his head back until his mask is pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder. It hurts, but Bane’s not overly rough now that John has stilled. John can feel the mask’s air intake on his skin – it discourages him further to realize that Bane’s not even the least bit breathless from their scuffle.
Bane is gentle – reverent even – as he lowers his hand to cup John’s jaw, turning it towards the mirror. John opens his eyes and finally glimpses his reflection, his brown eyes wide and wet, chest bare, the last vestiges of his uniform hanging limply off his arms. John’s always been uncomfortable about showing his chest – he’s always been too slim for his liking – but now that he can see himself flush against Bane, he feels especially self-conscious. Damn. Actually having to watch this is about a million times worse than just experiencing it. He hates feeling so vulnerable.
Bane’s face is behind his, eyes glittering.
“Look at you,“ he wheezes. “So very beautiful, my little bird.”
As if to confirm his statement, Bane pumps John’s dick a few times. To John’s horror, it doesn’t feel terrible. He even moans a little, damn him!
“Stop, Bane, ahhh, just please stop,” John whines as Bane strokes him expertly. He’s arching into Bane’s touch now, cock fully hard. Bane ruts forward again, thrusting him into his fist from behind. It’s so good, John can’t help but buck into it. Damn damn damn. It’s not like he gets off on being manhandled like this.... does he? No, no of course not. No.
Fuck.
---
Bane unblinkingly watches John the mirror. It is quite a sight –pleasure, humiliation, anger, and fear flash across his pretty face in equal measure. Blake’s mouth hangs open now, his lips shining and wet from when Bane had fingered his mouth. John is hard in Bane’s fist.
He releases John’s cock and smirks inwardly as John’s hips keep pressing forward, seeking sweet friction. Bane fumbles in his pocket - fuck or kill, he had made sure to come prepared. With one hand, he pops the lid and coats his fingers.
Holding John in place by the shoulder with one hand, Bane reaches down and tugs at John’s loosened trousers until he can slide his hand down the cleft of John’s ass. He rubs tiny circles against his hole with the slick pads of his fingers.
John bucks, eyes wide. “Wait! Wait,” he pants. Bane stills, eyebrows arching. John composes himself for a second while meeting Bane’s eyes through the mirror, but his bare chest is heaving nervously. “I can suck you instead,” he swallows. “I’ll suck you. Just....not this.”
Bane chuckles. Making deals when he is in such a position! He is spirited, this one.
“I would be a fool to agree to such a thing now,” he says.
Bane watches John’s composure crack. “I’ll be good, please,” he says softly. “No teeth.”
Bane ignores him and instead runs his thumb over John’s bare neck, feeling the sweat at his hairline, the blood pulsing at his jugular. His arms are straining against the cuffs. He’s delectable like this – defeated, yet still proud. Without warning, Bane shoves two fingers inside, and John whimpers.
Bane hisses at the feel of him around his fingers. Warm, tight, clenching. Bane pulls out just a little, then thrusts them back in.
“Tell me, pet,” He breathes into his ear as he presses in, “Have you ever allowed a man to fuck you?”
----
Offering a blow job wasn’t quite part of John’s plan, but then, a lot of things weren’t going as planned right now. John wasn’t stupid; he knew what Bane intended and as far as he was concerned, anything, anything was preferable to being fucked in the ass by this brute with his bull-cock. Part of him wanted to keep fighting, but it just seemed so impossible. Bane was powerful, tireless, undefeatable. John grit his teeth. As much as he hates this, it might be in his best interest just to submit.
......for now.
John lets out a sob as Bane’s fingers slide in and out of him. They’re slick, they’re fucking slick, Jesus. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful. His body doesn’t hate it nearly as much as he wishes it would. He can see Bane’s eyes locked on his through the mirror. Expectantly.
“John,” he rumbles, more firmly this time and accents it with an authoritative thrust. “Answer me.”
John swallows, and shakes his head, not really wanting to say it out loud, hoping that would be enough. Bane grunts in reply and curves his fingers deep inside, sending an unwelcome hot pulse of pleasure up John’s spine. John can’t stifle his moan this time; he’s never felt anything like that before.
“Ohhh,” he groans. John twists his hips, seeking pressure on that spot again. Fuck, he’s actually humping his hips back on Bane’s fingers, like a fucking whore. Bane seems pleased by this, and does it again, that son of a bitch. John arches his back, pressing his ass up.
“That’s it, pet. Surrender to me.”
Gordon would be so proud.
---
John is docile under Bane’s hands now. Tamed. He mewls softly as Bane finger-fucks him, the little slut. The veins in Bane’s s arm throb with each pulse as he fingers John, mask pressed to his neck, drinking each moan, each choked gasp.
This. This was why Bane enjoys taking his conquests from behind. There is something deliciously psychological about it - it makes them understand unequivocally who is in charge, who holds power over them. Bane’s certainly not one for the sentimentality of face-to-face coupling. No, this way, it’s strictly fucking, and more importantly, it’s fucking first and foremost for Bane’s pleasure. It is only because John’s breathy moans please Bane that he deigns to get him off at all.
That being said, Bane appreciates being able to watch John in the mirror. It would be a shame to fuck someone as attractive as him in his preferred position and miss his lovely expressions and reactions.
Bane tugs down the ruined GCPD uniform, exposing John’s bare shoulders. There is a beauty mark on his left shoulder blade, and Bane runs his other thumb over it thoughtfully. What other little secrets are hiding underneath Blake’s clothes? He scissors his fingers deep inside Blake a little as he considers this. If he weren’t so pressed for time, he would have greatly enjoyed forcing John to strip for him.
Bane pulls his fingers out and John seems to whine a bit. Bane smirks. For a virgin he is quick to catch on. Bane reaches down and frees his own cock from his fatigues, stroking it a few times with his coated fingers for good measure – he’s already so hard it hurts. Bane uses his other hand to grasp the back of John’s neck and forcibly keep him in place, his grip sure to leave bruises. John squirms in discomfort, teeth fastening on his bottom lip, trying desperately to relax. Bane mounts him and aligns himself with John’s virgin hole. The thought of being his first sends an extra pulse of pleasure through his body. No man will ever satisfy him after this.
“I won’t... I won’t tell anybody about this, about what I found.... Please,” Blake pleads feverishly, “Please just don’t do this.”
Bane hums, amused. “My darling boy, you are a fool if you believe yourself so clever to have escaped my notice for so long. In fact, I have been watching you for some time, waiting for you to come to me. And so you have, like a moth to a flame. When you return to Gordon,” Bane says, beginning to push in a little, “It is in fact my deepest wish that you tell him exactly what has transpired here.”
John looks dumbfounded for a moment before he cries out, loudly, as Bane slowly penetrates him to the hilt. Bane pauses briefly to enjoy the feeling of being so deep inside Blake; watching his pretty face contort in pain through the mirror just makes it all the more enjoyable. Bane groans as John clenches around his cock. So tight.
He runs his hands down John’s body, move along the muscles, the contours, the lines, watching them spasm as he shoves his cock further into the young man’s tightening hole. Bane moves slowly at first – he’s got all the time in the world to take care of his little captive. His upbringing has given him inhuman self-control; he could drag this out for as long as it pleases him.
---
It’s big, it’s so fucking big, he feels like he can’t take it, like he’ll be torn in two, like Bane will split his guts open. Whatever pleasure he felt before was nothing but a distant memory now, cancelled out by the overwhelming pain at taking Bane’s cock all in one go. His insides are clenching around the intrusion even though he’s willing himself to relax. Relax, relax, oh God, or else it’ll be worse. It’s pure agony.
“Fuck,” John groans, head dropping forward. He’s never felt so powerless.
“Where I am from, men would have killed for the chance to fuck you.”
That’s what John thinks Bane says, but he can’t really hear anything over the deafening heartbeat in his ears and his own dry sobs.
John doesn’t fight now, mainly because Bane’s going slow and John knows he must be holding back. He doesn’t want to aggravate him, give him a reason to tear his hole to pieces. The stretch is unbearable enough as it is.
Bane changes angles and then oh god – it’s doesn’t seem as painful anymore. He hears himself moan, and Bane seems to find this encouraging. He hits that spot repeatedly with his thrusts now, and John’s cock is gaining interest again. He feels so opened, so filled, so utterly fucked, as though Bane’s piercing his very core. A hot tear of frustration rolls down his cheek as his body begins to betray him once again.
---
John frantically moves his hips to meet Bane’s thrusts like a bitch in heat. He’s so responsive, his young body supple and yielding, like he actually wants this. Bane loves the sweet drag of John’s ass as he pulls out, until it’s just the tip of his cock holding him open, followed by the ecstasy of pushing in again. He angles himself to hit that spot inside of John, over and over again. Rutting him gets easier as John loosens up a little.
So sweet, little bird.
---
Bane continues fucking John like that, long and deep, for what seems like ages. The force of his thrusts sends him a few inches forward and a few inches back every time. Bane pulls almost all the way out before slamming in again. John hates how he’s moving up to meet him now, but fuck, it feels incredible. He can’t think straight, not when his cock rubs at John’s insides just so........
He can’t believe he’s getting off on this. Being raped. His restrained wrists rubbed raw by the handcuffs, Bane’s weight at his back and the cock inside him - it was pure sensory overload.
Every time John thinks he’s close, Bane stills, that sadistic asshole. He takes a moment to run his hand over John’s chest and the flat planes of his lower belly before reaching up and tweaking a nipple. The gentleness in his touch belies his immense strength. John bristles - it feels uncomfortably intimate, like they were lovers or something. Too touchy-feely. John grunts in annoyance. “Just finish it, already.”
Bane chuckles behind him. “You wish to come?”
Does he really have to say it? “Yes,” John grits out. Moreover, he wants Bane to come so this can finally be over.
Bane’s eyes crinkle as though he was smiling. He runs his hands through John’s hair. “Not until I hear you beg, pet.”
John makes a frustrated groan. Fuck this guy, really. Beg for it. Beg Gotham’s most dangerous terrorist to let him come. Yeah, that won’t be happening.
But then, how much longer does he have to endure this? It doesn’t help that Bane’s face in the mirror still looks rather unaffected, like he does this all the fucking time. He’s not nearly as undone as John is; it seems like could drag this on for ages. And as much as John has his pride, he also wants nothing more than to just get the hell out of here.
John gasps as Bane makes a particularly sharp thrust that lifts his heels off the floor. His head swims.
“Touch me,” He hears himself say before he can stop himself. It sounds strained and broken, not at all like his usual voice.
Bane’s face in the mirror looks pleased.
“Hmmmm?” he oozes, having heard John perfectly well.
John grits his teeth. “Come on, touch me, fuck me, anything. Please.”
Bane jerks his hips forwards and John gasps.
“Such a little slut you are, pet.”
Then, with one sure stroke of his hand, Bane has John climaxing harder than he ever has in his life. Bane fucks him through it, and oh, it’s almost too much, John can barely stand it. Pulse after pulse of hot pleasure course though his body, numbing his mind. He cries out as his body shudders violently before he slumps backwards into Bane, totally spent. With ragged breaths, he rides out the rest of his orgasm, grinding himself wantonly onto Bane’s cock.
“My beautiful little bird....”
John sobs - Bane isn’t close to done yet.
--
Bane hisses as John’s hole spasms around him. He feels incredible, hot and tight and slick. John’s long neck arches gracefully backwards as he comes. He grimaces for a few moments in orgasm, but then his boyish features soften again in afterglow, lips and cheeks are rosy from climax. Breathtaking. Bane feels a certain sense of accomplishment in reducing Gordon’s little protégé into a trembling mess beneath him, utterly exhausted by Bane’s cock.
Bane thrusts deep into John’s trembling body and stills, buried deep inside. He brings his coated fingers up to John’s mouth and messily smears his release on John’s chin and lips as a final degrading punishment for his earlier transgression. He even pushes a little into his mouth, confident that John wouldn’t bite down this time.
“Lick it off,” Bane commands.
John’s still panting, sweat glistening on his face from his orgasm. He stares wearily back at Bane through the mirror for a few moments, obviously trying to decide whether or not he should resist. He wants to resist, that’s clear, but he’s simply far too spent and overpowered to fight back. Finally, John lowers his eyes and obeys, swirling his tongue around Bane’s fingers and swallowing his own come.
Bane is flush with triumph. “Good boy,” he mumbles.
Having attained his goal, Bane picks up the pace. Up to this point, Bane’s been going entirely too slow with John to be able to climax. He presses one hand between John’s shoulder blades, lowering and pinning him against the desk. He goes faster, harder, fucking the limp body beneath him mercilessly. He leans forward onto John, crushing him, and even the desk moans with the extra weight. Bane growls. His patience is exhausted. He’s done playing with John, now he wants his release.
---
Exactly three minutes ago, John would have thought it would be crazy to call Bane a tender lover. As it turns out, however, slow deep fucking is not really Bane’s style. Now that he was seeking his own climax, he ruts John inelegantly, ruthlessly, like a frenzied animal. There is nothing to draw his attention away from the discomfort of being impaled on Bane’s prick now that John’s climaxed, either. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying for it to be over soon. It’s beginning to hurt again - Bane is gripping him too harshly, and the weight of him is making the edge of the desk dig into his stomach.
Please let him be close.
John’s beginning to wonder if he can speed the process up a little - he knows he can’t take much more of this. He clenches down and simultaneously rolls his hips.
Bane grunts and says something in a language John doesn’t understand. He’s definitely going much faster now. He’s so rough he’s slamming the solid oak desk into the wall, making thud thud thud noises with every thrust.
Bane comes with a mighty roar, gripping John so painfully hard he’s worried Bane will dislocate his shoulder. The sensation of Bane’s hot release spurting inside him makes John want to puke. It’s gooey and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel filled, used, claimed. Utterly dominated by this monster.
---
It is more than just pleasure that drives Bane over the edge - more than even the thrill of subduing the lovely young officer and making him come hard on his cock. No, his motives run deeper than that. Bane considers fucking Blake to be just one more tactical strike at Commissioner Gordon’s resistance. He imagines what Gordon will feel when he hears about this – and he will hear of this, Bane will make sure of it - fury, frustration, pity, guilt...... Most of all, Bane thinks, he’ll be envious. Envious of how Bane has the power to take what Gordon no doubt desires in the most hidden, darkest recesses of his mind, yet would never dare try to claim.
---
Bane collapses on John, panting heavily through his mask. His weight is suffocating and John is finding it hard to breathe.
Pull out, pull out, come on.....
Bane stays buried inside him for far too long for John’s liking before pulling out. It feels weird and empty, like something has been exorcised from his body. John winces in disgust as he feels Bane’s spunk leak out of his ass and trickle down his thigh.
Bane straightens a little, then he hears a click - the sound of his handcuffs being removed. He immediately braces himself against the desk, and when Bane backs off completely, his knees give out and he crumples to the floor.
He wipes at his eyes and face with his ruined jacket sleeve, trying to clean off the tears and come. His hands are trembling as he pulls up his pants and does up the front button. It takes him a few tries tou actually do it.
“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Bane drawls, breaking the deafening silence, “But I will if you come down here again.”
John nods dumbly in acquiescence, gaze rooted firmly to the floor. He can’t keep the tears from falling any longer.
Bane eyes him for a moment, then turns to leave.
“Give my regards to Commissioner Gordon.”