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Light is one of the things he misses most.
The space he is currently occupying is dim and dank. The cave is a massive expanse of nothingness while simultaneously enclosing around him like a garbage compactor threatening to destroy him.
He dwells in the cold darkness that looms.
With his axe in hand, he survey's his domain with careful eyes. He hears the small squeak before he spots the rat rummaging around, it itself is searching for subsistence. Unfortunately for the poor creature, Dick has no qualms swinging his axe and dealing a killing blow.
The head is cut clean off.
He jumps down and admires its deformed body as blood continuously oozes from disconnected veins, and flows along the cave's creviced floor. He takes the rapidly depleting life form in his hand and squeezes, and with no brain function it is helpless in his clutches.
His own twisted form of exsanguination.
He slinks back into the shadows that blanket the cave's jagged walls. Retreating to his makeshift camp. He sets the lifeless rat down. Two pieces of flint and he has a spark. He burns his old clothes, his bloodied uniform. Watching it go up in flames does nothing to him. He wonders if it should.
He has no idea how long he has been resident to the cave. Unsure how many hours have passed. How many days and nights, or if it's weeks gone by. Time is irrelevant.
Has Dick gone crazy? Has he fallen to insanity?
Just like him?
It's a complex thing, to be insane. The notion of being stuck in an endless cycle and doomed to fail over and over with no reprieve. Caused only by one's own foolishness.
He holds the body of the decapitated rat above the burning flames that reach for him, threatening to engulf him within their fiery blaze. Heat simmers beneath his fingertips and he's powerless to stop it. In fact, he encourages it. Hair sizzles and is melted away by the great conflagration. It could melt him away too if it tried hard enough. He could become someone anew. But he has a role to fulfil.
And he has no plans of abandoning post.
The sound of Batman's car revving into the cave startles him. He leaves his fire burning with urgency, knowing it is powerless to destroy naught even if it tried. He makes his way over to the beast that owns the cold cave in which he dwells within.
He watches as the beast peels off its second skin one piece a time. His eyes track the moment with interest and he bites into the flesh he holds in his hand. Tracing the Bat's body is never unfruitful, not when he's allowed to see what most may never.
It's always last to go. The one piece he dares not part with, even in the safety of his home.
His cowl.
He looks naked without the protection his suit brings. He's not though—he's in a compression bodysuit that define his muscles. Batman's body is a piece of art, if Dick ever saw one. A statue carved by the greatest sculptor to walk the Earth.
Dick tentatively moves closer, unsure of his approach. Some droplets of blood fall to the floor as he peers up at Batman. He sucks the blood out of veins while he chews on flesh for added flavour. In a low crouch he moves into the harsh light.
"Stop trailing blood everywhere," Batman grumbles through gritted teeth. He takes a stride closer to Dick while glaring down at the blood coating the cave's floor. He meet's Dick's eyes.
The order is clear.
His tongue darts out as he understands the implication behind Batman's words. He leans down and presses his tongue to the chilled surface before licking along the trail of splattered blood. The blood makes his head spin, or maybe it's the weight of Batman's gaze.
Nevertheless, when he surfaces, he's a panting mess. His eyes are half lidded and he can feel a strange throbbing sensation originating from his crotch. The rat is forgotten now, left discarded for its brethren to feed themselves with.
"Pathetic," Batman—but no, he isn't Batman anymore. He is a man Dick knows not the name of—spits out and Dick shivers. "Your purpose is the same of a toy soldier's. Useless."
He lets out a pained, strangled sound as his head drops and threatens to roll away. His best is nothing to Batman. How can the fault lie with him when Batman makes no commands, gives him no order or direction. It isn't below him to act childlike, for biology reasons that he is on. Batman believes otherwise, and so does Dick.
He scoffs. "If anyone's pathetic, it's you. You made me your soldier. All that I am was by your doing."
Dick expected a slap, a flick of his wrist and a hand connecting with his face. Instead, a foot flashes out and kicks him backwards with immense power. He lands sprawled out on the floor cold and immediately jumps back up to his feet, resuming his low crouch. He growls something low, resonating from his chest and back of his mouth.
"Quiet."
And he's silent.
He keeps his eyes trained on Batman's shadow-like figure stood looming above him. They keep eye contact for what could only be described as an eternity. Gazing at Batman is like gazing into the abyss. Batman's frown deepens and Dick's pout grows. The ever growing growing hunger inside him has begun to eat away at his being. He has been caged for far too long, his wings itch to feel fresh air.
"I passed your test," Dick reminds him, urging Batman to recall the night however long ago it was when he was presented with the chance to prove his loyalty. He submitted to Batman's will and what does he have to show for it? Nothing. "You said I'm your solider so allow me to fight for you!"
Batman grabs him by his scruff—reminiscent of how they met—and drags him through the expanse of the cave. Water rushes, or maybe it's blood in his ears. His hands hold onto Batman's for comfort and assurance. Anxiety mingles with anticipation and Dick wonders what Batman's plan is. This may his chance to become something more than a toy solider, more than a dull blade.
More than a circus boy.
But he was resistant to Batman's will. And defiance is a punishable cause. He braces for impact, for Batman to deal out a punishment he must deserve. For he is a child of low upbringing, a simple circus brat, many have reminded him so. But despite that, Batman still takes the time to teach Dick the ways of war and survival.
He didn't expect a great light to open up from a doorway he must have missed during his explorations and patrols around Batman's cave. He feels off kilter as he surveys his new, and previously unseen before surroundings. He covers his eyes when the burn becomes too strong for his now nocturnal orbs.
Fingers grip his chin and force his head away from the shadow that is Batman's chest. "Look," he commands, and Dick looks. "The cave can no longer hold you, but you're not free yet."
He's unceremoniously dropped, and like a cat he lands on his feet. He stands on a carpeted floor that his rough feet are unused to, hardened by copious amounts of scaling the cave's jagged floor and walls. He stays in a low crouch and slowly crawls forwards, following Batman's lead. He does not falter with his surveillance, trained to detect and thwart danger.
"What do you mean, Sir?" He asks with curiosity. "Am I allowed out? To fly again? I'll fly only for you, I promise. I kept the cave safe while you were-"
"The cave was never under threat, boy. It toughened you up," Batman informs him as he suddenly spins on his heels and looms over Dick like a man made only of shadows and darkness. The light surrounding him seems to dim in response to Batman's presence.
"I was already tough," Dick argues with a pout that slowly transforms into a harsh scowl. "All you did was kidnap me and keep me hostage in a dank cave while I was forced to eat rats!"
"I made you strong," the darkness booms and Dick realises that all light has washed away, diminished by the power that is Batman. "Without me you would be nothing more than a juvie bitch whoring yourself out for safety."
Dick shies away with a grimace. He cannot deny that that could have been his fate. He saw it when those pigs got handsy with him as they drove him out to the middle of nowhere and began to surround him with malice and ill intent. If it were not for Batman, then Dick would have been-
His face burns. His head whips up and he looks up at his enforcer, stunned. A slap. Dick doesn't dare take action, intent on reading Batman's cues. He seems to be in wait. Dick frequently reflects on his capabilities looking to improve, and yet, he never seems to be able to do anything right around the man.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Dick retorts with clear attitude as he rises from his crouch.
Another slap.
"Ungrateful boy," Batman grounds out before his arm extends in Dick's direction, once again reaching for him. This time, Dick leaps out the way and flips over Batman's head, landing skilfully on his feet. He keeps distance between them. "Heel."
The command washes through him and his legs tremble with the urge that follows Batman's orders. He grits his teeth and keeps himself afloat, not looking to aimlessly drift on an endless pitch black sea.
"I'm not your pet," Dick retorts as he crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. Adrenaline surges through him as he dares to meets Batman's gaze head on. "I'm your soldier."
Batman raises a brow, tilting his head as glee swirls behind those dangerous blue eyes. Dick feels dread wash through him like an impromptu jump into the cave's icy cold lake. Batman smirks, "either way you're mine. So behave accordingly."
"Well maybe I don't want to yours anymore. What good it's done me," Dick mumbles defiantly. The lie is bold, but he has naught to lose. He owns nothing.
He is nothing.
Silence settles.
Dick coughs as his back hits the wall behind him. He falls forward and the floor smacks his face and chest. He gasps out and quickly props himself up on his forearms to resume a fighting stance. His processing is lacking, unable to register the kick when it happened, but when Batman's covered foot presses down, hard, on the centre of his back he can feel it.
He yelps when his face connects with the rug. His head spins and his arms are pinned beneath him. He's helpless under Batman's influence, drowning in a bottomless sea with no choice but to drown. He struggles and squirms, but he finds no reprieve. Batman seems content with watching him flail beneath him. Time drags on and Dick finally accepts his defeat. He melts into the floor with a whine as the fight leaves his body.
Instead of being granted whatever little mercy Batman is capable of, a scream escapes his mouth when a hand grabs his leg and the weight is lifted from his back. He's dragged across the carpeted floor and his shirt rides up with the motion. His nipples burn as friction sets his body alight. Batman isn't slow, purposely creating abrasions on Dick's body. Making his mark.
Dick attempts to turn over, if only to soothe his painful chest, but is thwarted by the man. He kicks out with his free leg and misses each time. He's left helpless and whimpering as he awaits Batman's satisfaction to allow him a respite. He assumes they have reached their destination because he's unceremoniously flung across the room.
Fortunately, the gods graced him with some form of luck, and he lands on a soft plump bed. His mind is still spinning despite his body being now motionless, and he focuses on working out how to satiate Batman's anger. He understands he should have kept his mouth shut and been a good boy.
But Batman's lessons never seem to stick.
When the dizziness dissipates, he notices his surroundings. The room is wide and essentially empty aside from the few pieces of furniture it holds. Dick is on what has to be the biggest bed his little eyes have ever seen. On either side are bedside tables, and horizontal to him is a set of drawers, and another door.
Hair pricks on the back of his neck and he turns his head to see that Batman has changed. He is now sporting casual sleepwear that hangs off his frame. Dick years to see his defined muscles again, but he quickly reorients his thoughts.
He sits up and kneels on the edge of the bed as Batman stands tall. His eyes trace over Dick with careful precision as though his motives are not only to simply inspect his appearance, but his entire being. He internally shivers and keeps his outward composure. When Batman's gaze drops down to the floor, he follows suit and scrambles off the bed to appease his superior.
“All you need is a stern hand," Batman muses aloud and Dick feels a part of him pang with something unknown to him. All he wants is to be good,and needed, and Batman is the only one who can satiate that hunger growing within him. "Remove your clothes."
A retort is on the tip of his tongue but like a rat's organ he swallows it down. Thickness grows into a lump that constricts his throat. He shouldn't take his eyes away from the great man, but instinct reasons against logic, and wins. He pulls off the oversized red long sleeved sleep shirt which he hopes belonged to the man before him. Next off is his overly long pyjama bottoms that are rolled up at the ends to compensate his short stature.
"Happy?" He inquires once his near naked body is on full display for Batman. He doesn't cower, used to the attention of people who would lust after him. His chest is red, friction burns marring his now pale skin. Gone is his natural skin colour, replaced by the cave's harsh environment.
"Remove your clothes," Batman reiterates and the order has something within in him squirming. Wether it be anxiety or anticipation, his mind and body cannot settle.
Dick glances down at his boxers—the only item of clothing he has left. He swallows thickly around that lump in his throat, the one that grew from Batman's insistence and his own defiance.
Batman follows his hands with his eyes as they go down and tug at the waistband of his dirty boxers. He was wearing them under his leotard the day it happened and he hasn't taken them off since, having not been given spare clothes. Batman had given him nothing. His survival is by his own hands.
He teases hooking his thumb under the elastic as he looks up at Batman through his lashes. The man's gaze is hungry and lustful, something he's accustomed too, but it still irks him. Batman is different though. He's in charge of Dick and would never take advantage of him. The man has Dick's best interests at heart.
He tugs on them, slowly pulling them down. Batman's eyes stop following the action. He tries to ignore the implication, reasoning with himself that he must be mistaken. His mind has been playing tricks on him ever since he was taken in by Batman, and the fault lies solely with himself.
He shucks them off and drops them down onto the pile of clothes. He resists the urge to cover himself as it would only convey impotence. He is no coward. He is a soldier of Batman. An extension of his will.
He dares not ask what he is to do next.
"Heel," Batman commands as he turns on his heels and walks over to a door different to the one they entered through. He is quick to follow, eager to subside Batman.
The door opens up to reveal a massive bathroom that has an enormous bath, a walk in shower, a toilet, and sink. The open space is half the size of Batman's room and twice the size of the trailer he lived in another life ago. He scares the thought away. His parents mean nothing now, not in comparison to his handler.
He looks over at Batman who is stood before the shower.
He doesn't need to beckon Dick, the boy goes willingly.
Batman opens the door and Dick tentatively steps inside. Behind him, Batman stays ever present and just out of reach. Dick jumps with a startled yelp as cold water at the highest pressure possible blindsides him. He curls in on himself and escapes to the corner of the shower.
Batman eases the pressure, unimpressed.
"What was that for?!" Dick's teeth chatter as he squeaks out the question. He keeps his eyes down in submission, appealing to his superior, as he waits for Batman's response, if he chooses to grace Dick with an answer.
After a minute with no reply, Dick glances up at the man and he becomes ensnared in the older man's eyes. It's a strange thing, he thinks, the being that is Batman is simply lonely in his crusade and in need of support. Out of everyone, he chose Dick.
He wants him.
With new understanding, Dick removes himself from the shadows and steps into Batman's light. He unfurls from his defensive stance and closes his eyes as the water is turned back on, but this time he is able to stand it. The chill is one and the same of that down in the cave. The lake was freezing, but he had to take a dip per Batman's orders to keep clean.
Once his body acclimates, he braves taking another step towards his boss. "Thank you, Sir."
This time it is Batman who closes the painful distance between them. His free hand splays itself over Dick's sensitive chest. He minutely flinches from the brief sensation of pain, but Batman has no intention of harming him. He resists the nagging voice that begs him to lean into Batman's touch. To carve himself open for his master to do as he wishes with what remains.
His nerve endings are set alight with pleasure.
Batman's hand travels over his dirt ridden body intent on wiping all the grime away. He lingers on his nipples out of concern. Testing their sensitivity by thumbing them and pinching until they chafe and he whimpers quietly. He arches into Batman's touch, and bathes in the cold water to settle the emotions stirring within him.
He looses his head to a haze of submission and desire, allowing it to overtake him.
Dick is clay to be moulded by Batman's skilful hands. He moves Dick and Dick goes along with his master's will desperately. His head is pleasantly empty as Batman's hands seem to leave no part of him untouched. He follows the man's lead.
"Good boy," he hears the gentle murmur and his chest swells with pride and validation. "You want to make me proud." Dick nods despite the nagging feeling it wasn't a question. "And your defiance must be handled according."
He must be clean. The shower must have finished. Because he's being bent over his master's lap. Dick squirms but makes no move to escape what is to come. He yelps at the first hit, flesh connecting with flesh and his bottom begins to sing with pain. The pain grounds him and reinforces the lesson he has to learn if he wishes to be good.
He jolts in Batman's lap with every hit that connects. Shame flitters through him when he understands the message his body is itching to convey. He is pathetically infatuated with the man who wholly owns his entire being. He whimpers before being jolted again and a sound eerily similar to a moan escapes his stupid mouth.
He wishes Batman would tear into his voice box and leave him speechless. For he does not need his voice to follow orders.
The slaps gradually cease and he is left a panting mess atop of Batman's thick strong thighs. Batman leans over him and Dick fears he sees through his cowardly facade and will abandon him. It is worst fear. He cannot allow it to transpire. Never shall he be parted with his superior, Batman.
Dick flinches when the weight of Batman's hand is taken away, along with its warmth. Comfort is brought only by the assurance that is Batman's allowance of him to stay bent over his legs. He rewarded with a hand settling around the nape of his neck. He frowns. The hand feels unlike a hand, but leather.
Dick stays still.
Batman moves back and Dick quickly stumbles to remove his weight from his master's legs. He stands up and raises his hand to touch what was left around his neck. A collar.
"You collared me?" Dick's voice cracks. It makes him sound weak.
Batman chooses not to answer. Any continuation will lead to an argument. They repeat this song and dance often. Batman finds points of failure within Dick and Dick becomes frustrated by his mentor's indifference and coldness.
He glances at the bed, and Dick follows the silent order.
Once he is knelt on the bad, facing his master, Batman leans over him and Dick fears that is will be the penultimate chapter in their relationship, that now the time has come where Batman is bored of his antics. Dick watches with curiosity and anxiety as Batman blocks out the light above him.
"You want to be good," Batman repeats and Dick can only dumbly nod, words having escaped him. The man should know he doesn’t need to convince Dick. He knows this. His senses are dulled and a fog has taken up residence in his mind. Where he would be on guard, he is now vulnerable and susceptible to temptations of all nature.
He produces a leash, one that is clipped onto the collar and wrapped around Batman's hand. He gives it a tug and Dick is abruptly pulled towards him like a magnet calling for its opposite. He gasps as a hand on his abdomen presses him down onto the plush bed. The bed beneath him is inviting, the softness unlike anything he has ever felt before, but he resists.
"Be a good soldier for me," Batman whispers alluringly and Dick becomes dizzy as his head moves on its own. He cannot speak, silenced by the man who he belongs to.
Batman has infiltrated his entire being and rewritten everything Dick knows to be true. No longer is he a simple circus brat, but the one and only soldier of Batman. His half lidded eyes blink up at Batman and he's suddenly closer.
Their eyes meet and mingle before a clothed leg slides between his bare thighs and presses against his naked crotch. It gently rubs into him as lips envelops his own. He gasps, unknowingly inviting his mentor into his mouth. His first kiss. When Batman pulls away, Dick pitifully chases after him like a beaten dog.
A muzzle is lifted over Dick's face and he closes his eyes as Batman loops it around his head, accepting. He should have known it was a ploy. A lesson. The subtle weight of it brings him comfort in his disorientated state.
Batman slips beneath the duvet and the collar pulls him along too. With a click, the lights are out. Hands snake over Dick's chest and pulls him back until the two are flush together, and Dick melts into his touch. His collar is tight and requires him to pay close attention to his breathing lest he asphyxiate. The muzzle restricts him from mouthing off and opening his jaw. The leash keeps him close at times he wishes he could wander.
He misses his cave.
"Settle down, Pet." Batman says as though Dick's thoughts were evident. Maybe he is that predictable. He wouldn't know. Batman's hand moves further down until it rests just above Dick's crotch. He flushes red and his breathing stutters. Batman mustn't understand the effect his warmth brings. It's an accident. Dick squirms a little before the chain is tugged and he chokes on his breath. "Sleep. And in the morning we can discuss your position going forward."
Hope makes itself known to him and though he doubted his ability to follow Batman's order, the command washes through him and he looses all control of his body. His autonomy revoked. Completely loosing the willpower to fight. Sagging into Batman's hold as his eyes fall shut.
His fire has long since died. Unattended and forgotten. Flames failing—dwindling— as everything was burnt away. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.