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John jolted where he knelt at the sound of slow footsteps approaching him. His vision was gone, his eyes blindfolded. His shoulders ached, his hands tied behind his back. His knees were stiff, the damp chill of the concrete seeping into his legs as he was forced to continue kneeling. John gritted his teeth and strained his hearing, tracking the person coming closer. It was loud in the room; John could hear a waterfall nearby. But he could still hear the man - the monster - drawing near.
The laboured breathing through a mask.
Even though his eyes were already covered John clenched his eyes closed, seeking some sort of internal courage. He didn't know why he had been brought down here into what he assumed was the sewers, why Bane's men had kidnapped John in the middle of the night from his apartment. Why they had blindfolded, gagged and bound him but did not otherwise injure or even touch him except to drag him down here.
Why was John alive?
He had wondered this for the long hours he had knelt in the corner, the damp air chilling him until he was shivering violently with both cold and fear. Now John could practically envision Bane standing before him as the heavy boots stilled on the concrete and John could guess why. He was Bane's to break; no one else would have the pleasure.
"Officer Blake."
Even if there had been doubt before - which there hadn't - John knew for certain now that he was kneeling at the feet of Bane, Gotham's reckoning. The voice was unmistakable as it sent a trembling spark of fear down John's spine. John was a dead man. Never again would he see the streets of Gotham or feel the sun on his skin as another dawn broke. John decided that he might as well make the last few minutes of his life count.
"Detective," he spat, though the word was barely comprehensible through the cloth gag between his teeth.
"Yes of course," Bane said easily. If it was anyone else John could imagine a bowed head, acknowledging the mistake.
Silence rang out between them. Although John didn't know why, it felt as though his shoulders and legs were suddenly aching more demandingly. John shifted uncomfortably and grunted when his legs immediately cramped. Still Bane said nothing and John struggled to speak past the gag, feeling his anxiety worsen with each passing second. "Why am I here?"
"Because I want you here."
The words were not comforting and John felt his heart begin to trip on its rhythm. "Why?" he croaked.
"You are a strong and beautiful fighter," Bane offered. John didn't know what to say to that, but before he got a chance to decide how to respond he gave a shout of surprise when he felt Bane's arms slipping around him and hoisting him off the concrete. John attempted to squirm away but Bane's arms had a tight hold around John, holding him secure as they began to move. It was incredibly uncomfortable with his arms tied behind his back and John barely managed to swallow his groan of discomfort as pins and needles danced along his limbs.
John was anything but reassured when, after a few seconds of being carried in Bane's arms, he was set down on what was undeniably a bed. As soon as Bane's arms withdrew John stood up, uncaring that his vision was black and his arms were bound. His attempted escape ended before it began, his legs cramping and crumpling beneath his weight, sending him toppling to the ground as his shoulder smashed painfully against the stone.
John cursed and bit his lip, panting through the pain as tears beaded at the corners of his eyes. He was too dizzy with the pain to fight back when Bane easily picked him up again and returned him to the squeaky mattress. Again silence hung heavy in the air between them and John couldn't help but wonder what Bane was thinking of him as he stood in front of John, watching him breathe through the worst of the pain. Eventually John's circulation returned to his extremities but he didn't bother standing again, realizing how stupid his first attempt at escape was when his eyes were covered and he was in a maze of sewers.
After a long moment Bane stepped closer again. This time he remained there, hovering close but not touching, and John could feel the warmth radiating from his body. John ignored how inviting that warmth felt after being chilled for so long. It was harder to ignore when Bane's calloused fingers were suddenly on John's jaw, caressing skin and stubble. John flinched away but Bane pursued him, holding his jaw tightly enough that it ached. "I will have you tonight, Detective."
John wrenched away but there was nowhere to go. Even with Bane's hand off his face John could feel the imprints of his fingers, knowing he would have bruises lining his jaw line in the morning. Not that he would live long enough to see the marks. His hopelessness fuelled his anger and John snarled. "You will not."
"Confidence in a false belief will not save you," Bane said at the same time as he reached around and grabbed John's arms behind him. John struggled until he felt the distinct sensation of rope being loosened and blood rushing back to his frozen fingertips. John tried to stand up again but Bane was there, pinning him flat against the mattress as he pulled John's arms forward and retied them at his front. The weak cry of pain John gave at being yanked about went ignored, and John refused to acknowledge that Bane's movements might've grown slightly gentler after the noise.
Once John's hands were retied Bane fully settled his weight on John's legs, keeping him firmly on the mattress. Large, warm hands traced the hemline of John's shirt before slipping beneath fabric, exploring John's stomach and chest. "Don't," John ordered, and cleared his throat when he realized how badly his voice was wavering. "Don't!" he shouted more sternly, feeling his throat tighten.
Bane removed the gag from John's mouth but it was no comfort as two of his fingers forced their way past John's lips, his thumb between John's teeth and pulling against John's jaw trying to bite down on the intruding fingers. John felt frustrated helplessness wash over him as Bane's other hand began tugging at his belt, unable to deny now where this was headed. "You look lovely beneath me, John," Bane told him.
There was something about hearing Bane say his name in that way that made John want to cry.
"I don't want this," he whispered, terrified as tears began to spill free and soak his blindfold.
To his surprise, Bane's fingers froze and then slowly withdrew. His fingers were still wet with John's saliva as they traced John's jaw again, and then his lips. John could only describe the touch as tender. "Then forget this nightmare, little one," Bane's voice was low but soothing, close to John's ear. "And sleep."
John felt the pinprick of a needle in his arm and then darkness enveloped him.
Sunlight woke John the next morning, spilling across his bed and warming the sheets wrapped tightly around him. John rubbed his bleary eyes and stretched out his tired muscles, wondering if Gotham would fall if he just took one day off from patrol to rest. He stood from the bed and paused as he passed the mirror hanging on the inside of his closet door. John stood and stared at his reflection for a long time, eyes glassy and far away.
His fingers traced the fingerprint-shaped bruises littering his jaw.