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He couldn’t decide between staring at the swirling liquid in his glass or watching the sea of his brothers in celebration eleven stories below. An agonized cry, a quick shot of vodka and he chose to watch his men. It offered a better distraction.Feasting on a far heartier meal than they’ve indulged in a long time. Intoxicated on more than just liqour. They laughed, they wrestled. They tested each others skills in brotherly competition, tossing the defeated into the frigid pool of the hotel they’ve occupied.Gotham’s Crown Mirage. No doubt this city’s pretense of luxury and safety was a mirage, he thought.A large group surrounded two men as they challenged each other in a match of arm wrestling, each round ending with shots of liqour. Most likely Mikhail and Rafi. As always.He turned his gaze to the plate of meat and few stewed vegetables his brothers had brought him so he may join in their feast while he stood guard outside of Bane’s suite. The growing, anguished screams coming from the other room deciding for him he didn’t have an appetite.Another shot of cheap, American vodka. Not at all his taste, but it would do.
“Please, NO!”
Barsad breathed a sigh as he tried to focus on the noise below him. He wasn’t sure why it was necessary for him to stand watch. The lithe Gothamite was of no threat to Bane. Certainly none of his men would dare to interrupt. But loyal as ever, he was ordered to wait and he will. It's just the beginning of their occupation and it was going just as expected. History always repeating itself. No matter how civilized they thought they were, people were predictable. Self serving, opportunistic, parasites. The streets were absolute chaos as the good people took back control.Anarchy at its’ finest.All, but the main bridge had been demolished. No way off of the mainland and no way in. An inescapable trap for a condemned city. Almost as perfect as Talia had planned it. Almost. Gotham's time had come for a long while, but it was so much more to Talia.Four days since they unleashed the beginning of hell on Gotham and the Batman has yet to be seen. The League lost intel on Wayne’s location, rather quickly after bankrupting his name. Having yet to make an appearance as a now broke billionaire or, more surprisingly, as the masked vigilante has greatly displeased Talia. More than watching Gotham be destroyed, she wanted Wayne to fall to his knees before the League. For his betrayal to the League and her father. To avenge Ra’s al Ghul’s death. Forced to watch his city burn under her heel. She didn’t foresee Wayne staying hidden while his city was under siege.But no matter, shrewd and calculating as always, she formed a plan.Officer John Blake. Wayne had grown close to the young man and she thought it the perfect way to bring the Bat out. Of course, she couldn’t have Barsad just lead a team to hunt him down and hold him as bait. Or simply kill him. Easy enough job. Barsad would have preferred it.Oh no, his punishment must be more severe.
“A most humiliating reminder of Bruce’s failure to protect his city” a malicious gleam in her eyes.
Threaten Gordon. Threaten the orphanage.Unless Blake came to Bane’s bed. * 
“Most perfect, isn’t it? Knowing the only way for them to live is to beg for Bane’s protection. Hmmm, and that his precious John went willingly.” Barsad doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her seen her so pleased with anything in the many years he’s served her.

“Because he was too weak to save them” Her smile didn’t seem as pretty as he remembered. Her hatred of Wayne has changed her.

“When he refuses?” Barsad questioned emotionless, dragging her away from whatever mental picture she was watching in her mind.

Could you even call that a smile?

“Then kill them”
 * He knew his movements well. From trying to help his fellow officers, taking what little he had to the children of St. Swithins, helping every poor citizen he came across, trying to organize with Gordon any ways to evacuate citizens or put a stop to the League’s hold over Gotham, Blake definitely stretched himself thin. Trying, in vain attempt, to keep hope alive in this forsaken city.It was an easy task learning his routine, keeping up with Officer Blake no matter where he ran throughout the city. Blake could be impeccable running hidden in the shadows with some proper training, he recalled crossing his mind when he watched him run alongside the buildings after dropping off a care package to the orphanage. The way Blake moved was more fine-tuned than the typical police training Gotham offered.Not enough so that he, or his men, couldn’t easily locate him anywhere in the city, but Blake definitely didn’t learn that from any academy.He might offer the smallest kudos to Blake attempting to throw anyone off his trail. Ducking into various alleyways, moving swiftly one place to another. He knew these streets well. Knowing the quickest paths to get where he needed. Avoiding his men on the ground. Yet completely ignorant to eyes watching from above.He thought perhaps Talia was correct in her musings about the cop being Wayne’s apprentice. He was almost one with the shadows. Almost, but not quite there yet. * The first proposition, unsurprisingly, ended in angry, insulted threats and desperate punches and wild kicks Blake tried to land on Barsad. No rhyme or reason to his offensive tactics, just pure emotion. Maybe he isn’t under Batman’s tutelage.He had left Blake in tact, but a gasping heap on his own floor. “One more chance, Officer Blake.” Barsad wasn’t too keen on the idea of hurting children. A certain age still held so much innocence that shouldn’t be destroyed. Sure, the bomb would be detonated in six month’s time, but a swift, cleansing fire was far more humane, he believed. But that was the League’s purpose after all. His purpose. Purge the sickness. Destroy the corrupt. Bring justice to the unjust. Restore balance. Barsad had always and will always serve that purpose. Some innocents will always be caught in the fire.That being said, harming a child simply as a means to bring Blake into the arms of Bane wasn’t sitting right somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He’d never admit the relief he felt that it only took a small group of his men storming the orphanage to break Blake’s will.A simple hostage situation and Blake didn’t try to put up a fight (if one would even call it that) the next time he pounded on the cop’s apartment door. * How long has it been? A quick glance to the clock showed exactly 11 minutes since he delivered Blake to Bane’s room. Bane had wasted no time before he heard Blake trying to stifle his cries of pain.He turned back to the window as loud cheering sounded below. Mihkail raised his glass and fist in the air, victorious, as Rafi finally fell over from drunkenness. Every time without fail. Barsad shakes in head, he doesn’t understand why he continues to even try. Rafi never handles his alcohol well.Another distressed cry.Another shot.The slight burn he felt go down his throat cleared easily. He looked at the bottle wishing he had something stronger. But, finally, the screaming ended.Bane emerged from his room, his massive form taking up most of the door frame.“See he is returned to his home. Then you are free to join the others, brother.”Bane threw Blake forward with a grip on his upper arm. Blake fell to his knees, trying not to sob.He nodded as Bane passed to the elevators. Either to oversee the festivities or speak with Talia, he didn’t know, simply turned his attention to Blake. His whole body was trembling. Long, pale fingers struggling as he desperately attempts to button his shirt that Bane had tore off.“Can you walk?” Barsad shouldn’t ask. He should just order him to follow. Or drag him up, physically manhandling him as need be. Blake tried to menacingly glare up at him, but his tears ruined the effect. Not that Barsad felt intimidated either way. Blake stood shakily and moved past him to the other elevator.Barsad followed silently and pressed the down button, the doors opening immediately. Blake stumbled inside and caught himself on the railing. Barsad pressed the first floor, adjusting his rifle mindlessly. As the elevator began its descent down, Blake started to sway unsteadily on his feet before falling towards Barsad. He firmly caught Blake with one arm to keep him from hitting the floor, before Blake came to and roughly pushed away from him.“Don’t touch me!” Blake held himself against the opposite wall, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’ll kill you, I swear it”, Blake’s voice choked towards the end.Barsad didn’t respond or react in any way, just straightened his stance and watched the glow of the floor numbers. * The quiet that came over the men once the elevator doors opened was almost as deafening as their thunderous celebrations had been. The hush fell quickly across every corner of the hotel.Blake quickly dropped his head in shame, a deep blush covering his cheeks. No doubt new tears forming in his dark eyes. Barsad didn’t have to turn to make sure Blake was following him.It would do him no good to cower inside.His men said nothing, not a sound as hundreds of eyes followed the cop as Barsad led him to the front of the lobby. The few men in the way silently stepping aside to make way, leering at Blake.He held the main door for Blake to step through, watching him limp across the threshold. Barsad stepped out behind him, letting go of the door.The rapturous laughter that erupted before the glass doors even closed made Blake choke out a sob. They made their way down the flight of steps, Blake trying his best not to fall. Pushing himself to get away from the roar of the lecherous army inside as fast as his legs would allow.Barsad opened the back door of the SUV that the League had taken control of during their takeover. He believed it had belonged to that sycophant Stryver, he thought absently. Not that it mattered. It was far too lavish for the men who now drive it.Blake stared wide-eyed, another tear falling out of one corner. Barsad felt something uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach again. Probably should have eaten.“Get in, Blake.” Barely a mumble. He should have spoken louder.Blake seemed frozen just staring at nothing. Not really seeing Barsad, the vehicle, anything. Not moving to get in. Not trying to run away or at least wipe away his tears. Another minute passes, or seconds, he couldn’t tell. Too long either way.The snow was beginning to fall again.“Do you need help?” that was better. Louder, firmer. But why did he make it a question? Just make him get in.This time seemed to bring Blake to, jumping slightly, before glaring at Barsad. He huffed indignantly and pulled himself into the backseat. Barsad grabbed the handcuffs and cuffed Blake’s hands behind his back. Just as he had brought him here. He felt Blake tense as if he wanted more than anything to fight. But they both know he would lose. Barsad knew Blake wouldn’t be an issue, should he attempt to strangle Barsad from behind the driver’s seat. He’d easily be handled, but why not make the drive back as peaceful as he could? He paid no attention to the broken cry Blake tried to hold back and slammed the door. * The drive to Blake’s apartment was quiet except for his unsteady hitched breathing and the steady hum of the engine. The streets were empty except for the League, a few men spread throughout posts within a few mile radius of their hotel, ensuring no trouble. Some men saluted as they recognized Bane’s right hand man . He paid them no mind.Eventually they disappeared as they got closer to Blake’s residence. The streets still empty, no one in this area was brave enough to be out at night. Not anymore.“AHHH! Would you watch it?! Damn you!” Barsad looked in the rear view mirror to see Blake gritting his teeth in pain, the vehicle settling back down from the pothole they ran over in the road. Blake moved so he was laying against the car door, Barsad was sure to relieve the pain he felt from being jolted so harshly. Barsad said nothing and turned his attention back to the snow covered streets.They were almost there.“I hate you… I hate you… I hate all of you” Blake’s voice trailed off, almost a whisper.Barsad remained silent. * The cuffs clicked off and Blake pushed himself past Barsad, almost slipping in the snow in his haste to get into the building. Barsad watched him stumble and disappear inside. He should immediately head back to their headquarters. His job was done, returning Blake to his residence was all that he was ordered to do.Barsad doesn’t understand what compels him to follow and ensure Blake actually makes it into his apartment.He sighs tiredly. He needs another drink.He caught up to Blake still on the first flight of stairs, struggling to pull himself up step by step. His boots thud against the stairs, as Barsad doesn’t try to mask his presence. Blake whips around to face him.“What are you doing? You brought me back, now GO!” Blake threw everything he had into the punch he hoped would land on Barsad’s left cheek. Barsad didn’t even have to move to avoid it, as Blake’s body failed him and he started to fall forwards. Barsad caught him and held him up.Blake thrashed weakly “Let me go”. Barsad loosened his grip, but didn’t pull away. He could tell how much Blake was leaning his weight on him to not fall over. He could just side step him and let Blake fall down the stairs.Barsad doesn’t know why he doesn’t.“Please, no, just.. go away… please” Blake’s voice is so soft now. All anger and hatred he had slowly leaving him. He slackened further in Barsad’s grip. Ready to leave and be done with this day, he easily picks Blake up bridal style and carries him up the rest of the way. Blake didn’t even fight, just began sobbing. Absolutely broken.Walking into Blake’s apartment, he paused looking at the couch in the dim light of the moon coming through the window. He wondered if Blake would be more comfortable in his own bed. Should he take him into his bedroom? It would be an invasion of his most personal space.Barsad almost scoffed at himself for such a thought. Since when does he care about such things? The League now owns everything in this city. Barsad looked at Blake pressed against his chest, his exhaustion slowing his cries. Face reddened and eyes squeezed tight. Barsad could feel the faint tremors in his body.Blake’s most personal space had already been invaded.With that thought, he crosses the way to the bedroom and lays Blake down. Blake’s eyes snap open, darting around to see he was in his room, in his own bed, with Barsad standing above him. His thrashing renewed, sluggish fists hitting Barsad on his chest and arms.“What, is it your turn now?” Blake’s attempt at a harsh taunt came out too nervous, too afraid that’s exactly what Barsad wanted.Blake’s hand reached for the handgun in his nightstand. Before Blake could even register the movement, Barsad had it wrestled away from weak hands and began making his way towards the door.“Rest, Blake.” Barsad didn’t cast another glance his way.Ignoring the muffled cries, he laid the handgun down on his coffee table and left. * Hideous.Talia was always considered by all to be a most beautiful woman, he would have acknowledged such had he been asked just a few days ago. Besides her sharp intellect, her looks have helped her go far, especially as Miranda Tate. Firmly seated in the belly of Gotham’s most elite social circles and gaining herself a position as a major player of Wayne Enterprises. Eight years of hard work, every step carefully calculated. Wayne almost instantly fell for her charm, as had many others in her path of destruction. She’s always been a temptress. Alluring in every way.Yet the pleased grin on her face did nothing, but make her hideous in Barsad’s eyes.Barsad had so wanted to head to his own over-sized hotel room and just sleep (solely to sleep and not ponder about dark, crying eyes), but one of Talia’s personal lieutenants had informed him he was to report to her. He always obeys.So far, he doesn’t understand the purpose of his presence. He gave her a full report of his earlier discussions with the other commanders. They were almost ready for the next phase. Her plan was in motion as smoothly as expected.But he had yet to be dismissed. He was beginning to think she wasn’t even listening, but he waited patiently for her orders.“My dear Bane enjoyed himself, I do believe.” She puffed a ring of cigar smoke out of her lipstick stained lips.“Did he scream?” She seemed to stare through him. Ah, so that’s why he’s here. Barsad gave a single nod. If only he could unhear them.She closed her eyes and hummed to herself. As if that thought alone brought her immense pleasure. “Keep him under close watch. Bane will have use for him again.” I will have use for him again, she means.“I so hope Bruce will come out of hiding soon.” He pretended not to notice the bitterness in her voice.He could only imagine her burning desire for Wayne to discover just how bad things were, now that Blake had bargained for the safety of their fellow citizens.He stood beside her on the open balcony as she lounged on a chaise. Her legs crossed, a flute of the finest wine the hotel had in one hand, a cigar in the other. She looked a picture of opulent leisure, if not for the displeasure darkening her features. She sipped thoughtfully on the dark red wine, looking down at her army of soldiers. They showed no signs of slowing down their celebrations.Barsad turned to gaze down at them as well, no longer wanting to look at her.“He will. Wayne wouldn’t abandon this city so easily. Batman will try to make a stand against Bane. The next phase will begin soon.”He almost thought she hadn’t heard him, too lost in her own thoughts. Thoughts he had no desire to understand.Another puff of smoke. “Mmmm…. and what a delight it will be.” * It was only two days before Bane requested Blake again. Whether it was truly Bane’s desire or Talia insisting that he does, didn’t matter. Barsad still followed the order and found himself knocking on the cop’s door.He knew he was home. They haven’t stopped following him. Blake had barely slowed down since Barsad had left him. He went about his usual routine trying to help everyone, but himself. Gordon’s efforts had slowed since the League closed in on the west end of Gotham, driving his small pack of heroes deeper into the city, away from resources. Gordon and Blake still continued to help the weakest of the citizens that were trapped. Distributing food, water and meds that could still be found. Disorder still running rampant, making it harder for them to move as freely.His men hadn’t stepped foot inside the children’s home since that night and Blake had been there within hours after his evening with Bane, moving them to a new, safer (hah) location. But of course for nothing, he was always being watched.His men were already there, waiting on his word should the need arise.Barsad watched the shadow under the door as Blake quietly came up to the door to look through the peephole. Barsad waited until the shadow moved back and he stepped to the side against the wall, waiting. As expected, Blake flings the door open furiously, handgun aimed prepared to take a shot. Foolish.Barsad reached out, grabbing Blake’s wrist in one hand, the other twisting the gun out of his hold. Blake yelled in anger as he was pushed back into his apartment, Barsad letting him go as he holstered Blake’s weapon. He stood straight and waited as Blake caught himself from falling and turned back, fists ready. Barsad easily wrestled him down, his leg sweeping Blake’s from underneath himself.Swiftly flipping him on his front, Barsad had Blake’s arms pinned behind his back and a knee pressed into his lower back. The cop thrashed, seething insults, trying to throw the terrorist off. But Barsad was immovable.Barsad pressed down harder and pulled his arms a little higher. Just enough to feel the strain in his muscles pulling, but causing no real damage.Blake groaned and finally stilled. He ignored the stirring he felt inside.“Enough. You’ve been summoned.”“Fuck you, I’m not going back” Blake hissed painfully.“You will. It’s your choice if someone must be hurt first or not.” He really didn’t like the thought of harming children. But an order’s an order. * The ride to headquarters wasn’t as quiet this time. Blake quickly surrendered and followed Barsad’s orders once he realized the children were, again, being held hostage. But it didn’t take long down the street and Blake started talking, nervously, but he tried to put some bravado behind it. It started with screaming profanities and kicking the back of the driver’s seat, but getting no rise from Barsad, he simmered down a little. No point in wasting your energy. He only half listened to Blake’s general insults and threats.“Just wait until Batman comes back, he’ll beat all your asses before you even know what’s coming.”Barsad smirked a little at that, knowing full well Wayne, the Batman, has one rule. The one it would take to actually put a stop to the League. Barsad knew Wayne wouldn’t break that rule. He had failed his initiation under Ra’s Al Ghul and nothing had changed in his years as the Batman.Blake must have seen him in the mirror, bristling as he pulled himself closer to the front, leaning towards Barsad.“You don’t think so? Believe me, he’ll put a stop to this, you bastard. All of your bullshit! You won’t get away with any of this! Gotham will rise up against all of you. He’ll defeat Bane and I, personally, will put a bullet through your head!”Barsad ignored him. * Blake sat silently, Barsad waiting for him to step out of the vehicle. His tough act didn’t last once the hotel came into view.“Come on.” Blake’s eyes shifted, nervous, his breathing starting to get erratic.“I don’t want to do this… please”. His voice was so soft. All of his big talk of Batman, saving Gotham, putting bullets in various parts Barsad’s body was completely gone. The reality of what he was about to do crashing down on him. He was frightened.Blake’s chest begins to heave up and down, his eyes growing wide, unshed tears making his deep brown eyes glassy. Beads of cold sweat begin to form around his hairline. Barsad isn’t sure what to do.He glances back at the hotel. It’s mostly empty, everyone on patrol or continuing work in the sewers. The only men between the vehicle and Bane are the four guards posted across the front. Jovan looks at him, a questioning look if he needs assistance. He’s sure Jovan can see Blake’s face from his position as he loses himself to his panic. He makes to step forward, but a curt shake of Barsad’s head, and Jovan resumes his post. He turns back at the hastening choked breaths the cop is struggling to control.“Breathe, Blake.”He doesn’t know why he notices the way his dark hair moves with the violent shaking of his head.“I..I..ca-can’t…ple..ase..” Blake lets out a pained sob.Barsad reaches a hand out and places it firmly on Blake’s chest.“Breathe into my hand…In… out…in…out” Why is even doing this?Tears spill out from his eyes, as Blake tries to focus on Barsad’s face. Underneath his panic, Blake looks as confused as Barsad feels, but does his best to copy his breathing.“Good, good… that’s it. You’re alright.” Barsad continued to steady breathe with him.In.Out.Deep breath in, deep breath out.He doesn’t know why he’s helping to calm him. Nor does he understand why he stepped close enough to block anyone from viewing his breakdown. Barsad should just drag him out and up to the elevators. Bane is waiting after all.Blake took a few final slow breaths, his eyes closing as he takes a lungful of winter air in. Barsad settles his own breathing, Blake no longer needing it for guidance. He pulls his hand away from Blake’s chest.“I don’t want to do this. Why do I have to do any of this?” He looks younger now. “He’s asked for you.” Ordered, actually. Bane (Talia) does not ask nicely for anything.It’s not an actual reason, not an explanation for why this particular Gothamite has to do this, but Blake is in no position to know Talia’s real identity yet. To know this is her all doing. As punishment for Wayne. Because Blake means something to him. Because Wayne cares.To destroy Blake is to destroy Wayne.Blake knows that doesn’t answer his question, thankfully doesn’t pry, instead, “If I refuse?”Barsad could threaten his orphans again. Worse, if he were far more cruel, go ahead and call Rafi and have him harm one of the boys with Blake listening on his end of the radio. Anyone else being Blake’s escort probably would have. Why show any mercy?They both know what happens if Blake chooses to fight this.But Barsad supposes he isn’t completely heartless. What heart? He never found a use for it.Or, perhaps, it’s the gaze of deep brown eyes that have opened to look at him waiting for a response that he opts for a far less callous answer. Forget harming a child for leverage.“Then I’ll force you.” Why does his tone sound so apologetic?He should simply drag Blake out of the vehicle kicking, screaming, yelling obscenities, frozen in terror, crying hysterically. However Blake would choose to go. And yet he doesn’t move to grab him. Blake swallows and barely nods.“Come. He’s waiting.” Blake winces knowing that Bane is just floors above waiting for him to join him in his bed.Barsad uncuffs him and steadies Blake with a gentle grip on his arm as he shakily steps out on to the pavement. He allows Blake to walk in front of him at his own pace. Jovan and Bader open the double doors allowing them entry.Bader smirks, his eyes raking over Blake’s form. Not that Blake notices, his posture tall, but his head down refusing to look at anyone or anything.A sharp look from Barsad straightened him up.Know your place. * Following orders may be the death of him. One day they will. He accepted that when he joined the League. But some orders, such as this, were a little much.There were no men to watch 11 stories below. The pool water at a peaceful standstill. He considered the half empty vodka bottle on the banquet table still sitting by the window. He never finished it and no one else had come across it being up here on Bane’s private floor. It was still early evening, he didn’t feel like drinking. It was too weak anyway.Barsad walked from one end of the hallway to the other, now looking out the front of the Crown Mirage. There were a handful of his men milling about now, keeping watch. A few to the side enjoying a smoke and conversation. Two trucks came through with supplies. Too high up to really hear the thrum of the engines.There was no noise on the 12th floor but the quiet, steady ticking of the ornate clock hanging between the elevators. No where close to being loud enough to distract from the agonized groans and pleased grunts coming from the other side of the door.Barsad tried busying himself with a check list of his duties to ensure were under control before he retires for the night.The supplies coming through the East checkpoint needed additional guards. He’d get Jovan to see to it. He can be trusted without Barsad’s supervision.He turned to walk back the other way, pacing up and down the hall slowly as he mentally checked off a few other points of business. His thoughts tapered off as he found himself standing in front of the vodka and considered it one more time. Perhaps Bader should be moved further from headquarters. He could be demoted to working in the sewers.
“Ooohhh”
A moan that sounded less pained gained his focused attention. Things quieted suddenly, just for a moment, almost long enough he wondered if he should go to check on…then a new frenzied pace began.“No, no, fuucck, Ah!…ugh” Blake continued to cry out and beg, but now it wasn’t entirely out of pain. No matter how much against his will, his body was now enjoying it.He did his best to ignore his own body wanting to react to Blake’s voice.He readjusted his rifle.Another glance at the bottle.Following orders may be the death of him. * It went on far longer than last time. Barsad didn’t bother trying to keep up with just how long. But, eventually, Bane opened the door and motioned to him.“Take him home.” He disappeared back into his suite, Barsad not far behind.Bane had already started the shower in his en suite bathroom, grabbing a pair of clean clothes on his way and leaving him to deal with Blake.Who was still laying in a naked, crying heap on the king-sized bed. His eyes began to travel down the young man’s body before catching himself. He moved to pick up Blake’s shirt and pants off the floor and walked over to his side of the bed.He couldn’t help the awkward clearing of his throat. “Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”Blake startled, not realizing Barsad was even in the room. That Bane had even left the room. He snatched his clothes as fast as he could and covered his body in the silk, navy sheets on the bed. Blue suits him. Barsad snapped back and walked to the door, turning his back to give Blake the dignity of dressing without being watched.He heard Blake quietly groaning in pain and the rustling of fabric as he dressed as quickly as his shaking hands would let him.“Damnit” Blake said under his breath. Barsad heard a few soft thuds and Blake’s increasing frustration. He glanced a look back to see Blake struggling to get his shoes on. His nerves and exhaustion causing him to drop them over and over. Blake’s hands trembled badly enough he couldn’t undo the laces. Blake finally tried to force his foot into one, the back of his shoe bending in preventing it from slipping on. His breath hitched as he struggled, tears beginning to drip off his cheeks. Giving up in a fit of anger, he gathered them in his hands and walked towards Barsad.“Well? Let’s go” he spat bitterly, but weakly. He wiped at his face angrily to brush away the wetness. Barsad headed out of the suite, Blake limping heavily behind him, but keeping up. They didn’t say anything as the elevator lowered.9…8…7…6…5...“...fuck...” Blake reached down to pick up the shoe he dropped fiddling with them nervously. He hissed as he stood back up.4…3…2…1 Ding!As they walked out, he lead Blake to one of the sofas in the lobby and stopped.“Sit.”Blake looked at him, his eyes shifting, questioning. Eyes darting back and forth between the lobby doors and Barsad.An unsure “Why?”“Just sit.” Barsad didn’t mean to sound as short he did. Not that he cares.Blake didn’t question again, just gingerly lowered himself down, wincing. Barsad drops to one knee in front of him and holds his hand out.“What are you doing?” Those dark eyes stare back at him. Tears drying up as confusion takes over. What is he doing?“Give me your shoes.”A dumbfounded “huh?” and Blake doesn’t move. Impatient, Barsad takes a shoe of out his hand, not unkindly, and unties the laces. He reaches for one of Blake’s ankles, tugging his foot up off the floor.“W-whoa, what are you doing?” He starts drawing up away from Barsad. Again, what is he doing?Barsad has never, in his life, helped anyone do such a simple task as putting shoes on.He really doesn’t know, but the fastest reply he has is “Do you want to walk bare foot in the snow?”Barsad most certainly could. He has. Every man in the League is capable of such. It’s a part of training, withstanding the elements. Just a small part in building them into soldiers worthy of serving in the League of Shadows. Gotham isn’t close to being as bitterly cold as the mountain. This weather was of no concern to Barsad, but he’s sure a spoiled Gothamite couldn’t possibly handle walking a few meters from the lobby doors to the car shoeless. Most likely collapse shivering or run back to the comfort of the hotel interior.Barsad doesn't care either way.He really doesn’t he tells himself as he refuses to let Blake answer, grabbing his ankle again and slipping his shoe on. He ties a firm knot and takes the other one. Blake doesn’t fight or say anything, just stares in bewilderment. * The ride is quiet back to Blake’s apartment. Neither have said anything. Blake isn’t yelling, cursing or even crying. He hopes Blake isn’t also wondering why, seriously why, Barsad did something so…so… He doesn’t even know the proper word to use. It certainly left him feeling…odd.Barsad detests unknown emotions.“Who are you?”He glances in the rear view mirror to see Blake’s looking at him. His eyes have completely dried of any tears. He really hopes what he did back there hasn’t led the officer to think they can open up to each other. Barsad refuses to answer.“You have a name, don’t you?” Barsad readjusts his hands on the wheel. Please stop talking. Barsad doesn’t like talking.“…whatever…I hate you” A broken whisper, eyes closing tight against new tears.
Don’t cry.
“Barsad.” That caught his attention. Good, he hates crying.Blake rolls his name across his lips, unfamiliar with it, “Barsad…Barsad what?”He looks away as Blake licks his lips to wet them.“Just Barsad.”“Only one name?”Barsad raises an eyebrow. “Only three names? Robin John Blake.”Blake’s face sours “Don’t call me that.”“What?”“Robin. I hate it.”Blake isn’t looking at him anymore.“Alright.” They fall back into silence.“I hate you.”Barsad doesn’t acknowledge him.He pretends that he doesn’t slow down and gently weave to the side to avoid hitting a pot hole.Blake doesn’t notice. * John fully intended to walk himself to his apartment and pass out in his bed. Or possibly drown himself in the shower. But one foot out of the vehicle and the pain that shot up his body almost makes him scream.John hardly paid attention to the ride back. Whatever stunt that was that Bastard, no Barsad, just pulled back at the hotel had distracted him.
He can put his own shoes on, damn him.
So lost trying to understand Barsad’s angle, he was too quick to try to walk on his own. His vision definitely grayed out. Bane was so much rougher this time.He must have fallen, he’s not sure. John does know that, yet again, he’s being carried in the terrorist’s- Barsad’s - arms. He hates it, he wants to fight out of his hold. He’s not some pathetic, little princess that can’t walk. But you are, you are pathetic. John ignores the voice and tries to forget how his body betrayed him.He hates that he enjoyed what Bane did to him. No! No, he didn’t, but damnit his body, his voice said otherwise. Bruce would be so ashamed if he knew.Bane seemed to take sick pleasure in it. Forcing him to moan again and again. Oh he hoped he didn’t cling onto Bane like his memory says he did. Ugh.He hates Bane. He hates Barsad. He hates himself. John’s mind screams to move, to get out of Barsad’s arms, but his limbs won’t move. He’s so tired, his body aches, his head hurts, he wants to scream.Instead he’s silent. At least he thinks he is. He doesn’t know if he’s crying. He hopes not. He hates that he keeps crying in front of Barsad. Pathetic. So weak.So lost in loathing everything, he startles when he feels himself being laid down on his bed. John’s eyes slowly adjust to the moonlit room, his captor coming into view.Those same faded fatigues. That red scarf, tattered around the edges. He finally makes out the scruffy beard and steely blue eyes.They look tired, yet remain vigilant.Intense.John thinks those eyes could burn a hole through a wall. Through him.That same painful tightening in his chest starts to build. No, not again. Twice in one day? And both times in front of Barsad? He’d feel so embarrassed if he wasn’t terrified of the sensations of being unable to breathe. He’s never experienced panic attacks before. But his city under attack, law and order no more, the children being held hostage…being raped… His body, his mind, his heart.It’s all too much.John’s crazy if he thinks those eyes soften in pity. * “You’re home, Blake.” He makes to leave, but stops as Blake groans and reaches out. He looks down at the grip on his arm and watches him begin to shake. Sobs wrack his body.“Please… don’t… sc...ared..” Another panic attack. Great.He needs to leave. The other commanders are waiting to report to him on todays movement. Rafi radioed in earlier there was a little trouble at one of the warehouses. Gordon and his team, most likely. Bane will be waiting for him to discuss plans for the morning’s patrol. Barsad had no time for this.Yet, he turns on the lamp light and sits down beside Blake. He pushes Blake flat and places a hand on top of his chest. This time, Blake’s hand finds its way on top of his.“In… out…in…out… Come on, Blake, you have to breathe.” He was having a harder time. Blake’s hiccupping breath getting more out of sync with Barsad’s count. His body writhing in agony.He really doesn’t know what’s come over him because, he’s pulling Blake up, and moving to sit behind him. Barsad wraps his arms around Blake and pulls him tight to his own chest.“No…gasp...no…hic.. let… g..go…” Blake’s too weak to fight, he can barely speak.“Shhh…breathe in…breathe out..” Barsad begins loudly emphasizing his breaths, his chest forcing Blake’s back to rise into his hands holding firm over Blake’s chest. Barsad can feel his heartbeat. It’s so erratic.It takes several breaths, minutes pass by, but slowly Blake begins to fall into rhythm with Barsad. Blake releases a deep, shaky breath out, sinking back into Barsad. He takes his weight easily.“Good.” Another deep breathe in, his chest staying flush with Blake’s back as he leads him into a calm pattern.Up.. down..up..down…in…out….in….out… There was nothing but the sound of their breathing, perfectly synchronized.Neither are aware of Barsad’s hand rubbing soothing circles on Blake’s chest. Or Blake threading his fingers with Barsad’s, holding tight. * Barsad gently eases Blake’s shoes off and pulls the sheet and thin comforter over his body. He had passed out in Barsad’s arms, his mind and body finally finding rest.Making sure Blake doesn’t awaken, he turns the lamp off. He finds himself watching the way his chest rises and falls in even tempo. He needs to go, he’s wasting time, but the moonlight hits Blake’s face just so and…And what? Barsad shakes his head, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.Blake was certainly attractive, he couldn’t deny that. He understands why Bane wanted him again.He couldn’t help wonder if Wayne’s relationship with the cop was more than it seemed. Did Talia suspect more? Is that why she schemed for Blake to crawl to Bane’s bed for mercy? To cut deeper into Wayne’s psyche? To know his own lover would turn to his arch enemy to save this city’s citizens?They had no information suggesting Blake had any relation more intimate than just friends to billionaire socialite Bruce Wayne, or more than apprentice to Batman. The latter of which was still unverified.Barsad was brought from his musings as Blake sighed uneasily in his sleep.He really should go. * John’s eyes slowly cracked open. He must have slept hard, his mind fuzzy, unsure of where he was. He looked around and glanced over to the window to see the barest hint of sunrise beginning.Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, pain radiates through his body, down there especially, reminding him just what happened.What he did.With Bane.He presses his palm against eyes almost painfully trying to erase the memories.He’s home. How did he get back here?Oh yeah, the same man from before. John groaned as his head cleared, remembering being carried to bed. Did he seriously have yet another panic attack? In front of that damned terrorist? He fights heated tears back. No, he won’t cry. He’s done crying. He can’t cry anymore.John angrily rolls over to his side in a huff, doing his best to ignore the agony it causes.He needs to shower (scrub his body raw, wash it all away) and find Gordon. He needed to help. This city needed his help.
We need Batman’s help… Bruce…
Clearing his mind of any thoughts, he opens his eyes. A deep sigh as he adjusts to the slowly brightening light of another day. The sunlight brings his attention to a glass of water on his nightstand that he doesn’t remember getting. Wincing as he sits up, he finds two pills laying beside the glass. He picks them up, his brows draw together in confusion.Painkillers. He’s positive he never got up during the night. At least he doesn’t remember waking up.So, how did…?
“Shhh… that’s it. Good. Very good, Blake. You’re alright…” John sighs into the sure arms around him. He closes his eyes as a hand gently squeezes his. Letting himself fall deeper into the darkness. Finally, he can sleep.

“You’re safe.”
No, no, no. That can’t be. John shook his head to rid himself of the remnants of his dream. That’s all it was. A dream. No. A nightmare.There’s was no way in hell one of Gotham’s “liberators” helped calm him down. He simply passed out and had a horrible nightmare. What’s his name again? Barsad, yeah. Barsad left him and went off to do whatever he does when he’s not delivering John to Bane’s doorstep. He left John on his bed, no concern if he died like that. Why should he? John was a nobody in the grand scheme of things. He wouldn’t dwell on his burning question of just why Bane had chosen him out of everyone in the city. He reasoned better him than someone else. He can survive. Until Bruce saves Gotham. Saves him.He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It was just a terrible nightmare to cap off another night of misery. That’s all.A nightmare that certainly explains the pills in his hand.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s an almost nightly routine now. Bane has become quite addicted to having Blake in his bed, requesting him for over a week now. Blake no longer tries to fight Barsad when he finds him at his door.Blake’s been able to walk himself all the way up to his apartment more often than not. Limping heavily, but he does it. Barsad not far, ready to catch him should he fail. He rarely cries like he did. At least not in front of Barsad. He felt relieved Blake hasn’t had any more panic attacks.Only for the reason that Barsad didn’t have to deal with it. Too much of a hassle.“Where are you from?”Barsad barely raises an eyebrow. He looks up to meet Blake’s gaze in the rear view mirror.Blake shrugs, “I can’t place your accent…”Blake talks now on their drives to and from the hotel. Nothing of any importance. He rambles at times. Gets angry and spits profanities. He told his life story. Twice. Once he hummed an entire song. Barsad listened to it all. Only because there was nothing else to do. Occasionally, Barsad would answer a question, never in any detail as Blake would probably like. But Blake clearly wasn’t expecting more and would keep talking to fill the silence.Now it seems he wants Barsad’s backstory.Which, honestly, he doesn’t have much of one. Barsad has such a vague recollection of his youngest years. No memories of parents, or siblings, any family. No real home. All he knows is life wasn’t easy. Moving place to place, just surviving. He can’t quite recall at what age he had to make his first kill. There’s been so many since. His life had no real meaning, no true purpose until he joined the League of Shadows. Not that it was any of Blake’s business.“Nowhere.”“…”Barsad doesn’t do casual conversation.He thinks Blake rolls his eyes. How did they get to this point?“Ah yes. Nowhere. I hear it’s just lovely there this time of year.”Barsad almost smirks. * John wants to claw his skin off, run away, jump off the balcony. Do anything, but be here.He keeps his eyes closed, panting heavily, waiting for Bane to finish and get off of him. It goes on too long, like it always does now. Bane does everything he can to make him moan like a whore and finish. Damnit if he doesn’t. Despite how brutal Bane is, it feels good and he hates it. He feels disgusting and is ready to go home and shower, but Bane always lasts so long.“Look at me.”He doesn’t want to. Refusing or pretending to not hear his command isn’t a good idea, but he does it anyway.Large, calloused fingers grab his chin in a firm hold. Not bruising, but still hurts.“Look at me, Robin.”His eyes snap open, furious, “Don’t call me that!”Mistake.A vicious thrust, “Ah, fuck!”Bane lets go of his chin and grabs his thighs tighter, “That is your name, Robin.”“Look. At. Me.” Each thrust more powerful, please finish, he finally looks back into Bane’s eyes. Stormy gray. Like the storm he brought down on Gotham. They bore into John’s, as if trying to see into his soul. They terrify him.Relief tears through him as Bane finally reaches his end. John tilts his head to stare out the window, looking past the muscled arm that cages him in.Seconds tick away and Bane doesn’t move to get up. A heavy hand begins to rub down his body, across his chest and down his side. Squeezing, caressing. Every night he’s spent with Bane, he always takes a little longer each time. Looking over John, studying his body, as if trying to memorize every part of him. John does his best not to shudder in disgust.“So lovely…” No more than a breathy, mechanical whisper. He probably wouldn’t have heard, if not for being so close. John swallows hard, feeling uncomfortable.Finally Bane pulls back, but remains between John’s legs. He hates this position.Bane’s hand cups John’s cheek, turning him to look back. A thumb lightly brushes across his lips. John’s never felt so scrutinized as Bane’s eyes look over him.“I intend to keep you, Robin.” He wishes he could tear that mask off. Bane hasn’t earned, will never earn, the right to call him by that name. John feels his chest build up in anger, ready to start a fight he knows he’ll lose when it clicks what Bane just said.John deflates, confused and scared. “What?”Bane is already moving away, strapping his back brace on and grabbing his shirt.“You will be taken home to gather any items you wish to keep with you. You will remain here with me from now on.”John sits up, reacting without thinking. His voice panicking “What? Stay here? No, I won’t! No, I’m not staying with you…” His outburst dies off immediately as Bane’s eyes seem to darken.“I did not ask you.” His tone is so dark and final, John turns cold.“I will return by nightfall and you will be here.” He didn’t dare speak another word. John sat frozen as Bane left the room.He wouldn’t cry.This isn’t happening. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave, he knows that. He looks out of the window, at the darkening sky. How could he help Jim now? His city?Is he just supposed to watch Gotham burn from Bane’s suite? And do nothing?No, not nothing, you’ll keep Bane’s bed warm. He shakes his head furiously at the taunting voice in the back of his mind. He hugged the sheets tighter around himself. But what else could he do? He didn’t stand a chance against Bane, physically inferior, he had no weapons. Surrounded by an army of mercenaries. There had to be something he could do…“Blake?”He snapped his attention to Barsad who was standing in the doorway. How long had he been there? He must have already spoken to him and he was too zoned out to hear.“Y-yeah, I’m coming…” Thankfully Barsad stepped out of view so he could dress in private. * John stood in his bedroom, slowly packing some of his clothes into a duffel bag. Barsad stood in the living room waiting to escort him back. Back to Bane’s suite. For good.The ride back to his apartment had been dead silent. His thoughts running a hundred miles a minute trying to think of anything he could do to get out of this. He looked to his nightstand and contemplated grabbing his pistol and try to get a lucky shot at Barsad, then run for his life to find Gordon, find Bruce. He knew deep down he didn’t have a chance in hell. It didn’t work last time. Barsad was scary fast. And strong.John sighed and folded the last shirt then looked around his room. He didn’t have anything of sentimental value. Just a few random trinkets he had collected over the past few years, trying to make his apartment feel like a home. Only two pictures sat on his dresser. A group picture of his graduating class at the academy and one of him and Gordon after receiving the Highest Academic Award for his class. He considered bringing that one with him, but quickly dismissed it. Bane would probably use it against him in some way.He zipped his bag and stood toying with the strap. He had everything he would need. He took as long as he could, trying to delay the inevitable. John looked to the window, hopeful he would see a dark, caped figure on the roof coming to bust through his window and save him, but…nothing.Sighing, he fought down tears and grabs his bag.This was about to be his life now. Until Bruce saves him. * “Um……I’m ready…”Barsad looked to Blake standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Looking down at his feet, anxiously fiddling with the strap of his bag. He knew Blake had been taking his time gathering his belongings, but he couldn’t bring himself to order John to hurry. Blake looked so defeated, it made something in Barsad’s chest clench painfully.Pushing the feeling aside, he nodded slightly and nods his head in indication for Blake to start heading out.Slowly Blake moves passed him. He turns towards the entry hall and stops. Before Barsad can say anything, Blake turns to face him, but not looking. His eyes shifting everywhere nervously, his lips opening and closing trying to find words.“Can..um….” He wasn’t transfixed watching those lips. “Uh..I mean…” Brown eyes finally met his.“Do we have to go? Um…right away I mean?”Yes, they do. He was to bring Blake for his personal items and return him immediately. Those were his orders. Bane would be back to the hotel soon and Blake was to be there, waiting for him.But those eyes, so much lighter, almost honied, when he’s not crying, silently pleading. Hopeful to be given a few more moments of what little freedom he had.No, he always obeys his orders, but…“A few minutes, Blake.” * “You can sit. If you want to.” Blake was sitting on his couch, sunk back into the cushions. Barsad looks away from Blake’s discarded bag he’d been staring at, and meets his gaze. Only a few minutes have passed since Blake, almost enthusiastically, threw himself onto the sofa.They look at each other in awkward silence. Barsad adjusts his rifle. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of sitting down, he really should just make Blake leave now, but he moves, stiffly, to do so. Barsad sits down on the coffee table, diagonally from Blake. They sit in silence not looking at each other.“So from ‘Nowhere’, huh?”Barsad wasn’t sure why Blake's trying to revive their previous, one-sided, conversation.Barsad isn’t good with this, “I have no home.”“Oh.” Blake nods absently, running his fingers along the edge of the seat cushion. A moment of unease passes before Blake sighs in frustration, in sadness.“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t understand why any of this is happening. I don’t know what you guys want or why I have to…” Blakes glances at his packed bag and frowns, “Sorry, sometimes I talk too much when I’m…whatever.” He looks so completely broken. Barsad doesn’t like it.“That’s alright.”“I just thought, I dunno, I’ve been talking your ear off the past few days, maybe you wanted a turn.” Blake looks at him, with the smallest smile, before deciding against it. After all, he’s one of the mercenaries holding his city hostage. The one taking him to Bane. They’re not friends hanging out and having a few laughs.“It’s alright. I understand.” Barsad really doesn’t do conversation. Not like this. Discussing plans of attack, sure. But attempting to offer comfort? He’s far from an expert. Not that he feels the need to comfort Blake.“I don’t mind. When you talk.” Definitely not an expert, but Blake looks at him and seems to relax.“Yeah, well, better get used to it then. I guess you’re stuck with me now.” Blake’s voice almost playful, if not for the underlying bitterness. Barsad allows a small smirk, “I guess so, Blake.”Blake stares back at him a moment, “John.” Barsad looks at him, mildly confused. Blake looks slightly sheepish and shrugs, “I mean if I’m stuck being your prisoner, you might as well call me John.”Barsad nods slightly, “Alright. John” They just stare at each other a moment before Barsad clears his throat and stands. They’ve wasted enough time. “It’s time to go.”John’s face falls, “Right…”Neither really notice as Barsad carries John’s bag for him or holds the door for him as they make their way out. * Barsad cuts his eyes over at John. His leg is starting to bounce nervously. His hands are wringing his pants, the handcuffs clinking softly. Barsad doesn’t know what he was thinking. John asked him, those damn eyes, to sit in the passenger seat. He really shouldn’t have.How will this look when his men see John riding up front, as if he isn’t now Bane’s property? But Barsad couldn’t seem to say no. Pity, that’s all.He still handcuffed John, to which John almost excitedly nodded his head in perfect understanding. As if being in the passenger seat was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Barsad decided to cuff John hands in front of his body. Again how will this look? But, the men know better than to question Barsad.They still have almost 15 minutes before getting to the hotel, but John is already becoming increasingly distressed. He senses more than he can see the tears forming. John’s shaky breaths bring that same tight feeling in Barsad’s chest.“Why do you hate Robin?” He decides talking would be less painful than to see John cry again.“Huh?” It works. He sees John look at him in his peripheral vision. His leg stills.“Your name. You said you hated Robin.”“Oh..um… I don’t hate it. The name I mean. I just…” He starts twiddling his fingers, “It’s just I haven’t been called that in a long time… Since my parents died actually. I… I don’t want just anyone to call me that. It sounds stupid I guess, it’s just a name… but it means something to me….I only let people I really care about or that I’m close to call me that. Not that there’s been many…” The last part was said softly.Barsad glances over briefly to meet John’s eyes. John shrugs and licks his lips. Barsad looks back to the empty road.“It’s dumb, I know.”“No, it’s not.”John hums softly. * “Sorry about the other day. I don’t know what that was about. I’ve never had a panic attack, or whatever that was.” John brings his hands up, stupid handcuffs, to brush his hair back. “It’s just been a stressful week, you know?” Why is he apologizing to Barsad? He’s rambling, ugh.“That’s alright.”John feels so stupid and awkward. “Thanks for, you know, helping... me.” Great, now he’s thanking a terrorist.“That’s alright.”Barsad, a man of many words.John’s mind starts to race, knowing every second they were getting closer to the hotel, to Bane. The silence makes his thoughts and fears so loud. He studies the dashboard of the vehicle. It’s so much nicer than anything he’s ever been able to afford, probably would never be able to buy. Thinking he’s figured out the controls, he begins reaching for a button.John winces when, lightening quick, Barsad has his wrists in a nearly bruising grip in one hand.“What do you think you’re doing?”*Barsad almost feels guilty at the harsh bite in his question, but surely John wasn’t foolish enough to attempt an attack. Barsad would quickly put a stop to that.“I-I just wanted to listen to the radio…if…if that’s okay?”Barsad considers it a moment. John doesn’t move to pull out of his grip.“Fine.” He releases John, internally wincing at the redness his hand leaves behind on creamy skin.John breathes a quiet sigh of relief he was holding. John seems to hesitate before reaching to start tuning through channels, most of them filled with static."The people of our greatest city are resilient. They have proven this before, they will prove this again..."John's finger hovers over the controls a moment.“…do not negotiate with terrorists, but we do recognize realities. As the situation develops, one thing must be understood above all others. People of Gotham, we have not abandoned you.”“What does that mean?” He's not sure if John actually wants answer.“It means you’re on your own.”John says nothing. Just quickly changes the station, filtering through static. He finds a station that’s playing music through crackling reception. And now we're grown up orphansThat never knew their namesWe don't belong to no oneThat's a shame You could hide beside meMaybe for a whileAnd I won't tell no one your name
And I won't tell 'em your name

John turns the radio off. * Barsad opens John’s door, grabs his bag from where it’s stuffed between John’s legs and waits for him to step out. John sits there, eyes downcast. There’s men everywhere in and around the hotel. Barsad can’t allow John any additional time to gather his courage.A stern “John.” and he looks up sadly, but thankfully steps right out. Barsad decides to leave John handcuffed until they get inside. Several men stop to stare John down as he guides him up the steps to the entrance and inside. Barsad puts a stop to the more lecherous gazes with a cold one of his own.Once the elevator doors close and begins its ascent, he uncuffs John and hands him his bag.John pulls it to his chest and mumbles, “Thanks”Barsad nods slightly and they stand in silence. Only two floors pass and John suddenly grabs his wrist tight. Barsad finds wide eyes, frightened, with unshed tears.Panic.“Deep breath, John.” John nods rapidly, following Barsad’s guidance. They fall into rhythm fairly easy, neither breaking eye contact.He doesn’t know at what point he moves his hand to hold John’s. * 
Ding!
Barsad puts a hand on John’s back to gently push him to step out into the hallway. John stares at the double suite doors that are standing wide open, welcoming him into his new prison. He holds his bag tight as they make their way inside. He feels grounded by the hand that hasn’t left his back, steadily pushing him to keep going. Bane stands, his back to them, over a table with scattered papers and a tablet in his hands.“You are late.” Bane didn’t look up, fingers clicking away at the screen. John shivers at his voice. You will be here. He couldn't find any words, John knew he didn’t have any excuse that Bane would accept. First night and he’s already in major trouble.“Apologies, brother. There was a disturbance near his residence. It was handled as quickly as possible.”John couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Bane’s massive form, but he stood stunned that Barsad just lied about why they were late. Why didn’t he just throw John before Bane’s feet, at his complete mercy, and walk away?There’s no time to dwell on his question as Bane sets the tablet down and approaches them. Dark, stormy eyes rake over his body before meeting John’s.“I see. Injuries?” He keeps stalking towards them, perfectly calculated steps.“No, he was kept safe.”John just realizes under his growing dread, they’re talking about him. Bane stops just in front of him. John doesn’t dare move away, fighting the urge to press back into Barsad. He’s feels so insignificant under Bane's stare.“Good. You may go, brother.”John doesn’t even hear Barsad leave, but jumps slightly as the doors close behind him.Bane grabs his chin and thumbs his lower lip. John shudders. Bane’s eyes darken further with lust.“Undress, Robin.” * Barsad stands in front of the open elevator doors. He’s opened them twice now. He only has one floor to get to his room below. A part of him feels guilty for lying to Bane. He’s been his loyal follower for years, even when Bane was ex-communicated by Ra’s al Ghul. He followed him, becoming his most trusted commander. Through anything and everything they have been through, Barsad has never lied. Never had any reason to. He’s always been loyal.But the idea of John of being punished, more than he already is, made something inside Barsad feel...wrong.He was brought from his thoughts at the sudden sound of a smack. Even muffled through the door, it was loud and harsh.Barsad finally steps into the elevator and slams his knuckle onto the first floor button.He needs a drink. * John grips the sheets tightly, muffling his screams into the pillow. He knew it was a mistake to talk back to Bane before he did it. The backhand made him see stars and his vision was still a little fuzzy. Bane practically ripped his clothes off his body and threw him onto the bed, quickly mounting him.A rough hand tangles in his hair and wrenches his head back.“I will hear you” A sharp thrust. “You will not hide anything from me.”With nothing to cover his mouth, he fills the room with his screams. When Bane adjusts to hit just the right spot, he moans embarrassingly loud.Bane leans over and cages him in. His voice is low with hunger, “You are mine.” * Barsad adjusts the tray of food more securely in one hand and knocks on the door. He blinks tightly, clearing his mind. He drank too much last night with the other men. Barsad usually doesn’t indulge so heavily in drinking, especially in front of others, but he had to get his mind off of John.He knocks again, harder this time. Bane asked him to ensure John received a meal, then Barsad was to head down to oversee the work in the sewers. There was still no sound from inside, but he enters anyway.The early morning light shines onto John’s sleeping form. Silk sheets barely wound around his body. Barsad sets the tray of food on the nightstand and glances over at John. There’s a red mark high on his left cheek where Bane must have hit him. Other bruises mar his skin, on his wrists and upper arms. Barsad sees the beginning of dark splotches on the top of his hips that disappear underneath the sheets that cover him. His eyes travel over the length of his exposed legs before going back to his face. Barsad thought to wake him and make him eat, but decides to leave him in his deep slumber. He needs rest.The faintest goosebumps appear on John’s arms. Barsad carefully pulls the sheets to cover him properly and turns to leave.He has work to do. * It must be close to noon by now. John isn’t proud to say he spent the majority of the morning crying in bed. Earlier he had managed to pull himself up, throw his clothes on and hobble to the door. There were no guards outside. No Barsad. He looked at the elevators and the emergency staircase to the far right. Walking over to the window at the back of the hotel, he saw several mercenaries moving about, all of them armed. Heading to the front window and looking down, there were even more of them. There was no chance of escaping if he tried.John made his way back to the bed and sat on the edge. He hated the thought of staying in this bed, after everything Bane had done to him, but it was comfortable.He notices the tray beside him. Some slightly overcooked eggs, rice, a piece of bread and bottled water. John gave a brief thought to starving himself, but he knew he’d need his strength. He would figure a way out of this. Gordon and Bruce would be counting on him.Grabbing the fork, he stabs at some eggs and starts chewing slowly. Cold, but not bad. He grabs the plate to set on his lap and continues to eat.John raises a brow at the two painkillers sitting beside the water. * John sits up as the door suddenly opens and Bane walks in. John had spent the rest of his day looking around the room. The suite was spacious, but not overly furnished. He went through the nightstands, finding nothing. The wardrobe was empty except for two silk robes, complimentary of the hotel. He went through every paper that Bane had left laying around, but John didn’t understand half of them. Various languages, most he had never seen before. Others had diagrams, which he also didn’t understand. The luxury bathroom had nothing useful.He had finally given up and wallowed in misery the rest of the day.Bane ignores him, moving to his desk and throwing down more papers. He stood studying over them. John pulls his knees up and hugs himself, waiting for Bane to do or say something. He pictured in his mind, running and grabbing Bane in a chokehold from behind. As if that would ever work.There’s a knock at the door. Bane rumbles “Enter.”John doesn’t know why he feels disappointed it’s not Barsad. Another man comes in with a new tray of food, trading it for the empty one still on the nightstand. He leaves without a word, closing the door behind him. John sits staring at the plate, more rice, a few strips of meat and potatoes.“Eat.” Bane hadn’t even looked at him.John almost wants to refuse in defiance. He hates being ordered to do anything. But he is hungry, the only meal the whole day being his cold breakfast.John sets his feet on the floor and sets the tray on his lap and begins eating silently. Bane remains focused on whatever's on his desk. The only sounds the occasional rustling of papers and John’s fork scraping across the porcelain. John finishes and sets his plate back. He looks back at Bane, feeling uneasy.“Can I go shower?”Bane just grunts. It didn’t seem like a no, so John grabs his bag and heads to the bathroom. He locks the door, not that it would stop Bane from getting in, but it makes him feel better.He digs out his toothbrush and clean clothes and starts his usual grooming routine.The hot water feels amazing on his body. He scrubs himself, a little too hard in some places, but it’s still wonderful. John stands under the shower head for a long while after he’s done. He’s not sure if he’s crying or not, but he let’s the water run over his face to wash away any tears.When he finally emerges from the bathroom, Bane is in the middle of stripping his shirt off and undoing his back brace. John watches his muscles move in the lamp light as he lays them out on the bed. Terrifyingly strong, pure power. Bane catches him looking.“Come.” John hates that he follows his demand. But he knows there was no reason to attempt to make a run for the door. He wouldn’t get far and his cheek still throbbed from last night. No point in asking for worse.John stops just in front of Bane. He flinches as Bane’s heavy forearm rests on his shoulder, his hand gripping the back of his neck. He doesn’t meet Bane’s eyes, but he can feel them searching his face.“You do not wish to be called by your given name.” It didn’t come out exactly as a question. John’s brows furrowed, fully expecting Bane to just order him to undress or get on his knees. He’s still too afraid to look up at Bane.“No, I prefer John.” That’s all Bane will get out of him. The whole thing feels so uncomfortable. Bane’s thumb is rubbing back and forth on his neck. He chances a glance up and sees Bane staring intently.“Very well. John.” John hopes his shock doesn’t show. Is Bane seriously respecting his wish?“Now undress for me.” * Barsad nodded at some of the men saluting him as he made his way back through the hotel. Everything was under control in the sewers, it was progressing just as intended. He left Mikhail in charge so that he could retire for the night. He had managed just fine slightly hungover all day. He could function through much worse, but his earlier discussion with Bane had been on his mind all evening.Barsad knew Bane had taken quite an interest in John. But he was a little taken aback when Bane started asking him questions about the young man. They both knew Bane already had all of the details Barsad had acquired while he tracked John, but he still gave him a full report.
“What about his name?” Barsad looked at him for clarification.
Bane doesn’t turn his attention away from the men working below, “ He does not like to be called Robin.”Barsad considers it, wondering if it was his place to share what John had divulged to him. Barsad was loyal after all. “I never came across any evidence he went by anything other than John. Perhaps it has... sentimental meaning to him.” Not the complete truth, nor a lie. Bane rumbles in acknowledgement. Barsad realizes suddenly he’s already to his room, his body on autopilot. He disarms and takes a quick, cold shower.He lays down to sleep and doesn’t dream about pale skin wrapped in navy sheets. *

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"So how old are you?"It's been 5 days since John was brought to Bane's hotel and he definitely prefers the times he gets to talk to Barsad. John still does most of the talking, but he's slowly starting to get Barsad to have an actual conversation. Even when he doesn't say anything, he's much better company than Bane.John's still surprised that Bane allowed him outside when he asked. He's still trying to figure Bane out. He's only brought a hand against him once since being here, even after John still talked back after the last slap. Bane's still scary when he grows tired of John's attitude, but no more bruises. On his face at least. When John worked up the nerve to ask, he braced for a hit when Bane lifted his hand. But all he did was stroke through John's hair. Now as long as Barsad is free, Bane let’s him take John up to the roof."I don't know exactly."One day, Barsad will be a great conversationalist."Oh.... I'll be 29 in a few months..." John analyzes Barsad. He looks several years older than John. Maybe 10? 15 years older? John's never been good with guessing age."What's your favorite color?""I don't have one." Enthralling information."I like blue... and black... and red too." John crosses his arms as the wind picks ups. Barsad seems unfazed. As always."Favorite movie?""I've never seen one."John's mouth drops in shock. Barsad raises an eyebrow at him."Favorite food?"Barsad looks at him blankly."I don't really have a favorite. I like pizza, Chinese, pasta, wings...I don't really care for curry...." John scrunches his nose in distaste remembering when his partner insisted they try that new place over on 8th street."Actually, I've been craving a good Italian dinner over a month now." John looks out over Gotham and grows quiet, realizing nothing in the city is the same. There's no grabbing some takeout or making any reservations like he could have just 4 weeks ago.Everything's changed.John takes a deep breath, "Why are you doing this?"He looks over when Barsad doesn't answer. He's also looking out over the city."Can't you tell me anything?....Please?"Barsad's blue eyes make his breath hitch when he looks at him."Time to go, John."  *  Barsad guides John back to the stairwell. He would never admit his resolve crumbles a little each time John asks him a question. John just looks so heartbroken, especially when they're on the roof overlooking a city in turmoil.John always frowns and his eyes don't shine as bright.But it's not his place to tell John anything, even if it pains him every time John looks so hurt.Barsad hasn't minded escorting him to and from Bane's suite. Looks forward to it, if he was honest with himself. Listening to John talk or when they stand in silence, watching him enjoy the crisp winter air, even the way he looks longingly at his city.Barsad walks John to the doorway of Bane’s room. John's face is crestfallen, but he shoots a half smile at him, “Thanks… for the fresh air. And for playing 20 questions”“You’re welcome.” He mumbles. It feels so odd to say. Unnatural. "I'll return within the hour with your meal.""At least I get room service now." John smiles a little more, "But don't expect a tip."Barsad smirks in return.John lightly shrugs his shoulders, "Well, till next time, I guess." His eyes look sad again.Barsad nods and watches as John starts closing the door.“I like blue as well.” John pauses and looks back at him in confusion. Barsad feels like such a fool. He has no idea where the urge to say that came from.He clears his throat, “The color. I like the color blue as well.”John grins.Maybe Barsad doesn’t mind feeling like a fool. * John stands beside the window, watching the sunlight fade behind the skyline as he brushes his fingers through his still drying hair. Bane had returned not long ago and was working at his desk. John took the time to eat his meal in peace and take a long shower.John’s thoughts kept going back to Barsad. He doesn't understand him. He stays so quiet while John talks constantly, never giving John much to work with. Which John doesn’t really mind. He feels comfortable being open and talking to him. Barsad never tells him to shut up, which is still surprising. Now, slowly, Barsad was starting to open up a bit.Even silent, there was something about Barsad. A sure presence, calm, in control. Even with a gun always hanging by his side, somehow he feels safe.Which is absurd. Barsad is one of the bad guys. A terrorist. Deeply involved in the hostile takeover of Gotham.John shouldn't feel safe around him, and yet...He jumps when he feels Bane stand flush against his back. John has no idea how long he's been standing lost in thought. Heavy hands run up and down his arms, squeezing. They wrap around him and hold him tight.“What is on your mind, little bird?” John tries to keep from rolling his eyes. He hates the little nickname Bane has decided to give him, but he guessed it wasn’t worth fighting. At least he wasn't calling him Robin."Nothing..." All he sees in his mind is piercing blue eyes.Bane's grip tightens slightly. John’s learned in the few days with him that Bane doesn't like it when he hides anything.John decides to press his luck for information. Barsad won’t tell him anything, but maybe Bane will.“Just wondering…What’s going to happen to my city? To my home.” He drops his head back on Bane’s shoulder and lets his fingers run along Bane’s arms. Nothing, but pure muscle.It seems to work, Bane rumbles, pleased.“Gotham will be purged. It will be freed.”"Freed? From what?" It takes a conscious effort to keep touching Bane, keeping him placated."Freed from corruption, from the chains of oppression that have held this city down for too long. I am the instrument of Gotham's liberation. To end the borrowed time they've all been living on." John frowns, not understanding. What does that mean? He knows they have the bomb somewhere as a threat to prevent anyone from leaving the city. But what exactly is Bane's endgame?Bane turns John around to face him. John starts to press for more, but Bane grips his chin and presses his thumb to his lips. He has no interest in elaborating further."There is no need to fear, my little bird. You will be safe by my side." * “What is it, brother?”John panics, he didn’t even hear the door open. He certainly couldn’t see, Bane was huge and impossible to see around. It’s bad enough being caught in bed, but Bane doesn’t even slow down. John tries to pull away, but Bane has an iron grip on his hips. John covers his mouth as Bane keeps pounding him. John hates him.“He has returned.”That voice. Barsad. Why does it make it so much worse that it’s Barsad?Bane slows down for a moment, “Good.” then starts fucking with more intensity, but thankfully finishes quickly.John grabs the sheets to cover himself as Bane stands and rights himself. John’s sure his cheeks are dark red as he sees Barsad and two other men behind him. John’s relieved they seem to be ignoring him, though it doesn't tamper down the heat of embarrassment he feels burning inside.Bane’s grabs his utility vest, “Everything is ready?”“Yes.”Bane nods once, “Good.” Bane doesn't even look at John, “And bring him.”Barsad nods in acknowledgment, Bane leaves with one of the other men at his heels. John pulls the sheets a little tighter around himself as Barsad looks at him, his gaze cold.“Get dressed, Blake.” John looks to the other man then back to Barsad.“Wha-”“Now, Blake.” John jumps as Barsad snaps at him. He snatches his clothes up and dresses as fast as he possibly can. As soon as his shoes are on, Barsad’s at his side, grabbing him by the arm. The other man grabs John by the other arm and they’re pulling him to the elevator.John still hasn’t caught his breath from Bane and his nerves are making it harder to calm down.“W-where are we going?” * Barsad remains silent. He can’t answer John, especially with Jovan present. Barsad’s grateful for the urgency of the situation, it took everything he had to ignore how good John sounded, his moans not being muffled through a door. His cheeks are still pink, hair disheveled and still panting slightly. But Barsad had to focus.“Barsad-”“Quiet, Blake.”He hates the way John flinches away from him at his harsh tone. But Barsad has no choice. He has to maintain authority over John.John’s breath hitches slightly, scared. Barsad lightly squeezes John’s arm and feels him relax a bit. The only noise the rest of the way down, the occasional voice over Jovan's radio as they communicate. They head outside towards the vehicles, he can sense John’s growing anxiety. Their men are everywhere, loading into every available truck or SUV.Mihkail tosses him a blindfold and moves to get in the driver’s seat. John’s already staring at it in his hands.John’s brows furrow, “Barsad?” * He thinks Barsad’s eyes soften momentarily before they harden once again.“Turn around, Blake.”John hesitates, but a quick glance to the hustle of men everywhere around them and he slowly turns around.He feels the blindfold tighten and then more than just Barsad is grabbing him and throws him into the back of what, John considers to be, Barsad’s SUV. He fists his hand on Barsad's pant leg as they take off.John doesn’t know what’s happening, but it must be something big. He doesn’t understand what the men are saying, the language foreign to him. The only comfort he has in the chaos is that Barsad is with him. He can't help leaning into him, away from the man sitting on his left.The vehicle comes to a sudden stop and he’s being pulled out and dragged along, stumbling at times, but the hands holding him don’t let him fall.It feels like they walk forever, random turns here and there. It’s cold and damp and the noise grows with the sound of more people.The blindfold gets ripped off suddenly. John looks around in panic as he’s still marched forward. There were more men than he could have imagined. All part of Bane’s army. They must be underground somewhere, concrete surrounding all around, the lighting dim.They turn down another tunnel. The man on his left says something to Barsad and nods his head before taking off ahead of them. Just the two of them now, he turns to Barsad. He still has a tight grip on his arm as continues to guide them through to the other end of the tunnel.“Where are we? Barsad?… What’s happening? Please, Barsad, tell me wha-... ”Barsad doesn’t answer him or even look at him as they come into an opening, water rushing down from above. They're standing around a huge circular opening, armed men to the left and right of them, even above them. Light shines down on Bane standing in the center of a metal catwalk, hands resting on his vest.“Not as serious as yours, I fear.”“Bane”John heart skips a beat. That gravelly voice that John knew well. Had been longing to hear. The caped figure comes into view as John's eyes adjust to the dim light.“Bruce” John barely whispers. He’s finally here. It’s really him. John moves to step forward, to run to him, but Barsad’s grip on his arm tightens.“Let’s not stand on ceremony here…Mr. Wayne.”John freezes. They know Bruce’s identity. How? Both men start walking towards each other, each heavy step making John's heart beat harder in his chest. Bruce swings first and lands a few hits, before Bane easily grabs both of Bruce's fists.“Peace has you cost your strength. Victory has defeated you.”They trade blows before Bane kicks Bruce over the railing. John's heart sinks as Bane lowers himself down the chain, every muscle rippling with controlled movement. He doesn't want to acknowledge that Bruce may be outmatched. Bruce doesn't move the way he used to since his leg injury. Every yell and shout sounding less like Batman. More like the damaged man he had become.Bruce is losing.John winces with every blow. It's painfully clear every hit Bruce lands is because Bane allows it.
He’s taunting him.
Bruce struggles as Bane follows him across the lower catwalk. Bane's raw strength and power doesn't even seem real as he takes Bruce down.  John jumps at the sudden flashbangs that explode around Bane.Bane doesn't falter."Theatricality and deception are powerful agents... to the uninitiated. But we are initiated, aren't we Bruce? Members of the League of Shadows."
League of Shadows?
Suddenly Bane has Bruce by the throat. With one arm, he has Bruce completely off the ground. "And you betrayed us.""Us? You were...ex-communicated.. from a gang.. of psychopaths..."John couldn't take it anymore. He knows Bruce doesn't stand a chance against Bane. He tries to wrench out of Barsad's grip. "No! He needs me!" John hisses to Barsad, struggling against him. Barsad wraps his arms around him trapping him tight against the metal railing."BRUCE!"Bruce's eyes flicker up to them, still hanging by his throat in Bane's hand "..R-Robin..."Bane's eyes harden before hitting Bruce with more intensity and throwing him to the side. * Barsad doesn't miss the look in Bane's eyes when he hears Wayne say John's name. John is still struggling against him with everything he has, but Barsad's hold is unyielding.There's nothing John can do to help his Batman.Bane regains his composure, "I am the League of Shadows, here to fulfill Ra's al Ghul's destiny" Wayne seems to have burst of adrenaline as he tackles Bane down, landing hits. All for nothing as Bane's just toying with him. He headbutts Wayne and throws him off easily.John is still fighting his grip, yelling for Wayne. Barsad leans in to his ear, low enough none of the other men around him can hear, "Enough, John." He moves his hand down to John's, momentarily in the guise of readjusting their positions, and squeezes lightly before resuming his grip around John's body. John stills before slumping against him, giving up his fight. John’s grip on Barsad’s forearms instantly changes from trying to push him away, to almost pulling him closer.Barsad doesn't let go."You fight like a younger man. With nothing held back. Admirable, but mistaken."Wayne reaches for his belt and the lights cut out. John grips his arms tightly."Ahhh, you think darkness is your ally. But you merely adopted the dark. I was born in it. Molded by it. I didn't see the light until I was already a man. By then it was nothing to me, but blinding"  A loud hit and the lights click back on as Wayne falls, "The shadows betray you, because they belong to me"Barsad watches, unflinchingly, as Bane rains blow after blow on Wayne's cowl until it cracks. He feels tears hitting his arm. John has gone silent except for his deep, shaky breaths. John's holding onto Barsad desperately, like he's his only lifeline."I will show you where I have made my home whilst preparing to bring justice..." Jovan tosses the detonator to Bane. "Then I will break you."John jumps back further into Barsad as the charges go off up through to the ceiling and one of Wayne's tumblers falls down among the rubble."Your precious armory. Gratefully accepted. We will need it." Barsad doesn't have to look to know his brothers are already ascending. He watches as Wayne rises once more."Ah yes! I was wondering what would break first?"Bane was ruthless and precise. John chokes with every hit,"Your spirit,"John's heart beats faster against him,"Or your body"The crack of Wayne's back echoed above the sound of the rushing water.As did the heart-wrenching sob from John.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John doesn’t know where they’re at now in the sewers. Barsad practically carried him, John could barely get his legs to work, his legs stumbling uselessly under him. He feels numb.Bane’s men are hustling around everywhere, but John couldn’t focus on any of them. He still couldn’t comprehend what he just witnessed. All he could think about was Bruce. Bane completely destroyed him. Probably killed him. Gotham's dark knight had fallen.What would Gotham do now? What would he do?Barsad is still holding him up as he watches several men march towards an exit. Bane emerges and comes to stand in front of them. John looks down to avoid looking at the monster, while he converses with Barsad in another language.He sees his hands still holding onto Barsad for dear life. John was such an idiot for thinking he could ever feel safe around him. Of course not, Barsad's not his friend. He's helping hold John hostage. Brought him to Bane. Held John as he watched Bruce be beaten. He's the enemy. Yet John can’t let go.He’s brought from his thoughts as Bane grabs under his chin and lifts him to look up at him. His grip isn't gentle like it has been. Bane's looking at him, his eyes unreadable. John thinks there's rage.If only he had the strength to tear him to pieces. To do anything. But John doesn't even have the strength to glare at him."I will return within 3 days time. You will remain in my room and not cause any trouble, Robin"Bane storms out the end of the tunnel before John has time to react.He cries. * Barsad opens the suite door and tries to help John inside, instead, John sluggishly shoves at his chest. Barsad lets him go. John stumbles and falls to the floor. He moves closer to help him up, but John smacks his hand away and glares at him, "Don't touch me!"John crawls a little ways and then gives up."John-""Fuck you! Leave me alone" John's voice breaks. "Get out...please...get out"Barsad hesitates. He's under no obligation to make sure John's alright, but a part of him wants to stay. Why? He finally leaves and closes the door, but stands just outside and listens to John's muffled cries.Bane (or was it Talia?) wanted John there to watch him break the Batman. To tear down Gotham's false symbol of hope. He can still hear the way John screamed for Wayne, the way he cried after him. John was absolutely devastated as they carried him away.He can still hear Wayne's voice "...R-Robin..."
I only let people I really care about or that I’m close to call me that.
Perhaps Wayne and John are lovers.Barsad's not sure why the thought makes his chest feel hollow.

*

Barsad knocks on the door and waits.Nothing, but silence.He knocks again.Still nothing, he enters anyway.John is laying curled up on the floor, dead asleep.Barsad holds in a sigh and moves to set the tray down on the desk. He heads back to the door to leave, but stops as John's breath hitches softly. His face is splotchy and eyes are slightly puffy from crying. His neck is bent at an odd angle laying on the floor. Barsad should leave, it's not as if John will want to see him anyway if he awakens.But he's already knelt down beside John, scooping him up gently. He lays John down on the bed, easing his head onto the pillow. He pulls John's shoes off then pulls the sheets around him. His fingers twitch as if wanting to brush the hair off stuck to John’s forehead. Barsad starts reaching and barely touches a strand and John sighs softly, then his brows draw together, pained."Bruce.."Barsad pulls his hand back and leaves. He pays no attention to the ache in his chest.

*

John ignores the sound of the door opening. He hasn't got up from the bed all morning. He doesn't even remember getting in bed. John's not even sure what time it is. He's been staring out the window watching the sun rise over a new day. A new day without Bruce. Without Batman. He'd noticed the tray of food sitting on the desk earlier, but he refused to eat anything.He hears someone come to stand behind him and the sound of something being set down on the side table."You need to eat, John." Barsad. Of course.He feels the slightest bit of rage. Why does Barsad care if he eats or not? Oh, that's right, he doesn't. John isn't sure what Barsad gains by acting the way he has, but he's too tired to call him out on his bullshit. John has no energy to yell or scream at him."Go to hell."Barsad says nothing. He walks over, grabs the tray of cold food and leaves.John sighs. He has no appetite. All night was nothing but nightmares.Reliving last nights event. The sound of Bane beating Bruce replayed like a record in his mind. He couldn't unhear it.The sound of his back breaking...John shoots up and runs to the bathroom, dry heaving. Nothing comes up, his stomach just cramping on itself.He'll never forget that sound.The nausea finally passes, he pulls himself to the vanity and splashes some cool water on his face. He dries his face with a hand towel, a little too roughly. Trying to scrub away everything.John falls heavily onto the bed and stares blankly at the ceiling.Bruce is gone.He's too tired to cry, but he already feels tears fill his eyes. He rubs them as he hears the door open again.Anger bubbles up this time, "Will you please leave me the fuck-", his anger dies out as he sits up.The doors are wide open to three men, all armed. None of them are Barsad."Come." One man orders."What? Who are you?" He barely gets it out before he's grabbed by two of the men and pulled into the elevators.*John's thrown down into a chair, a man on either side of him holding him down by his shoulders. He was brought to some conference room in the hotel with a few more armed mercenaries. "What the fuck? Let me go!" Trying to get up was futile, he couldn't budge them. But he still tried, trying to hide his growing fear. A door opens and he hears someone enter. Miranda Tate comes around the corner with two more armed men at her heels."Miss Tate?"She smiles at John, but something feels off."Are you okay-" "John dear, you've been crying." Miranda interrupts him calmly and walks towards him. She gracefully sits in the chair in front of him and crosses her legs. She smooths her coat down, throwing her hair behind her shoulder. Miranda motions and the other men take positions around the room. The men holding him let go, but remain by his side. They're perfectly guarded from all angles."What's happe-" He's stopped mid sentence when the man to his right backhands him hard across the face. It takes a moment as he blinks white stars out of his vision. He looks to see Miranda staring at him coldly, waiting for him to get his bearings."Now John, we have a few things to get straight." * Barsad steps out of the elevator with John's meal in hand. It was much later in the evening than it has been for his last meal, but with Bane away, Barsad took over his responsibilities. He hopes John was alright for the day. He had been on Barsad's mind most of the day. He didn't sleep well, hearing John's cries in his dreams all night. Then to see that John had refused to eat...It shouldn't bother Barsad. But it does.He knocks on the door that's hanging open and steps inside. John is standing to the right looking out the glass balcony doors. He doesn’t turn or react in any way. Barsad sees the untouched food from John’s morning meal. He says nothing as he goes and swaps out trays. He’ll eat the leftovers.“You should eat, John.” John hasn’t moved from his place by the window and doesn’t acknowledge him. He turns to leave and almost makes it to the door.“Barsad?”In seconds, he throws the tray on the desk and is in front of John, ready to help him with his breathing exercise, “Breathe-” * His head had been killing him after his little meeting with Talia al Ghul. He was more confused, more afraid than ever.Miranda Tate was a fake all this time. She had used Bruce, was the reason he was now dead. Just when he thought Bruce was beginning to move on from Rachel.She’s the reason Gotham was under siege. Not only involved with the League of Shadows, but the true leader. Then detailing what happens if he doesn't remain in Bane's bed. Willingly. That’s a good pet.After her men threw him back in Bane's room, he felt like he was suffocating. It was too much.He fully intended to deck Barsad, to try to get out of this prison, to fight. Get out and fight alongside Gordon. He had to escape. Or, at least, die trying. He couldn’t stay here. But damnit, as soon as he turned to call Barsad out, John just broke. He doesn’t know when the tears started or when he started to lose his breath. John blinks against the tears then all he sees is blue eyes.John doesn't mean to bury his head in Barsad's neck and cry.But he does.John has so many emotions going through him, so much he wants to say, to scream. All he can do is cry.It wasn't helping that Barsad has the audacity to hold him back, hushing him softly. How dare he pretend to care. His arms wrap around John tight, an arm around his waist, his other hand cupping John’s head. He hates those hands.“Shhhhh….You’re alright”John hates him.
So why does he feel so safe?

*

“I…fucking…hate..you..” John starts shoving at him and he let’s go. John punches at his chest and he let’s him. John slaps him, he takes it. He’s slurring over insults, and Barsad remains silent.“I-I wan-want...to go...home" John chokes out. "Please...hic.. take.. me.. home."Barsad says nothing as John’s cries slow, and he falls back against him. They stand quietly for several minutes, Barsad rubbing soothing patterns on John’s arms.John pulls his head back and looks at him. Even reddened from crying, his eyes are still so lovely.“Did he kill him?”Barsad’s lost in those eyes that are searching desperately for an answer. He feels John’s hands tighten where they’ve fisted into the front of his vest.The rational, loyal, part of him says John is just a prisoner. He has no right to any information regarding Wayne. Or anything else for that matter. He doesn’t know if Bane or Talia even wants John to know Wayne’s fate. They may want him to believe he was already dead. It wasn’t Barsad’s place to inform John of anything.It doesn’t matter how much John has been through in just a few weeks time. Or what he will go through the next several months, he’s just a prisoner.Just a pawn in Talia’s game. To be used in any way Bane sees fit. Which doesn’t keep him awake at night.It doesn’t matter that John has dimples when he smiles.Or that he likes the color blue.John doesn’t matter…“Did Bane kill him?”“No.” Not yet. John’s eyes close and he breathes a sigh of relief that shakes his entire body. He loosens his grip on Barsad.“Thank you...thank you” Barely a whisper. Barsad doesn’t know if it’s directed at him or just a grateful prayer. * “What’s the League of Shadows?”Barsad looks up from finishing the last few bites of cold rice. Once John had calmed down, Barsad convinced him to eat his meal. He was surprised John asked him to stay with him. Barsad was more surprised when he did stay and they ate in silence sitting across each other on the floor. He was relieved to see John finished every last bite on his plate.Barsad supposes it wouldn’t hurt to answer some of John’s questions.“It’s an ancient society, it goes back thousands of years, since the times of Rome. Our purpose is to restore balance to an unbalanced civilization.”John sets his plate beside him on the floor and sits back against the bed. He seems to think on it a moment.“And Bruce trained with you?”“With the League, yes. I didn’t know him.”John nods, “And Bruce is really okay? He’s safe?”“He’s alive.” If John notices he doesn’t directly answer his question, he doesn’t say anything.“And what exactly is Talia’s problem?” That gives Barsad pause. He didn’t realize Talia had been to see John.John notices and huffs a humorless laugh.“Yeah, met her earlier. Lovely woman.” John looks down and twiddles this thumbs around. “She made it perfectly clear what my place is here.”“Is that part of ‘restoring the balance’?” John narrows his eyes at Barsad, “Every evil bastard that can’t get laid gets his own sex slave?”Barsad stares back. He doesn’t have an answer. A voice somewhere in the back of his mind says “No, this isn’t right. You don’t deserve this” But Barsad is a loyal follower and loyal followers don’t question Talia.John doesn’t seem to expect an actual answer, thankfully, and he runs a hand through his hair.“Seriously, why does she hate Bruce?”Barsad’s not sure what exactly Talia has and hasn’t told John, or what she even wants John to have knowledge about. He really shouldn’t be sharing anything.“Wayne is responsible for her father’s death and he betrayed the League.”John shakes his head firmly, “No. Bruce doesn’t kill. He’s never taken a life”Barsad knows this. Wayne never had the strength to do what’s necessary. Given the circumstances of Ra’s death, it was most likely Wayne simply left him on the train to die or save himself. But Talia says Wayne killed Ra’s al Ghul, and so it is.“I didn’t say he killed him, but that he is responsible for his death.” It wasn’t wise to say that out loud, should it get back to Talia.John doesn’t look impressed with his correction, but doesn’t argue.“And that justifies terrorizing an entire city?”“Ra’s al Ghul tried to purge the world of Gotham’s corruption many years ago, Wayne stopped him. We’re here to honor his mission.”“By threatening 12 million innocent people?”“You don’t understand-”“-I don’t want to-” John bristled.“-You’re blinded by your own sense of what is and isn’t true justice”“And you’re not?!”Barsad stared back calmly at John’s burning gaze, his arms crossed over his heaving chest. They sit in silence a moment, John glaring at him. Neither say a word. Barsad decides there's no need to upset John further.“Get some rest, John.” He moves to grab their plates and stands. John deflates a little and looks out the window.“Yeah…” John pulls himself to sit on the edge of the bed.“Hey, um..” Barsad pauses at the door and looks over to John toying with the corner of the bedsheet.“Where did Bane go? He said he’d be gone a few days”Currently transporting Wayne to his prison where he would lie in agony, his body broken, until Gotham is destroyed.But John doesn’t need to know.“He has business to see to. Sleep, John.” Barsad leaves and closes the door before John can ask anything else. * Barsad opens the door to the rooftop and found John sitting on one of the chairs, staring out at Gotham. He had brought John's evening meal to Bane’s room and found him missing. Barsad walks towards him, making his footsteps heard.“Time for dinner?” John didn’t look at him.Barsad came to stand beside him, looking at the slowly darkening sky.“Yes.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.“Thanks…” John zipped up his jacket higher as a cold breeze picked up. John must have been out here for a while, Barsad could see the wetness on John’s coat from the snowflakes that had melted. John’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, his skin illuminated in the moonlight.Barsad nods even though John continues to ignore him for the view of the city. He clears his throat.“I’ll walk you back to your room.”John sits a moment longer before standing and heading back.Once inside John pauses and looks to the elevators, then over to the staircase exit. Barsad stands beside him, “John?”“I…” His eyes flicker between the two, then rest on Barsad, “There’s no way to escape. Is there?”Barsad stares back into brown eyes, “No.” John drops his gaze and heads towards the suite. Barsad sees him to the door, but John doesn’t close it. He turns and looks at Barsad.“Can I see Bruce at least?”“No, John.”John drops his gaze to the floor and frowns. He doesn’t like it when John frowns.Bane would return tomorrow and for John’s sake, “It would be best if you didn’t mention his name again.”John nods slowly, his voice is soft “Yeah…Miran,” His eyes pinch as he corrects himself, “-Talia said the same thing.”Barsad feels a pang of unease. He probably made a mistake telling John anything. There’s no one else up here on Bane’s floor, but he still lowers his voice,“As far as you’re concerned, Wayne is dead.” Barsad won’t worry John with the truth that his Wayne will die.John looks back at him and seems to understand how serious he is. John moves to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast.“What am I supposed to do?” John’s voice is just above a whisper. He looks so lost, so scared. 
You don’t deserve this.
“Endure, John.” Those brown eyes meet his.“Keep him…pleased.” John winces at his choice of words. But it’s the only thing John can do. As much as Barsad hates it.“Yeah. Grovel at my master’s feet...” John says bitterly.Barsad internally winces. He doesn’t know what all Talia had told, ordered John to do, but knowing her, it was cruel. Sadistic. He can imagine how much she’s enjoying this. Her plan going perfectly.“For your own safety, it’s best not to raise Bane’s ire.”“What do you care about my safety?” John scoffs.He doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t care, he repeats the thought in his mind as they stare at one another.Barsad could get lost in how dark John’s eyes can be.“Get some rest, John.” * John sits on the bed, freshly showered. He had hoped it would help calm his nerves, but he still felt wound up. Bane would be back anytime now. He tries not to fidget anxiously.Another man had brought him something for breakfast and dinner, and it made John feel worse. He had a terrible night of sleep and wished he could have talked to Barsad one more time before Bane’s arrival. “For your own safety” He’s not sure what Barsad meant by that. John knows Barsad doesn’t actually give a damn about his safety. He's the one who brought him here. Yet why did Barsad lie to Bane when he brought him from getting his things from his apartment? Why would Barsad try to protect him? He jumps as the door opens and Bane enters. Three days of not seeing him and Bane looks even more terrifying. John tries to ignore the images of Bruce being beaten that plays in his mind. He clenches his teeth against the sound of his back breaking.Bane doesn’t even pay attention to him as he drops a bag on the desk. He sheds his jacket and vest, then disappears into the bathroom.John doesn’t dare move. He stares at the door standing open. A taunting invitation to attempt escape. He wonders where Barsad is. If he would be the one to stop him if he tried to run.He contemplates trying just to see Barsad again.But Bane doesn’t seem to enjoy taking long, hot showers like John does as he emerges a few minutes later in just a pair of clean pants and his arm brace.He strides over to his desk and sits down in the chair, pulling out a tablet from his bag. John feels his nerves building, waiting for Bane to do or say anything. Minutes tick away as they remain in silence. John looks around, settling back slightly into the bed. John didn't realize how tense his body had been. He studies over the room several times before going back to Bane.With Bane shirtless, John can’t help stare at the huge expanse of his back. The warm glow of the lamplight brings John’s eyes to the raised scar tissue that lines Bane’s spine. Whatever caused it must have been agonizing. His eyes trail over Bane’s upper body. Up his back, across his traps, down his arms. He’s massive. He sees why Bruce didn’t stand a chance. Not in his current state of fitness anyway.Bane is a powerful force. Almost unnatural, Herculean strength. He still remembers how fast Bane moves for his size. There’s nothing John can do to be a threat to the masked man if Batman couldn’t.There had to be something he could do. He can't be completely useless.Bane grunts lowly and his mask hisses as he stands and leans over the table continuing to work, shuffling through paper.A moment of watching and John’s mind starts slowly wrapping around an idea. Barsad’s words of advice coming to him. Talia’s threats.No, John could never defeat Bane physically. But what if…He glances over at the silk robes hanging unused in the wardrobe.
“Keep him…pleased”
John makes his way over and thumbs lightly at the fabric. A quick glance to Bane, who’s still ignoring him and he pulls the robe off the hanger and heads into the bathroom. John stands still, gripping the robe tight. He stares blankly at nothing, his mind racing trying to process what exactly his plan is.Knowing Bruce was still alive gives him hope. At least he can try to buy some time until Bruce returns to save them all.He slowly undresses and finds the bottle of oil Bane had been considerate enough to start using on him. He slicks his fingers and slowly works himself open.Talia wants him to be Bane’s perfect little whore. Serve him any way Bane wants.
“That’s a good pet”
It takes several minutes of prep, longer than he thought, but he doesn't want to risk any more pain than necessary. He washes off the excess oil from his hands and slips on the robe.John looks at his reflection and runs a hand through his hair to tousle it. His cheeks flushed from fingering himself.Bane thinks he’s so lovely after all.Johns fights the anger down remembering Bane calling him Robin. He’ll have to play this carefully if it’s going to work.A deep breath to calm his nerves, John opens the door and watches as Bane keeps working, not even looking over at the sound of the door.He fights to unclench his fist from gripping the robe closed. He can't appear nervous. John begins to slip into his mask.Smile and hide the anger. The pain. The fear.No, he can’t defeat Bane the way he wants. But maybe there’s another way. After all...
Theatricality and deception
Bane pauses as John leans his hip against the desk. He feels the robe start to slip off his shoulder, John lets it fall. Reaching out, he gently runs his fingers along Bane’s forearm, tracing a vein.
Are powerful agents
He breaths steadily to calm his beating heart and looks up at Bane through his lashes.“Are you coming to bed?”For a moment he fears Bane sees right through him, as those gray eyes stare him down. The mask hisses quietly. But John doesn’t stop teasing his fingertips along Bane’s skin and maintains a seductive gaze. Slowly Bane brings hand up and John doesn't flinch away as he strokes his cheek gently.This just might work, John thinks as Bane starts backing him up towards the bed.He can do this.
Endure, John
 *

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 5 The first night Bane surprisingly isn’t as brutal as he expects, but also didn’t bother with making John finish. He takes John roughly from behind seeking his own pleasure. John takes it as best he can, moaning in pleasure without sounding fake.The second night is the same, but Bane takes him twice.The third night he flips John over half way through and fucks him till they both found completion.Two more nights and Bane starts holding him tight from behind while they sleep.Every night he gets a little clingier. He worries every time Bane returns in the evenings that he knows he’s acting. He’s scared he’ll slip up and give himself away. But he swallows down his nausea and welcomes Bane into his arms and between his legs. Bane always comes to him.It gets a little easier every day to play Bane’s needy lover.A few more nights and Bane isn’t so quick to leave in the mornings. A heavy hand rubs his back and side and John gives Bane a small, sleepy smile and sighs in pleasure.Another week and Bane is back to calling John his “little bird”.John hides his hate, smiles sweetly and melts into Bane.*John wakes as he hears the bed creak and feels the intense heat leave his back. He moves onto his back and blinks his eyes open. It must be morning, but there’s hardly any daylight outside. He can barely make out Bane’s silhouette moving around the room.John groans and rolls over to Bane’s side of the bed that’s still so warm. He gets comfortable pulling the sheet higher.“It’s so early…come back to bed”Bane actually sounds disappointed, “I can’t Robin. I have business to attend to.”John frowns at his name being used, but schools his expression fast. He learned quickly Bane sees very well in the dark.“Mmmm, I’ll be waiting for you.” It wasn’t hard to sound alluring, with his sleep roughened voice.Bane hums pleased, and comes back to the side of the bed once dressed and strokes his cheek before tracing his lips.“Stay out of trouble” Phrased as a question, but a definite threat.John presses featherlight kisses to Bane’s fingers, “Of course”Bane stares at him a moment, then pulls away and leaves. Once the door closes, he drops his fake smile and rolls over to sleep some more.A couples hours later, John walks out of the bathroom and throws himself down on the edge massaging the towel through his hair. He hears the door open and starts smiling, genuine now.“About time-” He cuts himself off as he looks up from beneath the towel. It wasn’t Barsad. He should have known since there was no knock.The man carelessly throws his plate onto the desk, the utensils clattering. His eyes ogle over John’s body before staring him down. John looks back blankly as the man crudely grabs himself and smirks.“Enjoy” His accent thick and rough.The door slams as he leaves and John breathes a sigh of relief, his muscles relaxing from tensing up. He slowly pushes off the bed and sits at the desk to eat. He hates when it’s not Barsad. John doesn’t mind too bad when it’s the men who ignore him and just drop off his meals pretending John isn’t even in the room.But that one…John shivers. * Barsad walks out of the elevator to the suite doors. Bane was busy overseeing Crane’s Court and with everything under control on the streets, he decided to head back early and see if John wanted to go to the roof.Knocking once, he opens the door and finds John… upside down. Barsad raises a brow and fights an amused smirk. John looks at him and grins from his bridge position, “Oh hey” He pulls himself upright and faces Barsad.“Figured a little practice wouldn’t hurt,” John stretches his torso side to side. John grabs his jacket and Barsad leads him up to the rooftop.John takes a deep breath of cold air as they start walking around the perimeter of the roof.“So… how’s the hostile occupation going?” It lacks the usual bitter undertone.“Proceeding as expected,” It lacks any smug satisfaction.“Gordon?”“Safe.” For now. When he’s caught, he’ll be taken to the court for judgement.“Bruce?”“Alive.” For now. Wayne’s time will come.They’ve settled back into their conversations. Meaning John still does most of the talking, but Barsad indulges him with answers more often now. He’s not sure when he started giving in.They walk a couple of laps with idle chat from John before he decides he needs to really move. He drifts away from Barsad and starts walking on his hands a few feet before easing into cartwheels. Barsad stands to the side watching him.Once warmed up, he jumps into, what did John call them? Backhand springs? He becomes more sure and confident as he goes, moving more fluidly as his body settles into an old routine it remembers. Over and over. Steady and controlled. Strong and graceful.John moves beautifully.It amazes Barsad every time he watches John.He finishes a series of movements and lands solidly, hands in the air. Posed as if waiting for applause from an audience that wasn’t there.He comes to stand beside Barsad flashing his dimples in a satisfied grin.“How ‘bout that? I still got it”Barsad smirks, “Not too bad”John lightly punches him in his shoulder, “Perfect 10, asshole”Barsad lets the barest real smile slip. John unzips his jacket and throws it onto a nearby chair. Barsad follows it with his rifle and they move to the center of the roof.“I think I’ve got it this time.” John puts up his fists and Barsad waits for his move. He doesn’t know exactly when or how he ended up teaching John how to fight. It started as an outlet for John's anger and frustration at his situation, but now it's calmer.If anyone saw… Well no one would dare question Barsad.They move together, John throwing his fists and legs like Barsad showed him. John learns quickly, improving each time. His flexibility is definitely an asset, but Barsad still has years of experience on him. Minutes go by and it ends with Barsad holding John in a sleeper chokehold. John’s grabs his arms trying to break it they way he was taught, but Barsad doesn’t let up. Barsad makes it harder every time, it’s still not a tight hold, not meant to hurt John. Never to hurt.John finally gives up, tapping his arm, and groans disappointed, “Damnit”Barsad hums into John’s ear, “Better than last time” He means it. John does get better every time.“Can’t you let me win one round? You’re hurting my pride” John teases. Barsad lets him go as they get back into position.“Did Wayne let you win?” John looks at him confused. Wary.“Some of your movements I haven’t taught you, but it’s ours.” The League’s. Though John had a far more graceful, fluid movement than any of the men do. Almost dancing around Barsad.John’s quiet, “Oh” is all he needs to know Talia was right about John being Wayne's apprentice.“Did he ever let you win?”John raises a brow, “No.”Barsad braces himself, ready for John’s attack, “Then why would I?”John pauses then winks at him with a cheeky grin, “Because you like me?”It’s just teasing banter, but Barsad doesn’t like the flare of uncomfortable heat in his stomach.John starts his offensive maneuvers. Barsad blocks and deflects.Three more rounds of losses and correcting some of John’s stances, they quit for the evening and watch the sun disappear behind gray clouds. John zips his jacket higher as the temperature drops, humming to himself a moment.“Is that why Bane picked me? Or... Talia I guess. Because Bruce was training me?” John looked thoughtful watching as the sky changed colors slowly.Barsad nods shortly, “She wanted to hurt Wayne by all means necessary.” John winces, but there’s no point in lying about it. John already knows all of this is to punish Wayne anyway. “She thought it would hurt him most by using his lover.”“His lover?” John turns to him, face scrunched in confusion. A flash of brief disgust crosses his features, eyes widening slightly.“We…we’re not…I mean, we never” He licks his lips and looks away, “Bruce and I aren’t like that.” He finishes quietly.“He’s my friend. My mentor, my…” John cuts himself off and Barsad wonders if the word was hero. “We’re just friends.”Barsad nods a little, even though John's no longer looking at him.It’s awkward for a moment before Barsad clears his throat, “Time to go, John.”John clears his throat too, “Yeah” and they start back inside.Barsad doesn’t feel gratifying relief that Wayne has never touched John that way. * John whimpers as Bane comes inside him with an almost terrifying roar. He runs his hands up powerful arms and shoulders, petting Bane the way John learned he likes. John gasps as Bane partially collapses on top of him. It’s brief as Bane realizes and lifts off of him, laying down beside him.As soon as Bane lifts his arm, John moves to cuddle into his side, resting his head on Bane’s chest. Bane wraps his heavy arm around his waist, fingers rubbing circles on his skin. He'd have never thought "Gotham’s reckoning" would enjoy post-sex intimacy, but it's an almost nightly routine that John despises.John mindlessly copies Bane and rubs circles on his chest. Bane grunts lowly in contentment and they lay together in the quiet catching their breath. John could feel his eyes getting heavy with sleep.“You... enjoy being with me?” “Huh?” he looks up at Bane who’s staring at him intently. Bane’s other hand comes up to tilt John’s head up further so he could see all of John’s face. John forgets how unnerving it is to be the focus of his attention like this.He swears Bane can see into every corner of his soul.“Do you enjoy being with me?”Bane can’t be serious. Enjoy being you? With you? John knows this is what he intended, but it still makes his stomach roll at idea of Bane thinking he's actually happy here.John panics when he feels Bane’s hand still on his waist. He knows what Bane wants to hear, but John can’t bring himself to say the words. Even lying, he doesn’t think he can be convincing. Bane's eyes harden and his breathing stills beneath John's hand.John quickly smiles. He laces his hand over Bane’s and moves his head just enough to press a firm kiss to his palm.“Do you even have to ask?” he says in that sweet, sultry voice Bane loves. John hopes Bane can’t feel his heartbeat racing nervously against his side.Seconds feel like eternity waiting for Bane's reaction. He steels himself to say something, come on John, you can lie to the appease the beast.He feels the muscles in Bane's chest relax and his eyes seem to soften as fingers find his lips and trace them slowly. John smiles softly and doesn't back down from Bane's gaze. Another moment and Bane simply pulls John closer to side and starts rubbing his waist again. John snuggles into Bane's neck and breathes out a sigh of relief disguised as pleasure.He doesn’t know at what point he dozes off, but becomes aware of Bane rolling them to their sides, holding him tight from behind as they settle into deep sleep.John shivers at the cold press of metal on his neck and doesn't fall into dreaming that it's the rough scratch of a beard instead. * John doesn’t see Barsad for a few days and he hates it. He practices his stretches and shadow boxes like Barsad taught him. His disappointment is immense every time the door opens and it’s some other man bringing him his meals. The door not opening again until Bane returns every night.The smile on his face when Barsad finally comes for him mid-evening falters at the tight expression on his face.“Hey-”“Get dressed, John.”“Uh…okay?” John hesitates, but goes to the bathroom to change out of his lounge clothes. Once his shoes are on, Barsad instantly turns on his heel, “Come.”The elevator starts going down and he feels nervous. He’s been stuck on the top floor for weeks.“Where are we going?”Barsad doesn’t answer, but John sees how uncomfortable he is.“Barsad?”“…”“Is everything okay?” He’s starting to get scared.“Bane’s waiting for you.”It’s all Barsad says. John’s insides start rolling. Waiting for him where? Why? Is the jig up? Did Bane figure him out? Or maybe he knew this whole time and was finally tired of John’s game…Maybe he was going to kill John. In front of all of his men.John doesn’t realize he started panicking until a hand brushes against his. He looks over at Barsad, who’s jaw is still tight, but eyes softer now.“Breathe, John. Everything’s alright.”It’s all he needs and John relaxes.They exit the elevators and Barsad guides him through the hotel. Crossing through the grand lobby, there’s a few men milling about. A few nod in respect to Barsad and pretty much ignore John.They cross the lobby and start down a huge corridor. Three men step out of a room laughing, instantly straightening up and saluting as they see Barsad. John meets the eyes of the same creep he hates. He smirks at John, watching them walk by. John can't help stepping closer to Barsad.They finally come to a set of ornate glass doors. The entrance to the hotel’s in-house restaurant. The Queen’s Chateau etched in scrolling letters on the glass.Barsad grabs the door and waits for John to enter. John looks at Barsad confused but steps through.The lighting is dim and warm giving it an intimate atmosphere. On the center backwall is where the band would be set up. A grand piano, a drum set, a few brass instruments left abandoned. There’s a lounge area towards the left and what should be rows of tables to the right.Most of the interior has been trashed, some of the tables and chairs flipped over. Empty bottles of various liquors scattered everywhere on the floor. Shattered glass and broken plates at random through the once pristine dining room.Barsad leads him down a path that had been cleared through the disaster to a far corner where Bane stands waiting, thumbing through a book. Beside him was a table big enough for two and a pair of chairs. There was a bottle of wine and a wine glass. In front of one chair was a large silver serving tray covered by a lid, topped with a crystal handle.John had never experienced such luxuries until he started spending time with Bruce at Wayne Manor and Mr. Alfred served them dinner on the same intricate trays. Every meal just as elegant.John’s so nervous, he barely gets out a smile as Bane looks at him.Bane speaks to Barsad in a different language and Barsad responds, making him worry even more. Is he in trouble?John almost reaches out to grab Barsad as he’s dismissed, but keeps his composure.“Sit, Robin.” Bane seems to be in a good mood as he waves a hand to the table. John moves slowly to sit down.Bane sits across from him and motions to the tray in front of John.“Go on.”John smiles, nervously, as he grabs the handle. A painful knot grips his stomach and his blood runs cold at the macabre thought, what if it’s Bruce? Gordon?
Please no
He swallows audibly against the nausea as he lifts the lid.John stares relieved, but painfully confused at the full plate of pasta and red sauce.Spaghetti?“Um…what..” He couldn’t even find words.“I hope you like it.”John’s sure he looks lost trying to smile as Bane encourages him to eat. He grabs the fork and slowly threads a small amount of pasta and takes a bite. He feels Bane’s eyes on him as chews slowly, chasing away the nausea still stirring inside.“Good?”He meets Bane’s eyes and nods, “Yeah, it’s…really good.” With supplies limited in Gotham, it’s not overly seasoned or flavorful, but it’s good. Definitely the best meal he’s had since they took over.Bane’s eye crinkle slightly, “Good.”Bane busies himself with his book, occasionally watching John as he continues to eat. Halfway through, John sips slowly on the wine and stares thoughtfully down at his plate.He doesn’t understand what this is about. The thought that it’s his last meal doesn’t make sense. If Bane was planning to kill him, he wouldn’t waste any time giving John a decent dinner beforehand.So why?He clears his throat, “What’s this for?”Bane pauses and looks at him, “I thought you would enjoy it.” His brows suddenly crease together, “Do you not?”It shocks John that Bane’s tone isn’t angry, but almost…hurt.John quickly shakes his head, “Oh I do, it’s wonderful. Just… curious is all.” He smiles sweetly and Bane’s eyes soften.“Good.” Bane says pleased and turns to the next page as if that answered John’s question.John brings the glass to his lips and takes a longer drink. He supposes he won’t question it further. If Bane wants to treat him to a nice dinner, he’ll try to enjoy it.But spaghetti? Of all things?It's so random and odd...
"Actually, I've been craving a good Italian dinner over a month now."
John’s breath catches as it hits him.Could that be the reason? Was this Barsad’s idea? It could just be a coincidence, but with how tense he seemed bringing John down here. It had to be. But why?John takes another sip before grabbing his fork.He doesn’t understand the warm feeling in his chest. Must be the wine. * On their way back through the lobby, when Bane is off to the side in discussion with some of his men, he walks over to where Barsad stands waiting."Thank you," Barsad looks at him, brow raised. John pauses as two men walk by them. John lowers his voice, "For the dinner." He smiles at him, "I loved it."Barsad's eyes are unreadable, but then his lips quirk ever so slightly in a real smile before his face hardens again.John doesn't dream of that smile that night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Barsad groans lowly trying to clear his mind. His body feels hot and slick with sweat. He doesn’t even remember getting back to his room. It’s feels so slow as the haze clears and he realizes he’s not alone, cracking blurry eyes open to pale skin. Barsad can barely lift off of the shoulder his forehead is resting on. He definitely drank too much. Barsad has no idea who he’s decided to bed. His mind feels lost in a heavy fog, but his body moves on instinct, snapping his hips harshly into the willing body under him.Barsad tightens his grip on the headboard and closes his eyes again. He rarely indulges in such things, he’s not sure how long it’s been. Might as well enjoy it.He pants heavily into his partner's ear, the young man under him squeezing his thighs around Barsad’s waist in time with his thrusts. Hands grip wildly to his back, nails digging in. His moans drive Barsad to start fucking harder, he’s getting so close.A hand travels up his body, caressing him tenderly then tangles into his hair,“Barsad”His thrusts falter as he stops suddenly, his heart sinking like a stone to his stomach. Almost instantly he feels sober, the fog in his mind dissipating.That voice.Barsad gets his hands under him to lift himself and stare down at the man laid out before him.John.
Fuck
What is he doing? What are they doing? How did they end up here? This can’t be-His mind is a flurry of questions each one making the dread he’s feels multiply.John opens his eyes, his hand untangling itself to cup Barsad’s cheek. A questioning look as his fingers stroke over his face, “What’s wrong?”“I-” Barsad can’t find the words, but they have to stop this. Even though it’s already too late. Bane will be furious when he finds out. It takes everything he has to pull away from John.“Shhh…” He pauses as John tightens all around him, arms and legs not letting Barsad out of his grip. The look John gives him goes to straight to his cock, still buried deep. His hips stutter on their own, resuming the pace he set.Barsad has no control.“It’s okay…” John whispers as he pulls Barsad down for a kiss.Barely a touch of lips and he feels his release-Barsad jolts as he awakens suddenly, breathing hard. His eyes adjusts quickly to the dark room and sees he’s alone. The overly bright glow of the digital clock on the side table reads 1:08. He’s only been asleep a couple of hours.He’s still mostly clothed, the only thing he managed to get off being his utility vest and boots. He must have passed out as soon he got to his room. A dull ache pulses in his head. He definitely drank heavily last night. That part wasn’t a dream.A dream.
How could he dream of John like that?
He lifts one hand to rub his eyes roughly trying to erase the images.Barsad remembers John thanking him, he was so sincere. He enjoyed Bane’s surprise. Barsad’s surprise. A part of him had bloomed with… some sort feeling. That same one he gets every time John smiles.
That smile
Ignoring his aching need, he drags himself off of the bed, stripping on his way to the bathroom. He stands under the spray of water and tries to wash away the…feelings. What is wrong with him?He turns the water a little hotter and scrubs his hands over his face roughly.He can’t feel anything like that.Barsad knows John has been playing up to Bane these past weeks. Which doesn’t matter to him, it’s keeping John safe. Not that he cares. Until Bane asked him for help to do something that John would like, he didn’t realize just how attached Bane was becoming. That makes it dangerous.
So dangerous.
No, he can't feel, can't think such things.Barsad rests his forehead against his arm on the shower wall. He closes his eyes and focuses on the water running over him. He wills it to wash away the lingering effects of alcohol in his system.His cock continues to throb with need.It’s the vodka deciding tonight, for the first time in a long while, he’ll allow it and do something. Just to relieve the tension he's felt for weeks. He just needs release. That's all.He tries to make it mindless pleasure, simply physical. But it feels hollow, not finding his end. He squeezes his eyes tight.Don't think it.
"Because you like me?"
No, he doesn't. Not like that. Don't think about him.A flash of dimples.
He's not yours.
Memories of hearing John moan in pleasure come back full force.
Don't.
It was just a dream, but...The feel of his lips...Barsad chokes back a groan as he releases.
So dangerous.
As the last waves of pleasure leave his body, his head starts pounding anew with a headache. He rinses off and dries off roughly with a towel. Stumbling through the room, he throws on a clean pair of pants and crashes on the bed.When he awakens in the early hours of morning after a fitful night of sleep, he feels dirty all over again.Barsad makes it the bathroom and he can barely look at his reflection. Trying to completely cleanse himself, he grabs the razor and shaves his beard off. He strips and showers again. Scrubbing his body roughly head to toe.He doesn't know why he feels disgusted. Shameful. Guilty...No, Barsad doesn’t do guilt. A completely useless emotion meant for people who are far weaker than he. 
So why does John make him feel that way?
 
*
 John's a little taken aback when Barsad finally joins him on the roof that afternoon and sees him without his usual scruff. He's a little embarrassed at the quiet "Oh" that slips out. Barsad looks tired. More than his natural, laidback state, but he still raises a brow at John.“Something wrong?”John clears his throat, awkwardly, “Uh..nope.” He grins to hide his embarrassment, “Ready to lose?” He throws his jacket to the side and gets into a fighting stance.Barsad’s jaw muscles seem to tighten briefly, but he nods and moves to set down his rifle.This sparring match feels… different. Not that John knows Barsad that well, but if he had to guess, he was hungover. Something tells John that's not the problem. But he doesn't know what is. Barsad’s movements seem stiff, he still blocks John easily, but it just seems... off. Barsad's quick to let go when he gets John in any kind of hold. John doesn’t even get the chance to try to break Barsad’s grip or tap out. He just lets John go, putting distance between them and it repeats for a few more matches.John manages to finally grab Barsad’s wrist and twist under him, quickly wrapping his legs around his waist hoisting himself onto Barsad’s back. John throws his arms around his neck and locks in a chokehold. That’s when he knows something is definitely wrong.Not only should he not have gotten the hold, Barsad just freezes and taps out. He doesn’t even attempt to throw John off. Which John knows he can do with hardly any effort. He knows he should still take this chance to knock Barsad out and escape. At least attempt to fight for his freedom, but instead...“What the hell?” John lowers himself off of Barsad and levels the most unimpressed glare at him.Barsad stares back unfazed, “What?”“Uhh, seriously? You just let me win.”Barsad’s jaw clenches again, “I didn’t. You beat me. You should be proud.”John rolls his eyes. Hard. Yeah, he may not know Barsad that well, but even he knows that’s total, “Bullshit. You weren’t even trying." John punches him in the shoulder. Barsad doesn’t budge.“But whatever, I’m not really into it today either.” Which is true. As much as he likes Barsad’s lessons, he was pretty sore from last night. Bane was insatiable after their little romantic dinner. John's nose scrunches up at the thought. Bane and romantic do not belong in the same sentence. He had spent the morning stretching after a hot shower to ease the ache, but he could probably use a day of rest.Plus, John was honestly fine just hanging out with Barsad.He grabs the rifle so he can get his jacket underneath and senses Barsad instantly tense up, "John-""I'm not stupid." He immediately grabs the rifle by the barrel and holds it out for Barsad to take. "I know you'd kick my ass before I could take a shot." But again, he should have tried. Barsad relaxes, as much as he's capable of, and finally the tiniest smirk appears as he takes it, slipping the strap over his shoulder. John grins as he slips his jacket on.“Would you like to go for a walk?”John smiles while he gets the zipper lined up, “Yeah, I could use a few laps.”Barsad shifts lightly on his feet, “No, ” He clears his throat, ”Downstairs.”John pauses and looks at him, “Really?”“Bane has granted permission for you to walk around the hotel grounds.” Barsad meets his gaze, the "Accompanied, of course." goes unsaid, but John hears it clear as day.His thoughts sour slightly that Bane has granted him the reward of his leaving his suite prison, but the idea of getting out does sound fantastic. “If you don’t want to-” Barsad mistakes his hesitation.“No!,” John flinches at his own excitement, “I mean, yeah, that'd be great” * They walk through the hotel, out to the back and begin a lap around the enormous pool. There's men scattered throughout. Some on guard, other's relaxing around at random, but nobody pays much attention to them.It feels so good to be walking more than the length of the rooftop. While it was spacious up top, this feels a little more normal. Besides all the rough looking men with guns juxtaposed against the high end hotel.They walk mostly in silence. John only finding random things to say here and there, Barsad listening patiently. He almost wants to ask about the dinner, but decides to just let it go. They wrap back around to the front of the pool and head back inside. Barsad let’s John choose where to walk, gently deterring him only once from going somewhere he shouldn’t.When they start to pass the restaurant, John slows and peers in.Seeing no one, he makes his way inside, Barsad following silently. John takes his time looking over everything, occasionally setting a chair upright. He makes his way to the grand piano, running his fingers over the surface. John moves to stand behind it and lightly presses a key, the note sounding gently.Barsad slows to a stop just to the other side.“Would it be okay…?” John lets his words die off as he looks questioningly to Barsad. His blue eyes seem even more striking as they stand out in the dim lighting.Barsad looks to John’s fingers hovering over the keys and slowly nods. John smiles and settles on the bench.He starts just pressing a few keys, trying to remember the way they sound. It’s been a while since he’s played. Slowly he tries a few chords and builds into a rhythm. He cringes slightly as he hits a few wrong notes.He runs through a few more practice rounds, then falls into a song. Except for a few small mistakes, his fingers quickly limber up and feel at home. At the end, he toys with a few random riffs and transitions into a new melody.He’s almost completely wrapped up in the music as one song becomes another. When he finishes the fourth song (or the fifth, or the sixth, he’s not sure), he looks up and finds Barsad staring at him. Or maybe through him. Those blue eyes unreadable.John doesn’t know why he suddenly feels nervous. He runs his fingers across the keys to steady his nerves.“I studied piano for a few years at St. Swithin’s.” He hums quietly, “Back when the Wayne Foundation still donated, we could play sports or take lessons in music…Been a long time since I played anything. Surprised I still know how…I used to play for hours after school when I could. It was nice to be alone and just play whatever I felt. Sometimes it felt like the piano could say things I didn't know how, you know. Just being an angry kid, it wasn't always easy to say what I could feel raging inside. Of course when I did, it would usually get me in trouble. I guess that's why I tried to let it out this way. Music was a good escape… from everything”It’s quiet as he doesn’t know what else to say. When he glances back up, Barsad’s gaze is still on him. So intense.Barsad is quiet when finally speaks, “You play…very well,” he finishes almost uncertainly. Like he didn’t mean to say anything at all.John can’t help a small smile anyway at Barsad’s best attempt at a compliment.“Thanks,” John whispers. His heart starts beating a little harder as they fall back into silence, not looking away from each other.John definitely isn’t drowning in blue. He distracts himself and starts playing again. Barsad shifts his weight and turns to look elsewhere.John’s not sure why he keeps glancing under his lashes at him.Without his beard, he looks slightly younger. Though not by much. The way Barsad holds himself, his eyes always seem tired, yet always observant. Always on guard.Barsad carries the weariness of a man that’s had a hard life. What kind of life, John wonders? How many lines on his face are from his actual age? Or did he have to grow up too fast? Has he seen enough for ten men fighting a lifetime in war?How did he end up like this? Choosing to serve someone like Bane. Like Talia. Maybe John doesn’t want to know.The lighting makes the circles under Barsad’s eyes a little darker and highlights defined cheekbones. He’s actually not bad looking. For a terrorist, John reminds himself.John’s not thinking about the way his stubble feels against his skin when they spar. Or that the darkness of it was the perfect contrast to piercing blue eyes.“A beard suits you,” John can’t believe the words slip out. Any hope that Barsad didn’t hear his whispered words is crushed as Barsad looks at him confused. He feels his cheeks burn with heat, but he busies himself with the keys.It’s his stupid tendency to talk when nervous, “I dunno, just looks good on you.” Yeah cause that makes it less awkward.He can feel the weight of Barsad's stare, but he refuses to look at him.The sound of talking grows as a group of mercenaries walk by. John's relieved as it seems to snap Barsad to attention and he turns away.“I’ll escort you back. Bane will be returning soon.”“Yeah, okay.” He stands, righting the bench and follows Barsad. Barsad leads him back across the lobby to the elevators. A small group of rowdy men come through the front doors. They all come to a halt so as not to cross in front of Barsad. It still amazes John the amount of respect every man seems to have for him.Some of the men start snickering as they come closer to walking by. But John holds his head high and doesn't look at them.One slightly stocky man stumbles forward and shouts something he doesn't understand in a thick accent.All the men bust out laughing and start whistling at him. He doesn’t know what was said, but John still feels his face heat from anger and embarrassment at the attention.Their fun at his expense doesn’t last but mere seconds as Barsad snaps back in the same foreign language. His voice was so cold and dark, even John jumps slightly as the men freeze. Everyone instantly fell silent, the man who spoke going pale.Barsad’s stride didn’t falter once as he passes them without another glance. John didn't lose his pace either, staying almost glued to Barsad's side as they enter an open elevator.John hugs himself watching the numbers light up, "What did he say?"Barsad's jaw tenses."Nothing he'll ever say again." * Any other time, John would love to take a hot bath. Especially in a bathtub that had jets. What a luxury. Something he’s never got to experience.But, of course, his first time in the suite’s huge jacuzzi tub had to be a shared experience with Bane. Lucky him.He supposes it could be worse. John had panicked when he groaned in pain as Bane started grabbing at him trying to initiate sex. He was so sore, he couldn't help it. Bane had pulled away, brows drawn together. John was prepared for him to be angry and force him anyway, but Bane had simply taken John to shower off. He even turned the water warmer when John shivered at the cooler water that Bane usually prefers.Bane had gently washed them both down, then drew a hot bath, adding salts and oil to relax.Which is where they’ve been for a while, soaking together, his back pressed against Bane.He doesn’t mean to sigh, but fuck how annoying.“Do you feel better, my little bird?” Thankfully Bane takes it as pleasure.“Mhmm” The water does feel wonderful. John sinks back into Bane, as he mindlessly caresses the heavy arm wrapped around him. They’ve sat in the quiet as Bane busied himself on a tablet he balanced on the wide edge of the tub with his other hand. John casually looked at it from the corner of his eye as Bane thumbed through, but the screen was almost always in a different language.So much for finding a way to stop the League tonight.Without anything else to distract him, his mind goes back to Barsad. To how stupid John was.A beard suits you. Fuck, how embarrassing. John would just sink under and drown himself then and there, if not for Bane holding him. He really hopes Barsad has completely forgotten his idiocy.John worried the whole bath thing was to loosen him up so Bane could fuck him, but instead he's carried to bed and Bane slips in behind him, pulling him close.John doesn’t dream about Barsad between his legs. * “All clear.” Bader shoves the last man onto the pavement. Mikhail pats the man down checking for weapons.“Check the upstairs.” Barsad orders. Bader takes two men with him as they rush to the stairwell to do a sweep of anyone else hiding. They heard the commotion during patrol and found a handful of men fighting over supplies.Leaving Mikhail and Jovan to guard their current hostages, Barsad walks through the trashed aisles of the small corner store that had been ransacked.The sound of glass crunching under his boots gets swallowed up by the yells of fear outside.He comes to a stop, browsing over the few plastic covered packages of merchandise that had been passed over during the initial raids. Barsad doesn’t flinch as Jovan fires a warning shot after one of the caught men tries to flee.Barsad turns his attention when Bader marches four more men down the stairwell.“Found them hiding in one of the apartments. ”Barsad nods, “Round them up for judgement.”He ignores the screaming protests of the captured men as they’re dragged out and does a quick final scan of the store.Jovan calls out through the busted window, “All clear, brother.”Barsad nods in acknowledgment. As Jovan turns back to help load the men onto the truck, Barsad glances back once more at the shelf.He quietly swipes a beard trimmer.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“A-ha! Found it!”John traces his finger down the globe, following the path Barsad told him. From Chechnya down to the coast of Azerbaijain. Barsad’s lips quirk slightly.“From there, I ended up on a ship to Kazakhstan.” John struggles a moment to find it on the map when Barsad gently grabs his hand to guide him up and across the Caspian Sea.“Like a cruise ship?” John almost laughs at the idea.Barsad’s eyes flicker, but his voice remains kind.“A prison ship”“Oh” John suddenly feels small. Right.
Mercenary. Terrorist.
“Why were you on a prison ship?” John asks.Barsad shifts on his feet, “I was caught...”John looks up at him and raises a brow, waiting for him to elaborate.“I killed three men.” Barsad answers quietly.
Murderer

He’s a criminal, John
John looks back down at the map.Barsad continues to guide John’s hand across the map, varying directions showing the path he travelled.Uzbekistan…Kyrgyzstan…Tajikistan…John’s screwed if he has to pronounce any of these places out loud. He wonders what Barsad’s laugh sound like.
Has he ever laughed?
“We were headed for a Bhutanese prison…” Barsad stops John’s finger just on the edge of Nepal, “Ra’s al Ghul freed us in Jhapa.”“That’s when you joined the League of Shadows?”Barsad nods, “He saved my life. Gave me purpose.”John hums quietly staring at the map as Barsad slowly lets go of his hand.They had wandered into one of the lounge rooms. Furnished with several pool tables and a long beverage bar with warm lighting. John had made himself at home in the corner with a large bookcase, leather chairs and an antique globe. One of the very few rooms that hadn't been destroyed by the other men.John backtracks the path Barsad laid out for him. Probably in the wrong order, but ends back around where Barsad’s story had started. “So… are you Albanian? Or Bulgarian? Serbian?” So many choices, the man had traveled across so many countries. Those are just the earliest memories he had.Barsad just shrugs casually and stays silent. John suddenly feels bad for him.
He truly doesn’t know where he’s from.
John may not have had the best childhood, but at least he knows where he came from. John remembers his parents. His mother not so much. But he had some good times before his father was killed.This city was far from perfect, but he can call Gotham home.Barsad had nothing. No idea where he was born, no place he once considered a home. No fond memories of anyone. At least that he's told of.John can’t help feeling a little heartbroken for him. Even if he is the enemy.
Why is that getting harder to remember?
Deciding to pivot away from the hardships of his life, John spins the globe carefully watching the colors blur together, “Well... as a world traveler you must have seen some incredible places.”“I suppose.” “I always wanted to see the world. Thought I’d go after I graduated high school, see all the typical touristy places, but you know, broke orphan.”He spins the globe again.“Actually, Mr. Alfred told me a lot of stories about Florence. He goes every year for vacation. Or 'on holiday' as he calls it. He loves it. He has a favorite cafe he always goes to. Says it's the best drinks and pastries you’ll ever have. I bet it’s beautiful there…” John trails off.There's a pause of silence as they both watch John slow the globe to a stop with the tip of his finger.“Camigliano” Barsad says quietly.John looks up at him confused. Barsad clears his throat.“Camigliano Castle. It’s a winery in Montalcino just south of Florence. 13th century castle if I remember right. I prefer vodka myself, but,” Barsad shrugs almost awkwardly and looks away, “It’s good for a red wine… You would like it,” he finishes softly.John silently processes it, unsure what stuns him more.The fact that Barsad has been to winery. In Italy. Or that Barsad is concerned with what John would like.John squirms slightly against the warmth spreading in his chest, but smiles, “Maybe you’ll have to take me and give me a tour.”Barsad eyes soften as he smirks, “Take you? That wouldn’t be much of a vacation for me.”John kicks him in the shin grinning, “Asshole.” * More often than not now, they end up in The Queen’s Chateau. Barsad doesn't mind. He thinks John is right. The piano can speak, in a way.At least when John plays it.The music that echoes through the room seems to pull and tug at Barsad. As if trying to tell him something he doesn’t understand.In some strange way, Barsad wants to try to understand. It's not as if John composed any of the songs, Barsad had asked. For all his knowledge, Barsad was ignorant of music. But John's soft laugh hadn't made him feel foolish. Still, it feels personal. Like every note comes from somewhere deep inside of John. A hidden message John is letting out through the keys. What is John thinking? Trying to say? What is he feeling?
Why does he even care?

You don't.
Perhaps it’s just a way to hypnotize Barsad. It must be. That would explain the sensations clawing at his chest. For why he can’t look away as John’s eyes close, dark waves falling over his forehead. Still too short to hide away his face, but still cast shadows. The way his body faintly sways getting lost in the sounds long fingers produce. How, even in the dim lighting, his skin is somehow still perfectly illuminated.The tempo slows down gradually until the final note sings out. Deep brown eyes open and Barsad wonders if it's possible to drown without water.John stretches his arms out and brushes his hair back, just for it to fall back in place.He smiles sheepishly before it falters, "Do I have to go back yet?"Normally Bane would be close to returning for the night, but he was meeting with Talia at her request."No, not yet." John smiles and makes his way to Barsad's side, "Great, I'm hungry." * Deep down, deep down, Barsad might admit this may be one of the things he hates most in this whole situation.How John changes. Bane meets them in the lobby just as Barsad is escorting John back up to their suite. Instantly, he watches John shut down. Disappearing behind a mask. In his place is Robin.No. No, that's not right. This isn't the Robin that John protects and keeps close from others. That only someone special earns the right to call him by.This is Bane's Robin. Dark eyes that dim, yet become seductive. His body moves in just the right way to be subtly enticing. Perfectly submissive as he molds himself to Bane's side. He looks up from under dark lashes, occasionally wetting his lips. When he speaks, his voice lowers into an almost husky purr.It'd be a lie to say John wasn't incredibly tempting, but...It's not the real John. The real John's eyes dance with a light, a fire, when he's with Barsad. There's varying shades of brown that reflect his moods. John has a beaming smile that makes his eyes crinkle. He jokes, he cries. He's bold enough to punch Barsad and laugh.This Robin doesn't begin to compare to John.A nod to bid good night, he watches them disappear behind elevator doors. * “Checkmate”Mikhail hums to acknowledge his loss and begins resetting the board, “You’re slipping, brother.”“Oh?” Barsad mumbles, uninterested.“You should have won seven moves ago.”Barsad doesn’t respond as he moves a pawn to start the next game. They continue to move pieces until Mikhail hums again, losing.“You’re distracted.”Barsad takes a sip of cheap beer. It gives him something to swallow besides an uncomfortable knot. Barsad doesn’t do distractions.“Too much work. You need to relax more. Let some of the others take over some of your patrols. Hell, I’ll cover your next one.” Mikhail switches colors so he gets the first move. As if that’s why he hasn't won yet.“I’m fine.”Has he busied himself more than ever with the League's work? Maybe. Has he been staying on top of the men around the clock, harsh in his orders? Only when they deserved it. Falling slack in maintaining their control of the city won't be tolerated.The only sound is of idle chatter from other men passing through the lobby and the soft thud of chess pieces hitting their intended squares.Maybe his past few nights, or weeks, have been almost completely restless. Waking from dreams he shouldn't be having. Shouldn't be indulging in.But he's as efficient as he ever was. Would always be.No, Barsad doesn't have time for distractions. Especially one that wears a dimpled smile.In the end, Barsad’s king is cornered.Checkmate.He blames the beer.Mikhail quirks a brow and strokes over his blonde stubble before resetting the pieces.“Maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps, you need a distraction.”“I said I’m fine.”"A good drink would help. Or a real good fuck." Barsad feels his teeth clench together. 
Because you like me?
“I’m just saying…”“-You’re always ‘just saying’-""...there's nothing wrong with taking a break. Things are calm. We can afford a day without you supervising every little detail." No one in the League would dare say such a thing to Barsad. No one, but the blonde fool across from him. "I'm fine." The bite behind it makes blonde eyebrows raise briefly, but Mikhail doesn't speak another word of it.They play six more matches.Barsad wins every one. *John sinks into the pillow and sighs in pleasure. No need to fake it or embellish this time. The hand massaging his neck and back felt so good. He shivers as the hand travels up and down his back, leaving goosebumps.Now this he could get used to.Blunt nails gently scratch at his scalp, combing through his hair. It smooths over his shoulder then gently grabs him by the side.His moan is cut off by a gasp when he suddenly feels lips press kisses to the back of his neck.Since when does Bane-John turns onto his back quickly to see and his heart skips as he meets piercing blue eyes.“Barsad?”His mind’s a whirl as he realizes they’re both naked under the sheets. In the same bed. Whose bed? Where is Bane? What is happening? He feels himself panicking.“What are you doing?”“Do you want me to stop?” Barsad is suddenly much closer, leaning over him. He looks down at John with such… tenderness.John can’t look away from those eyes and..No, he doesn’t want Barsad to stop.Yes. Keep touching me. Kiss me. But John can’t speak. Just gasps as Barsad moves to settle between his legs and leans down -John wakes up with a start. His heart is beating wildly as his eyes struggle to adjust to the moonlit room.A dream.Calming down, he’s aware of the heavy arm holding him close. Just a dream. Slowly he tries to ease out of Bane’s arms. Like always the beast awakens.“Bathroom,” he whispers. Bane grunts and let’s him go, rolling onto his back.He picks up the silk robe off the floor and slips it on. John closes the door behind him and flips the light switch, squinting at the bright light. A few splashes of cold water and deep breaths finally gets his heart and mind settled.What kind of dream was that? Of Barsad. Fuck. Where did that even come from? He feels like he needs a good long, cold, shower, but Bane is waiting.A few more minutes to gather himself and makes his way back to bed. He settles into Bane’s embrace and tries to sleep, but it eludes him. Sure maybe, he's had some thoughts about Barsad. I mean the guy's not bad looking... and he's been kind... For the enemy... 
Barsad's the enemy
He feels a storm brewing inside as he stares at the moonlight gently illuminating a quiet city. Guilt tears at him. To think of Jim, and their fellow officers, out there somewhere trying to survive and save Gotham. Its’ citizens living in fear.And Bruce…What is John doing?Sleeping with the world’s most wanted and feared terrorist…and having sexual fantasies of another. John closes his eyes tight and breathes out. He tries to tell himself it’s to keep Jim safe. The boys home. That is the reason, but it doesn’t the quell the self disgust he’s feeling.What would Bruce think of him now?“Restless, my little bird?” John’s proud he didn’t flinch. Bane’s tone was quiet, but sudden. He didn’t even realize Bane was still awake.John hums, “Just can’t get back to sleep.”There’s a moment of worry that Bane will ask why or want to have sex again, but instead he pulls John to lay on top of him. Slowly a large hand starts rubbing up and down his back. The other lacing together with John’s.Bane's caressed him before, sure. All over his body. But it was always during or right after they fucked. To just be touched, because Bane was what? Being considerate? Sweet? It feels so odd. Eventually his mind quiets and eyes grow heavy to Bane’s petting.As he slips into sleep, he can't help thinking it doesn't compare to his dream.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John would feel like nothing more than a trophy wife being paraded around, if not for the fact that no one seemed to notice him.Bane had come for him, wanting John to join him for dinner. Bane asked. As if John could actually refuse. Still, he put on his practiced smile and took Bane’s offered arm.Unlike their private evening before, there were maybe thirty or so of Bane’s men gathered around a long table.John tried to pull his arm away so he didn't look like a total simpering whore hanging off of Bane. Just an accessory displayed for the room's amusement. Memories of the mocking laughter from his first time with Bane still echo in his mind.Of course Bane doesn’t let him, his grip unyielding and possessive as they make their way to the head of the table.Any uneasiness he felt at the idea of dining with a room full of terrorists almost completely fades away as he sees Barsad already seated. The sight of him—calm, composed—grounds John. It’s a small relief to see a familiar face in a room that otherwise feels alien, as if Barsad somehow makes the situation less… dangerous.His heart drops suddenly as he meets Talia’s gaze. She stares him down, a knowing glint lights up her eyes. Her lips curl into a cruel smirk, as if she’s enjoying every moment of his discomfort, savoring the power she holds over him.John steels himself not to back down from her. He won’t cower.It’s a huge relief when the tension breaks instantly, as Talia turns away first, her attention shifting entirely to Bane. Her features soften in an instant, warmth replacing the cold, cruel expression she’d worn just moments before. If John didn’t know better, he might almost question whether he’d really seen that much malice in her eyes.But he knows better. He knows the venom that runs through her veins. Her smile, her kindness directed at Bane, it’s all an act. A mask she wears to hide the true darkness beneath. John has seen it before, and he won’t forget it.His own attention is brought back as Bane actually holds out a chair for him. John fights the urge to throw up or punch him, he’s not a fucking trophy wife, but sits down smiling. It makes way for a true smile as it puts him sitting right beside Barsad.Barsad briefly looks at him, his eyes soft, before turning his focus back to the other men. John doesn’t let himself feel hurt. He understands he’s nobody important at this table.Instead John focuses on his meal and just observes. The language barrier makes it difficult to follow, but the easy flow between them is unmistakable. They talk easily, some gestures animated, voices rising and falling in casual rhythm. Someone cracks a joke, and genuine laughter ripples through the table. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal.Almost.But then his eyes drift to the knives tucked in their belts, the ammo rounds hanging across their bodies, and the illusion crumbles. This isn’t a friendly gathering. It’s a room full of predators, each one dangerous in their own way.No one speaks to him or even looks at him, as if he didn’t even exist. If it wasn’t for Bane’s heavy hand making itself at home on his thigh, John would believe he wasn’t there either.After eating, shots of liquor are passed around. To his surprise, John’s actually offered one. And sure, why not?John still looks to Bane to make sure he’s actually allowed to take it. Bane meets his gaze, gray eyes piercing, but there's a slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes that John’s learned is ‘yes’.Talia is barely containing an amused smirk from Bane's left.John holds back a Batman worthy glare and throws the shot back easily.*Long after dinner is over, the men have moved to other forms of entertainment. Including, much to John's disappointment, Barsad. He hides a small smile as he watches Barsad, ever the picture of cool detachment, look mildly annoyed at being pressured to join whatever card game some of the men become involved in. It’s a rare glimpse of discomfort, and John can’t help but find it amusing.John was annoyed himself. He had perked up when Talia and Bane's voices had dropped, suddenly more serious. John figured it was important, but unfortunately, it was in 'League Language'. Just a string of words and phrases that means absolutely nothing to him.Unable to eavesdrop any useful information left John sinking deeper into boredom. Just stuck being groped by Bane and watching the men scattered around the room.It’s only when he sees Barsad drift off to a corner away from the others that he has the guts to ask, “Can I go join?”There’s no immediate answer, only the weight of Bane’s gaze on him, as though measuring the request.“Do not cause any trouble.” Bane’s tone is steady, but not entirely threatening as he gently squeezes John’s thigh.John smiles, “Of course not.”Permission granted, he weaves through the tables and makes his way over to where Barsad is sitting. Across from him, a man so blonde it’s almost white stares down at their game with a furrowed brow.Chess. How boring.“Mind if I sit?” John barely gets the question out before Barsad wordlessly nudges a chair out for him.The blonde briefly glances between them, assessing, before focusing on the chessboard. His fingers hover over his pieces, his face set in a hard, concentrated expression. If he’s bothered by John’s presence, he doesn’t say anything.John settles in, watching the game in silence. He knows just enough about chess to follow along, but it’s never been his game. Too slow, too much thinking ahead.Several moves later and Barsad wins.“Checkmate.” His tone is flat and unimpressed, like he’s done this a thousand times.The blonde leans back and clicks his tongue. “Well, damn.” He runs a hand over the top of his head, slicking back his hair with an air of exaggerated disappointment.Barsad doesn’t respond as he resets his side of the board, the other following suit.They begin a new game, and John finds his eyes keep drifting to Barsad. At how steady his hands are, how sharp his focus is. There’s an intensity to it, quiet but unwavering, like he sees every possible outcome before a single piece is moved.It’s not just skill. It’s control. And for some reason, John can’t seem to look away. Well... he knows the reason. John hates to admit it, but the first dream of Barsad hadn't been the last.Worse, thoughts of Barsad, in that way, have started creeping into his mind when he’s awake. During quiet moments when he’s alone, when there’s nothing, and no one, to pull him back.John tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. It’s normal, totally normal, to have those kinds of thoughts. Just his mind grasping for control in a place where he has none. That's all. It’s normal to wonder… isn’t it?To wonder….would Barsad carry that same sense of control into more intimate moments? John can't imagine he'd be careless or impulsive.He’d be deliberate, methodical, take his time. Just quiet confidence, steady hands, and a complete awareness of exactly what he’s doing…John quickly shakes himself back to reality. An inappropriate time for very inappropriate thoughts.Instead he watches as they begin another game. This time it’s taking longer as the blonde makes more strategic moves. As the blonde takes his time studying his next move, Barsad sets his empty shot glass down with a quiet clink. He pushes his chair back, mumbling “I need another drink.” “I can go get—” John starts, but Barsad waves him off, not unkindly, already turning toward the group gathered around the liquor.John’s gaze lingers on Barsad as he walks away before shifting back to the blonde.He sits with his legs stretched out, chin resting in one hand as he absently strokes the stubble along his jaw. His facial features are sharp and well-defined, giving him a striking, almost chiseled appearance. A long jagged scar runs from his right temple down his cheek almost meeting his ear lobe. It’s uneven, as if it wasn’t the result of a clean cut. The edges are slightly raised, the scar tissue paler than the rest of his skin.Green eyes catch him staring, and before John can look away, the blonde’s mouth curls into a small self-satisfied grin.“You like?” His voice is smooth, carrying the faint lilt of an accent.John hesitates for a moment. He had expected anger, indifference, or even mocking cruelty—but not this.Recovering quickly, he quirks a small smile. “Yeah. Looks cool.”The blonde’s grin softens into a cocky smirk. “I know. I have Barsad to thank for it.”John blinks, thrown off by his answer. “Barsad did that to you?”“Well, he saved my life. The blade would have killed me otherwise,” he says, as if recounting a minor inconvenience.John just nods lamely, unsure what to say. His gaze drifts toward Barsad, who is caught in conversation with a few of the other men across the room. His expression is as unreadable as ever, small amused smirks that seem more forced than a natural reaction to what's being said.When he looks back, the blonde is making his move. John notices, it isn’t a legal one. One swift motion, and he’s taking one of Barsad’s pawns when he shouldn’t.“That’s cheating...” John trails off, his voice quiet as he realizes the risk. Probably not a good idea to accuse one of Bane's men of something, no matter how trivial a game of chess is.But the man only puts a finger against his lips in a silent shhh and settles back in his chair, unbothered.“I’m John.” he offers after a moment, just to say something.Green eyes look at him, lips quirking slightly in amusement. Maybe he already knows, or maybe just doesn’t care. After all, John’s just Bane’s personal bed warmer. John assumes that the conversation is over when the man speaks again.“Mikhail.” The name is given casually, like an afterthought, already back to studying the board.John is spared the embarrassment of saying something dumb, like Nice to meet you, to a terrorist by Barsad’s timely return, a bottle of vodka in hand.Barely a glance at the board and Barsad mutters a pointed, “Put it back.”Mikhail mumbles something in another language and slides the stolen pawn back in place.Their game continues, then another. John finds it oddly easy to sit here, watching, listening. Mikhail does most of the talking, though that isn’t saying much.He seems to carry himself with the same quiet assurance as Barsad. Calm, measured, always aware of his surroundings. There’s an edge to him, subtle but definitely there. The kind that tells John he could kill with practiced ease and not lose sleep over it.Where Barsad operates mostly in silence, Mikhail fills the space with dry observations and the occasional sharp-edged remark. The kind of humor that makes John wonder how much of it is a joke. John gets the sense that Mikhail can be as cutting or as disarming as he wants to be, depending on the situation.And right now? He’s choosing to be easy company.John shouldn’t find it interesting. But he does.Mikhail remains effortlessly at ease, his sharp remarks softened just enough to be teasing rather than biting. Barsad, by contrast, is quiet—his presence a steady weight that doesn’t need to be filled with words. When he does, his words are few and carefully measured. John tries not to read into the fact that Barsad isn’t quite as open as he is when they’re alone. Maybe it's the company. Or maybe John is imagining it.John can’t quite tell how long it’s been. The occasional bursts of laughter and shouting from the other men seem distant, barely reaching the quiet corner the three of them have settled into.John knows he shouldn’t be comfortable here, shouldn’t enjoy this. Whether it's because of Mikhail's almost effortless charm or the steady presence of Barsad beside him, an unspoken anchor.For a fleeting moment, he forgets exactly where he is...who he’s with. Who he's surrounded by.Something about Mikhail’s dry storytelling, Barsad's calm restraint, has John laughing more easily than he should. Mikhail smirks like he’s noticed, like he’s pleased with himself for getting a reaction. John can’t shake the feeling that Barsad watches him a moment longer than usual when he laughs. Eyes weighing him thoughtfully every time before he slowly looks away and takes a sip from his drink. John quickly stifles any further laughter, wary of annoying him.John’s lightened mood ends abruptly when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. Firm, but gentle. A quiet reminder. He should have noticed the way Mikhail had subtly, but quickly wrapped up his story, the way the atmosphere had shifted just before the touch.John slips on Bane's favorite smile and gazes up at him.“Not causing any trouble, Robin?” Bane’s voice is smooth, edged with amusement as he looks down at him.“I’ve stayed out of the way. Just watching” John replies, keeping his tone light.Bane hums, seemingly pleased. John sits under the weight of his gaze, doing his best not to fidget, feeling like an outsider as Bane speaks to Barsad briefly in a language so foreign yet growing familiar. With a tone of finality, the hand gently squeezes his shoulder, “Come, Robin.”John swallows back the urge to protest. He doesn’t want to leave. Not yet. But it’s not his choice to make.Instead, he stands, forcing himself to move easily, like he isn’t reluctant to go. He flashes a quick smile at Barsad, though the man doesn’t look at him. Still, John offers a simple, “Good night,” letting it hang between them.He takes Bane’s arm without hesitation, letting him lead the way. The distant sounds of laughter and conversation fade behind them. The easy warmth he felt, melts away, replaced by something heavier.Upstairs, the suite is waiting. * Two pairs of eyes watch John walk away.One a deep green. Heavy and unblinking, observing with a calm intensity that betrays nothing.The other of piercing blue. Dulled and hazy with too much alcohol, lingers with an emotion that can’t quite be named. Something… conflicted. Something raw. Something that shouldn’t be there.Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Talia. * Barsad dreams of John, and it’s a dream he hates.He thought he despised the dreams that were nothing but heat and desperation. Where he could touch, taste, take without restraint.Where John looks up at him with the same smoldering eyes he gives Bane, heavy with lust, offering himself freely. Nothing but a frantic hunger for one another. Barsad can take anything and everything, because John is willing. Silently surrendering to whatever Barsad wanted.Just touch, just need. It would leave him aching and restless in the quiet hours before dawn—something he forced himself to ignore.Now, he would do anything for those dreams back.Because this dream is a different kind of hell. So vivid and so real.A world where there’s no divide, no lines drawn in the sand. Neither bound by rules or loyalty.In this world, John is free.Here, John doesn’t hide behind a mask. His smile is unguarded, it’s real. John’s laugh bubbles up freely, easy and genuine.He doesn’t look at Barsad like a mere soldier, like something beneath the man who owns him.In this world, he comes closer, their hands brushing, fingers lacing together. They lay together in a bed Barsad doesn’t recognize. The room is unfamiliar, yet it feels like the only place that matters. They're in no rush to leave as they stay locked together beneath the sheets. Fingers trace idle patterns on skin, light caresses that speak more than words ever could.John smiles, his eyes filled with something that isn’t laced with manipulation or survival. It’s warmth. It’s contentment. It’s the kind of look that could make a man forget everything else.But it’s not real. It can’t be. In the waking world, John isn’t his. It’s a cruel temptation, a glimpse of a life he’ll never have. A life he’ll never deserve. John is untouchable to him, a fleeting thought that should never see the light of day.Somewhere between the haze of dreams and sharp clarity of reality, the guilt strikes him. It settles as an uncomfortable weight on his chest. Guilt for what? For bringing John to Bane? For following orders and being complicit in his captivity?Barsad always follows orders. Do what’s asked. Never question it. Never second-guess the decisions made for him.He’s done his job—he brought John here. He reminded himself again and again that this was necessary. That John’s presence, his compliance, was simply part of the greater plan.As Barsad comes to full wakefulness, he buries it. He buries the ache, buries the longing, the guilt. He locks it away in the darkest corner of his mind where it won’t interfere. He’ll ignore the feeling that it’s leaving something behind. A crack in his armor, a weakness he can’t afford.The guilt doesn’t belong here—not in the world Barsad exists in.
It’s a dream he despises.
The taste of what could be lingers on his tongue, bitter and unbearable.
But it doesn’t stop him from dreaming it every night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Their walks feel different now. It’s not just that they happen less often lately, it’s the way they feel when they do.When Barsad comes for John, he’s all business. He seems more…detached. Not cold, not exactly. But more restrained, like an invisible line has been drawn between them that Barsad refuses to cross. His presence feels sharp-edged in a way that wasn’t there before. Barsad keeps his steps just a little farther from John’s and his words are fewer, clipped down to necessities.John wonders if he’s said something to cause the shift in Barsad’s demeanor. But no matter how much he runs through their last conversations, their last interactions, he can’t come up with anything.Nothing feels different, at least not from his side. But from Barsad? Something has changed. And John has no idea why.Well, whatever wall Barsad is trying to build between them, John refuses to let it stand. Even if it means forcing conversation when Barsad would rather remain silent.So, he talks. He fills the silence with the usual stream of random musings, the kind of casual chatter that usually slips from his mouth without thinking. He throws in a dry joke here and there, hoping to break through Barsad’s tight exterior, waiting for that telltale twitch of Barsad’s mouth. He desperately wants to see the man he once saw—less guarded, kind.At first, John’s attempts fall flat. Barsad remains as closed off as ever. As if John is an obligation, just another task to be completed.But John isn’t one to give up.Then slowly there are moments.Fleeting, but undeniable. That old warmth starts seeping through. A steadying hand when the ground is uneven or John isn’t watching his step. Just a slight touch to keep John from losing his balance. A glance, sharp and brief, before Barsad looks away, as if John caught something he wasn't supposed to.John keeps pressing each time, gentle, but persistent. A well timed quip and finally, Barsad bites back a smile, and for just a moment, the hardness in his gaze eases.It makes John want to breathe a huge sigh of relief. Amidst all the uncertainty, being surrounded by enemies, he refuses to let go of the one person who’s made him feel, even for brief moments, something close to safe.Even if Barsad stands on the wrong side. * Barsad tried to keep the distance between them. He told himself it was for the best, that it was necessary. Anything more would be a mistake. But John seemed to carve his presence under Barsad’s skin, in ways that made it impossible for him to remain entirely indifferent.The quiet way John seemed to trust Barsad in a place where he shouldn’t. When he looked at him as if he needed something more than Barsad could offer.It drew something out of Barsad, something that worried him just as much as it compelled him to act. Against his better judgment, he let small moments of kindness slip through. Little things he told himself didn’t matter.But they did. Because with each moment of tenderness came the guilt. He knew the rules. He knew John wasn’t his to care for, that his place in John’s life was one of duty, nothing more.And yet, despite knowing better, he found himself lingering in those moments. Letting them stretch just a little longer than they should. The steady rhythm of John’s chatter, his occasional laugh and the moments when their eyes would meet.It becomes harder every time to ignore the flicker of something more, something deeper, stirring inside him.But Barsad pushes it down and focuses on the mission. Keep a barrier between them. He couldn't allow himself to think about what it meant—couldn’t let it bloom into something more.So he told himself it didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything when John smiled at him, that soft, almost shy curve of his lips.It was just gratitude, nothing more. * John laugh trails off once he see's they're not alone. Jovan signals for his attention as soon as they come through the lobby. Several of the men are gathered in the main sitting area, and Barsad acknowledges them with a quick nod.He turns to John, his tone neutral, “Do you want to head back to your room?” Or wait for me to take you? remains unsaid.John glances toward the men briefly, then shifts his gaze down the hall to the left.Shuffling on his feet, John lowers his voice, “Actually…Would it be okay if I went to play piano?”Barsad considers it, his tone softening slightly, “Just for a few minutes, John.”John’s face lights up with mild excitement and he smiles, “Just until you’re done.” Yes, I want to wait for you.A corner of Barsad’s mouth quirks before he collects himself, nodding once more. Without another word, he turns to the waiting men, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on John’s retreating figure as he disappears down the hallway. * John’s not even sure what songs he plays. His fingers move on their own, gliding across the keys with no clear intention. Just filling the emptiness of the room with sound. The melodies are soft and unremarkable, blending into the background, but his mind isn’t with the music. It’s stuck on Barsad.Every memory between them replays in his mind, like a loop he can’t escape.The way it feels when Barsad looks at him. The heat when Barsad’s hand touches his skin, making his pulse race. It feels like there’s unspoken tension, an odd sense of closeness that always seems just out of reach.John wonders if Barsad feels it too, or if it’s just him, imagining something that isn’t there. Is it just a product of his own desperate longing?A chord slips out of tune, his fingers stuttering, but John barely notices. He doesn’t care. Even as his thoughts swirl around something he shouldn’t feel, for a man he knows he shouldn’t want, he plays.He lets the music serve as a distraction, if only for a little while. He begins a new song, finally bringing his full attention to what he was doing. Each note grounds him, drowns out the chaos of his thoughts, and for a brief moment, he’s lost in the sound.John just ends the last few notes when he hears the door open.He smiles, “Perfect timing, I just finished.”“That’s good.”John freezes, the voice unfamiliar. He twists on the bench, his stomach dropping as he spots the man approaching. It's the same one, the one who’s always been crude and unsettling. The unease creeps up his spine as the man strides toward him. His gait is uneven, swaying slightly, steps too confident for someone who’s clearly been drinking.John stands slowly, his movements deliberate as he starts walking toward the exit. He has no intention of being alone with him. Hopefully, he can slip by without any trouble.But the man watches him closely, like a hawk tracking its prey. As John closes the distance between them, he picks up the pace, trying to widen the gap.Then, without warning, the man’s hand shoots out and grabs John’s wrist. “Hey, hey, where you rushin’ to?”John yanks his arm, trying to pull free. "Let me go!"The man doesn't budge. His grip tightens, and his other arm reaches out to hold John in place.Slurring in John’s ear, the man murmurs, “Shhh, shhhh. I’ll make it quick.”His hand begins sliding under John’s shirt, and that’s when the panic hits him full force. His heart races, but then he hears Barsad’s voice in his mind, calm and steady: Focus.John takes a deep breath and forces himself to center. In one fluid motion, he pivots, executing the move Barsad taught him. He drives his elbow into the man’s face with all the force he can muster. The man stumbles back, stunned, and John twists his arm off, breaking free just enough to turn and sprint for the door.He bursts through the doors and starts down the corridor.John cries out as he's suddenly tackled from behind, his body crashing to the ground with a harsh thud. He lands hard on his side, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through him. The man’s weight pins him down, crushing him into the floor, and John struggles to move.His fists fly, throwing punches in quick succession, but the man’s weight is too much. Each punch lands weakly, his movements hindered as he bucks and twists beneath the man, trying to throw him off.John’s suddenly backhanded, hard. Blinking away bursts of white from his vision, he freezes as the cold bite of a knife presses to his neck. The sharp edge grazes his skin, a trickle of warm blood beginning to run down his neck. His breath catches, his body going stiff with fear.“That’s it, just behave and be quiet,” the man hisses, groping John roughly.John closes his eyes, forcing himself to steady his breath. Every instinct screams to fight, but he knows he has to wait for the right moment.As soon as he feels the grip on his neck loosen, he seizes his chance. With quick precision, John twists the knife out of the man’s hand and quickly slashes across, catching the man’s cheek.The man pulls back in shock, before growling, “You fucking bitch!”Panic surges through John as the man lunges down on him, and all he can do is cling to the knife. His grip tightens as his body instinctively fights to protect itself. John closes his eyes and thrusts the knife up. The man’s weight presses down harder, but John doesn’t release the knife, his fingers locked around the handle as if his life depends on it.Then, a roar of agony erupts from the man. John feels a hot, wet liquid splatter across his hand and arms, the warmth spreading as it pours down. The man’s body jerks as his weight continues to fall on John.With a sudden burst of adrenaline, John pushes with all his strength, shoving the man off of him.John scrambles to his feet as the man writhes in agony, the knife sits embedded in his left shoulder, just below his collarbone. Blood is pouring down his chest.John looks down at himself. His hands are drenched in blood, dripping from his fingertips. His white shirt is ruined, the bright red blotches quickly soaking into the fabric.His mind races, panic tightening around his chest like a vice. His heart hammers in his ears as the reality sinks in. He was only protecting himself. It was self-defense, but…
He just stabbed one of Bane’s men.
What will Bane do?The thought sends a cold shiver through him, and John’s stomach turns.He can’t tear his eyes away from the man still writhing on the floor, blood pouring around him. Panic claws at his chest, but he forces himself to look away. Without a second thought, John turns and starts running down the long corridor.There’s only one thing he can do.Get Barsad. * Barsad barely hears Rafi’s comment, the men chuckling at his antics. Barsad manages a small smirk, but underneath, his patience is wearing thin.Jovan continues outlining the details of today’s patrol, and the group dives back into discussion of guard rotations for the bomb. The others were focused, debating positions and contingencies, but Barsad found his mind drifting.He can hear the voices around him—Rafi’s insistence on a stronger presence in the north, one of the others proposing a shift in the timing of the patrols—but his thoughts keep drifting.He really just wanted to go get John.Maybe he’d let him play piano for a while longer…“Barsad.” Jovan’s voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “We need to decide. North or south rotation?”Barsad shifts his gaze to the map, pointing at the north side with a quick, practiced motion. “North. We need a stronger presence there. Lock it down.”The men murmur in agreement and plan for the adjustments.Mikhail hums, “What do you want us to do on the upper east-” He’s cut short at a sudden,“Barsad”His name wasn’t loud, but at the sight of John, he may as well have screamed it.Barsad is front of him without a second thought. John’s eyes are blown wide in terror, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.“What happened?” Barsad’s voice is sharp, but edged with concern.John’s lips part as though he’s about to speak, but the words catch in his throat. He fumbles, his hands shaking as he points down the hall, his movements frantic. Then he simply grabs Barsad’s hand, tugging him to follow.Barsad doesn’t hesitate, stepping forward.Reaching the restaurant, Barsad’s eyes immediately lock onto Bader. Barsad immediately steps between him and John, a silent barrier, as he surveys the scene.Bader’s slumped heavily against the wall, stumbling over his feet. Blood soaks the front of his body as he grips the handle sticking out from his chest. His pants hang unbuttoned around his hips.Barsad turns his full attention to John and really looks at him. His cheek is reddening, likely from a hit, and there’s a thin cut on his neck. Thankfully shallow, but it doesn’t matter. It still happened.“Are you alright?” Barsad asks, firm, but gentle. John nods slowly, eyes still panicked with residual fear. * John’s voice trembles as he tries to find his words, “..H-he was…he tried…to..” His breath hitches, and a tear slips down his cheek, “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”He struggles to explain, but the fear clutches at him, making it hard to breathe.The man stumbles forward behind Barsad, “He was trying to escape!”“NO! I-I was…swear…I wasn’t Barsad-” John panics, his words rushing out in a desperate attempt to defend himself.Instantly Barsad’s eyes soften and he nods once, “I know.”The weight on John’s chest lifts and he can finally breath easier.Barsad believes him.“Don’t listen to him! He stabbed me! The fucking whore-” The man’s protest is replaced with a sickening crack. Blood splatters across his face and streaks down Barsad’s fist from the force of the punch.It doesn’t stop there. Barsad moves with chilling precision, gripping the knife’s handle and yanking it free in one smooth, violent motion. Without hesitation, he drives it back between the man’s ribs.John flinches at the sound of the knife sinking in, but he can’t look away.The man crumples to the floor with a choked gasp. Barsad stands over him, gaze icy and unwavering, his chest rising and falling with a measured calm that sends a chill down John’s spine. * The wound isn’t instantly fatal, it’s just enough to keep Bader immobilized.Barsad glances over John's shoulder, at the men who’ve gathered at the end of the hall watching silently. As Bane steps into view, they part without a sound, clearing the way for him.John follows Barsad’s gaze, his voice a scared whisper, “Bane…”Eyes lock on John immediately and Bane approaches with the force of a storm, striding over in long, deliberate steps.Once in reach, he pulls John into a protective embrace. With a careful hand, Bane lifts John’s chin, inspecting the cut on his neck.“Are you alright, Robin?”John nods hesitantly, body shaking.Bane looks at Barsad, enraged as he growls, “What happened here?” The simple question, heavy with threat, causes John to flinch visibly, his body curling into himself under Bane’s towering presence.“Bader attacked him. Tried to force himself on John,” Barsad responds.Bane’s eyes flash dangerously as he looks down on Bader. The man is now cowering, eyes wide with a mix of terror and disbelief, stuttering nonsensically.Barsad remains still as he observes Bane, watching the silent war unfold in his eyes. Torn between exacting justice himself or tending to John.Then, with a brief glance and a silent nod, Bane makes up his mind.Nothing further needed, Barsad draws his gun in one smooth motion, his aim steady and dead center.Bader’s frantic pleas cut through the tense air. “No, please, brother!-”The only thought in his mind as he pulls the trigger…
Look away John.
 * Barsad’s absence stretches for two days and John tells himself it shouldn’t bother him. But it does, more than it should.Two days since the gunshot rang out and put knots in John’s stomach he still can’t untangle.He’s always known what Barsad is, just what he’s capable of. But knowing and seeing are two very different things.The shift from protector to executioner had happened in a blink, seamless and terrifying.  John knows the kind of men they are. Hell, look at who he’s been sleeping with, John scoffs to himself.He’s seen violence before. Signed up for it when he joined the GCPD. But to just kill, point blank…It shouldn’t be different with Barsad. He’s one of them. So why does it bother John?
Because Barsad had become his safe place
John doesn’t know what to do with this ruthless version of the man he thought he was beginning to…John squeezes his eyes shut. Trying to reconcile the two versions of Barsad warring in his mind.The man who had held him close when he cried, soothing him patiently.And the man who watched another beg for his life and silenced him with a single shot.Barsad’s mercy had disappeared, replaced by the coldness of someone who wielded death in his hand. Effortlessly lethal. No remorse. As if taking a life was as natural as breathing.And maybe, for Barsad, it was.John shivers, his fingers curling into his sleeves.The worst part…he doesn’t know if he fears Barsad. Or if he fears how much he still trusts him, even now.John turns from the window as the door opens. Barsad stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable.“Do you wish to go for a walk?” Barsad asks when John doesn’t immediately meet him.John swallows, his throat tight, “Not today.”Barsad gives a stiff nod and begins to leave, before John calls out.“Wait!”Barsad stops, hand on the door. He doesn’t turn right away, just waits, his posture rigid.John hesitates. He shuffles on his feet before stepping forward to stand in front of Barsad. John bites his lips as the words tangle in his throat before he forces them out.“You killed one of your own men.”Barsad doesn’t waver for a second, “Yes.”“Just like that? You don’t even care” John’s chest tightens, anger simmering beneath his skin. He isn’t sure why.“He defied orders-”“Orders!? Someone steps out of line and that’s worth his life?” The words slip out before he can stop them. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing. John certainly isn’t mourning the man, not after what he tried to do. Maybe it isn’t even the killing that unsettles him."Yes."It’s how callous Barsad seemed about it. How little he cared. John searches Barsad’s face, hoping—maybe even begging—for something human beneath the cold pragmatism. Just a glimpse of the other man.But Barsad remains unreadable, his expression carved from stone.“That’s murder.” John says softly in disbelief.Barsad finally meets his gaze, so calm it only fuels John's frustration.“That’s discipline,” he corrects, tone devoid of apology.“That’s not a reason…” John's voice trails off, useless against the weight of Barsad’s certainty. Unable to look at him anymore, John exhales a shaky breath looking away.His gaze drops to Barsad’s hand, still gripping the door handle. The skin across his knuckles is split, the wound deep and raw. From the sheer brutality of the hit.The image of Barsad’s fist meeting bone flashes in John’s mind, but it shatters the moment Barsad speaks.“He hurt you” Barsad says quietly.The words cut through the room, through John, leaving him momentarily breathless. As soon as he looks up, Barsad is already turning away. The door clicks shut behind him, and John is left standing there, staring at the empty space where he’d been.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Bane hasn’t laid a hand on him, sexually, since the incident. No pressure, just quiet, watchful care. Made no demands of John beyond staying close. The way he made sure John had everything he could possibly need, except space. It was a strange, disconcerting kind of care.John should be grateful. Even if it’s only been a few days, it’s the longest stretch of no sex since being brought here permanently. Instead, it only leaves him more on edge.The days drag on, longer than he ever remembered, especially with Bane leaving before sunrise and only returning after dark. It’s left John alone with too much time on his hands, too much time to think. There's only so much wandering through the vacant suite and hallway a person can do before the silence becomes suffocating.It’s worse without Barsad’s presence. He hasn’t returned since…whatever that exchange was. It lingers on his mind like a wound that won’t heal.Even the smallest moments of routine have become a source of frustration. Meals arrive like clockwork, delivered by stranger after stranger.There’s nothing left to fill the empty spaces, and it leaves him yearning for a connection that he can't name, but desperately misses.That night, the quiet is finally interrupted by the soft click of the door.John gazes over at Bane from where he’s stretched out on the bed and offers a lazy smile.Bane doesn’t speak right away, just stands there, as if deciding something. Shrugging off his coat, his large hands reach into a pocket to pull out a bright orange, a vibrant color in the soft glow of the bedside lamps.John watches, brow furrowing slightly as Bane steps closer and sits down on the side of the bed.“I thought you may enjoy it,” With no further grand explanation, Bane peels the orange methodically, and the sharp scent of citrus fills the air. His fingers are sure as he separates the slices and hands the first piece to John.“Thank you,” John finally manages, his voice quieter than he expected, tinged with surprise. The tang of the orange bursts in his mouth and momentarily distracts him from everything else. It’s the first thing that’s tasted remotely like freedom in weeks.It’s so odd, the understated care in the way he hands each piece, his gaze lingering on John intently.Another slice is handed to him, and John takes it, his fingers brushing against Bane’s. John chews slowly, unsure of what to make of the calmness that has settled between them.Bane watches him as he eats, eyes unreadable, but there’s something soft behind it.When John finishes the last slice of orange, his fingers sticky from the juice, he feels the weight of Bane’s gaze still on him.“You defended yourself well against Bader.”John’s breath hitches and his heart pounds. This is it, he thinks. He’ll finally be punished.The heavy weight of dread settles in his stomach before the words actually process.“I am impressed,” Bane says after a moment, the back of his fingers caressing John’s face, “So strong you are, little bird.”John blinks, a lump forming in his throat, unsure of how to respond.There’s no anger, no criticism, no hand raised against him. All he can do is stare at the man who’s been the architect of Gotham’s misery, who broke his Batman, who uses him. The one who has destroyed everything... is proud of him? John doesn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.With Bane’s gaze still threatening to swallow him, all he can give is a shy smile. Hoping it’s enough for Bane.After a long, heavy pause, Bane encircles John's hand. His thumb strokes along the sensitive skin of John's wrist. Bane seems to study over his hand, holding it gently.“I hear you play the piano quite beautifully,” Bane says, his voice quiet and contemplative.John’s fingers flex instinctively, brows raising.“It’s just something to do,” he offers hesitantly, his mind scrambling for a way to downplay the situation, make it feel less personal. Less... revealing.Bane hums as he meets his gaze again, “You’ll have to play for me sometime.”John’s stomach drops, and for a moment, he’s paralyzed. The idea of sitting at the piano, exposed in front of Bane in that way, sharing something he sees as intimate, feels too much. Too vulnerable. Something he refuses to share.There’s no way he could let Bane into that part of him.
Not like Barsad
John shifts abruptly, slipping his hand out of Bane’s and closes the distance between them. His eyes grow heavy, a soft smile curling his lips as his hands find their way to broad shoulders, then down to Bane’s solid chest.John leans in, voice a husky whisper, hands trailing lower, “Isn’t there something better you want me to do with my hands?”The words are a challenge. A distraction he silently begs Bane to fall for. It’s far easier to offer up his body than his music.When Bane finally moves, caging him in, John lets himself sink into the rhythm.This he knows how to endure.John matches the pace as best he can, gives into Bane’s hunger. Makes the sounds he knows Bane wants to hear. Tells himself it’s all an act. A performance. A means to an end.But Bane hits perfect, "Fuck yes there" and the soft gasps, the arch of his body, are all too genuine.When it’s over, the room is thick with heat and arousal. The silence filled only by his heavy breathing and the steady rumble of Bane’s satisfaction beside him.John tries to convince himself this is a victory. * The dreams are different now. Gotham is burning.Buildings swallowed by fire, black smoke swallowing the stars. The city howls in agony—sirens, screams, the crackling of collapsing buildings. It should be satisfying. The destruction of a city rotting from the inside out.But it’s not the cleansing fire that unsettles him.It’s John.He stands in the middle of it all, untouched by the flames, his face cast in flickering light. But he’s wrong. Empty.Barsad has seen John fight, seen him glare with defiance and curse in his face. But in the dream, there’s nothing. No anger. No fear. Just a hollow stare fixed on something beyond him.In the dream, John doesn’t speak. Doesn’t fight. Doesn’t even look at him.He just stares past Barsad, through him, as if none of this, none of Barsad, matters.And that’s what wakes him.Not the fire, not the screams, but the sight of John looking at him like he’s nothing.Barsad doesn’t lose sleep, not over torture or bloodshed. He doesn’t lose sleep over killing. Never has. Killing is easy, it’s necessary. A problem solved with a bullet.But John’s reaction? That moment of raw, unguarded horror before he’d turned away… that’s what lingers. That’s what makes for long days and even longer nights. It sticks like a splinter under his skin, deep and festering.After John refused to walk with him, he thought it best to avoid him. To give John space and Barsad couldn't afford any more distractions.Barsad kept himself busy after that. Too busy. He worked the men harder than ever. No mistakes were tolerated. No leniency given. He tried to drown his thoughts in routine and orders, pushing himself to exhaustion but nothing worked.Not when it came to John. * Talia debriefs them on the incoming undercover agents, due any day now. They are to be made an example of. A warning to anyone who dares to undermine their rule.“It will be done. Barsad will gather a team,” Bane says.Barsad nods, more out of habit than necessity. The confirmation isn’t needed. The order has been given and will be carried out. Without fail.Bane doesn’t move to head out right away, body still as a statue, his eyes focused on something unseen.Talia, always attuned to his moods, tilts her head slightly. “Yes, my love?”Barsad isn’t dismissed, but he knows his place, and this moment wasn’t his to interrupt. He stands by the door, a silent guardian for the two figures in the center of the room.“I wish to keep him”Talia is, almost imperceptibly, caught off guard.Barsad, too, feels an odd stillness settle over him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare. This was a conversation he’s not meant to intrude on, has no right to. But it was impossible to ignore the weight of what had just been said.This had never been the plan. John was just a pawn to deepen Wayne’s suffering. A calculated punishment, a way to break Wayne. To be used and then left to the fire.He wasn’t supposed to become this, something Bane would keep.But somewhere along the way, something had changed. John’s no longer just an instrument of Bane's will, or Talia’s will. He’s something more, something Bane has claimed for his own.Talia’s cold demeanor fades, eyes softening and a gentle smile curls her lips. Only ever for Bane.“He makes you happy, habibi?” The words teasing, yet warm and sincere.Bane simply nods, his expression quiet but certain.This wasn’t about permission, Bane doesn’t need her approval for anything. He’s as much an equal to Talia as she was to her father. He can do as he pleases. She’d grant him anything he wanted.This was about seeking her approval, her blessing.Barsad’s chest tightens, an uncomfortable wave of emotion rising in him, but maintains an air of neutrality.Talia steps closer to Bane placing a kind hand on his arm in understanding.“Very well, my friend.” she says softly, her words accepting of the one she had used as nothing more than a tool in her game.“You may keep your treasure.”
Treasure
The word drips like honey from Talia’s lips, but to Barsad, it tastes bitter.With a light kiss on Bane’s exposed cheek, John’s fate is sealed. * Bane brings John along to another dinner with his men a few days later. There are less men this time, maybe fifteen, he hasn’t really bothered to count.Thankfully, Talia isn’t here tonight, and John finds that he can breathe just a little easier. John recognizes Mikhail on the other side of the table, but like the other men, he ignores John like he’s not there.John sits at Bane’s side once again, and, just like before, Barsad is seated next to him.But Barsad doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t acknowledge him in any way.So John doesn’t either.The meal looks simple enough. Rice and chicken topped in a thick sauce. The scent alone is overwhelming and sharp with heat.John struggles with it. The spices burn his tongue, and his stomach churns at the richness. He forces down a few bites, trying not to make his discomfort obvious.John idly pushes the food around his plate, more focused on observing than eating.Around the table, the men eat without hesitation. Conversation hums around him in low voices, words blending together in a language he still can’t grasp. Laughter comes in bursts, short and subdued, but there’s an ease to it. A familiarity. These men know each other. They belong here.John doesn’t.Bane doesn’t touch him. No heavy palm resting on his leg this time. Which is a welcome change. Bane is preoccupied, his attention focused on the men to his left, deep in conversation.Then there’s Barsad. Who remains mostly silent. He sits with a stiffness that makes it seem like he’s here, but not really present.His face is unreadable, distant, and the shadows under his eyes seem darker, as if sleep has eluded him. His hand is now wrapped in gauze, hiding the split skin from view. The subtle tension that used to crackle when they were close seems gone now, replaced by a cold distance that John shouldn’t hate. He should want a barrier, something to distinguish them as enemies.He should feel something sharp, something defined like anger or resentment. Fear or hatred. Hatred would be easier. That would make sense.Instead, there's a comforting calm that wraps around him every time his eyes drift toward Barsad. A confusing ache in his chest as though, despite everything, he’s relieved to have the man near.A few men rise from their seats, disappearing for a moment before returning with second helpings.John keeps trying to psych himself up to finish, telling himself it’s not that bad and he does need to eat. But every bite seems heavier than the last.The conversation shifts among them. Not exactly serious, but more of a discussion now. Barsad speaks when needed, his voice low and clipped, offering only what’s necessary. He seems more involved now, though there’s still a distance to him, as if his mind is only half in the room.The voices drone on around him as he entertains himself dragging grains of rice into random patterns on his plate. His stomach feels tight, and his thoughts are far from the meal in front of him.John’s attention is drawn to Barsad getting up with his now empty plate. He keeps his eyes down, fighting the ridiculous urge to watch Barsad walk away. It doesn’t matter that he’s leaving. John doesn’t care.Only a moment later, his plate is abruptly taken from in front of him. He barely has time to process the movement before it’s replaced with a new one. Plain rice and chicken, absent of any sauce.John’s eyes flicker over to Barsad who, without a word, sits back down. The man still doesn’t acknowledge him, not even a quick glance. He just simply begins to eat from the plate John had barely touched.The action was so smooth and subtle, no one else at the table seems to notice.But for John, it’s caused more confusion that makes his heart beat quicker. Which is absurd, he tell himself, it’s just food. Just a gesture.Except it’s not.It’s something more. A silent, but deliberate act of care that he wants to ignore, but can’t.John bites the inside of his cheek to hold back whatever impulse is threatening to surface. Whether it’s the urge to ask why, to say thank you, or to just smile, he doesn’t know.Instead, he tightens his grip on his fork and takes a bite. The food is easier to stomach now. But it has very little to do with the meal in front of him and everything to do with the man beside him. * A few of the men had left to retire for the night, the others inviting Barsad for a game of poker and drinks in one of the lounge rooms. He agreed, more for a distraction than actual interest. It’s not like he’ll be sleeping any time soon anyway. Not with brown eyes haunting him.The lounge was thick with smoke and laughter, the edges of the dim lighting softened by the haze of cigar smoke and the scent of liquor. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, one that even the alcohol couldn’t quite dull. The jokes felt forced to his ears, the camaraderie empty.One of the men slapped his cards down on the table with a laugh, a little too loud for Barsad’s taste. “Your turn, Barsad. Play or fold.”Barsad didn’t bother looking at his cards. “I’m in,” he muttered, tossing a few chips into the center of the table.The game continued on with banter and teasing jabs that Barsad didn’t hear. Cards were shuffled and dealt that Barsad didn’t see.Rafi’s loud laugh cut through the noise before he picked up an empty bottle. "Damnit," he said, exaggerating his disappointment. "Hassan finished the last of it. You fucker"Barsad folds and volunteers to grab another bottle from the stash in the dining hall.Inside Bane and John remain, slow to return to their suite. Barsad freezes in the doorway, the bottle he’d come to retrieve momentarily forgotten.He couldn’t hear the conversation, the low rumble of Bane’s voice was nothing but a steady hum, too far to decipher. But he didn’t need to hear it. He could see everything he needed in John’s face.
I wish to keep him
His usual sultry confidence, that could charm anyone, was gone. In its place was something brittle, on the edge of shattering. His lips twitched into a brief smile, but it was thin and hollow, like paper stretched too thin. And his eyes...Those lovely eyes gave everything away. Fear, exhaustion, and something deeper: resignation.Bane’s hand moved slowly, his fingers brushing against John’s cheek with a tenderness that felt at odds with the man’s sheer brutality. John didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Just sat there, his face carefully blank except for the slight quiver of his lower lip. Slowly, painfully, he gives a small nod.
I wish to keep him
Barsad swallows hard, even from where he stands he can see the faint sheen of unshed tears glazing John’s eyes.The hand on John’s face slides down to his arm and helps him to stand. Bane says something, his voice low and almost soothing. John nods again, mechanically, like a puppet with its strings pulled too tight and he tries to hide his pain through a small laugh.It was enough for Bane as he pulls John into an embrace.Gone was the fake smile John wears for him. There was no mask now, just fear and quiet desperation. And when John’s gaze flickered past Bane’s shoulder, meeting Barsad’s, that desperation only deepened.His eyes searched Barsad’s, as if begging for something Barsad knew he couldn’t give.A plea that Barsad couldn’t answer.All he could do was stare back, helpless and aching.The moment stretched too long, every beat hammering into Barsad’s chest, until he finally forced himself to look away. His hand tightened around the closest bottle on the counter, knuckles white, and without another glance, he turned and exited the room in silence.
I wish to keep him
 
*
 Barsad stands outside Bane’s suite for a long moment before pushing the door open. His orders were simple: take John to his home to gather whatever he wished to bring with him.But the second Barsad stepped inside, he knew nothing about this would be simple.John paces the room like an animal trapped in a cage. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed, hands shaking by his sides. When John finally notices him, the words spill out in a rush, his voice jagged with panic."I can't do this. I'm leaving. I have to find Gordon—""John-""NO! I can't stay with him Barsad, I can't stay here!" John snaps before trying to rush past him. Barsad blocks the door, then gently blocks the fist John throws. But John doesn’t stop.Every punch is fueled by a desperate need to break free and Barsad lets him lash out, allowing some of the blows to land, the others he deflects easily.He lets another solid fist connect with his chest, before gently catching John’s wrist.“John stop-”“Let me GO!” John tore his arm free and shoved at Barsad’s chest, though there was no force behind it. It wasn’t a fight, it was anguish. “Please, Barsad. Please don’t make me do this.”This time John makes to reach for his rifle and Barsad wraps him in a hold. Firm, but not to hurt."LET GO! You have to let me go Barsad, take me home…please" John gasps, his voice breaking, the words a mess of frustration. "I just need to—"John’s body shudders, his limbs thrashing weakly, fighting against the hold. Then suddenly he goes weak, fists grabbing Barsad’s shirt. John buries his head into his shoulder and sobs. His body trembling uncontrollably.“I can’t breathe…Barsad…”“Yes, you can.” Barsad replies calmly, “Breathe.”“No..I..I…” John’s words break off.“Breathe with me John,” Barsad murmurs, voice low and steady. His hand gently rubs small circles on John’s back, offering him comfort in the only way he can, “I have you.”Barsad isn’t sure how long they stay like that, John clinging to him, his breaths hitching, each one shaky but slowly growing more stable. The sobs gradually fade, leaving only the sound of labored breaths between them.“What do I do? I…can’t stay with him... Barsad. I can’t,” John admits, his voice cracking.There’s nothing Barsad can do or say. This isn’t something he can fix or make right.All can do is let John hold onto him as long as he needs and lie.“It’ll be alright. Just breathe.”John tightens his grip and Barsad keeps soothing his hands over John’s back.“I have you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The ride to his apartment is silent, broken only by the occasional hiccup from John. The streets are empty, devoid of any life. There’s no pedestrians, no traffic backing up the roads. Buildings, once alive with noise and activity, now stand silent, their windows dark or boarded up.The sky is thick with heavy clouds, casting a muted gray hue over everything. The midday sun diffused and weak, offering no warmth, just a bleak glow that reflects off the snow covered pavement. The cold air bites at his skin instantly when Barsad opens the car door and patiently waits for John to exit. He tugs his coat tighter around his body, bracing against the wind as he steps out of the warmth of the car.John nods his thanks, giving Barsad a brief glance before heading toward the entrance, the crunch of snow beneath him the only sound breaking the eerie quiet of the street.The temperature inside mirrors the freezing conditions outside. John shivers lightly as they make their way up the staircase, only John's footsteps sounding in the silence. His apartment is just as cold as the rest of the complex. John flips the light switch a few times out of habit, knowing full well the power is out.Barsad steps in behind him, silent as ever. Neither of them bother to close the door. What’s the point? The building seems to have been abandoned. If anything does happen, if there is a threat, Barsad would protect them.
Protect John
John stops by the dining table, dragging a finger across the surface. A thin layer of dust clings to his fingertip, which he rubs away absently between his thumb and forefinger.“How long do I have?” Bane didn’t specify when they were to return.“Take your time,” Barsad replies, his gaze fixed elsewhere. His stance is stiff and alert. More a sentinel than a man trying to offer comfort.Without another word, he heads to his bedroom, the duffel bag slung over his shoulder landing on the bed with a soft thud. He sits down next to it, the mattress sinking under his weight, and stares at the wall in front of him.This is it. His last time in this apartment. His last time on his own bed.It should feel more significant. It should hurt.But all he feels is numb.He’s already exhausted all his emotions. The weight of everything drained out of him, cried out in Barsad's arms.He lays back, his body stretching out across the cold sheets. The chill from the fabric sinks through his clothes, seeping into his skin. He stares at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity, lost in the silence of the room.With a deep, reluctant sigh he pulls himself up and moves slowly around the room.The duffel bag feels too small for what he needs to carry, but then, what can you pack for the end?Slowly, he begins sorting through his things, his movements unhurried. He picks out a few clothes, folding them neatly before tucking them into the bag.His eyes drift to the dresser, landing on the frame that’s been gathering dust for far too long.The picture of him and Gordon. He’s taking it this time.When he’s done packing, John moves through the apartment, stepping into the bathroom and even the small closet. He lets his eyes linger on every detail, committing each corner of his little home to memory.The cracks in the paint, the scuffed floorboards near the door, the nail holes he never patched.His fingers trail along the wall as he walks, tracing the imperfect texture beneath his touch. A silent farewell.Barsad is right where John left him, perfectly positioned in line with the door.John tosses his bag onto the coffee table and begins moving through the apartment, his gaze lingering on every corner and every surface. The smallest details suddenly feel important.The faded chair in the corner that he’s spent countless mornings in. The chipped mug by the sink.As he walks, he notices that nothing is out of place. Every cheap decoration is exactly where it’s always been, every corner untouched. The kitchen shelves are still stocked with the staples he always kept—cans of soup, boxes of pasta, coffee that’s probably gone stale by now.There’s almost no part of Gotham that hasn’t been ravaged or ransacked in some way. Yet his apartment, for whatever reason, has been spared. A small, untouched fragment in a city that’s falling apart.Was it because of Bane? An act of control, ensuring nothing interfered with what belonged to him?Or was it Barsad? Perhaps silently ensuring that this small piece of John’s life remained intact.John spots a bottle of bourbon tucked away in one of the cabinets, nearly full. He vaguely remembers taking one shot from it, a long time ago, and never touching it again. Though the reason why escapes him now.After a beat of thought, he shrugs. What the hell? He deserves it. Grabbing two glasses, he wipes them clean and takes the bottle.John makes himself comfortable on the couch and pours until both glasses are half full. Or half empty. John’s not sure what kind of outlook he has anymore.“Have a drink with me?”Barsad looks at him, but doesn’t budge.“Please?”After a pause, Barsad moves to sit beside him, setting his rifle aside. He leaves a noticeable gap between them. The distance feels deliberate, but not cold. Just giving John space.Barsad sits stiff and awkward as John pushes the glass into his hand. John brings his up to toast.“Well here’s to…”Toast to what exactly? The total destruction of his home? The murder of 12 million people? Or maybe the start of whatever the hell this new life is… being Bane’s possession, Bane’s lover.
Fuck
“To the League of Shadows,” It’s bitter and he knows it.Barsad knows it as he shifts slightly, rolling the glass uncomfortably between his hands.“John-”“No, no. I mean it…” John swallows tightly. Barsad makes no move to toast his glass. John sighs heavily and lowers it to his lap. He watches the liquid swirl around in circles. He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. He finally looks at Barsad and raises his glass, quirking a small smile.“Cheers”There’s an uncomfortable pause, but finally Barsad meets his halfhearted motion. Their glasses clink together softly, the sound sharp and final in the silence of the room.One swallow and John suddenly remembers why he’s only had one drink. It burns in all the wrong ways and leaves an acrid aftertaste. Even Barsad seems unimpressed.“Sorry, it’s not very good, is it?” John lightly coughs, staring distastefully at the caramel liquid.“No.”The blunt honesty is so unexpected, so perfectly dry, that John bursts out laughing. It’s sudden and genuine, breaking through the tension in the room. Barsad watches him for a moment, slightly taken aback before his expression softens followed by his not quite a smile, but not a smirk. John likes it.“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. It was a gift from one of the guys from the academy last Christmas. I guess he didn’t like me.” John smiles and forces down another swallow. It’s still alcohol after all and it's already starting to chase away the cold that's settled in his bones.“I can’t imagine…” Barsad starts quietly before he stops himself and finishes his drink in one shot.John watches him, a flicker of something stirring inside him. He wants to ask him what he was going to say, to push him to open up, but the words die on his tongue. Instead, he shifts in his seat, focusing on his own glass.They sit in the quiet, the air between them thick as John slowly finishes his drink. He silently offers a refill, but Barsad declines with a subtle shake of his head. John sets it aside with a soft clink along with his glass, Barsad following suit.Before Barsad can pull his hand back, John catches it, eyes staring at the blood steadily seeping through the bandage.“Hang on, wait here,” John says quickly, his voice edged with concern. Like Barsad would go anywhere.John moves quickly, finding his small first aid kit in the bathroom cabinet before hurrying back. He settles on the coffee table directly in front of Barsad, setting the kit down beside him. Without a word, he pulls out fresh gauze, some antibiotic cream, and a roll of clean bandages.Reaching out, he takes Barsad’s hand without asking, his fingers firm but careful. Barsad doesn’t pull away, doesn’t fight him, just watches silently as John begins to undo the bloodied bandages. John doesn’t know why he’s doing this.Maybe it’s just a way to repay the kindness Barsad has shown him.John’s focus sharpens as he works, peeling back the stained wrappings and revealing the angry, open cut beneath. He carefully wipes away the dried and fresh blood, cleaning around the edges of the wound with care.He knows it’s a waste of time and effort to be gentle with Barsad. Someone so strong, so capable. He doesn’t need it, but John does it anyway.John squeezes a small amount of ointment onto his fingers, flinching at the coldness of it and gently spreads it over the wound, his movements slow and deliberate. Next, he grabs the gauze and starts wrapping it around Barsad’s hand.The gauze for the cut.The cut Barsad received beating John’s attacker.Because Barsad was protecting him.He hurt you Maybe he's overthinking it, wishing for something that isn't really there, but...When he finishes wrapping the bandage and ensures it’s secure, he hesitates. His thumb brushes over the back of Barsad’s hand as if testing something. Then he takes a chance… and doesn’t let go.John cradles Barsad’s hand lightly between his own, his thumbs moving in slow, gentle circles over the back of it. The skin isn’t tough, but it's been roughened by the dry winter air. He focuses on the motion, soothing over every scar as if it’s second nature.John’s breathes shallowly as he waits for Barsad to pull away or question him. But it never comes.Barsad doesn’t move. He doesn’t stop him.So John continues touching.He’s felt Barsad’s hands plenty of times, but this was different. Truly feeling.John takes his time, his fingers moving deliberately as he explores every detail. He brushes over each callous, his touch soft against the rough patches that told stories of a hard life. He traces the lines on Barsad’s palm, following their patterns like a map. Slowly, his fingertips glide up along Barsad's palm, over the bandage, skimming the edges where the fabric meets skin. He reaches the tips of Barsad’s fingers, then gently traces back down again.John peers up and finds Barsad staring at their hands. His eyes are hooded, his gaze heavy and unreadable. Barsad’s breathing is slightly uneven, not the usual calm, controlled rhythm that John’s come to expect from him.John’s not sure when they leaned closer together, knees brushing against each other. They’re close enough that John can see every detail of Barsad’s face: the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the tension in his jaw. And his eyes. They’re impossibly blue, especially in the soft, gray haze of the winter light that filters through the windows. John’s gaze drifts lower, settling on Barsad’s beard, dark and neatly trimmed.Did Barsad grow it back because of John? For John? It could be a coincidence, sure, but...He shivers lightly remembering the feel of his stubble brushing against his skin when they’d spar. Fleeting, accidental touches that lingered longer in his thoughts than they should have. Just this morning, the rough scrape of it against his cheek while Barsad held him.
What would it feel like…
The question sends a wave of heat through him, and John swallows thickly,“Barsad,” he whispers quietly.Barsad looks up, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John’s heart is thundering in his chest.“If I asked you to kiss me... would you?”Barsad’s jaw clenches. His gaze shifts to John’s lips, and for one agonizing second, John lets himself hope.John can’t help himself from slowly beginning to lean in to close the distance-“No.”Barsad’s answer is just as quiet as John’s question was, but it’s a resounding slap to the face.John’s stomach drops. He can feel the weight of the rejection crashing down on him, and for a moment, he wishes he could just disappear. He hates how much it hurts.Had he completely misread Barsad?John is so mortified he thinks he could cry. Thankfully he doesn’t any feel tears.“I’m sorry, I just, uh...” John stammers, his voice cracking slightly as he clears his throat. He feels his face burning and hates how awkward he sounds. “I just thought... maybe... you thought I was attractive.”The moment the words leave his mouth, John regrets them. It feels like the dumbest thing he could’ve said, like he’s laid his insecurities out for Barsad to see, so painfully vulnerable.He should’ve blamed it on the bourbon.Barsad’s eyes sharpen suddenly, his focus narrowing entirely on John.The weight of it is almost unbearable, and John can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. He’s sure his cheeks are flushed, the heat creeping all the way to his ears. The intensity of Barsad’s gaze makes his skin prickle.John starts to pull his hands back, retreating into the safety of distance, but before he can, Barsad’s grip tightens slightly.It’s subtle, but firm enough to stop John in his tracks. * The rational voice in the back of his mind had been telling him to pull away.That this, whatever this is, needs to end immediately. John’s touch had already blurred the lines, already pushed him too close to something Barsad had no business wanting.Yet, Barsad felt frozen. Anchored to the hold John had on his hand. The voice grew quieter with each gentle stroke of skin. With every moment Barsad allowed himself to feel.It took every ounce of willpower that Barsad had to say no.It doesn't matter how many times he dreamed...Or how badly he wanted…He just can’t…Barsad’s jaw tightens. He should have left it at 'no'. He should have let John pull away, should have let the moment pass and slip through his fingers.But fuck, John’s expression. He looks so small and unsure, completely stripped of the self assured confidence of ‘Robin’. That flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders seemed to cave in.Maybe it's the liquor dulling his common sense, blurring the boundary that should exist between them.Or maybe it's John’s eyes. Those deep, endless brown eyes, fixed on him with an intensity that made Barsad feel like he was more than he’d ever thought he could be.
Attractive? John should never doubt-
Barsad knows he shouldn’t, but the words slip out anyway.“I think you’re beautiful.” he whispers, low and rough.John’s lips part in a silent gasp. Surprise and disbelief make way for a vulnerability that cuts into Barsad like a blade.For a moment, neither of them move. It feels like the world was holding its breath as they balanced on the edge of something truly dangerous.It’s John that leans in first to softly press his lips against Barsad’s. Nothing more than a whisper of contact. So light and fleeting it could almost be nothing.But it’s everything.It’s enough for the world to disappear, leaving just the two of them in John’s cold apartment. All that remains is the quiet hum of their shared breath, the space between them that feels too small, yet too vast all at once.Barsad’s hand rises slowly, hesitantly, before brushing a stray lock of hair from John’s face. His fingers trail over the skin, almost worshipping, before cupping his cheek. John’s eyes flutter at the touch and he leans into the warmth of his palm.He doesn’t know who moves first after that, but theirs lips meet again.Then again.And again.Every touch is so gentle and tender, far too delicate for the storm building between them.Far too soft for the man Barsad had been shaped to be. A weapon, a soldier, a shadow. But it feels right. Because it’s everything John deserves.John deserves to be kissed like this. Like he’s more than a momentary need or temptation. Like he’s something worth being lingered over.Barsad knows, he knows, he shouldn’t be the one to give him this-reckless, dangerous- but right now, he doesn’t care. All he wants is for John to feel wanted. Cherished. Desired.Even if Barsad wanted to stop, he can't. Not when John seems to want him as much as Barsad needs him.Not with John leaning into it, into him, so willingly. Trusting. Breathless. * John doesn’t know exactly what he expected. Perhaps just the brief brush of lips before Barsad would pull away and they'd pretend it didn't happen.Or maybe something frantic and desperate. Just a collision of want, raw and untamed. The kind of kiss that takes everything at once, wild and consuming.He wasn't expecting this.Knowing how kind and gentle Barsad can be these past few months, it shouldn’t surprise John that he would kiss him like this. He should have known that the man capable of such quiet care would approach him like this, with a tenderness that almost feels…reverent.Yet, John’s heart is hammering and his breath falters feeling lost in the sensations.He doesn’t know that he’s ever been kissed like this. As if he’s savoring John.Every kiss, nip, gentle bite and suck feels purposeful. So full of intention, like Barsad is committing every detail to memory. Barsad treats him like a puzzle he’s determined to solve. Trying to understand what exactly makes John gasp and his body tremble. Each touch feels like Barsad is searching for a way to make this last, to make it mean something deeper.There's no rush for it to end, but there’s an urgency. A quiet hunger underneath, deep and undeniable. It feels like they’re both still holding back, afraid to end it too soon.
Even though they both know it should have never started.
Only when John feels the first brush of Barsad’s tongue against his does a soft moan finally escape him. It’s quickly swallowed up as Barsad deepens the kiss, his tongue taking control with a slow, steady intensity that sends shivers straight down John's spine.John reaches for Barsad’s wrist, gripping tight over the hand still holding his face so tenderly. Holding John close without the slightest trace of force. Only quiet, unspoken devotion.Their hands still nestled between them lace together, fingers intertwining tightly. As if they were always meant to fit this way. * Everything else fades away. Nothing else matters. Only this moment.There’s no city or cause. No past that haunts or future that threatens. No danger or consequences.Just this.A slow burn igniting into a raging fire. A battle between holding back and giving everything. One where neither of them stands a chance.They've already surrendered.It’s enough to feel each other’s heat, to taste the ache of each other’s longing, to swallow every breath and sound. Each touch, every caress of lips, a desperate promise they both know they shouldn’t make, yet neither of them can find the strength to pull away.It’s as if the world has turned its back, giving them permission to stay right here, just like this. To release everything they’ve held back, until nothing remains but the undeniable yearning between them. They fall into each other without hesitation, consumed by the hunger they’ve both tried to deny.So lost in each other, so entirely and hopelessly entwined, they’ve fallen blind to the eyes watching from the doorway.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Moya koroleva”

“Follow them”

“Of course”

“Remain unseen”

“Understood... What exactly am I looking for?”

....

“If it’s what I fear, you’ll know”
 
*
 Barsad’s skills were unmatched. Feared by enemies, respected by allies. As one of the League’s deadliest assassins, he moved with a lethal precision, that few could ever hope to rival.It was his exceptional abilities that lead to his rise as Bane’s right hand. A position earned through bloodshed, relentless discipline, and countless battles fought side by side. Every scar, every sacrifice, every victory had forged his path, making him Bane’s most trusted commander.He didn’t need to speak to command respect. He didn’t need to act to show his dominance.Barsad was, in every sense, a living weapon. And the only thing more dangerous than his ability to kill was his ability to think, to always be one step ahead of everyone around him.Outside of Bane, or Talia herself, Mikhail is the only one of her men that stood a chance of remaining invisible to Barsad.In over eleven years of service, he had yet to achieve that feat, despite Barsad himself having trained him in the art of stealth.This wasn’t just a matter of slipping past a guard or twenty; it was a matter of outwitting a man who was a master of shadows.But Mikhail would always give his all.He’d been told to follow. Nothing more. No explanations. Just an order, and Mikhail always followed orders, without question.But that hasn’t stopped his mind from reeling the entire time, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to find, but nothing seemed to make sense.Is she worried about the Commissioner trying a rescue attempt on the boy? If so, Barsad is more than capable of handling it on his own. Besides she would have simply instructed him to go along as back up if that were the case.Then what?The thought crosses his mind that perhaps she suspects Barsad of treason. It’s a fleeting notion, but one that unsettles him. Barsad is the most loyal, unwavering steadfast follower of their cause through every trial, every battle. Mikhail feels a sting of shame for even entertaining such an idea.Barsad would never. The doubt lingers for a moment before he forcefully pushes it from his mind.Over thirty minutes at his post on the opposite rooftop had yielded nothing of suspicion so far.Mikhail watches through the half-drawn blinds, his eyes narrowing as the boy moves through the apartment slowly. Mikhail’s unsure of what he’s doing—he's already packed his bag and now he seems to be aimlessly wandering, lacking any real purpose.Meanwhile, Barsad remains still, in a fixed position. He seems to stare blankly at nothing in particular throughout the apartment, but Mikhail knows better than to think that means he’s unaware. Barsad is always aware.  His posture is calm and composed, like a predator at rest.Minutes drag on in an endless stretch, his grip on the binoculars tightens, but still, nothing happens. The boy continues to move around at random and Barsad remains locked in his quiet vigilance.Mikhail eventually scales down from his perch and stays hidden in the shadows. He could have been anywhere. He could have been assigned to any part of the city, watching any target. But no—he's here. Watching Barsad and the boy, and for what? The longer he waits, the more frustrated he becomes, unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to witness. The silence stretches into another ten minutes, then twenty. They have yet to emerge from inside and the streets remain empty.Growing restless, Mikhail decides it’s time to move in. He slips into the lobby, his mind set, though he knows all too well that Barsad’s senses are sharper than most.Still he climbs the stairs with confidence in his abilities, each step measured and silent. At the top, he glances down the hall and notices the apartment door left open.He’s certain Barsad already knows he’s there, but he presses on, cautiously approaching the opening. Everything seems eerily quiet.There are no voices, no movement, no sounds at all to suggest life behind the walls.He pauses for a moment, his senses sharpened as he listens intently for any shuffling sound, footsteps, whispers, anything that might give him a clue. With nothing, but silence for an answer, he slowly steps into the entryway.Mikhail halts suddenly as the realization hits him like a punch to the gut.Just why Talia sent him.Mikhail watches in shock, and dread, as they kiss.How long? How long had this been happening? And why?Every part of him screams to move, to confront them, to demand answers. He should stop this, stop them. He has to stop this. He should storm in and make them face reality.But instead, he just watches, paralyzed by the sight before him. Anger and confusion choke him, as he searches for some kind of explanation, a reason, a justification.What is Barsad thinking?Every man in the League knows the boy belongs to Bane. No one, no one, was allowed to touch him. An unspoken rule that became violently clear when Bader made his fatal mistake. Drunk or not, he let lust cloud his judgement and he paid the ultimate price for it.For fuck’s sake, Barsad pulled the trigger.And yet here he is in direct defiance of everything they’ve lived by.Mikhail’s focus snaps back to the present as the boy moans softly and their kiss deepens. A moment goes by as he notices this isn’t the rushed, desperate kiss of two people looking for a quick fuck. This isn’t just solely for physical pleasure.He couldn’t even say the kiss is even sexual, but... sensual. Passionate.Perhaps more unsettling is that they’re so lost in each other, Barsad has yet to notice they aren’t alone.The Barsad he’s known for years, the one with razor-sharp instincts who could detect a threat across a mile, would have already been waiting, prepared. Gun drawn, target locked and neutralized before it even fully emerged.Instead he’s wholly consumed by the boy.The kiss begins to drag into something slower as they start gasping for breath between each touch. Mikhail steels himself, waiting for the inevitable moment they realize they’ve been caught. But it doesn't happen.Eyes remain closed, their foreheads pressed together, as they stay locked in a quiet, intimate moment, noses brushing softly against each other. The boy’s chest rises and falls in rapid breaths, his body shivering as Barsad moves lower, trailing delicate kisses along his chin and down his jaw.The boy’s fingers curl into Barsad’s shirt, trying to pull him closer, and with a breathless whisper of “Barsad,” they melt back into another kiss, as if nothing else in the world exists.Mikhail watches for a moment longer, the weight of the situation settling on him, before slipping away as quietly as he arrived. At the bottom of the staircase, he halts, trying to process the scene that’s now burned into his mind.Just what the hell is he supposed to do now?His allegiance to Talia tells him he’s to report this immediately, without hesitation. She had sent him here for a reason and, no doubt, this is what she feared. Their most loyal, most trusted man in the League, daring to touch what belongs to Bane.Mikhail’s mind races with the possibilities and he wonders...Would it be a simple demotion, a punishment that could leave Barsad disgraced but alive?Or would they go further, excommunicating him, stripping him of his rank and casting for him out for betrayal?Or, more grimly, would Bane go so far as to kill him? In his wrath, Bane may decide that death is the only suitable punishment for Barsad’s transgression.Mikhail knows he should leave now, stop wasting time, yet…He considers Barsad to be his closest brother. The man had dragged him from the brink of death more times than Mikhail cared to count. It was a debt Mikhail could never fully repay, but tried to by swearing his unspoken loyalty.It was a bond forged through true brotherhood. One deeper and more personal than any vow he had taken to Talia, or even to Ra’s al Ghul himself. And that, in and of itself, was treason. To put one man above the League was a betrayal of everything they stood for.He stands frozen, caught between the man who saved his life and the leaders he vowed never to betray.But should he not tell, when Talia founds out and she will, he’ll be right there with Barsad just as guilty. There would be no forgiveness, no understanding. He would be branded a traitor alongside his brother.Mikhail wars inside himself for several minutes what to do. All the while they were upstairs, likely still embraced. Completely unaware of the consequences that have been set in motion.He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair and down his face in frustration. His fingers graze over his scar. A permanent reminder of his certain death. Proof of a life owed.To Barsad.With that, Mikhail resolves that the least he can do is give Barsad a chance to correct his mistake.Quietly, he moves toward the front door, turning the handle and opening it. He lets it close on its own, the faint creak almost undetectable, but sounds a stark contrast to the silence that had settled.Taking a deep breath, Mikhail starts back up the stairs, letting his boots sound deliberately against the steps.Reaching the top, he pauses for a moment trying to calm nerves that he’s not accustomed to feeling before finding his voice.“Yo, Barsad?”Mikhail approaches the opening, rapping his knuckles three times in faux politeness along the wall, and strides in casually.Barsad is back to standing his post between the kitchen and living area. His face remains neutral, seemingly relaxed, but Mikhail catches the strain in his eyes, the way his grip is just a bit too tight around his rifle.  The boy is fumbling with a medical kit, before he gathers up a bottle and glasses and darts between them to the kitchen and back.Mikhail allows his gaze to drift over the scene as if nothing is amiss."Was passing through on patrol and saw you were here. Need any help?" Mikhail’s voice is casual, but his eyes never leave Barsad. Barsad’s reaction is subtle, his jaw tightens for a brief moment before giving a steady shake of his head. Anyone else would have overlooked it, but Mikhail picks up on it easily."I-I’m done," the boy stammers, his voice betraying his nerves as he grabs his bag, gaze fixed on the floor. His cheeks are flushed, but Mikhail chooses to ignore it."Ah, good, good. Mind if I ride back with you?" Mikhail asks smoothly, as he glances back at Barsad. Out of the corner of his vision, he catches the boy glance over at Barsad with a fleeting look of uncertainty.Barsad nods once. It’s all Mikhail’s getting for a yes.They make their way out of the apartment, Mikhail trailing behind them. He couldn’t help but notice how Barsad moves with a quiet, careful attention, holding the door open for the boy.Barsad takes his bag with a gentle touch, opening the car door for him, then places a hand lightly on his lower back as he climbs into the backseat. The small gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Mikhail, who knew full well that if he hadn’t been tagging along, Barsad would have gladly let the boy ride up front with him.Mikhail feigns busying himself with adjusting his gear while Barsad and John exchange a silent glance, one that speaks volumes despite the lack of words. The boy looks utterly terrified, his eyes wide with fear. Barsad, in contrast, seems composed, but the tension is visible.The door shuts and Barsad steps forward. Mikhail watches as Barsad’s jaw clenches, and for the briefest of moments, his grip on his rifle tightens.“Is everything alright, brother?” Mikhail asks, his voice calm but carrying an underlying weight. This moment is crucial—the choice Barsad must make now will define everything. Mikhail isn’t even sure if he wants Barsad to tell the truth or not.There’s a subtle pause. Barely noticeable, but enough to make Mikhail’s chest tighten. Barsad never hesitates. He’s always certain, always in control.The brief moment of hesitation hangs in the air before Barsad responds with a tight, “Yes, fine.”Mikhail notices the strain in his voice, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he gives him a way out. He relaxes his stance and offers a smile, as genuine as he can muster in the situation."Want me to drive?" Mikhail offers casually.Barsad loosens his grip on his rifle and shifts his posture, easing slightly.“No, I’ll drive,” Barsad replies, his voice steady but guarded.The ride back is heavy with silence. Mikhail attempted to fill the space with idle chatter, nothing of any real substance, just noise. But Barsad's responses had been short, almost robotic with no effort to engage further. So Mikhail let's the words die out, does his best to act that everything is normal even though the tension in the air is suffocating. The boy in the back is practically trembling, his fear palpable, while Barsad’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that his knuckles have gone white.When they’re two blocks from the hotel, Mikhail asks to be dropped off, citing the need to double check on the guards. Barsad doesn’t question, just slows the car and lets him out without a word. He watches as the vehicle pulls away before quickly slipping into an alley, moving swiftly as he heads back to the hotel on foot.He probably could've gotten away with telling Talia that Barsad had detected his presence and that he went along to avoid raising any questions. She knows how true that's always been.But still, to be safe, Mikhail feels it's better if she doesn’t see them riding back together. The last thing they need is more fuel for Talia's suspicions.As he runs a steady pace, his mind goes back to how quickly Barsad had gone to the boy’s rescue when he was attacked. The look on his face when they saw him covered in blood.Fear.Mikhail had never seen that in Barsad before. The man had always been a pillar of stoic composure, someone who faced every danger with a calm that bordered on indifference.It all makes sense now. The way Barsad had been more ruthless than ever when taking Bader down. His actions weren’t merely about defending Bane's interests, as he’d done countless times before.No, this was deeper. Barsad had grown far too protective of the boy.Mikhail moves quietly into the shadows, keeping his eyes trained on them as they pull into the hotel. They step out of the car, Barsad once again taking the boy’s bag. There’s a brief touch to the boy’s lower back as Barsad guides him up to the entrance before pulling hand away. So swift and subtle, no one else on guard notices.No one else sees what Mikhail sees. They don’t know what he knows.They disappear from view through the hotel doors, and Mikhail is left standing in the shadows, a gnawing unease twisting his insides. His mind races, but the only thought that echoes through his head is the same haunting question.
Barsad, my brother, what have you done?

* He lied.To Talia al Ghul.There was no going back now. When the truth comes out, it will be ugly.Mikhail steadily walks away from the office, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on him. He had given his report with a calmness he didn’t feel.Talia had remained silent, sharp eyes faltering. He knew she was questioning herself. Wondering if she had suspected wrong, placing such mistrust in Barsad.A painful knot begins to form in his stomach. Talia was not a woman who took betrayal lightly. She did not suffer fools, nor did she tolerate lies. She’ll have Mikhail’s head when this is over, he knows it.Mikhail stands at the end of the hallway, his eyes locked on Barsad as he speaks with some of the men, issuing orders and preparing them for the next few days. He must have already escorted the boy back to Bane’s suite. Other men were coming and going, busy preparing for the evening’s feast.The others exchanged congratulations, hands clasping shoulders, though only a few dared extend the brotherly gestures to Barsad.Had Mikhail not witnessed their kiss, he might have missed the cracks in Barsad’s composure.Every word of praise seems more a burden than a compliment as Barsad’s stiff posture betrays his discomfort. With each remark, Barsad grows more distant, retreating under the weight of a secret he shouldn’t have. * Later that night, the hotel is alive with the sounds of celebration.Laughter bounces off the walls, glasses chime in rhythm with the chatter, and voices rise with frenetic joy, as the men revel in their triumph. The air is thick with the taste of success, an intoxicating pride that coats the entire building as Gotham’s impending fall draws near.Mikhail moves through the crowd, maintaining his facade, but his attention keeps returning to Barsad. It’s subtle, the way Mikhail's eyes dart over, checking in on him. Barsad tries to blend into the revelry, to mask the unease that flickers just beneath the surface, but Mikhail can see it.The set tension in his shoulders, fingers flexing restlessly, jaw working against unspoken words.The restaurant’s volume grows louder, but Barsad remains withdrawn. He’s not fully immersed in the conversation with the other officers at his table. His focus is splintered, and it's not on the men in front of him, but on Bane and his boy just a few feet away.Through the throngs of men, Mikhail catches glimpses of Bane leaned back into the plush sofa, the boy pressed close against his side.The boy barely looks up at the chaos around him, not meeting anyone’s eyes for long. He’d smile politely and respond to Bane when appropriate, but he’s clearly not at ease. Bane’s hand had rested heavily on his thigh since they sat down, a possessive weight that didn’t let up as the evening wore on.Mikhail caught Barsad’s eyes darting away several times, snapping back quickly as if catching himself. The same pattern—eyes flitting from the scene before him, then reaching for another shot of vodka.It’s easy to read the guilt and, something else, in his brother’s eyes. Plainly obvious to Mikhail, but thankfully unnoticed by the others.He was relieved Talia wasn't here tonight, her presence as Miranda needed elsewhere. If she were to see this... everything would be different.Mikhail slams Rafi’s hand back onto the table, forcing a victorious laugh with the others as they watch him struggle to take another shot. The room erupts in deafening cheers when Rafi’s chair tilts backward, crashing loudly to the floor.He raises his glass in a mock salute and downs his shot. Waving off a new challenger, his attention drifts as the others drag Rafi away. Likely to throw him in the pool to further their amusement. Slowly, the crowd begins to thin, the noise dissipating as the men spill into different corners of the hotel.The remaining men consists mostly of the higher-ranking officers. They settle into a quieter rhythm, sharing more companionable drinks and passing cards between hands.Jovan waves him over, and Mikhail drops into the chair beside Barsad with a heavy thud. Alderic tops off all of their drinks as they raise a toast.“Santé!”Everyone downs their shots in one swift motion. Except Barsad. He slowly lifts his glass to his lips, taking only a sip, his attention elsewhere.As the others remain engrossed in talking to each other, Mikhail follows his gaze to Bane speaking with his boy. He looks visibly uncomfortable before he shakes his head no, with a forced smile. But with a soft push, Bane gently encourages him to rise. The boy hesitates, eyes darting around the room as he seems to stumble over excuses to stay. Bane simply waves him away with a kind hand. Reluctantly, the boy obeys and walks toward the piano as Bane’s eyes follow him intently.Slowly he gets adjusted and begins playing. The notes are tentative at first, as if he’s not willing. But as the song progresses, his hesitation fades, and he finds his rhythm, losing himself in the music. His focus sharpens on his hands, and for the first time in the evening, he seems completely absorbed.If anyone has an issue with the boy playing, they know better than to say a word.In fact, the room seems to shift around him. The other men continue to drink and play poker, but the noise softens. Conversations hush to a murmur, the laughter dying down to light chuckles. A few simply nurse their drinks and watch in mild interest. Mikhail doesn’t know much about music, but he knows enough to recognize that the boy’s playing is captivating.Mikhail’s eyes flicker to Bane, still watching with something heavy and intense.The next song starts slow, a soft, melancholic melody that gradually swells. Tinged with something almost sorrowful. It's as if the boy’s fingers are weaving a story, one that lingers, leaving an ache behind with each passing chord.Mikhail looks over to Barsad.Who seems completely mesmerized.His eyes are almost glazed over as he's completely fixated on the boy. His hand remains loosely wrapped around his glass of liquor, the drink untouched and forgotten. The hardened exterior that always defined him has vanished, leaving behind a raw vulnerability that Mikhail hadn’t known Barsad was capable ofMikhail shifts uncomfortably and leans back in his seat. He feels like he's trying to burn a hole in the side of Barsad's head as he silently wills him to look away.There are too many eyes in the room. Too many witnesses, even just at their own table, that could notice.And Bane is right there. Should he catch Barsad staring like that…
Please, brother, you’re playing with fire
The melody shifts again. A new story being told and casting a spell over the room. It's heavy with an almost heartbreaking longing, as if calling out. Reaching for something… yearning for someone.Mikhail’s gaze shifts to the piano, catching the boy’s eyes just as he looks up, peering from beneath his lashes.Barsad, motionless, yet wound tight, exhales slowly, a slight tremor in his breath. His fingers tighten around his glass absently, and he doesn't look away.Neither does the boy.Mikhail feels his pulse in his throat.
Fuck
His hand twitches toward his pistol—not out of intent, but instinct. Not because there’s an enemy here, but because this is dangerous.At any moment, anyone could see the way Barsad looks at him. It’s too soft, too intense, to be dismissed. It’s not the hungry glance of someone chasing a desire, nor the possessive, predatory stare of a man claiming what he thinks is his.It’s something far more damning.Just when it feels like the tension could crush the entire room, the song fades out to completion. The boy is the first to break away from Barsad’s gaze, drawing in a steadying breath as he composes himself. Then, as if reminding himself of where he is—who he’s supposed to be looking at—he smooths the uncertainty from his features and shifts his focus back to Bane.Mikhail is relieved to find Bane’s attention still fixed on the boy, no questions in his gaze. Instead, Bane watches the boy with something startlingly close to wonder, eyes soft, as if genuinely awed by the beauty of what he’s just witnessed. It’s an open admiration, so sincere it almost feels misplaced.Bane remains blissfully ignorant of the silent exchange between his lieutenant and his boy.With the boy returning to Bane’s side and Barsad, blessedly turning his attention back to the table and drink, Mikhail lets out a quiet breath of relief; though it tastes sour in his mouth.The night carries on.Voices grow louder, easy laughter rings out. More drinks are poured, and cards are shuffled endlessly in games that never seem to tire. Eventually, Bane stands, his boy at his side. They leave without much fanfare, slipping out of the room, leaving a trail of whispers in their wake. Barsad stays behind for a while. A faraway look in his eyes as he drinks more than he probably should and folds his hand easily, the cards not holding his attention. Then he too calls it a night, retreating into the shadows with barely a word.For now, the secret between the three of them remains buried and untouched.But Mikhail knows how fragile it is, how close they are to the edge. He hopes, with everything in him, that they don’t make the same mistake twice.Because if they do, Mikhail is certain he won’t be able to protect them again. And that thought is a darkness that sits heavy in his gut, long after the last echo of laughter fades away.