“Is there a reason why you are wearing my clothes?” Bane asks, setting his duffle bag on the entryway floor.
Blake’s perched on the couch amidst a warzone of paperwork, legs curled up underneath him. Bane’s oversized shirt hangs off his small frame, and Bane gets a tantalizing peak of milky white collarbone as Blake leans over the coffee table. This view of Blake is…disconcerting. A warmth blooms in the pit of Bane’s stomach and he hears, feels, a possessive whisper in the back of his mind.
Bane touches his mask and breathes deep, letting the medication fog over his mind and drive the primal voice back.
“We’re going out tonight, remember?” Blake says, glancing up momentarily from his papers.
“No,” Bane says slowly. He steps up behind Blake and reaches out to rub the shirt between his fingers. “This is the shirt I wore yesterday.”
Blake sits back and crosses his arms, staring up at Bane with one raised eyebrow. His position is defensive, but his neck is stretched and laid bare, and the mixed signals cause an agitation Bane can’t quite put a name to, an itch just under his skin.
“Well, it was this or me rollin’ around in your bed all day,” Blake says, and shrugs. “But I kinda had stuff I wanted to do out here.”
The image that creates hits like lightning—pale smooth skin and dark hair writhing across cheap cotton, sliding, twisting, sweat and heat and—and Bane snatches his hand away like he’s been shocked. The wolf inside howls, scratches at the surface to break free. His heart starts pounding, his skin feels tight, the wolf—the wolf wants to hunt.
“Are you purposefully trying to ire me?” Bane says, voice timbered low, reverberating through the mask like a mechanical growl.
“Hey, you asked me to help you learn control. Which you seemed to have forgotten or just don’t give a fuck, go figure. You know I’ve been waiting for nearly three hours?” Blake climbs to his feet and picks up a backpack from where it leans against the couch. “So you really want to do this or not? Let me know now before I waste my whole night.”
“I meant what I said,” Bane glowers and tries to stare Blake down. “I don’t see what that has to do with us going out.”
“Well, were not letting your wolf out in here. I know it’s kinda cheap, but I do like my furniture.” Blake matches him eye to eye, and Bane is the first one to blink, take a step back.
“You want me to let it out? The full moon won’t be upon us for another two weeks.”
“Like hell I’m letting him near me on the full moon,” Blake says. “You need to learn control while he’s still fairly tame.”
The wolf paces, full of wound up energy at Blake’s words. Bane feels it like a rolling pitch in his stomach, a tightness in his chest that burns like acid. It does not feel tame. The wolf is nothing but pure, unfiltered wildness. “You are foolish, John Blake,” he says.
Blake barks a laugh. “No, I’m the expert. Now come on, Fido, before I lose my patience.”
John can feel the tension rolling off of Bane like rattling train tracks across his skin. It smells sharp and spicy, a slight burn that makes his nose twitch. This must be killing Bane, giving up control for any amount of time. The man has more precision in his pinky than a Swiss watch. Even the fact that John is the one driving is sure to piss him off, and while John usually gives up the wheel—despite the fact that it’s his car—tonight Bane needs to know that John’s the one calling the shots.
Because if Bane believes it, then it would be easier to convince the wolf as well.
John’s not an idiot. The wolf inside Bane is dangerous—hell, the man himself almost killed John three times—made even more so after being drugged and locked away for so long. Just looking at the mask make John’s insides churn as he remembers the one time Bruce asked him to try the suppressant. It had almost sent him into cardiac arrest, and he’d been a ‘sodden mess’ for days after, as Alfred had put it, bouncing between lethargy, rage and a feeling of betrayal that he couldn’t calm. John may be different than other werewolves in a lot of ways, but he’s pretty sure Bane’s wolf must feel the same.
When John turns onto a winding private road Bane’s head comes up. “This is Wayne manor,” Bane says.
It wasn’t a question, but John answers anyway. “Yeah. I spent a lot of time here as a kid, and Bruce lets me have free run of the grounds whenever I want. Better than traumatizing high schoolers out for nookie down at Midway park.”
“Bruce Wayne knows what you are and still tolerates your presence at his home?” Bane raises his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “It still amazes me that you aren’t dead yet.”
John wrinkles his nose. “What does that mean? You know everyone loves me, right? I’m so fucking lovable it’s ridiculous. It’s like Lassie on steroids.” It hits him that Bane probably doesn’t even know who Lassie is, considering where the guy grew up.
“Bruce Wayne was trained by the League,” Bane says, easily dismissing the rest of John’s words.
“You’re monster hunting club?” John looks at him, incredulous. “No way, Bruce is awesome. We’ve been buddies for years, I think I’d know if he was some sort of vigilante hunter like you.”
Bane shakes his head and mutters something in Arabic, which John can instantly translate as why the hell am I hanging with this idiot? seeing that’s his typical response to just about everything John says.
He pulls off onto the side of the road and drives a ways in, where the wildlife is thin enough for them to walk through without too much issue in the dark, but they won’t have to worry about being stumbled on. The brisk fall air sends goosebumps up John’s arms when he steps out of the car, the scent of earth—deep, sweet and velvety—caught on the wind, and warmth stirs in his belly. He feels invigorated, and even Bane’s sour tinge of anxiety doesn’t dampen his mood.
“You wish for us to do this here? Are you mad?” Bane asks from the car. “I was expecting a cage at the least.”
“Your wolf’s been caged up too long,” John says. He rubs his hands over Bane’s shirt, pressing it against his skin, and shivers at the friction. His whole body thrums with anticipation to be set free, to let all the worries of day to day life shift to the background as instinct takes over.
“For a reason,” Bane growls.
“Come here, Bane,” John says, voice firm. Bane’s hackles rise, and they stare each other down for a long minute before Bane finally kicks open the door and steps out. He has a head of height on John and twice the muscle, and every inch of him oozes Alpha, even in his human form. It takes every ounce of concentration John has to hold his gaze, to fight the urge to bare his teeth—or bare his neck. He’s never kidded himself on being dominant, despite never having met another like him until Bane, and Bane isn’t the kind of guy to bow his head to anyone.
But if John is one thing, it’s stubborn.
“Clothes off,” John commands. “Now.”
Bane snarls, and suddenly John is struggling, feet kicking the air as he’s wrestled around and his back slams into the side of the car so hard the air goes out of him.
“Do not order me around,” Bane says, his words distorted and rough. The heat of his body crushing John’s is almost painful in comparison to the chill air. The grate of the muzzle burns his skin, unnaturally cold, as Bane presses it into his neck—a threatening gesture even without teeth.
“Your wolf is gonna come out tonight,” John says, not a request, just a statement. Even if they didn’t want to, at this point there was probably no stopping it, if Bane’s behavior is anything to go by. “If I’m going to go romping through the woods with him, I need to put some precautions in place.”
Bane’s chest heaves against him as he struggles to get his breathing under control. John’s always hated Bane’s mask, but right now he’s grateful that Bane doesn’t have his senses, can’t smell and taste the cloying fear rolling off of John—it would send him over the edge. Slowly, the fingers cutting into his arms let go and Bane takes a step back.
Moving with care so he doesn’t startle him, John reaches out and tugs on Bane’s jacket. “Clothes off.”
Bane doesn’t fight this time as John strips him of his jacket and shirt, and then Bane steps farther away to remove his boots and pants. Bane is huge, even without the bulk of his clothes, his body solid muscle that comes with hard work and harder living. His movements are slow, defeated, as he comes back to the car. There’s probably a better way to try and break Bane in, get him used to the wolf, to the idea of letting loose. John feels a rush of guilt for pushing the man like this, but that instinctual part of him preens at the victory as he senses the big alpha’s yield.
Bane folds his clothes and brushes against John to set them on the seat. John reaches out and runs his fingers against Bane’s mask, skin catching on the iron teeth locked in a permanent snarl. “This too,” John says.
The look Bane shoots him is so full of fury and trepidation John nearly takes a step back. It’s good he doesn’t, because Bane’s eyes have already turned near silver, reflecting the light from the car dome like two frigid moons. The wolf if slipping out, even with the suppressant, and if John gives ground now he might not stand any chance of controlling that beast.
Bane makes no move to remove the mask, but he doesn’t try to stop John when he reaches up and undoes the straps. The mask pulls away with a hiss, and the acrid smell of the gas makes John’s stomach turn. He sets it on top of Bane’s clothes, steps back to take off his own. Bane straightens and turns to watch him, and John sees his face for the first time and freezes.
Bane is beautiful.
He’d always imagined Bane would look as wild and vicious as the mask that hid him. But instead there’s startlingly delicate features framed by a strong jaw—a sinfully full mouth, plush and red, split by large scars that run from the center of his face and across his left cheek, no doubt a gift from his werewolf sire. And his eyes, god those eyes, no longer framed by thick metal and leather, are deep and piercing, long eyelashes catching the light like threads of gold. He looks young and vulnerable, two things he’s never associated with Bane before.
John shakes his head and comes back to himself as he strips of his shirt. Normally he would shuck his clothes as fast as possible, letting them fall with disregard despite Alfred’s annoyed protests, but he takes his time and folds his clothes, not wanting to startle Bane. He takes his wristbands off last, hates exposing the bracelets of marred flesh that loop around each wrist, but Bane probably won’t notice them right now. Small shivers course through the big man’s body, and it’s probably only due in part to the cold.
Standing there naked with Bane’s intense stare on him, John doesn’t feel so sure anymore that this is a good idea. He reaches forward and Bane flinches, but doesn’t move away. He runs his hands up and down Bane’s chest and arms, trying to sooth away his shakes.
“So—“ John’s voice cracks. He swallows and tries again. “I need to get my scent on you. If your wolf can smell me on you, and you on me, I’m hoping it’ll see me as pack and not an intruder.”
When Bane doesn’t respond John steps forward, presses against him skin to skin. There’s sweat on both of them, anticipation and anxiety seeping from their pores. Underneath, Bane’s scent is rich, a heady earth tone that burns like whisky, balanced by a sweetness that reminds him of rushing water. John feels almost drunk in it, and has to hold his breath for a second to clear his head.
“Blake,” Bane grates out, and his voice sounds so different without the mask, more human, even as his register drops into something deep and feral. And how much worse does this have to be for Bane, without the drugs to dampen his senses to human levels?
“It’s okay,” John breathes out, and let’s instinct take over. He leans in and licks a long strip from the hollow of Bane’s throat to his jaw. Flinching, Bane tries to step away, and John grips him by the arms to hold him in place. Not that he’d really be able to stop Bane if he wanted, so he takes is as a good sign when he doesn’t fight back. “It’s just scent, remember? I’ve got your scent, too. Means were pack right now.”
Bane’s chest heaves as he breathes in, and then his nose presses into John’s neck. His tongue flicks out to tastes, and then he sets his teeth against John’s skin, right above his pulse point. It takes all of John’s self-control to hold still, while his insides clench with the need to fight back. This is too vulnerable, too trusting with a near feral wolf close enough to rip out his jugular.
The touch is suddenly gone as Bane rears back and falls against the car. Underneath John’s fingers his muscles start to spasm. Bane lets out a guttural moan as his knees give out and his whole body trembles.
“Listen Bane, don’t fight it. You’re probably not gonna have any control over the wolf right now, so let it run free for a while. Let instincts take over,” John says.
Bane’s body twists, spine arching and joints creaking as the change hits him. A horrible sound wrenches from his throat, not human or animal, but so thick with agony that John whimper is sympathy. The rearranging of Bane’s body is slow, horrific, his limbs stretching, shrinking, convulsing out and reigning back in, as if his body doesn’t know what form to take. It should be quick and relatively painless, but Bane’s told John that during the full moon his body would twist into a half mutated form, unable to complete the change thanks to the suppressant.
Now it’s as if his body doesn’t remember how to move past this point, stuck in limbo between his two selves. How many years has it been since the wolf was allowed to roam free?
Bane’s cries of pain are too much, and John feels helpless like this, words of guidance completely useless. So he lets his human flesh drop away and gives himself over to the wolf. His own muscles cramp up, a moment of pain so intense he isn’t sure he can stand it, which quickly gives way to a stretch, a snap, and then he drops to all four paws with a rush of release, heady with endorphins.
Everything is so intense like this, raw and immediate. All his thoughts go to Bane, to easing his pain. He rubs up against the mutilated form, licks the sweat from his face. Maybe with John’s scent, seeing how he’s supposed to be, his body will remember how to push forward. Bane snarls and tries to shoulder John away, but John lays down and crawls forward until he can nuzzle against Bane’s chest.
It seems to work. Bane’s shift hits him hard, and he lurches forward as everything settles into place and his fur sprouts. He half collapses on top of John, and John wriggles free and starts cleaning Bane’s face.
Even as a wolf Bane is huge, nearly twice John’s size. He resembles a gray, stocky and square faced, his thick fur a mix of white, greys, tans and blacks that’ll let him blend easily into the underbrush. John himself looks more like a red wolf, his tawny coat, large ears and sleek build easily has him mistaken for a fox or coyote at a glance—he’d been shot at more than once the times he strayed from Wayne’s property.
Panting, eyes half lidded, Bane let’s John continue his ministration for a few minutes. As his breathing slows he starts squirming, and finally growls and snaps at John. John growl’s back and nips Bane’s nose, a light scolding. Bane leans back and blinks at him in surprise, the same way he had in human form when John told them he wanted to let the wolf out. With a quick lick to show he isn’t angry, John hops to his feet and wags his tail. Slowly, Bane gets up on shaky legs, and stumbles when he tries to walk. John steps towards him but Bane lunges. His claws rip deep into the tree right behind John as he ducks out of the way, splintered wood raining down on his head. He only has a moment to stare at the damage—the amount of power behind that blow would’ve ripped John’s face off—before Bane swipes at him again. John bolts, heart hammering. When Bane rushes again it’s only his clumsiness that sends him barreling into the rear of the car instead of taking down John. The trunk crunches and buckles under the force. Bane staggers back in a daze, growling as the turns his eyes back on John.
Oh god, John understands now why werewolves are so dangerous, why they GCPD has a shoot to kill order next to their name. There’s so much brutality and speed compacted into that body, more than John’s ever had, more than he’ll ever be able to take on. If the wolf is this violent, if it’s truly feral, then John will have to…No, John doesn’t want to even consider it. Bane may be confused and angry, but he’s not feral.
John dashes into the woods as Bane comes up snarling. Bane’s wolf is in control, but John believes—John knows—that the wolf and the man are one and the same, two halves of a coin. What little he may know of Bane, one that he’s sure of is the man’s need for order, control, despite the chaotic nature of his life.
John’s never had a problem slipping into different roles when the need arises—being the hothead on the force, Jim and Alfred little boy at home, Ross’ wingman, Bruce’s friend, being man or being wolf, all of them are parts of him.
And John…doesn’t know if he can be what Bane needs, but he promised to try. He puts more space between them and lowers himself to the ground. Hackles raised, Bane advances towards him and John rolls over to expose his belly.
Jim and Alfred always said he had good intuition, he hopes that pays off now.
Bane freezes, ears flattening then flicking forward, like he can’t decide if he’s curious or angry still. He stalks forward with teeth bared, nudges John with a massive paw. The weight of his claws nearly has John pissing himself. He chuffs out a breath but manages not to move otherwise. Bane starts to smell him, still wary, his nose moving from John’s belly to his crotch, to backside. A cold nose touches him and John kicks out involuntarily, making Bane growl in warning—and Jesus, those teeth are way too close to his balls. Bane sniffs his way back up John’s body, and he wraps his teeth around his neck, canines digging in deep, and John whines quietly and tucks his tail between his legs. Bane shakes him hard and John yelps, dragging across the ground like a giant chew toy and John tries to stay as limp as possible. The whiplash if he survives this will be hell in the morning. The shaking finally stops and Bane climbs over him—mounts him, Jesus.
Bane growls deep in his chest, the sensation vibrating into John’s bones. They stay like that for what seems like minutes, until Bane finally seems satisfied. The growling stops, his grip loosens and he gnaws at John’s neck and face, a much more affectionate.
Thank God it worked. The fear melts away instantly, because in this skin John’s never been able to hold onto old emotions. He nips playfully at Bane and lets out a happy whine. Bane whine’s back in return, and takes to cleaning John’s fur of the dirt and leaves from his rough handling, holding him down with a paw when John wiggles too much. like this, it’s almost feels like they’re pack. They are pack, John reminds himself, breathing in his scent on Bane. The thought is too exciting, and he whines and yips and thumps his tail heavy on the grounds.
It’s not that Jim and Alfred are lacking, they’re the best parents John could hope for, but as a wolf he’s always been alone. Alfred’s never been one for affection in either form, and rubbing up against him, leaving patches of fur on his pants, would get him a weary look in return. While Jim was the one to give hugs, the arm over the shoulder that he needed as a kid, he had an even harder time with John’s wolf than Alfred. Maybe it’s because he’d seen the kind of horrors a werewolf could cause, or maybe he sees it as a reminder of his failure to protect John’s parents, protect John himself, but either way he can’t touch John’s wolf, although he never denied him his need to run on all fours.
This, the feel of fur and warmth, strong muscles weighing him down, foliage all around, makes something well up inside him. He feels whole.
John wriggles out from under Bane and whines, wags his tail, and tries to get the big wolf to follow him farther onto the woods. Bane’s still wobbly on his feet, but he makes an effort to keep up. He occasionally snaps and growls at John in warning when he thinks he’s getting too out of hand, but it never moves into that realm of violence, and it doesn’t deter John.
He’s going to teach this grumpy old wolf how to have fun.
They make it back to the car just as the sky bleeds pink with the impending sunrise, still damp from the stream they ran through, and their bellies full from the rabbits they hunted. Bane’s movements gained confidence throughout the night, and he now moves with a grace as if he was born to this skin. The past hour Bane had taken less interest in their surroundings, instead turning his attention to John. He liked to barrel into him and roll him over before nuzzling into his neck, or occasionally mounting him until John got bored and shrugged him off.
He’s still at it, shouldering John in an attempt to get him to the ground. John nips at him to stop, then shifts, letting his human skin settle back into place. He shivers from the rush of endorphins and the cold air on his skin.
Bane jumps back from John and growls. Sighing, John flops down on his back and stretches tired and well worked muscles. Modesty hasn’t settled in yet, so he doesn’t bother with his clothes and stays that way while Bane gets brave enough to saunter over and scent him. Recognizing his smell, Bane starts up again with his mouthing and pawing. It scrapes uncomfortably and raises red marks on John’s skin though, and he shoves at Bane.
“Alright, that’s enough playing for tonight. It’s time to head home,” John says, sitting up. Bane butts his head up against John’s shoulder and he scratches his scruff.
The shift happens then, with Bane pressed up against him, and John mutters encouragement and strokes his hands down fur, then skin. It’s still painfully slow, but unlike the first time this transition goes smoothly and doesn’t seem nearly as painful. With a heavy sigh, Bane settles back into his skin and sags against John’s side.
“All in all, I don’t think that went too bad for the first night,” John says.
He shifts to get to his feet when Bane grips his arms hard and holds him in place. A growl rumbles out of Bane’s chest and his teeth nick John’s collarbone.
“Bane—“ John grunts as nails sink into his skin. “Come on, stop!”
Just like most of the night, Bane doesn’t listen. He uses his weight advantage to press John back onto the ground, pinning him with his body. Being smothered is not something John enjoys. He sinks his fingers into the moss and clover and takes low, deep breaths to keep from fighting.
The wolf is clearly still in control, at least in part. This isn’t something John thought could happen without some sort of change taking place. But Bane is fully human—even his eyes are back to their stormy blue. Still, John tries to tackle this the same way as earlier, and wills his body to submit to Bane’s scrutiny.
Bane nuzzles back against John’s neck and shifts his hip against John’s thigh. Something hot and hard digs into the crease of his groin and John bucks involuntarily. Oh hell, is that…Bane makes an approving noise in the back of his throat and grinds down. Yup, Bane’s definitely getting hard. Fingers skirt across John’s ribs, down his flank and hip before curling to sink into the back of his thigh. A low moan slips from John’s lips and his dick twitches.
It’s an entirely inappropriate response under the circumstances. Not that he hasn’t imagined doing this with Bane—had spent way too many nights fantasizing about the large man while thrusting into his own fist, if he’s being honest. The current swelling of John’s erection is probably conditioning at this point, because he is scared out of his fucking mind. As Bane thrusts his hips, John’s breath stutters—and, okay, maybe he’s just fucking out of his mind. Because he wants—wants—
“Hold up a sec,” John says, pushing on Bane’s chest.
Bane bares his teeth in response, the scars pull and make the snarl even more menacing. Before he can give himself a chance to think John leans forward and presses a kiss to Bane’s mouth, sloppy as hell as he gets a mouthful of teeth and an upper lip. The mouth under his relaxes, and John kisses him properly. He explores those plush lips, tongues over the scars in reverence, before sucking Bane’s lower lip into his mouth, nips hard, then gently licks over it to sooth the sting away. Bane hums and tries to push John down away, and John pulls away. Bane tenses up again.
“We’re not stopping,” John assures, pressing another quick kiss to the side of his mouth. “But I can’t do it like this. You need to get some control back, alright? I just gotta get some stuff out of the car.”
Bane doesn’t move from where he hovers over him, and John wants to stare him down, make him listen. Instead he sighs and tilts his head back and bares his neck. “Please Bane, just wait a sec.”
Bane leans back on his heels, arms resting on his thighs as he watches John. It’s so Bane, a crouch he falls into all the time, and John’s a little relieved at the very human gesture.
John crawls the few feet back to the car and tugs his backpack out from the rear seat. There’s a taser in the side pocket, and the gun he always keeps locked under the passenger seat. If he wanted it would be easy enough to incapacitate Bane—that’s why he brought the taser to begin with—but he doesn’t want to hurt him either. He unzips the front pocket and pulls out a pack of condoms and small tube of lube.
One thing he wasn’t planning on tonight was sex, but Alfred had once left a pile of foil packets on his bed when he was getting ready for a date and told him, ”I don’t always expect you to make smart decisions, Robin, but I do expect you to not make stupid ones.”
John’s learned there are things you don’t argue with Alfred about.
He makes his way back over to Bane, and his breath comes out shaky as he lowers himself onto the soft groundcover. This could quite possibly be the dumbest thing he’s ever done, which is saying a lot since he just tussled with an angry werewolf earlier tonight. Bane’s eyes track John, but he doesn’t make any move towards him, barely even moves at all. If not for the half-hard cock still hanging between Bane’s legs John would think he’d lost interest.
The snap of the cap echoes loudly in the open air. Keeping his eyes locked with bane, John slicks up his fingers and reaches between his thighs. He can feel the blush raising in his face, feeling oddly exposed, and not just because he was doing this outside. Most of his romps—which, lately, have been very few—took place in darkened hotel rooms after a good dose of beer. The sun is rising and Bane can see everything now. He’s not used to being on display, with having so much attention focused solely on him, and nothing to take the edge off but the bite of cold air and fear.
And John’s wires must be crossed, because the fear is only amping up his arousal.
The first touch of cold lube to his opening makes him suck in a breath. He slips his middle finger inside and he’s forgotten how weird the feeling is of having something in him. The feeling quickly turns into pleasure as his body relaxes, and he adds another finger, the stretch causing a light burn.
Bane seems mesmerized by John’s pumping fingers, and he grows fully hard from just watching. John lets his legs fall farther apart and Bane lets out a heavy breath. And Jesus, the guy is huge. Even if Bane has enough control to be gentle this is going to leave him sore—and Bane doesn’t seem like the gentle type even on a good day.
“Bane,” John says, and reaches his free hand out to him.
Bane’s there in the blink of an eye, and John’s always found it scary how fast the guy can move despite all his bulk. The fingers of one hand sink painfully into John’s hip as the other snakes into his hair, pulling John’s head back to bare his neck. Bane licks long strokes from collarbone to behind his ear, and John shivers from the sensation, the dichotomy of warm tongue and cooling saliva causing his brain to short out for a second.
He comes back to himself when Bane shifts one knee under John’s thigh, trying to roll him into his side.
“Not yet,” John says.
John yelps as Bane bites down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sinking his teeth in hard enough to leave bruises. The fingers in his hair tighten painfully, and Bane’s breathes heavily into John’s skin as he whimpers—fucking whimpers—and starts trembling.
John has no idea how hard this has to be for Bane, what it must truly feel like. For John it’s always been running on a higher level of instincts, his senses, perceptions, and emotions shifting slightly with his wolf’s body. Bane’s always spoken of the wolf as an intruder. Is he, right now, fighting down the wolf to keep it from hurting John?
The thought makes it hard to breath. John shushes him gently, runs his free hand down Bane’s neck and kisses his forehead as he slips a third finger inside himself. “You’re doing so good, Love. Almost there,” he says.
Bane shudders and pulls his teeth out of John’s skin, laps at it soothingly with his tongue. John cups Bane’s cheek and tilts his head up until they can kiss. It’s messy, desperate, mostly tongue and teeth as Bane nips and licks into John’s mouth. He tries to slow it down but Bane’s too far gone, so he gives in and makes it as dirty as possible, sucking on Bane’s tongue and biting back when Bane withdraws to catch his breath. It should be the worst kiss John’s ever had, but the racing of his heart and the painful swelling on his cock says otherwise.
He slips his fingers free from himself and wraps them around them around Bane’s shaft. He bucks and shouts as John gives it a pull and slicks him up.
“Blake,” Bane gasps, and leans his head on John’s shoulder to rut into his hand.
John rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth and shifts a bit so he can roll it over Bane’s length, slick it up with a fresh squirt of lube.
Things happen too fast after that. An arm snakes around John’s back and he’s being flipped over, manhandled onto his hands and knees. Bane’s heavy weight stretches across his back, skin fever hot and slick with sweat. John struggles to hold up both their weight as Bane uses his free hand to grip one of John’s cheeks and spreads him wide. The head of Bane’s cock feels like a bludgeon against his hole, and John know he isn’t prepped enough for this, hasn’t done this in so long, and he yells as Bane snaps his hips forward and his head forces it’s way in through the ring of muscle. Bane doesn’t slow down, continues in one long slide until he’s buried to the hilt, thighs pressed flush against his own.
John can’t breathe. It feels like all the air’s been pushed out of his lungs to make room for Bane’s huge member inside him. The burn is so far on the side of pain that he can’t even feel the pleasure, and he feels stupid, so stupid, because when Bane starts to fuck this is going to be hell.
When he can finally breath again it comes in the form of a sob, and his whole body starts to tremble. The hand on his ass drops to the ground and takes some of the weight off his back. Bane’s forehead drops to the back of his neck, and he holds completely still until John’s shaking comes down.
“John,” Bane breathes into his skin, and John isn’t sure if it’s an apology, or plea, or supplication. There’s a tenderness in that single word that John’s never heard from Bane before, and it makes something in John stir, a need he’s never allowed himself to entertain.
He shoves the thought away and feels a new sort of panic rising in his chest.
“Move,” John says.
Bane’s restrain crumbles, and he pulls out and snaps in hard. John grits his teeth and focuses on breathing, trying to will his body to relax. The pace is relentless, but John needs the movement to give the thrumming tension in his body somewhere to go, and somewhere along the way from too much to I can’t take any more his body lets go, and he reaches the knife’s edge bliss of pain and pleasure.
The burn and chaff inside turns into a heat low in his belly. John shifts his hips, and when Bane slides in he hits something deep inside that sends a jolt straight to John’s dick. A few more slides against his prostate and John’s flagging erection makes a startling comeback, leaving him dizzy.
He gets lost in the rhythm, the slap of skin again skin, grunts and moans, like their own orchestra of pleasure. And God he wants this to continue forever, wants to drown in the fever of their skin, and the heady scent of sweat and pre-come, the feeling of Bane all around him, inside him, taking him apart.
At the same time the tension is building and his balls are drawing up tight. A wave of desperation washes over him. He keens in his throat and pushes back to meet Bane’s thrust, driving his cock even deeper until he thinks he really will split open. Bane growls in approval and bites down in John’s shoulder, and the pain sends another shock to John’s dick. His arms give out and he drops to his elbows, Riding the brutal blows that slip him across the ground, crushed moss and clover filling the air.
He’s never been able to come from penetration alone, but he’s hit the point right before, his whole body tensing, heat swarming through his belly and thighs, and he cries out, wanting to topple over the edge so bad and hopelessly holding on for a few moments more.
“Bane, I can’t—“ John sobs, trying to get a hand underneath himself. Bane’s hips stutter to a stop at his cry and John shakes his head frantically. “Don’t stop! God, please, I need more. Please don’t leave me like this, please—“
Bane’s hips snap forward, fast and erratic, rutting John like a wild animal. Isn’t he? Aren’t we? John thinks frantically, and he’s never felt so lost between worlds as he is now where they’re bleeding together. John collapses, face and chest crushed into the grounds, only his hips held up by Bane’s large arm wrapped around him. He finally gets a hand between his legs and he wraps his cock in a tight grip. All it takes is one, two sharp tugs and he’s coming, eyes squeezed shut, but all he can see is white as pleasure rushes through him like a flashflood, spurts on in thick streams across his fingers, and leaves him trembling and drenched in sweat.
Bane follows right on his heels, snarling into john’s shoulders and sinking his teeth in as his body stutters, goes taught, and John feels the twitch and pulse inside his ass. Bane’s arm gives out and he lands on John. They both oomph, but neither of them have the strength to move.
John drifts in a haze of lose limbs and aches, feelings strangely comforted by Bane’s crushing weight. He’s too high on his orgasm to think about anything except the contentment of his body. It’s like being the wolf, the simplicity of the moment being all he needs. Later, he’ll question what he’s done, what he’s felt, what he wants and probably can’t have. But right now he closes his eyes and drifts with the feeling of his alpha all around him, still inside him.
Bane sits in the passenger seat of the car with the door open, playing with a length of cord while he watches Blake slowly come awake. The small man blinks groggily and rubs his face, then looks down at the large sheepskin coat Bane had draped over him. He lifts the corner and peers down at himself with a grimace.
“Probably not the greatest idea to fall asleep in my own spunk,” Blake mumbles.
“You had are great number of ideas ideas last night, most of them questionable, and yet that is one you choose to focus on?” Bane asks.
Blake’s head snaps towards him, and his face turns red. “Oh…I take it you remember last night, then?”
Bane tilts his head. “It depends.”
“What moment of last night you are asking about.”
Blake groans into his hands, then looks up at the sky as if in prayer. “Can’t you ever give a straight answer?”
“Specificity, Blake,” Bane says. “If you want a certain answer than you are asking the wrong kinds of questions.”
Glowering, Blake climbs to his feet and wraps the coat around himself, and Bane doesn’t miss the hitch in his step. Guilt, a feeling Bane is not that accustomed to, sits heavy in his chest. Blake goes to the back door and turns his back to Bane as he drops the coat and starts to dress. Funny, this need for modesty considering he has already seen every bare inch of that lean frame. More than just seen it, he has touched it, tasted it, been inside...Bane stares down at the braided rope and realizes he’s missed three steps already. He unravels it and starts over.
Finished dressing, Blake shuts the door and leans on the car. He’s close enough that Bane can smell the lingering sent of sex and animal on him. It makes something stir under his skin, a want, a feeling of possessiveness. He considers taking a few deep breaths of medication, but realizes that the wolf isn’t causing it, lies slumbering somewhere in the back of his mind deeply sated.
Blake holds out Bane’s coat, and scratches the back of his head as he stares off into the trees with an uncomfortable look in his face. Bane stares at the coat with a raised eyebrow, and after a few seconds Blake finally looks at him and drops his arm. “Right. I’ll get it cleaned for you,” he sighs.
Good, because Bane isn’t sure he could wear it, coated in Blake’s scent as it was, without his body reacting in inappropriate ways. Also, it was filthy.
Blake makes his way around the car and drops into the driver’s seat, tossing the coat into the back.
“And I will pay for the costs to repair your vehicle,” Bane says. “I assume that was my doing.”
“Huh? Oh that,” Blake says, peaking in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just tell my insurance company I ran into a deer or somethin’.”
“With the trunk of your car?”
“Okay, backed into a deer. Don’t get caught up in the semantics.”
Bane wants to argue that it was nothing to do with semantics, and he’s fairly certain Blake doesn’t properly understand the meaning of the word. Instead, he mutters in Arabic about Blake’s stupidity, and wonders how the man has survived as long as he has.
Blake sighs, and they sit in silence for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally says. “Specifically, what do you remember about last night.”
“Not much,” Bane says. Blake grits his teeth and he decides to have some pity on the young man. “Nothing in the beginning while the wolf was out. Later, some things became more clear, stalking and hunting. I remember the last couple hours of that fairly well.”
“So did you have any control during that time?”
“No…The wolf was in charge, but I was there experiencing it.” It was not like the way he feels the wolf in the back of his head, stalking like a trapped animal and fighting Bane to break free. Instead, Bane had felt as much the wolf as anything else, but he was also aware that he had no cognitive thought over what he was doing, was just along for the ride in the animal skin.
“So when…” Blake swallows and stares hard at his hands clenched in his lap. “When you changed back, do you remember any of that?”
“All of it.”
Blake closes his eyes. “And how much control did you have?”
Bane grabs the end of the cord and unravels it with a quick pull, snapping it taught. “Very little. I tried to be calm where I could, but there was not much I could do to control the beast.” His hands slip as he tries to get another braid going. “I experienced everything that happened with almost no say over what my body was doing.” Except that he had desired to lay Blake out underneath him just as much as the wolf had. His own need to lick that pale skin, sink his nails into flesh, drive his sex unto Blake’s body and take his pleasure was as much Bane’s as the animal’s. That’s what sickens him the most, the fact that he had gotten so lost that he couldn’t tell where he began or ended, instead working as one mind with the beast. His hands tremble too hard for him to tie the braid and he finally curls the cord and tosses it into the floor well.
Blake flinches. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Bane.” Bane looks at him, confused, and Blake drops his head into his hands. “Fuck, I thought…I guess I wasn’t really thinking. I let myself get carried away, caught up in…but that doesn’t excuse anything. You seemed like you wanted it and I—Fuck how many times have I heard assholes try to use that as an excuse.” Blake takes a deep breath and raises his head, meets Bane’s eye with a haunted look on his face. “You couldn’t even consent.”
Bane stares at him quizzically, trying to parse out the jumbled mess that Blake was saying. “Blake…are you under the impression that, with what accord last night, I was the one who was wronged?”
“I threatened you, I had a mind to take you whether you wished it or not.”
“No shit, Sherlock, that wasn’t too hard to figure out,” Blake said.
“And yet you apologize?”
Blake grins, a rare flash of dimples that makes him look even younger than he already does. It sets Bane’s pulse racing, and the guilt only increases with it. It should be wrong after he took advantage of this man—boy, really.
“Did you think the whole scent thing was the only precaution I put in place?” Blake says. “I’ve got a gun in here, and a taser modified with enough power to blow your wolf off its feet. I wasn’t worried about being able to stop you.”
“Then why did you...”
Sighing, Blake leans his head back against the seat. “You know, I haven’t really been all that subtle the past couple of months. I’m letting you stay at my place, for crying out loud. And I’ve been spending my weekends with you instead of hanging out with my family or friends or, I dunno, getting laid.”
Bane stares at him in shock. “You wanted to have sex with me?”
Blake nods and taps his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, another blush creeping up his face, turning the tips of his ears red.
All Bane can think about are the reasons he shouldn’t sleep with Blake—the man is too young, too idealistic, too immature for a man like Bane. Their relationship started off with Bane trying to kill him, and would have succeeded if Bruce Wayne, The Batman, hadn’t interfered. Even if he’s been forgiven for that, Bane could still lose control and hurt Blake, like he had the night before. And he doesn’t hold any pretenses that his face is still appealing after the marring he’d received along with his curse. Yet Blake sits there like a blushing maiden, and Bane has every intention of telling him the reasons they can’t do this. But what comes out of his mouth is—
“The wolf thinks you’re its mate.”
Blake’s head whips around he stares at Bane wide eyed.
“But I noticed you first,” Bane finishes.
There’s a weird tension in the air between them, and for the first time Bane wishes he wasn’t wearing the mask so he could smell Blake’s emotions. Suddenly Blake bursts out laughing. His shoulders shake and he rubs at the tears in the corner of his eyes. When he starts to calm down he takes a couple of deep breaths between the little hiccups and giggles still slipping through.
“We’re both idiots,” Blake says.
They are, but maybe for different reasons that Blake is thinking. Bane worries about what they just set in motion—worries, because he isn’t sure he has the self-control to stop entertaining this thing that’s happening between them. He pulls the door shut and growls, “just take us home, John Blake.”
That gets him another smirk, and Blake pulls the keys out of his pockets. He starts the car then pauses for a second, staring at his hands palms up on the steering wheel. “Man, I dunno if I’m ever going to wash the grass stains off of my skin.”
The stains, yes. But not the smell, Bane thinks. Even through the mask he can smell the crushed clover, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to get the memory of it out of his head. Because Blake might not even realize it, but his scent—sweet like ripened pears with a hint of sun warmed stone—always has the fresh undertones of clover mixed in.