Sorry about the lack of activity on my other story; I'm having trouble getting inspired and a lot is going on right now. I'm currently on the road but here's a little one-shot I thought up, based very loosely on a dream I had a few nights ago. Please R&R and enjoy! (Insert disclaimer about my lack of creativity here. I only own the OC.)
She sat outside on the fire escape, perched precariously on the railing with her back leaning against the rough brick wall, one leg hanging over the edge, dangling above the alley, the ground obscured by a low fog. She couldn't sleep. Again. When sweet dreams eluded her or nightmares pushed her out of bed, she came out here for peace. She liked the way Gotham looked at 3 in the morning, when all the working people were asleep and the night crowd took over. Everything was damp, shrouded in darkness pierced by harsh yellow streetlamps, most of which flickered, casting alleyways and small streets in an eerie, shaky light. The harshness of the city was smoothed out by the nighttime, similar to the effect of candles and dim light in a restaurant make a partner look more appealing.
These long nights have been trying. Her life has been trying. Ever since Fear Night, when she lost her home in a fire, and had almost been killed by the GCPD who were supposed to be protecting her, her life changed in a most drastic way.
They advanced upon her in their fear-crazed state, nightsticks raised- thank God they weren't guns!- she thought. That's all that ran through her frenzied mind as the men were transported back to the day of Neanderthal hunts. They jeered in the victory of conquering what they had believed to be a threat to the city, to themselves. They had thankfully left her alive; bloody, beaten, with several broken ribs and so many bruises, slumped against the wall of a shabby tenement building somewhere deep in the Narrows, right in the center of the action.
She hadn't meant to get caught up in all this. She was locking up at Arkham, where she was a therapist, minding her own business when suddenly a fog engulfed the area and all hell broke loose.
She lay there until it didn't hurt as much to breathe, when the bleeding stopped and her trembling stopped and her fear became manageable. She heard a flurry of activity to her left as a vaguely familiar brown-haired woman held a small blonde boy against her under a streetlight, prepared to fend off the officers who, moments before, had beaten her to a pulp.
She supported the little boy, told him not to be scared as she covered his face with her jacket as the devil himself rode up on a large black horse. His eyes looked to be flaming through a rough brown mask, buckles from a straight jacket flapping behind him like a cape, rattling in the wind as he pulled the reins hard, making the horse rear up on its hind legs, just as a flash of light flew from something in the brown-haired woman's hand and directly into the face of this terrifying figure, who let out a screech, the horse rearing unexpectedly and breaking into a gallop, pitching him off. He fell, crumpled, holding his face, into a pile of trash bags right next to me. He shook for awhile, whimpering, and finally fell motionless, unconscious from what she finally realized had been a taser.
A flash of sympathy for the masked man ran through her as she remembered being beaten and witnessing so much violence at the hands of this mass panic. The toxin hadn't affected her that way, as a hallucinogen. It only instilled in her a sense of terror that pumped adrenaline through her veins so potently that it was stronger than any feeling she had ever felt before. She reached over tentatively and pushed the man's masked face out of the trash bags so he wouldn't suffocate, and stood gingerly, wincing with each move she made. She moved over the man and gently shook him, trying to wake him. For a moment she thought he was dead, but felt his shallow breathing and his pulse beating rather quickly in his throat. She shook him harder until he stirred, whispering to him that she would take him home, where did he want to go? He groaned and pulled heavily on her to stand. She was 5' 4", and he seemed to tower over her. He shook like a leaf in the wind, unsteady on his feet, and despite her pain, she put his arm over her shoulders and began to slowly move, the fatigue in her limbs making her tremble slightly under his added weight. He leaned on her and seemed weak, but able to walk, which was good. His other arm reached up to pull the mask off over his head, and her green-grey eyes met striking ice-blue ones. The shock of recognition ran through her as she exclaimed in a weak voice, "Dr. Crane! It's such an odd coincidence that I should find you of all people in that state! You could have died back there! What were you doing on that horse?"
"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked, ignoring what she said, his eyes looking at the chaos around them as they slipped through shadows and in alleys, taking the back road to somewhere.
"Isn't what beautiful?" she asked. Surely he couldn't mean-
"All that fear. The people of Gotham turned animals, tearing each other apart as their deepest and darkest fears come alive, personified in their neighbors, their families, their friends. It's such beautiful chaos." he breathed, his eyes holding hers, full of intensity; a passion that seemed to darken them and make him look manic; making his smile look like an evil grin.
"They're destroying themselves," she said. "This disorder, this disaster is going to drive us right back to our primitive nature. Whoever has done this has turned Gotham into a no-man's land where the darkest aspects of humanity are displayed for everyone to see."
"They can finally show their true nature without hiding behind order, behind the law, behind shiny badges, uniforms, and drugs. All is corrupt now." He paused, listening. "Do you hear their screams? They're so terrified," he almost whispered, and she listened, captivated both by her fear of this man and by the rawness of his thoughts and his speech. It was a symphony of terror, both grotesque and somehow elegant in its lawlessness, its expression of release in the wake of almost utter desolation.
They stopped at one of the slightly better-looking apartment buildings in the Narrows. He stood up, away from her and she collapsed back onto him, her injuries and exhaustion catching up to her.
"Do you have a place to go?" he asked, something like concern passing through his eyes, although at this point she didn't think he was capable of such benevolent emotion.
"My house burned down," she said into his jacket, barely able to lift her head, wanting nothing more than sleep.
Without another word, he took her arms in his hands and guided her up some flights of stairs; she couldn't tell how many. She felt drunk, unable to hold herself straight. She was guided into a small, plain looking apartment. He sat her down on a shabby-looking couch. She fell back into the cushions and saw several rows of bottles in boxes on the table in front of her, along with an array of liquids and vials and what looked like hypodermic needles. She wondered if he was a drug addict.
He came over with a glass of water and sat beside her. His straight jacket was gone, and he was wearing a wilted, crumpled white button down shirt and grey trousers. His hair was all over the place. He handed her the water and took one of the needles in his hand, taking the cap off and gently guiding her arm in his direction.
She flinched away. "What is that?" she demanded, her voice less gravelly after the much-needed water.
"It's the antidote to the toxin that was released. It will make your fear go away," he said. She had no reason to mistrust him; he was her superior after all. She relented, letting him inject her.
The haziness went away and the pain was brought to the front of her mind with visceral clarity.
Everything hurt. Her ribs ached, her muscles ached, her eyes burned, her lungs seared, her legs shook. She whimpered at the pain.
"Where were you injured?" he asked, almost concerned again.
"My ribs are broken, I don't know how many... they beat me pretty badly with nightsticks and got some good kicks in... My arms are bleeding and my legs hurt but I don't think anything else is broken, just bruised very badly."
He looked at her, the darkness in his eyes softening for a moment. "You knew?" he asked.
Something clicked and I tried to mask my surprise when the realization hit me. "Dr. Crane, you did this? I'd heard about your experiments, but I didn't know you were planning to send the city into a panic."
"And yet you came with me, let me guide you into my apartment, drank the water I gave you and let me inject you with some unknown substance?" he said, raising an eyebrow at me. "You're either incredibly naive or you trust me too much."
She wanted to reply, wanted to defend herself, but he was right. She trusted him, even helped him, and she just assumed he'd help her. Her eyes closed of their own accord, the lids suddenly too heavy to support, and everything went black.
Her mouth curled around the cigarette, a filthy habit she'd promised she'd never pick up, but did when she discovered the calming effects of a good smoke. She sat back, thoughtfully staring at some laundry suspended on power lines between the apartment buildings, remembering that night. The night that changed everything.
He'd let her stay. An odd bond had formed between them. He was a monster, an unemotional, cruel, violent man, yet he'd shown her mercy and helped her when she needed it. She was drawn to the darkness inside him, it spoke to something inside her, something hidden, something she once thought shameful; she'd feared it because she didn't want to acknowledge that she held a darkness inside her as well. A darkness that made her crave his company; his presence that made her feel powerless and reckless and self-destructive.
He was no good for her, she had thought at first, but then slowly realized that they were perfect for each other. They both had denied the darkness; they'd let it build up until it became ingrained in their personalities by the hardships faced in both of their lives. She could be as heartless as he. She'd helped with his experiments after Fear Night, helped him hide out, and even killed for him.
A slight noise at her side brought her out of her reverie. He stood beside her, his pale skin illuminated by the dirty light, making it look as though it glowed. She offered him the cigarette, which he took. He exhaled and put the stub out against the brick wall, letting it fall into the darkness below.
"Nightmares again?" he asked softly, his eyes alight with curiosity.
She looked at him and shook her head. "I can't sleep."
He nodded in understanding, but didn't touch her to offer support. They weren't like that.
She knew he knew how this felt; she'd often woke up to an empty bed, only to find him out here, reading or just sitting as she was now.
His eyes darkened slightly as they raked over her body, covered only by a strapped tank top and short sleep shorts. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she watched his expression change from relaxed; his eyes bright despite having just woken up to something darker, almost feral. She brought her leg over the railing so that she was facing him on the fire escape, her hands gripping the railing to keep her balance.
His hands gripped her waist and he moved between her legs, which had been slightly spread to maintain balance on the thin metal rail. When she sat on the railing, she seemed slightly taller than he did, his lips reaching her chin. His hands slipped up higher on her ribcage and pushed, unbalancing her. Her eyes widened in panic and a gasp of surprise escaped her. He brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss; their bodies flush as his hands moved to rest on her back.
"Do you trust me?" he whispered in her ear, his breath dancing across her skin, making her shudder slightly.
"Completely," she breathed against his lips, kissing him again. He leaned into her, pushing her back so that if he were to let go she'd fall into the darkness, lost forever like that cigarette stub.
She was scared; she knew he was capable of this, that he could kill her and would if he wanted to, but she still trusted him. It felt right to trust him.
He liked having this power over her. It thrilled him and he decided to push her trust as far as it would go, until she got so scared she'd cry out his name, slightly panicked, her thoughts only on the ground below her.
His hands slid over her back up to her shoulders and down her arms, the warmth of his fingers contrasting against the coolness of her skin. His hands covered hers on the railing, and he pulled at her fingers in a silent request to let go. Her eyes met his, wide with fear and reluctance. She gripped the railing tighter, and he felt her knuckles tense under his hands.
"Do you trust me?" he questioned again, this time pulling at her fingers more firmly. It was no longer a request; he demanded she let go. She hesitated a moment but then relented, snaking her legs around his waist, locking them at the ankles, gripping his hands so hard she thought she'd hurt him for sure.
He didn't react to the pain, if he felt any. He was high on control, high on her submissiveness, her trust, the pure, almost innocent expression she gave him as he gripped her hands. He loved testing her like this, bending her to see how far she'd go for him. It was sick, he knew, but the twisted part of him couldn't stop it and he knew that the twisted something in her liked it too, needed it like he did.
He brought her hands around his neck and moved closer to the railing so that his hips pushed gently against the metal, sliding her off the railing so that the only thing keeping her from falling was her grip on him. Her legs squeezed around him tighter, his hips now digging into the metal with the added weight. He relished this slight discomfort. This wasn't supposed to be perfect. This was about her now, about her trust.
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her more fully this time, her mouth opening to accept his tongue that gently danced along her lips, along her tongue. Their breath was shallow; hers with fear and his with excitement. He broke away and took her hands from his neck, sliding his hands down her arms, down her shoulders and her back, ramrod straight in an attempt to desperately find some support, some other balance, just in case he really did plan to let her fall. She knew that she shouldn't, that she should trust him, but that was part of the game; she was disposable to him, just a plaything that he can bend and try to break. She knew in her heart of hearts that this wasn't true, but to be honest, sometimes she wasn't actually sure.
His hands continued to slide down her back, sending an unwanted shudder through her, causing her to become unbalanced, flailing slightly, her legs locked against him as tight as she could manage.
"Shhhh, trust me," he whispered and she stilled at the soothing tone of his voice. "You need to trust me," he repeated as his hands came to rest on her waist, pushing her back, daring her to let go and hang over the railing, like a child hangs off of a swing. He pushed more insistently, suddenly tired of her trepidation, and she felt the excess pressure on her waist and fell back, letting her spine curve uncomfortably, her long hair falling over her face, his hands firmly planted on her hip,s keeping them in place.
Her muscles strained in this position, and she breathed heavily with exertion and fear. She was terrified of falling, terrified of him dropping her. He let one of his hands trail up her side, loosening his grip for just a moment to drag her shirt up her torso, exposing the skin of her stomach to the cool night air. His fingernails lazily traced meaningless patterns on her flat stomach, causing her muscles to ripple and her to buck against him. She was trembling now, truly afraid. He wondered how long it would take for her to give in, to cry out or call his name.
He leaned over her, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to her ribs, both of his hands now back on her hips. She shuddered and moaned his name softly. "Jonathan."
He continued kissing her, wanting to cover every inch of skin he could reach. She shivered, feeling the breeze run over where he'd kissed, making her skin tingle. Her desire for him mingled with her fear, creating an almost overwhelming sensation. Her eyes rolled back into her head and all she could focus on was the feel of her body dangling precariously from the railing and the feel of Jonathan's mouth on her. The combination of sensations was driving her mad, and the rush of blood from her head briefly confused her, creating a feeling of vertigo and terrified her more than anything because she couldn't tell where she was. She opened her eyes, and the world was upside-down, making her dizzier than she was.
Her heart was racing as Jonathan continued his ministrations, biting at her flawless skin, marring it, marking her as his. These little bites made her jump. Her breathing accelerated, and he could feel her begin to panic. A thrill ran through him as he felt the weakness of her thin body, bent impossibly back, trembling against him. He heard her gasp, and finally cry out, "Jonathan, please, it's too much. I'm scared." Her voice was panicked and tinged with desperation and borderline desire.
She felt his hands snake behind her back, encircling her and slowly pulling her back into a sitting position on the railing. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as her head spun and she clung to him for dear life, threading her fingers through his hair. He didn't give her a chance to recover from the sudden change in position, attacking the sensitive skin of her throat with his tongue and teeth. She went into sensory overload, head swimming; reeling from the terrifying experience of dangling so many stories above the ground. The adrenaline fueled her desire, and she moaned a little louder, tugging on his hair to bring his lips to hers in a searing, desperate kiss. "So scared," he moaned against her lips, his hands roaming all over her body.
He couldn't take any more. She was too helpless, too vulnerable. She was perfect. Without leaving her lips, he slid his hands under her thighs and picked her up, pushing her rather roughly against the unyielding brick wall, unceremoniously dragging her shirt off. He bent down, lavishing her with kisses, leaving a searing trail from her lips down to her neck and to her breasts, where he took her nipple into his mouth a sucked on it rather roughly, biting it to make her cry out in pain and pleasure.
As me moved further down her body, each kiss increased her almost frenzied desire; his hands everywhere at once, sending electric shocks of pleasure straight to her center. She felt a flush of wetness as her bit down on her nipple, kissing down her stomach and almost tearing her shorts in his eagerness to unclothe her. She pulled his hair again, making him growl deep in his throat, letting her guide his mouth back to hers. She slid her hands down his body, feeling the lean muscles under his alabaster skin; her hands echoing the slightly feminine curve of his hips, finding the elastic of his pants and pulling down, freeing him. He kicked them off and brought his hands under her thighs again, picking her up. She brought her legs around his waist and cried out against the searing pain as her bare back dragged heavily against the rough wall behind her.
Their eyes met for a moment, both of their bodies tingling in anticipation. They were crazy with need. They needed this. In the stillness of that perfect moment, she realized that he needed her as much as she needed him.
He was addicted to her; there was something intoxicating about her. The darkness inside her matched his, and as he pulled her hips to his, roughly entering her, they met, intertwining, filling him with an overwhelming sense of peace. This is precisely where they belonged.
She cried out as he moved within her. Her hips rolled against his. They were never gentle; his hands always bruised her and she always left angry red scratches on his back. She liked the pain, though; it made everything clearer, made her thinking lucid, all her senses sharp. She needed the pain, needed to feed that darkness, to let it out: not caring that they were fucking on a fire escape and everyone could hear them; not caring that her back was raw and she was probably bleeding as he purposely drove her harder and harder into the wall, again and again until the sensation built up and she couldn't take it anymore. She screamed his name as she tightened around him, her back arching painfully, the pleasure reaching its peak. Her nails dug deeply into his back, making him arch deeper into her as she rode out her orgasm. Her hot, wet tightness became too much and her spasms pushed him over the edge. He moaned, so deep it was almost a growl as he emptied himself into her, his teeth digging into her shoulder, drawing blood. He let her legs slide down over his, leaning against her to support her against the wall.
She felt his chest rise and fall, felt his heavy breath blowing over her skin, now shining with a thin sheen of sweat. Her hands ghosted over the welts she'd left in his back, dragging her fingers a little harder to make him gasp. His hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her to him, lifting his head off of her shoulder, their lips meeting in a lazy, satisfied kiss.
She rested her forehead against his and looked into his captivating, ice-blue eyes. "I trust you completely," she breathed, meaning it now, more than she ever had before. It wasn't love they had; no, he was too unemotional and she too damaged for that; it was something strong and dangerous and powerful, something uniquely them.
His full lips curved upward into a rare smile as he looked back at her. "You're mine," he replied.