Disclaimer: I do not own the character of Bane. This is just some smutty, plotless fun.

There wasn't much time. He'd have to be quick.

Krraaak, went the politician's neck.

There, all done.

Bane scrubbed his palms on his pants and shivered when the motion pulled the rough material taut across his half-hard cock. Exterminating the corrupt always got him a little wound up.

Normally he would resist the base urge to touch himself, but maybe he'd make use of the freshly-dead man's opulent bathroom before he burned it to the ground.

Crossing the room in a few long-legged strides, Bane kicked open the door, his boot leaving a scuff mark on the polished wood. The space was blindingly bright, everything white and gold-plating and mirrors. The thought of destroying it had him fully erect in seconds.

Sitting on the lip of the antique claw-footed tub, Bane stretched his legs and flexed his toes within his boots. He rolled his neck, side to side, and flexed his arms and back, sighing as the tension eased from his body with an audible hiss. No…that was the mask. His mask…

With a hard twist, the button above the fly of his pants was freed. Another quick, precise movement had his cock in his hand, thick and twitching with anticipation. For all that he was very different from most men, this part of him was the same. This vulnerable, needy thing…he did not know if this reminder of his humanity was welcome or not, but in the end it didn't matter. All that mattered was the plan.

He began massaging the shaft in short, twisting strokes, his fist clenched so hard it ought to hurt. Nothing could hurt him now, though, not with the mask—

The head was a weeping purple knob, peeking out from between his clamped fingers on every downstroke and disappearing again as he pulled up, the skin of his cock shifting along with his movements, forcing the foreskin to pucker and stretch in time. The mask clicked and wheezed, releasing extra venom in response to his raised heart rate. He felt no pain, and what little he knew of pleasure was satisfaction: domination and total victory. Control and balance. His body was still his, if in no other way but this. It would release only when he bade it.

Now sounded good.

A throaty sound stuck and bubbled up through the tubing and mesh of his man-made face in a gargled mockery of what an orgasm might sound like from a pair of real lips. It didn't matter. For one blank, mindless moment, nothing mattered but his sticky fist around his cock.

Reality closed back in and set its jaws around him. The plan remained incomplete, and there was work to be done. Washing his hands in the deep marble sink, Bane carefully cleansed every digit of grime and come and blood, until they were pink and new. He dried them on a plush towel hanging beside the basin and held them up to that blinding, harsh light.

Time to dirty them again.

AN: This is a PWP drabble originally posted on my tumblr, which uses the same handle as my penname here. I also have an ongoing fic starring Bane there, but as it's written in the second-person perspective, I can't post it here. Ho hum.

Thanks for reading!