The path to Bruce and Selina's lunch table is a familiar one, but John feels off-kilter as he walks it now. It's like he can feel Bane on the other end of the lunchroom, a magnetic pull that leaves him feeling unsettled. They didn't specifically talk about it, but John hopes they're keeping it quiet, this thing between them. Not so much because they'd get endless shit about it, which they would, but because right now it's small, and fragile, and only theirs. Call him selfish, but John wants that for as long as possible. Sharing it just feels wrong.
He can't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder though when he sits down. Just a quick peek at the table in the corner, which has another table pulled up alongside it now for the overflow of sheep that seem to follow Bane around.
Bane has his back to John today, but Barsad notices, of course. John expects Barsad's openly hostile gaze but pauses when he doesn't get it. Barsad doesn't look especially pleased per se, but he gets Bane's attention and gestures in John's direction with his chin. Bane turns, but so do two other people and John can feel his entire face flame. He spins back around to stare at his tray, trying to play it cool. Which is when he notices Bruce and Selina are staring at him.
"What?" he says, taking a big bite.
They both give him identical raised eyebrows and John would laugh if he didn't have a mouthful of food.
"Secrets don't make friends, Johnny boy," Selina purrs at him.
"Yeah?" he says, swallowing. "Then what's your excuse?"
She blinks at him for a moment, but Bruce can't stifle the snort that comes bursting out of him.
"Ahem," Bruce says, quieting under Selina's glare. "Okay, but seriously, what was that all about? And you never told us what happened after you guys left together."
John can't tell him the truth— that he'd almost rubbed off against Bane and gotten caught by the principal. It's embarrassing, sure, but mostly? He doesn't want to share. In this whole fucked up life, in his whole 16 years of existence, he's never had something that was just his, that hasn't gotten ripped away. He wants to kick his heels into the ground and scream, "NO! MINE!" and pull Bane closer, away from their clutching fingers.
"Uh, we… got sent home by Principal Gordon," he stumbles, staring at his fork. "For fighting."
There's silence in front of him and he looks up to see both of them staring.
"Jesus," Bruce breathes, his eyes quickly running over John's body. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"Hey!" John says, annoyed. "Maybe I hurt him, ever think of that? I'm… scrappy."
The couple gives him identical unamused looks as Selina says, "No."
John glares. "Fine," he says, dropping his fork. "It… wasn't really much of a fight."
He can't really lie to either of them, but they will have to drag the truth out of him with rusty pliers— that he'd loved every second of it and wanted it to happen again. "We were discussing our Humanities project and things got kind of—" John pauses, trying not to blush, "heated."
"Wait, what Humanities project?" Selina asks, and John jumps on the change of subject.
"Oh, man, I didn't tell you? I got paired up with Bane for this project- it's supposed to take the rest of the year."
He explains the project to Selina, who looks interested. Very interested, actually.
"Are there any limits on what you can do?" she says, overly casual.
"Why?" he asks.
She shrugs her shoulders. "No reason, just curious."
John cocks his head at her, but the bell rings and there's a rush of movement as people prepare to leave the cafeteria.
"See you guys," John waves, and hurries to the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bane.
Except when John emerges, Bane's standing in the hallway leaning against the wall with Barsad at his side. Barsad appears to be scanning everyone but as soon as John comes over, he melts into the flow of traffic and disappears.
"H-hey," John says, cautiously.
Bane says nothing, just moves to walk with John down the hall. John looks up at him, but Bane just continues with John all the way to his locker, stands beside it, and then abruptly says, "I must attend History," and walks away.
So. Yeah. They should probably talk about this, John guesses. He fights down the smile that threatens and heads to his next class.
In Humanities, he fidgets through the lesson until the end of the day, which is usually reserved for working with their partners. Bane's boot is solid on the rung of his chair, and it feels familiar and almost possessive, and John doesn't want to admit it even to himself, but he kind of likes it.
"Robin," Bane rumbles when John finally gets to scoot his desk back and John pauses, half out of his chair.
"Yeah?"
But Bane just looks at him, quiet and unmoving. John sits.
"Um. Do you want to work on the project?"
Bane doesn't answer for a moment, then gives a curt nod, and they start combining materials for their essay. They actually work, which is sort of annoying, because John can still taste Bane's fingerprints. He remembers each ridge, the way they fit on his lips and scraped on his teeth, the hitch of Bane's breath as he flicked the digits with his tongue.
He looks at Bane out of the corner of his eye, and Bane is looking right back at him.
He smiles and sees Bane's coveted crinkles next to his eyes, and it's strangely okay after that.
He has stuff to do at home, naturally, and he's not planning on going to St Swithins tonight so that he can get it done, so he's not sure if Bane will walk home with him or not. He wants him to. But now he also knows what Bane has waiting for him, how far he has to walk to get there, and all the reasons he shouldn't feel sorry for himself when Bane leans against his locker and says, "I cannot go with you, little bird."
"Oh, okay, no problem," he says quickly. "I wasn't going to— I mean I just needed to go home tonight, I'm not even on my way to— I know it's a long way out of your way, and with Talia and everything—" He shifts his weight, then his backpack, as he tries three times to unlock his locker. Then a thread of panic winds through his gut as he thinks about Bane's words. He means walking, right? He can't go to St Swithins, right? He doesn't mean he can't… go with John. Right?
Bane looks at him curiously. "Talia has an appointment I must attend."
"Oh, right, yeah," John stutters, trying not to sag with relief. "Of course."
Bane leans toward him, cutting off the unnecessary flow of words. John swallows. "I would like to see you."
John nods, too fast, then forces himself to stop. "We should probably talk about this," he offers.
Bane grunts and John isn't sure if he'd heard him because Bane is staring at his mouth. John's tongue darts out to wet his lips without thinking, and Bane's pupils dilate. John feels a little thrill of power and he grins. He darts his tongue out once more, then bites his bottom lip, at which point Bane glances up and meets John's gaze. His eyes crinkle when he sees the teasing in John's look.
"I assume you don't want to do this at school," John says, cutting to the chase. "I don't really mind, but I figure that's not what you want."
He says it quietly, so Bane can decide what he wants. "I cannot, at this time," he finally grits out, and John nods so he'll know it's okay. Because it is. He doesn't want to share, not now, maybe not for a while.
"I understand," he says, and busies himself taking the things he'll need out of his locker and shutting it again. "So," he stalls, not wanting to leave for home, "what do you want to do?"
Bane's hand reaches for John's jaw, a wide swipe over his skin with his thumb pressed against John's lips. Bane doesn't answer, just takes the final step toward John, the hiss of his mask almost tangible this close together.
"Brother."
The word is spoken in warning, and Bane drops his hand and steps back as if he'd known it was coming. John, however, flounders forward, off balance without Bane's weight to counter him.
John turns, because he hadn't realized Barsad was even there, but of course he is, down the hallway leaning nonchalantly against the lockers. He isn't looking at them, just staring at his nails. John feels a flare of annoyance of the "don't like it? don't look" variety, but seconds later, Bruce rounds the end of the hall and locks eyes with John.
"Blake," he says, pulling even with them. "Bane," he adds, greeting him with reluctance. "I, uh, hear you and John are doing a project together."
Bane arches an eyebrow at him and crosses his considerable arms. "Indeed." It isn't the friendliest thing he could have said, but John's eyes glance off the dent in the locker next to his, the one that is Bane-fist sized, and decides it could be worse.
"Well. Good luck, I guess. Blake, you want a ride home?"
"Uh…" John freezes, bracing for the tension, but Bane is a placid lake and Bruce is oblivious. John glances from Bruce to Bane, his eyes grazing over the dented locker again. "I… actually don't need one. Today. But thanks," he says to Bruce, who shrugs.
"Okay. Just thought I'd offer. See ya, right?"
"Yeah, right."
"Bane," Bruce says in farewell.
Bane nods at Bruce, but if he's scowling a bit Bruce doesn't notice as he exits out the side entrance. When the door clangs shut behind him, Bane turns to John once again, uncrossing his arms. His face is relaxed and he's looking at John again, like he's a baby bunny or something.
"What?"
"That was good," he rumbles, stepping closer again.
John's forehead furrows. "What do you mean?"
It's Bane's turn to look confused. "He is hazardous. As we discussed."
John stiffens and Bane draws back with a sigh.
"What." John says, low and dangerous, to which Bane rolls his eyes. John forges ahead though, his mouth going faster as he gets going. "We didn't talk about this. We didn't come anywhere close to talking about this. You threw a punch that could have seriously injured me, then stomped off like a child when you didn't get your way. Are you out of your mind? 'As we discussed.' Jesus. I don't have to do what you say, you know."
Bane is glaring at him now. "Yes," is all he says.
John blinks. "Well. Good. Because I don't."
He frowns again and readjusts his backpack on his shoulder. "Look, I've got to go. But we should actually talk about this. And," he gestures vaguely between them, "this." He frowns some more because boy does he know how to kill a moment.
Bane crosses his arms again. "Yes."
"Right. Good." John says, but feels like he's the one getting in trouble instead of the other way around. "Tomorrow then? After school? I could maybe go to your house, if you want..." He trails off, feeling dumb, and fuck, how does Bane always do this to him? He frowns again for good measure.
Bane just stares. "Yes."
John can't help it. His lips twitch. "Good."
He takes a few steps back, disengaging Bane's magnetic pull. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
He's feeling a lot better as he walks home, the cold wind hitting him in the face.
He is looking forward to going to Bane's house again. He won't deny it. But the next day in the lunchroom, as he turns with his tray, Bane is watching him. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and doesn't try to gesture to John, just watches as he takes his food and slides it onto his usual table across from Selina. He feels… like he's letting Bane down. But these are his friends. And they are good friends. They're the only ones who've put up with him, and still made room for him even after they got together. He pushes his food around.
"Hey, Johnny boy," Selina says. "We are going to watch a movie at Bruce's tonight, want to join us?"
John snorted. "Are you guys actually going to be watching the movie or will it be third-wheel-Wednesday?"
Selina shrugged, unperturbed. "We can go out if you'd rather. I don't care. I'm just combatting the boredom. So. You up for it?"
"Uh," John glances at Bruce who is watching him thoughtfully. "I actually... can't tonight. How about tomorrow?" he deflects.
Bruce's eyes tighten, but he doesn't say anything, just takes another bite.
Selina shrugs again. "I might not be bored tomorrow, but sure, we can plan for it."
"Maybe John just wants a guy's night," Bruce says, too casual, and John felt his face heat against his wishes.
"What's wrong with me?" Selina fake-pouted. "Are you saying I'm man enough for you?" she purred, leaning forward to accentuate her cleavage and smirking at John.
John waggles his eyebrows at her. "Sweetheart, you have no idea how much man I require."
Selina laughs, and even Bruce's lips curl, so John goes back to his food, trying to ignore Bruce's all-seeing gaze. Hopefully, they'd forget about the invite and he can just go back to thinking about Bane's house. With no adults. And a bedroom. With a bed. And a door. And a lock.
His face is heating again, and he pushes the thoughts aside before they get him in trouble. But he can't help but check over his shoulder when there is a lull in Selina's attempt to get Bruce to watch the Wonder Woman movie again.
Bane is looking at him this time, his placid lake face staring at John. John tries a smile, then blushes like the dumbass he is and turns back around. Just because he is sitting here daydreaming about Bane's ability to lock doors doesn't mean that's what Bane is thinking about.
He's thinking about Bruce and Selina. John knows it and hates it, but he doesn't know what to do about it. Every day he walks past Bane's table and sits at theirs is a day he tells Bane, "I choose them over you." And he can't do anything else. If he starts sitting at Bane's table, Bruce and Selina will stage an intervention. They'll probably think he's been brainwashed.
He pushes his food around on his plate some more and shoves down as much of it as he can stomach because food is food and you don't just not eat it if you have it. Sister Beth Anne would be appalled if nothing else.
When Humanities finally rolls around, John is so keyed up Bane probably thinks there's something wrong with him. But he is going to Bane's tonight. The girls and Sam are watching the littles for him; he'd even told Sharon he would be at a friend's house and she'd appeared to have heard him. He has a window of freedom so wide he feels nauseous with the possibilities.
He goes out sometimes, of course; he has a life for god's sake. He and Bruce used to go out all the time, to Bruce's golf club and concerts John drug him to, and now that Selina made them a trio (or at least made Bruce part of a couple), they hang out at cafes and bowling alleys, where they do a fairly okay job of not making John feel like he's intruding.
This is different. This is Bane and this is basically a date, and John has emptied the water heater every morning in the shower ever since Bane had shoved him up against the wall. It is heady stuff, and he doesn't think he learns a single damn thing Ms. Bishop is attempting to teach them about Postmodernism as he imagines a thousand X-rated scenarios, none of which will probably ever happen, but what if.
When John slides his desk back to Bane, he thinks his hands might be shaking except he shoves them under his thighs so he doesn't have to find out. He's tense and nervous, even though he knows Bane probably thinks he's an idiot, and he tries to focus on Bane's rumble. Then he realizes Bane is trying to talk John into including Rage Against the Machine in their final essay, after they'd decided yesterday to exclude them, and John's stupid mouth is going off half-cocked. And when Bane finally relents, again, and agrees to leave them out, he realizes he feels better.
"Hey," John says, his voice low, "thanks."
Bane shakes his head slightly, his eyebrows drawn together. "You say the strangest things, little bird."
John just smiles and bends over his paper again and they go back to discussing the order for each section of the essay until the final bell rings. John and Bane are usually the last ones, hanging back to catch a few more seconds together until their responsibilities drag them away, but today they beat the teacher out the door.
John exchanges books out of his locker and grabs his jacket, then they head to Bane's to get his. Barsad meets them there and falls into step beside them, and John isn't sure why he didn't think Barsad would be there for the walk home, but of course he would be. He should probably try to include Barsad though, just because he knows what it feels like to be the third wheel.
He clears his throat. "So, Barsad," he says, then stalls. He realizes he has absolutely nothing to talk to Barsad about. "How's... school?"
Barsad looks him over from head to toe like he's determining whether to answer such an inane question or not, then gives John a half-shrug. "It is informative."
"It's... informative, right." John has no idea what he thought Barsad would say, but that's definitely not it. "Well, you're probably the first person to think what they teach in school is actually informative." He gave him a smile.
Barsad scoffs. "That's because what they teach in school is not actually informative."
Bane chuckles beside him and John realizes he might be the third wheel here.
"You know, if you guys are planning a hostile takeover, I should probably try to stop you."
Bane laughs at that, a rich, rolling sound that warms John to his toes despite the chill. "You may try, little one."
Even Barsad is smiling at John's glare. "Well, I should at least know about it! I could get... backup."
Bane's eyes crinkle at him and he walks with his hands gripping the collar of his coat. Barsad trails slightly behind them, walking through the grass without making a sound, and Bane is only a breath away.
When they reach Bane's house, they all three walk past it and John hangs back by the fence while the two brothers ring the bell. The same yips he remembered from the last time ring out, the same trundle of feet before the door is flung open.
"Yay, you're here!" comes the small cry before the bundle of curls hits Bane around the knees. He picks up Talia and thanks Mrs. Baldwin before they turn to head home. Barsad smiles warmly at Talia, but she only has eyes for Bane, bursting with talk about her day. Apparently, they'd made several different batches of "slime," and Mrs. Baldwin had let her mix them together.
"We's workin on colors," she says wisely.
"I see," Bane agrees as Barsad unlocks the door, and John laughs at himself and his porn fantasies. There's a preschooler that lives here and granted, there's just one, but god, he is an idiot.
Barsad says, in English, that he's going to make dinner, and Bane nods, but Talia doesn't acknowledge anyone but Bane. Bane doesn't seem to mind. She talks about her day, she gets her toys out, she insists Bane play with her. After a while, John asks if he can play too.
She glances at him suspiciously. "You can be the Barbie," she says, and John knows a test when he sees it.
"Okay," he says happily and accepts the doll he's handed.
They play until Barsad calls them to eat, and John is impressed by their tiny efficient family machine. It seems quiet here, and fun, and playful, and he's a tiny bit jealous. Talia flops herself on the couch, insisting that she's "bored" and that she needs to watch TV, and Bane suggests a movie. Talia picks one out, and they all settle on the couch, Talia wedging herself firmly in between them.
John isn't annoyed, not really, because she's a kid, and he's a stranger, and she's half in love with Bane. Plus, watching Bane with her, watching the way he absentmindedly strokes her curls in the fading light, John can't really say he blames her.
That doesn't mean he's not supremely grateful when Barsad comes in with a pillow, blanket, and bucket of popcorn, and sets up Talia on the floor in front of the movie. Then Barsad hits the lights and settles into the armchair, and then it's just Bane and John on the couch.
John tries to be nonchalant as he leans into the wall of muscle at his side, his heart hammering away in his chest. Bane doesn't look at him, his eyes trained on the screen, so John stays there, not seeing a single scene even though he's focused on the TV. But then, about halfway through the movie, Bane stretches— actually stretches, and drops his arm over John's shoulders.
John bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He sinks into the cocoon of Bane's warmth because he's changed his expectations of tonight, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking about touching Bane all damn day.
Bane is solid and stiff, and John can smell his deodorant. He would really like Bane to smother him into the couch, but he settles for resting his hand, just super casually, on Bane's thigh. Well, it's right above his knee, really. So not, like in his crotch or anything; Bane's got acres of thighs he could he touching. He's not going to do that in front of everyone, though, and the way Bane stiffens even more says maybe he's pushing it a bit far.
He should take his hand back, but then what if Bane thinks he's moving it because he doesn't like it? Because he absolutely does. He is so wound up that when Barsad says a few words in Farsi he jumps a fucking mile.
Bane nods and moves his arm from around John and his heart sinks as Bane sits forward. Then he notices the form sleeping on the blanket in the flickering TV light.
Bane replies in English, probably for John's benefit, his voice low and quiet. "You will take her, yes?" Barsad nods, his eyes flickering between the two of them, and then Bane stands.
John blinks up at him because sometimes he forgets just how big Bane is. Then Bane raises an eyebrow at him and John gets up too, following him the short distance to the room Bane had shown him briefly the last time he was here.
Bane closes the door behind them but doesn't engage the lock. John looks around the room. It's simple, sparse, nothing overly personal. There's an old, cheap dresser made of pressboard against one wall, there's a full-size bed in one corner with only a fitted sheet and one pillow, and there's a gigantic collection of weights. Aside from a poster of an MMA fighter John's never heard of, that's about it. He stands in the middle of the room awkwardly as Bane sits on the bed.
He's not sure what he's supposed to do now. He knows what he wants to do, which is crawl over and sit on Bane's lap, but he's not sure how to get from here to there. Bane scoots over an inch and John takes the hint. He sits down next to Bane, their thighs touching and blows out a mostly steady breath. Bane's hands are on his thighs, pressing down, and John looks at his elbows. He's not sure he ever noticed them before.
They're probably normal elbows. Most are, right? He can't remember ever noticing anyone's elbows before. They're a little bit rough, and suddenly John can't stop himself from drawing a finger over the skin there. It's just one swipe of skin-to-skin contact on something as non-erogenous as an elbow, but John's mouth has too much spit and his gut is clenching, and he wants.
"Robin," Bane says, his voice low and John drags his eyes up to meet Bane's. They're intense, and he wants to look away, but then again, he really doesn't.
Bane's hand comes up off his thigh and reaches for John and he feels his eyelids flutter shut as those fingers finally caress his cheek and then wrap around the back of his neck. Bane pulls John forward until their foreheads are touching, and John keeps his eyes closed. He can hear the hiss of Bane's mask, feel the cool leather warming beneath his head, and he reaches out for Bane's other hand.
He can hear Bane's intake of breath as he slides their fingers together, and John knows how he feels because he wants Bane's fingers to burn him where they're touching so he'll know later exactly where Bane's been. He wants to feel them, pressed into his skin so hard he'll be able to see each touch later and re-live them.
Bane untangles their fingers so he can touch John's palm, then wrist, then up his forearm. His other hand stays wrapped securely around John's neck, their breaths mingling as they both watch the progression of fingers up to the edge of John's t-shirt sleeve. John turns his hand, palm out, so Bane has better access, but Bane just strokes at the cusp of fabric, his fingernails just edging under the material. Then he skips over everything underneath John's shirt and moves to the area above his collar.
John has never wished he'd been wearing a smaller shirt until now. Maybe a tank top. Hell, maybe a crop top. But he also had a feeling that Bane would take this exactly as slow as he wanted, and John rushing him would be like trying to hurry an iceberg.
Bane traces John's neck with his blunt fingertips, then draws back so he can see them. John's eyes are shut, but he tilts his neck back in invitation. This time Bane accepts and moves to draw both hands over the skin at John's throat. It feels amazing. Of all the images in his head all day, none of them were this. And of all the images in his head all day, this one feels the most right.
Bane's fingertips touch his neck, his jaw, his ears, his cheeks. He stays still, letting Bane explore him, but finally, he opens his eyes.
"Bane," he whispers, and Bane brings his fingers to John's mouth. John can feel them, lightly touching, not pressing, not demanding, just asking. John kisses them, tender and tentative, and then does it again. When Bane seems like he's going to pull them away, John grasps his hand and holds it there.
Slowly, he kisses each of Bane's fingertips, studying them, imprinting the feel of them, the way Bane did to him. He runs his fingers down the length of them, memorizing the weight, girth, and texture. He presses them to his mouth again, and this time, the kiss is a little wetter, a little more open-mouthed, a little more filthy.
Bane sucks in a breath and John never in his life thought he'd be so turned on by licking someone's finger. He's guessing Bane hadn't really anticipated that either. He shifts on the bed, and John catches his gaze. He smiles wickedly and opens his mouth to bite Bane's index finger, pulling it into his mouth and wrapping his tongue around it.
Bane lets out a sound that John will remember forever, somewhere between a whine and a growl, and suddenly porn fantasies don't seem that ridiculous. Bane reaches for him with the hand not currently being fellated by John's mouth and yanks John even closer by his shirt.
The roughness is thrilling and John's heart is going to jackrabbit out of his chest. He's hard in his jeans, pressing against his zipper uncomfortably and he doesn't care, just wants more. Bane withdraws his hand from John's mouth and pulls him even closer, running his hands over John's shoulders and arms. He hesitates, then moves to John's torso, his wide palms sliding over John's nipples and god what even is this? How is this so fucking hot?
John's breathing hard and he is desperate to touch back. He leans forward as Bane's hands slide around his ribs, so John gets to actually put his hands on the magnificent chest in front of him. The firm muscle flexes under his fingertips and he presses his nose under Bane's jaw.
"God, Bane," John breaths into his neck, a plea for he's not exactly sure what. Only Bane smells amazing, and feels amazing and fuck.
He presses his lips into the salty skin at Bane's throat, the heat washing over him and he should slow down, because this is too much, and what the fuck is he doing right now, except Bane is letting him, and Bane likes it, and he feels so-
There's a soft knock at the door and John freezes. Bane stills also, then clears his throat.
"What is it?"
Barsad's voice comes from the other side of the door, a few soft words in Farsi before Bane barks something back, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration.
"She wants you," Barsad says. "She says you need to tell her the story or she won't go to sleep." His voice annoyed and clipped.
John pulls back and Bane looks torn.
"It's okay, go. We should probably slow down anyway."
Bane's eyebrows stay furrowed, but he nods and moves away.
He pauses with his hand on the door, so John says, "I'll be here when you get back."
Bane's forehead smooths a little, and John smiles back. Then, as soon as Bane leaves, John takes a deep breath and throws himself back on the bed with the biggest grin on his face. He wants to squirm and scream with excitement because yes, fuck yes. He lays there for a moment contemplating the ceiling trying to get himself under control and wondering if this cacophony in his gut is permanent.
When he finally has his body under control, he slips off his worn sneakers and hauls himself back against the headboard. There's a familiar looking worn paperback on Bane's bedside table, a scrap of paper marking his place. John grabs the book and flips to a random page.
When Bane comes back in, John has been flipping through the pages, even though the book is not in English. This book is creased and worn and well-loved, but there are no notes in the margins, the pages aren't dogeared. This is something Bane has taken care of, something he cherishes and protects. It feels good to have it in his hands.
'Hey," John greets him, closing the book and setting it back where he found it. "She asleep?"
"Mmm," Bane grunts, closing the door behind him.
John slaps the bed next to him. "Come talk to me. You look like you could use a kid breather."
"Mmm," Bane grunts again, but he sits on the bed, then after a second stretches out beside John. He seems annoyed as he laces his hands together over his stomach. "She is being willful."
John chuckles. "Yeah, they do that." He waits for a second. "Are you worried about it?"
Bane looks worried, is the thing.
"I do not know," he grunts. "I am not aware of the expected reaction to the behavior of four-year-olds."
He says it like he's annoyed, and this is hardly John's area of expertise, but man does he know that feeling.
"Right?! They're ridiculous! Like, how hard do I push it when they won't pick up their toys? Or won't take a bath? What's the right answer?"
Bane raised an eyebrow at him but seemed to relax a fraction. "You are asking me? You do not already know these things?"
John snorts. "Sorry to break it to you, big guy, I don't think anyone knows the right answer. We're all guessing."
Bane gets quiet after that and John lets him, for a while. When he starts to feel fidgety, he turns on his side, propping his head on his hand.
"Will you tell me something?"
Bane looks at him, wary, and says, "Possibly. It depends on what you wish to know."
John gives him a half-smile. "Well, then why don't you pick? Tell me something you want me to know."
Bane looks smaller here, more accessible. Maybe it's because John is pressed into the wall, trying to keep his hands to himself while Bane is in his literal comfort zone, but he's still looking at John like he wants to bolt.
"I feel as though you already know more than most other people."
John chuckles. "That's probably true. But I won't tell anyone. And it can be anything."
Bane is quiet for a long time, looking at the ceiling. John uses the time to study him, the way the masks wraps around his face. A part of him hopes whatever Bane chooses to tell him will shed some light on his mysterious background. The other part knows he probably won't. The mask is high-end stuff. The plastic and metal look new, even though he wears it all day, every day, and John wonders about it. He can hear Bane's breaths in the silence.
"Talia is supposed to go to school in the fall," Bane finally says, like he's making some kind of huge confession.
John stares at him. "That's it? That's what you spent twenty minutes wrestling over whether or not to tell me? That she's supposed to go to kindergarten?"
Bane turns and glares at him. "However."
John about swallows his tongue trying to suck the words back in. Oops. He presses his lips together in an effort to keep his mouth under control.
Bane sighs. "However, her appointment yesterday did not go well."
"Her appointment?" John asks. "Her caseworker appointment?"
Bane shakes his head. "I am emancipated; I became her legal guardian as soon as I was able. She has no caseworker."
"Oh." John can't help but be grudgingly impressed with Bane and his cool demeanor about the whole thing. "What kind of appointment, then?"
"Psychological," Bane says, matter-of-fact. "Talia witnessed the death of her parents and has been exhibiting some… signs for concern since then."
"Jesus," John gapes, "yeah, I bet. Poor kid."
Bane looks at him sharply. "You cannot treat her any differently now that you are aware."
John nods. "Right, no, I know that," he says, putting a hand on Bane's arm. "You don't have to worry about that with me."
Bane relaxes. "Yes, thank you, Robin. I should have realized."
John shrugs and pulls his hand back with reluctance. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."
"I am not," Bane says, his voice firm. "But it is as you say. None of us knows the right answer. We are guessing."
There's a lull in the conversation, and John senses the Talia subject is closed. He should be leaving, it's late and he has homework, but Bane's bed is comfortable, and he doesn't want it to be over just yet.
"I was kind of hoping…" John's voice trails off as Bane turns to look at him, and John feels stripped to his bones. Bane's eyes, sometimes ice-cold and hard, right now are warm and blue and can see into his soul.
Bane lifts a saucy eyebrow. "What were you hoping for, little bird?" Then his eyes crinkle and John sags a bit, huffing out a laugh as the tension breaks. His chest leans against Bane's arm and he reaches to run his fingers along the edge of Bane's mask, on the underside of his jaw. His skin is smooth and warm, and John traces down his neck before he can stop himself.
"Yeah, I might have been going a little fast. Sorry?"
He's not sorry and Bane knows it, but it's okay because Bane's eyes smile at him. Bane's wide hand comes up to cup John's jaw, his warm fingers light on his face and ear.
"I am honored," Bane says softly, and John blushes a thousand shades of red. If he could, he'd be kissing Bane right now.
"Do you ever take it off?" he blurts, and Bane's hand stills. He feels like an ass for asking, needy and greedy and demanding, but he would desperately like to see all of Bane. Even if it's not right now.
Bane's eyes speak volumes on self-assurance hard-won over insecurities, and his desire to give John what he wants. "Do you require it?" he finally says.
John shakes his head, happy to give an honest answer. "No," he says, "I would like to see you sometime, but I don't need it." He touches Bane's jaw again, touching the cool plastic where it hugs his face so tightly. "That's not actually what I was going to say. I was going to say I was hoping you'd tell me something about you."
Bane's eyes search his, and John wonders if he's pushing too hard. But, damn it, he wants to know the guy he's making out with, the guy whose bed he's lying in, the guy who takes up most of his waking thoughts and a lot of his non-waking ones too.
Bane shrugs one shoulder and withdraws his hand, turning his head to stare at the ceiling. John tries not to feel like he's being punished. "I was found on the doorstep of an orphanage."
"Orphanage kid, eh? Welcome to the club." John tries to give him a smile but knows it falls flat. "At least your parents cared enough to take you there, I guess."
Bane grunts. "Don't put them on too high of a pedestal, little bird. Where I am from, children from the orphanage were used to work the mine. It was essentially a death sentence."
John doesn't say anything for a while, just watches Bane's eyes track the cracks in the ceiling. He might have been an orphanage kid, but John has no frame of reference for what Bane had experienced. "How old were you when you went to work in the mine?"
"Old enough to remember the dark, the fear of the other children, the stench of bodies. The smallest of us were used in the gold mine to get into tight places, so I mostly remember that one. We called it The Pit."
John shudders and reaches for Bane's hand, twining their fingers together. Bane holds on tight. "How did you get here?"
Bane draws their hands up so he can see them, staring at the way John's slimmer fingers almost disappear between his bigger ones. "That is a story for another day," he rasps.
John grins despite himself. "One story per date?"
He has just enough time to wonder if he's mislabeled this thing between them before Bane nods.
"That is acceptable."
John feels the smile splitting his face, and Bane presses a thumb into his dimple.