I'm sorry that I have been away for so long! School has taken over my life!
Here is a small piece of writing that is insanely simply and not very good... I wish I had spent more time on it to lengthen it... Oh well. :/
Enjoy!
(I do not own these characters.)
"Where have you been?"
His voiced echoed throughout the walls of the room. It rattled and vibrated against the cement, danced across the puddles of the sewer draining, caressing the monotonous sound of hidden drips. It was a beautiful, metallic tone that gave life a meaning.
"Up above…" She whispered, finding him crouched in the center of the room, peering over endless sewer grids. What he sought, she was unaware of. It hardly mattered. She had spent months away from him, seeking his presence only in the headlines and newsreels.
He glanced up at her, the dim light of his gas lamp casting dark shadows across his face. His eyes were blackened with pent of rage—a rage that began in the pit and smoldered into an ever burning flame. A rage that caused a tightness to form in her chest, and a fear in her heart.
"Up above…" he repeated, looking away. "Up above, in the sunlight…"
She nodded, standing boldly before him. "Look at me," she demanded, and he silently obliged. "I have been away… Claim me as your own once more…" she spoke in a hushed tone, and when he looked away, she grasped him at his mouth piece, forcing him to look at her once more.
"I haven't the time," he muttered before his cage of metal, peeling her hand from it and rising to his feet. He turned his back to her, the mountainous curves of his skin revealing a menacing stone-front to her.
"Why?" she questioned, anger rising in her once calm tone.
He chuckled lightly, the sound rattling within his mask. "Dust to dust, and all that shit, Talia…" he spoke, turning to face her once more. "Depart from me… Rise to the flame, and claim your independence once more…"
"What are you saying?" she snapped, "Am I no longer good enough for you?"
"Good enough?" he roared, grabbing her wrists and pulling them above her head. "I have sought affirmation from you," he hissed through the metal, staring down into her widened eyes.
Her chest heaved with a deep set fear. A fear that she yearned for when they were separated. Driven by anger and resentment. Fueled by passion and adoration. A bewildering notion, yet without it…
She could not survive.
"The desire to surpass your standards, to exceed your expectations…" He growled, pushing her body forcefully to the floor. "To be liberated and justified when you look upon me with mild pride… As though I am of some worth to you."
Her breath caught in her throat as he released her wrists to force her legs apart, laying his waist between them. Her hands instantly began tearing her own clothing away, the need overpowering her senses, driving her movements. The need to feel connected with him once more, after so long of being separated. Her desperation was unbearable. With her eyes, she pleaded for him. She begged him to claim her as she had been waiting for.
"And those moments when I had felt as though I have done right by you…" he hissed, burying his mask into the crook of her neck, frantically trying to inhale her scent through the metal. "Those moments were rapturous…"
She disregarded his speech, her hands fumbling with his belt. And as soon as she had freed him and herself, he had grasped her wrists before she was able to press him into her.
Her eyes met his, wide and eager for him to fill her. Yet he simply stared down at her, brows creased in wonderment. He examined the look of utter desperation filling every corner of her face. And with a slow and tired blink, he whispered,
"You are my savior."
And slammed painfully into her.
One knew, simply by looking at them, that their souls were aged many years past their bodies. That they had seen what no other had before. That adulthood had been forced upon them far too early. Their faces were hardened with years of despair. Years of fear and of hatred. They face the mask of those unjustly accused; unjustly punished. They were the condemned and the marred.
Their relationship was not a humanly one; rather, it was an unfathomable relationship. It was driven and filled by fear. Fear of forever being separated from the other. A need to constantly be near, to constantly be in view of the other. Separation was nigh impossible, and highly improbable. It was a taboo subject; the reason for their internal fears and connections.
Neither spoke of the hell they had once dwelt in. Yet no one asked. Because it read clearly on their tired faces. They did not rise from the Pit unscathed. They were not the righteous. They were not the powerful, formed by dust to destroy the nations. Rather, they were the feeble. Weakness was what dwelt within their souls. A weakness that was a mutual connection between their two bodies and minds. The others dwelling within the fortress knew not of their fear. Rather they knew of the fear that they embodied. It was a peculiar thing. They were the frightening characters that roamed the corridors like shadows in the night. They spoke little. Only when huddle in corners with the other; voices merely whispers to those yearning for a piece of their story.
It was rare to find one without the other. Where he was, she followed. When she moved, he watched her. Most would find it suffocating. But if he was not nearby, she would lose sanity. Her mind would be lost to the fear that had poisoned her soul. Her frantic eyes would search the corners, desperation filling her pleading gaze. She'd lose balance, scrambling to her feet.
Yet he knew better than to ever leave her. For he, himself, could not be parted. For he was half of a whole. Without her, his body bled out.
Ra's Al Ghul had tried relentlessly to pry his daughter from the masked man, yet his attempts were always fruitless. His meager tries to separate them only resulted in resentment towards the man. He had feared for his daughter's sanity. Feared that the connection had been driven too deep beneath her skin. Fear that someday, she would be lost to the weakness that was birthed in their desperate relationship. And he had taken up the task of slowly and patiently separating them.
It had begun the night he had found her lying beneath his sheets in the fortress's medical center. The man's face was bare and held no humanly recognizable form. It was free of bandages, allowing the wounds to breathe. He had been in a deep, medicated slumber. Pain medications had coursed through his veins. He was more medical technology than human in those few days.
And when one of the doctors had informed Ra's of the situation, he had quickly went to see for himself.
She had been curled against his chest, her cheek resting on his thin collarbone. Her small, frail arms had laced around his narrow waist, pulling herself as close to him as humanly possible. And as though it had not been close enough, her legs were wrapped around one of his, his thigh resting between the twists of her legs.
Through the medication, through the slumber, instinct had survived. His arms had found their way around her frame, holding her as tightly as she held him. Subconscious realities could not overtake him, could not overpower him. Through slumber she was his, and he was hers.
The months of separation had worn them both thin. It had damaged them beyond repair, and they could never take back the months that had been spent apart. Independence had been forced upon her, and he had found the independence he had once shed to protect the small creature. And upon reuniting, internal swears had been formed to never allow separation again.
"Shall we remove her?" the doctor had questioned Ra's.
Ra's had considered it, plotting ways to untangle them. Yet he had allowed them their embrace, believing it to simply be fueled by the moment of reuniting. The moment of reattachment. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. They were one soul, separated by two bodies.
"Allow them this," Ra's had said. "But only tonight."
When they had woken, they had said nothing. For most of their time in the Pit had been spent in silence. They had learned to communicate not through speech, but through their silence. It had been their ally in moments of terror, and moments of peace. And not even now did they find the need for speech.
She had straddled his waist in the hospital bend, folding her arms across his cage of a chest, and stared deep into his eyes. And him into hers. Into the universe that dwelled within them.
He had been drugged heavily, yet had fought relentlessly for coherence. He had been unwilling to allow it to take him over, to pull him into slumber. He could feel nothing in his body, yet in his mind, the pain was unbearable. The pain in seeing the look upon her face. He knew what she meant with the small crease in her brow and the twitch at the edge of her lips.
It was an apology.
And he simply shook his head, and she understood.
She had watched as the mask was placed around his face for the first time. Watched as the beautiful damaged skin was covered, hidden behind a cage of metal.
She had sobbed, begging them to find another way to heal him. Pleaded that they leave his face uncovered.
"There is not another way," the doctor had snapped, tugging her wrist from the man's mouth piece.
"Leave him be," she had pleaded through her childish sobs. And had raised her fist to strike him—instinct formed in the Pit resurfacing. Yet the masked man had quickly caught her by the elbow, and tugged her to his chest.
In an instant, one of the members of The League of Shadows had leapt up, grasping the girl around her waist. Had it been honorable intentions, to protect the girl possibly, they had ended as an unfortunate decision. Unfathomable reflexes were trained into the League of Shadows—yet ungodly reflexes were formed in the mire of the Pit.
Instantly, the man's wrist was snapped, and his frame thrown back into a tray of medical supplies—while the masked man's other arm pulled the girl tightly against him, shielding her with his arm. Before the man had tumbled into the tray, the masked man had already curled his frame around her, and they had slipped into a protective heap on the floor. Instinctively, she had laced her arms around him, ducking her head into the crook of his neck.
Ra's had watched silently, his palm pressed against his chin.
Upon realizing that the defensive behavior was not needed, the masked man loosened his grip on the girl slightly, peering over his shoulder to view the man climbing up from the floor. He was unapologetic for his attack, giving the man a shadowed glance as a warning. The girl was untouchable.
The girl had held tightly to him, as she always had. As she always would.
"I need to see you…" she had whispered through bitter tears, feeble hands finding the curves of his mask. "I need to see it… Always…"
"Why, my dear child?" he had questioned, pulling her hands away from the wrists.
They ignored Ra's and the doctors that had lingered, watching the intimate scene unfolding before their shadowed eyes. Judgment had been disregarded, found unworthy of their attention. Only they had mattered in the moment—only they had mattered forever.
"Because," she whispered, looking up at him. "It's beautiful."
Her heaving echoed through the dank walls of the sewer, his grunts meeting the rhythm of her breaths. It rose higher and higher as the heat rose higher and higher. The sound of their wet, tired bodies slamming into one another at a frantic pace.
She cried out with each weighted thrust of his. He tore her apart within, unforgiving. Yet the feel of his hands digging into the flesh of her hips said otherwise.
It was his name that had filled the cold air, in a deep cry of agony. His name that had left her lips as she came undone around him, digging her nails furiously into the sweaty skin of his back. His name that she sobbed as he slammed into over and over again afterwards until he found his own released.
The pain was ungodly, and the pleasure was ignored.
It was not the purpose, it was not the reason. Pleasure was worthless. It was weak. They desired none; they needed none. They were old souls, scrounging the earth simply for the affirmation of the afflicted. They were the survivors of each others stories of hell.
Yet as he lay over her, propped on one elbow, they shared silent stories of love and need. His heaving and desperate attempts to find air were accompanied by hers. And their bodies ached in harmony.
They were the demons of society, the powerful, and the fearless. They reined the earth with notions of destruction, driving a stake of anxiety through the hearts of the nations.
"But the Pit was not my prison…" he whispered through gasps for air.
Yet all they desired… Was to be forever connected, in every possible way.
"My bones were."
Should I continue with this story?
Ideas/feedback/criticism/ect welcomed! :)