Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations I put all my poor victims in.

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Biceps To Spare

When they arrived back at the house Blake went straight to the kitchen to put together something for dinner, not at all hungry at this point but forcing himself to eat a little since the stronger he was physically the more likely he was to survive a little longer. Not that he would stand a chance against Bane even in peak physical condition. Even with the sort of training Bane and Batman must have undergone to become the ass-kickers they were Blake knew that he still probably wouldn't stand much of a chance unless he got very lucky or they underestimated him too much. A depressing thought, and another hard weight in his stomach since it reminded him that here he was feeling sorry for himself while his hero no doubt suffered a great deal more in the pit Bane had dropped him into. He was being a fucking pussy.

Disgusted with himself Blake ate everything else on his plate and felt a little better once he'd washed it down with his juice, focusing on what he'd accomplished that day so that he could ignore what he couldn't change or imagined could be in his future.

Taking his plate over to the sink Blake sighed over the fact that in his absence someone had come in and cleaned up the large mess he'd made preparing the treats for the kids. That would have given him something to do with the rest of his evening, or at least a good way to do penance for his earlier pity party. He had a roof over his head, clothes on his back, and even though he felt a little nauseated he was still lucky as hell to have a full belly and whole body. A lot of people in Gotham couldn't say the same. Hell, as horrifying a thought as it was, there were billions of people out there who were currently worse off than he was and had been their entire lives.

"I'm going to change and then use the gym."

Leaving Barsad to finish his dessert, man but the mercenary had a sweet tooth, Blake headed back up the stairs and changed into a pair of loose pants, no sweat pants allowed in a mansion apparently, and an undershirt that meant his arms were more than a little cool as he headed back downstairs but he ignored that since he'd be working up a sweat in no time.

The gym he entered wasn't really a gym, or at least not what he thought of as a gym, anyway. Mostly it was set up for the trophy wife, with one of those ball things, very small weights, and a few other pieces of equipment that substituted for walking or riding a bike. He'd have given a lot of money for a punching bag to work over, but this was as much penance as exercise so he was planning to focus on what he didn't like doing as opposed to ways he actually liked sweating his frustration out.

Clearing a space for himself Blake put down a yoga mat just in case, pumped the music, and then got down to business as he started with some light stretching and then moved to the much hated push ups, starting with two hands and then switching over to just one with the other curved behind his back. After that it was the slightly less hated sit ups, and a few other tedious, repetitive actions that did his body good but that he'd rather have skipped if not for the necessity of doing them before moving on to the fun stuff.

Which there really wasn't room for anyway, Blake noted after pausing to take a break to take a bottle of water out of the mini fridge tucked away by the sound system. Still, there was a mirrored section of wall and if he moved some of the equipment off to the side he could make use of that.

Doing precisely that Blake removed his sweaty shirt as well and then stood in front of the mirror, rolling his shoulders as he mentally cursed the fact that he didn't have access to his tapes to reference what he planned to attempt. Back when he'd been a rook he'd gotten his hands on every recording of Batman fighting he could find, piecing them together in an admittedly lame attempt to learn how to fight like his hero. He'd even had them looked over by an ex who was an MMA fighter, to get his opinion, but Micah hadn't been able to steer him in the direction of the correct discipline, saying that the Bat fought like he and his opponents did. A mixture of styles from all over the world, seamlessly blended together in such a way that you'd think it was one discipline. So he'd tried to mimic the video footage and pick up lessons and instruction here and there, eventually giving it up under the weight of his work and lack of money to spend on real training time with professionals.

But he'd watched the videos every once in a while, particularly after a bad day, and he had kept up with the basics since you needed to be able to defend yourself when you patrolled the streets of a city like Gotham.

Focus and watch your body, Blake told himself as he shifted his body into a fighting stance, a fierce look of concentration and determination lighting his dark eyes from within. Every muscle, every movement, smooth and sure, no wasted energy or openings presented. He'd never before had such a body like this to work with, one that had been so obviously enhanced to make him stronger and tougher, a soldier's body. It was time he honed what he'd been given by his bitch enemy even more until he was as dangerous an opponent as he could be against whatever she or one of her lackeys threw at him.

He wasn't a shield tonight. He was a weapon.

)

Silent as a shadow Bane watched the Gotham detective from just inside the doorway, his eyes as glued to the other man's body and form as Blake was. Which said something about the level of concentration Blake was exerting, the mercenary silently acknowledged, since normally the detective was more aware of his surroundings and his presence. He'd been standing there for at least thirty minutes and had yet to be noticed or acknowledged in any way. A dangerous thing, to be so unaware in another predator's territory, but as he would allow no harm to come to his captive he supposed Blake was right to feel safe enough to let his guard down this much.

When he wasn't thinking about that or the surprising beauty of the detective's upper body, which caught him more unaware and caused a deeper response every time, Bane tried to figure out exactly what fighting disciplines the man was trained in. There had been nothing in the file he'd been given to suggest that Blake was trained beyond the pathetic basics required by a police academy, but either the data was faulty or the man had been trained on the side by someone who knew more than one fighting discipline. Years ago, there had been a rustiness earlier that had worn away as Blake had found his groove so to speak, but now…now at times there was poetry in the play of muscles underneath the smooth flesh of Blake's upper body that made him long to touch.

Only the tattoo marred Blake's perfection in his eyes.

Forcing himself not to dwell on it, because as much as he wanted it erased from Blake's skin he wouldn't force the man to allow him to remove it, Bane continued to watch silently until the object of his attention attempted a move he knew well three times, failing to execute it properly every time which resulted in some muttered cursing on Blake's part.

"You're dropping your left arm too soon, among other things."

A jerk and then Blake was turning to face him, chest heaving with exertion, sweat dripping down his body and darkening his hair. "Bane."

In some part of his mind Bane acknowledged the fact that he found Blake's body more beautiful than any work of art or spectacle of nature he'd ever seen, but it was the way his name had just been spoken that had him moving towards the detective without any thought behind it save his need to get closer. It was like the night before, when Blake had said his name in his sleep, curling against him so trustingly. There was just something about the way Blake said it that all but brought him to his knees.

With oddly gentle hands Bane turned Blake so that he was facing the mirror again, wrapping one arm around the smaller man's waist to fit him back against him, their bodies snug against each other. Wrapping fingers around each of Blake's wrists Bane held them as he told the detective to place his right leg against his own so that they were lined up, keeping it there and moving it in time with his.

"Again." Was all Bane said as he moved Blake's fisted hands in the proper sequence, forcing them to move as he wanted them to and then bringing both their legs up to finish off their imaginary opponent, Blake's a little off because of the nudge but it was still better than it had been.

It was Blake's turn to say again this time, the two going through the motion four times with Bane merely holding on the last two times as the detective went through the sequence with confident, powerful concentration and force.

"Well done."

"Thanks." There was no reason for Bane to keep his present grip on him, he had the move down enough to practice it alone, but Bane didn't move and Blake didn't know what to do as he no longer had a task to distract himself from the picture they made in the mirror.

As caught up in the image they made in the glass as Blake, who looked so right somehow pressed up against him, safe with him, Bane searched for something to say and settled on asking where Blake had learned that move from.

"I dated an MMA fighter for a while, he taught me some moves. Oh, MMA stands for Mixed Martial Arts. In case you didn't know." Of all the television shows out there he supposed that would possibly interest someone like Bane, but the man's distain for western culture might have kept him in the dark there.

Not liking that answer Bane frowned behind his mask. "He should have taught you better."

Blake couldn't help it, his lips curved into a secretive little smile that said without words that his ex had made teaching him some other things a higher priority. But all he actually said was that yeah, it was too bad Micah and he hadn't lasted longer. Long distance relationships just didn't work though, and at least they'd parted on good terms.

"If I live through this I'll have to look him up next time he's in Gotham, ask for more lessons." Blake added, thinking that thinking of his ex was a far better idea than obsessing about the fact that Bane's body was still tight against his, the warmth and the man's harsh breathing on his neck making his heart beat in a way he doubted Bane would miss. Unfortunately a voice inside his head said that Bane was more built, lethal, and sexy dangerous than Micah on his best day, but he was working hard to block that voice out.

"He abandoned you to play fight with men who pretend they are great warriors. I will train you until you escape or die. If you survive, you will know more than he could ever teach you."

Eyes widening at the offer Blake couldn't see Bane's angle. "How does it benefit you to teach me?"

Because it didn't, Bane answered that it would be something for him to do while he waited for the country to realize they could not stop him.

"But…if you wanted to spar Barsad would be the more logical-"

"That was not a request."

)

Not seeing any other choice Blake did as ordered, following Bane's instructions until he hit the ground and stayed down, too tired and worn out to care what Bane thought of him. He hadn't worked out this hard in years and his body just plain wasn't used to exercising for more than an hour, two at most. Bane wasn't a monster, but maybe he was a machine under all those muscles, Blake decided as he closed his eyes and ignored the man's command to get up. What was he going to do, after all, send him to his room and lock him in there without any food until he fell into line?

Starving was preferable to moving at the moment. He was going to sleep here and said so when Bane asked him if he was just going to stay there.

"You need to shower and change. You'll get sick."

"Don't care."

Silence, then Blake felt himself being lifted up and into Bane's arms, the gesture surprising him enough to make him open his eyes but not enough to make him care that he was being treated like some Disney princess. Bane wanted to carry him, the mercenary could knock himself out. He hoped the unreasonable bastard put his back out.

"You need a keeper." Bane informed him as they exited the room, his voice sounding harsher than normal.

"No one's ever wanted that job permanently." Blake pointed out dryly, closing his eyes again as focused on how sexy it was to smell both their sweat on Bane's skin. Thinking about his poor, battered body was too depressing, though it should concern him given his present circumstances.

It was on the tip of Bane's tongue to say that he would take that job, could make him strong and see that he reached his true potential, but he knew that that wasn't to be. Even if they escaped Gotham alive Talia would never allow him to keep Blake, especially when the man so proudly wore the symbol of the man who'd stolen her father from her. And even if he was allowed, Blake would have to become someone else. Someone the detective would not want to be.

So instead Bane informed him that they would continue his training in the morning.

"No way in hell."

"Many of my men would kill for the chance to be trained by me personally."

"Then train them." Blake shot back as they reached the stairs leading to the second level. "It can be your Christmas present to them from both of us."

His annoyance coming through loud and clear despite the mask Blake could feel the other man's glare even without looking at him. Nor was he terribly surprised when he was informed that Bane would have killed him long ago for his weakness and smart tongue if he was one of his men, so perhaps it was best that he didn't teach him. Obviously he was too weak in body and mind to handle anything beyond his pathetic government training.

"I wouldn't last a day in your band of merrily insane men because not only do I have a conscience, but I refuse to let anyone think for me." Blake had to admit that wasn't his best comeback, but hoped it hid his reaction to being called weak by Bane. He wasn't weak…he was just a little out of shape, dammit.

"Do you wish to be dropped?"

Since he didn't, and Blake wasn't entirely sure Bane realized that dropping him down a flight of stairs would unquestionably guarantee that he wouldn't be doing anything come morning, Blake used what little strength he had regained to wrap his arms around his tormentor's neck. If he was going down he was damn well taking the man with him or die trying. At least he'd die happy.

But Bane didn't drop him, going suspiciously quiet the rest of the way up and down the hallway towards his room, speaking only to tell him that he needed to get the door for them.

If he was dropped now it wouldn't be too bad, Blake decided after a moment of contemplation, keeping one arm around Bane's thick neck while reaching out with the other to turn the knob, pushing the door open for them before returning said hand to its former resting place, just in case. Rather than be dumped on his floor or his bed Bane headed towards the bathroom, reminding Blake that he'd been told he needed to shower before going to bed to keep from catching a chill.

Okay, that did make some sense, and it was the twenty third tomorrow or today, he had no idea what time it was, so getting sick wasn't an option given his holiday plans, but still…he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't actually drown this time around if he tried to have a shower.

"Just set me down on the main counter, I'll wipe myself down with a wash cloth."

Bane said nothing to indicate that he'd heard the order, but he did maneuver their bodies so that he could set Blake down on the counter with his back against the mirror, releasing him there. While Blake watched in confusion, the man should be leaving him, shouldn't he, Bane ran the tap until the water was warm and then put in the stopper, leaving the sink to fill up a little before stooping down to retrieve one of the wash cloths from a drawer.

"Thanks." Holding out his hand Blake frowned when he wasn't given the towel, Bane turning off the tap instead. Then the towel was being dipped in the water and Bane was turning his attention back to him.

"Stay still."