The Dark Knight Rises Anonymous Kink Meme

Gotham's Reckoning


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Round One Prompt Post
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tdkr_anon wrote in tdkr_kink
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Welcome to 'Round One' of The Dark Knight Rises Kink Meme.
This round will close when it reaches three thousand comments and after two weeks, another prompt post will open.



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A full list of the rules can be found here.



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ͽ Alphabetize pairing names (ex. Bane/Bruce Wayne/John Blake) or use (Any/Any)
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Bane/John Blake, Warnings: Torture, Non-con.




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Character List
The Dark Knight Rises List:
Alfred
Bane
Barsad
Batman
Bruce Wayne
Catwoman
Daggett
Dr. Jonathan Crane
Dr. Pavel
Foley
Jim Gordon
John Blake
Lucius Fox
Miranda Tate
Ra's Al Ghul
Scarecrow
Selina Kyle
Stryver
Talia Al Ghul
(There are others, add them as you see fit)


Actor List:
Anne Hathaway
Anthony Garcia
Christian Bale
Cillian Murphy
Gary Oldman
Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Liam Neeson
Marion Cotillard
Nestor Carbonell
Tom Hardy
(There are others, add them as you see fit)


Flat View | Fill List | Discussion Thread | Beta Search Thread | Friending Meme

Uh, there might be a foursome somewhere in here eventually. Maybe.

~

Their flat is dark when he arrives, save for the flickering television screen. Arthur toes off his shoes and quirks a curious eyebrow; it's not often Eames is up this late, and when he is, he's far more likely to be curled up in bed with a book. At the moment, he's reclined in the armchair, still fully clothed by the look of things. His face is layered in shadow, out of reach of the TV's dim light.

“Hey,” Arthur says, quietly, reaching up to undo his tie. “What are you still doing up?”

The figure in the chair stands silently instead of answering, and a trickle of uneasiness snakes its way down Arthur's spine as he catches a glimpse of oily metal.

“What is that ridiculous mask?” Arthur asks, grinning uncertainly. “Is this some kind of game, Eames?”

“It is not a game.”

The voice is high and cultured, tinged with an accent he can't quite place, and Arthur has one sharp moment of realization before his briefcase thumps loudly to the floor, hand flying to the butt of his gun.

Before his fingers even make contact, the man has him crushed against the wall, mechanized breathing loud in his ear. Panic is not an emotion Arthur is familiar with, having always been confident in his own abilities, but a knot rises in his throat nevertheless when he realizes just how much bulk is holding him up against the wall.

“So you're Eames' newest plaything,” the man says, an amused lilt to his words. “But you look familiar. Yes, very familiar.”

The mask covering most of the man's face is nothing more than an indistinguishable tangle of metal tubing in the darkness. This isn't Eames--it isn't--but the familiar, blue-gray eyes boring into his are almost enough to convince him otherwise.

A sharp elbow to the side barely fazes the man, and Arthur gasps as a large, calloused hand wraps around his throat. It doesn't squeeze, simply holding him there as Arthur unleashes punch after punch. For all the good it's doing, he might as well be trying to bash his way through a brick wall.

The masked man doesn't see Arthur's headbutt coming, however, and reels back with a wheezing gasp. Arthur bucks up, knee driving upwards towards the other man's groin as light floods the room.

Dark spots dance across Arthur's vision at the sudden flood of light, and he blinks heavily, a blurred figure across the room coming into focus. Eames is leaned up against the doorframe in his boxers, Arthur's Glock tapping slowly against his thigh.

“I would let him go now if I were you, Bane,” he says, laying the gun on the nearest side table. Arthur goggles at him. “You're lucky I stepped in before he took you down.”

“He does have spirit,” the man—Bane—acknowledges, letting go of his throat and stepping back a pace. In the light, Arthur can appreciate just how massive the man is, shoulders hulking with knotted muscles. “He shows no fear. Strange, I never knew you to like capable men.”

“A daytime house call would have sufficed, by the way,” Eames replies, ignoring his comment, and this time his voice has a bit of venom to it. “Arthur, darling, are you hurt?”

“No,” Arthur spits, stalking over to Eames before reaching into his waistband for his gun. Turning back to Bane, he raises the pistol and flips off the safety. “Now I would very much like to know why I shouldn't blow this man's head off for nearly molesting me in the middle of the night.”

“He's my brother, for one,” Eames mildly replies, and Arthur whips his head around, mouth tightening around the corners. The next sentence is addressed to Bane, watching with muted amusement. “So it seems you still have a taste for the theatrical even after being thrown out of the League of Shadows, hmm?”

“I have brought no parlor tricks, brother,” Bane says, throwing his arms apart in demonstration. “Your wildcat would have turned me away at the door if I'd come in the conventional manner, yes?”

Those familiar gray-flecked eyes are sparkling, the only indicator of emotion in a face otherwise covered by dull gray-black metal. The mocking inflection makes Arthur bristle.

“Enough of this shit, Eames,” Arthur demands, gun unwavering. “Why did your “brother” break into our flat in the middle of the night wearing some kind of fucking Halloween mask?”

“I told you I brought no parlor tricks, Arthur,” Bane says, accent wrapping wickedly around his name. “The mask is quite necessary.”

A warm arms winds around Arthur's waist, pulling him back against the reassuringly solid weight of Eames' chest as rough fingertips gently pry the gun from his palm. Arthur allows it, wary gaze unflinching.

Eames' voice is still airy, but this close Arthur can feel the tension in his body, something sharp coiled just beneath the surface. “But more importantly.... Why are you here, Bane? I thought I told you to stay away the moment you decided to share ideals with Talia.”

The name draws a visible wince from Bane, although his reply is flat. “Talia is dead and Gotham is quite whole, I assure you. But someone else is waiting outside.”

“Talia is dead,” Eames repeats, going silent under Bane's warning glare. A shiver of unease passes through Arthur despite himself—Bane looks like he could snap Eames' neck without much of an effort.

Eames brushes off the moment with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Well, since we're all thoroughly awake now, you might as well bring them up.”

A nod, and then Bane is gone, the door slamming behind him. Arthur takes the opportunity to sink back into Eames' arms, eyes falling shut as his adrenaline level evens out.

“It's all right, my love,” Eames murmurs, nuzzling at the sensitive spot beneath Arthur's ear. “I'll explain everything later, okay? He wasn't going to hurt you.”

“That's reassuring,” Arthur snaps, tilting his neck into the kisses despite himself. Footsteps are pounding up the stairs, then, and Arthur steps away just before the door swings open again.

Bane steps in first, fur-lined jacket parted to show a ratty t-shirt pulled tight over a hulking chest. If every line of his body weren't so threatening, the sight might have made Arthur a little weak in the knees.

Behind him is a slight, dark-haired man, eyebrows bunched in confusion. His hair is shorter, his jaw a little bit wider, but Arthur.... Now Arthur understands what Bane meant by “But you look familiar”.

The man's eyes eventually settle on Eames, lips parting in surprise. “Bane...?”

“This is John Blake,” Bane says, and by the possessive slant to his words, it's easy to guess what their relationship is. “Former detective of Gotham city.”

“We have a lot to talk about tomorrow,” Eames warns, eying Blake critically. John stares back confidently, angling himself tellingly towards Bane. “We only have one bedroom here; you'll have to go somewhere else.”

“Certainly, little brother,” Bane agrees, giving a little bow and laying a hand on the small of John's back to usher him out.

Once he's gone Arthur locks the door and dead bolt, fingers quick and sure. The hand Eames lays on his shoulder is almost enough to make him startle, and he turns around, burying his face against his lover's chest.

“Let's go to bed, hmm?” Eames murmurs, muscular arms wrapping tightly around his waist. This is Eames: all warm, self-assured strength and warm eyes. “Trust me, love. I'll tell you everything in the morning.”

He's tempted to say no, to push himself out of Eames' arms and demand an explanation, but he's just so tired.

In the end, he simply burrows closer and lets Eames lead him to bed. Wrapped up in those familiar, secure arms, it's surprisingly easy to fall asleep.

Re: Come Around, 1b/?

asis_w

2012-08-09 04:10 am (UTC)

WAH! Awesome, awesome aweome!

I neeeeed to see more of this!

Amazing start to what's certain to be a satisfying fill :)

Re: Come Around, 1b/?

bat_hawk

2012-08-09 09:34 pm (UTC)

Oh, my, I can't wait to see more of this.

Re: Come Around, 1b/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-10 04:59 am (UTC)

This is such a wonderful start! I am absolutely bookmarking and waiting impatiently for more :)

Please please please keep going!!

Sorry for the wait; I've been very busy and I'm also generally a slow writer. :P Thank you all so much for the comments. I don't reply to them individually (to avoid spamming inboxes) but I read and appreciate each one. :)

~

“Why didn't you tell me?” John quietly asks, touching his fingertips to Bane's mask. They're in the darkest corner of a hole-in-the-wall bar; the bartender had thrown Bane's mask an odd look before shrugging like he'd seen stranger.

“I didn't know if we would be welcome,” Bane simply replies, briefly encasing John's wrist in his broad, callused palm. His sharp eyes flash to the door. “I do believe they have arrived. Will you go and keep Eames' wildcat company?”

“His name is Arthur,” John reminds him, kissing the thumb Bane presses to his lips before heading over to divert Arthur.

“Want to have grab a beer with me?” John asks, tucking his hands into his pockets as Eames continues to the table. Arthur stops, regarding him carefully; John stares unflinchingly back.

“Fine,” Arthur finally agrees, “but no beer. This is a vodka kind of night.” The words are dry, but John can detect a bit of humor around the corners of his eyes.

The bar is lit by soft overhead lights, their reflections glimmering on the counter's varnish. From here, Eames and Bane are nothing more than vague dark shapes. True to his word, Arthur orders vodka, eyes flickering periodically towards the corner of the room.

“Will they fight?” Arthur asks, blunt.

A shrug is the only answer John can give. “We'll see, I guess.”

The next few minutes are passed in silence until John half-smiles, motioning for another beer. “You really aren't going to ask, are you?”

“I have ways of gathering information,” Arthur shrugs, slim shoulders moving gracefully beneath his suit coat.

“Illegal ways, right?” John asks, chuckling when Arthur's face immediately goes stony. “I may be a former detective, Arthur, but I'm also a fugitive from Gotham city. You don't have to worry about me ratting you out for your career choice.”

“It doesn't matter what we do for a living,” Arthur flatly replies, although he is unable to keep the spark of interest off his face. “And Gotham? The city with the Batman?”

“Yeah,” John nods. “I'm sure you haven't heard about it in the news—the government would very much like to keep it quiet—but the city was held hostage for several months.”

“The entire city?” Arthur asks, swinging his bar stool around to face him. “Who in the world managed to pull that off?”

“Bane,” John mildly replies, treated to the first raw, uncontrolled emotional response to cross Arthur's features thus far. In this case, it's surprise. “And his.... Well, I suppose she could be called his ex-lover.”

“That would be the Talia Eames mentioned,” Arthur nods, easily connecting the dots. His eyes are very dark. “Now tell me, why would a detective get tangled with a terrorist, Mr. Blake?”

“You're dancing around the question,” John replies, and smiles as a new, quiet respect settles into Arthur's eyes. “You want to know why Bane wears the mask.”

A moment of loaded silence. Arthur tips his jaw, a challenge.

“This isn't my story to tell,” John says, “but I'll tell it anyway, because Bane won't, and I have a feeling Eames only knows parts of it. And you won't trust either of us one bit until you've heard it.”

“You're right,” Arthur acknowledges. “And I probably won't trust you afterwards, either.”

“Fair enough,” John says, and begins to speak.

this is really interestingly done. :D I'd love to read more! ^_^

Re: Come Around, 2a/?

kit1126

2012-08-12 05:35 am (UTC)

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

I came across this prompt before you filled it and really wanted it filled. You're doing a marvelous job with it and I can't wait for more!!!

Re: Come Around, 2a/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-12 10:03 am (UTC)

This is AWESOME.

Re: Come Around, 2a/?

3raser

2012-08-17 12:35 am (UTC)

All right guys just dropping a note to say I AM WRITING. I have a lot finished actually. But I had a summer reading essay due and 150 pages left in the book four days before the deadline so yeah o_o

Still here though!

Er, this part is really talky. Sorry.

~

A progression of memories come to mind, although not all of them are his.

“Bane grew up in prison, put there in order to serve his father's life term. Eames was probably very young when he was taken.”

The prison is sharp in his mind's eye, formed by Bane's descriptions of it: dank stone and rancid air, nothing but a faraway circle of hazy-blue sky to hint at the outside world. And always that ring of stones climbing up towards the light, taunting in their impossibility.

“Talia was born there; her mother died shortly afterwards. Bane took her in and kept her safe, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. A young girl is.... Well, in a prison like that, she is a commodity, something to be fought over.”

That tightens the corners of Arthur's mouth almost imperceptibly, but John can't bring himself to regret his blunt phrasing. If Arthur is to understand, even minimally, things will have to go without a sugar coating.

“One day a fight broke out, and he just. He tossed her up onto the ledge and she went, and she made it out. And he, well.... They destroyed him. Talia returned for him with her father, Ra's al Ghul, but he was never the same. The mask administers morphine; he's in excruciating pain without it.”

They pause as a raised voice filters out from the corner. It's quickly quieted.

“So what pushed him to become a terrorist?” Arthur asks after another few moments. “By the sound of things, he should have just settled down with Talia, right?”

He's being provoked, albeit carefully and efficiently, and John half-smiles, avoiding the bait. Talia is the past; his jealousy has long since passed. “Talia's father was the head of the League of Shadows, the same organization Batman spurned. They believed themselves to be the bringers of “purging fire” that would free cities—Gotham, in this case—of their corruption. Bane was trained, before eventually being excommunicated. Talia, however, remained with him and continued on with her plans.”

Arthur regards him through lowered eyelashes, contemplating his words. John suddenly very much wants to see him loosened up, hair ungelled, face slackened. It would be like watching an entire different person, an impostor wearing the same skin.

After a few minutes Arthur sits back in his seat, apparently satisfied that he is telling the truth. “But that still doesn't explain why you two are involved, having, ah, very different life goals.”

“That's ah....” John murmurs, pausing as images flicker through his mind in quick succession, a shuffled timeline. Blood trickling down the side of his face; soft, ragged teddy-bear fabric beneath his fingers; a gun pressed to the hollow of his throat; Bane rasping his name into his ear, against him, in him. “That's kind of...private.”

“Hmm,” Arthur says, going quiet and disinterested again. It's in that moment that John notices the pleasant buzz of alcohol flowing through his veins, blurring the edges of his vision just the smallest bit. Words cascade from his lips before his brain can catch up and stop them; perhaps he's had a bit too much to drink.

“He kept me hostage for a while,” he begins, “once he realized how involved I was in the resistance. He.... I.... I think he took an interest in me, you know? Everyone else had a selfish motive somewhere in the mix, and he wanted to find out mine. We talked philosophy and he treated me decently enough, but I knew I was running out of time.”


Infiltrating Bane's room had been a suicide mission, a last ditch effort by a man who would probably die either way. What he hadn't expected to find was a small, ripped bear tucked away in a corner, a small glinting blade hidden away inside. Such a small token of corrupted innocence.

Blake laughs, suddenly. “The funny thing is, he couldn't fathom me not having a selfish motive, when he himself never had one. In prison he'd only fought to survive, and outside protecting Talia and carrying out her plans was all he lived for. He'd come to believe what the League of Shadows said—that Gotham needed to be cleaned, purged, and the deaths of millions was fair price to do it—but without her, would he have done it? He watched her become twisted by the League, and loved her so much he followed behind.”

"I'm way too drunk for this, by the way," he mentions, scrubbing at his face. This draws what appears to be a genuine half-smile from Arthur.

A dimple burrows into his cheek, and John stares.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, once that little grin has disappeared, “he pistol-whipped me across the head one night when he found me in his room. When I woke up, he told me his story with the gun pressed to my throat.”

He doesn't tell him about what happened after. The oily gun metal had been slick against his Adam's apple, his tongue wrapping clumsily around an “I want to help you.” Bane's only answer had been to cradle his throbbing temple in one impossibly broad hand and reply with a low, swooping “You can't.”

Their first time, later that night, hadn't been gentle by any stretch of the imagination. The guards had heard his moaning and crying; leaving the next day had been a mess of catcalls and raucous jeering. Bane had taken the nearest whooping man by the throat and casually dropped him to his knees.

That, paired with the possessive hand slid onto the small of his back, should have made him run screaming. Four days later, he was back in his bed.

“I pulled him out of Gotham's rubble after Talia tied,” John continues, tired of talking but determined to finish. “Everyone assumed he was dead, so it wasn't terribly hard to sneak him away. And here we are. That was three years ago.”

“Well, we steal information from dreams,” Arthur announces, apropos of nothing. The look of surprise on John's face manifests before he can stop it, and Arthur gives another almost-grin. “I figure you've earned that much.”

The two dark forms in the corner rise, heading towards them. A half-formed reply is hanging on the tip of John's tongue, but before he can articulate it past the alcohol Arthur is already gone.

Re: Come Around, 3b/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-18 10:07 pm (UTC)

OP HERE.

I AM SO SORRY, I FORGOT TO TRACK MY COMMENT AND JUST NOW REALIZED MY REQUEST WAS BEING FILLED.

That being said, I LOVE IT SO MUCH. SERIOUSLY. LOVE IT. I can so easily picture all of the characters doing exactly as you say they are, and ARTHUR'S A WILDCAT I LOVE IT.

Re: Come Around, 3b/?

3raser

2012-08-18 10:55 pm (UTC)

No problem! I'm really glad you like it and think the characterizations are believable. :)

:O who are the two people in the corner? still so intriguing! XD I can't wait for more! :D

Re: Come Around, 3b/?

franny93

2012-08-21 07:55 pm (UTC)

aw that story starts great! please give us more! :) dont abandon it! a story with arthur/eames AND John/Bane is more than amazing <3

Re: Come Around, 3b/?

3raser

2012-08-21 09:01 pm (UTC)

Don't worry; I won't abandon it! I've just been very busy lately. :P

Re: Come Around, 3b/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-22 07:35 am (UTC)

thats okay, I can take busy ;)

Thank you all so much for the comments. :) I apologize for the slow updates.

~

There's no point in staying any longer, as far as Arthur is concerned. The entire story is out in the open, John is half-asleep at the bar, and the two brothers are still deep in conversation. If a fistfight was going to break out between them, Arthur is confident it would have already. And besides, he's tired himself, a light haze of vodka relaxing the knots in his shoulders.

Halfway past the empty dance floor, Arthur pauses to watch a couple emerge from the corner. The bar is mostly empty; he hadn't noticed them there. The man veers off towards the bathroom before Arthur can get a good look at him, but the woman continues towards him, meeting his eyes with a flirtatious smile.

Her hair shimmers in the soft lighting, a warm, rich brown. Her eyes are very dark. Arthur crosses his arms and waits, impassive.

“Hey there,” she says, the words coming out like a purr. Arthur fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Why are you leaving so early, handsome?”

“I would hardly consider,” Arthur begins, pausing to check his watch, “12:56 'early'.”

“Then why don't you walk me home like a gentleman,” she suggests, playing a little with the collar of his shirt. “You know what can happen to ladies on the street this time of night.”

“Won't your friend in the bathroom wonder where you've gone?” Arthur asks, keeping his face carefully even. He feels—something isn't right here. He's made his disinterest clear, and still he feels like he's being probed.

"We're not exclusive," she shrugs, as if that's an answer to his question. It's a flat-out lie anyway; Arthur can read it in her body language. "I'll text him on the way."

With every passing moment Arthur likes her less and less, so he let's her down the easiest way he knows how.

"But then there's the problem of me being gay," Arthur says, amused by the genuine expression of surprise that flits over her face. "So unless you've got a surprise under that skirt, I'm not interested. Besides, I'm spoken for."

"Oh," she says, red-painted lips curling down in disappointment. "Spoken for by whom? That handsome fellow in the corner?"

"Does it matter?" Arthur snaps, quickly losing his patience. She doesn't recoil, just looks at him.

"I just thought you might like some company until they're finished with their...business meeting?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not interested," he coldly replies, leaving before she can get another word out.

~

Eames comes home significantly later than he means to to find Arthur stretched out on the couch, laptop in hand.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand across his face. “I'm bloody exhausted. Why don't we go to bed? I'll fill you in in the morning.”

“John already did,” Arthur replies, shutting his laptop and heading towards the bedroom. His voice is clipped.

“What's the matter, darling?” Eames sighs, following him.

“Oh, nothing really,” Arthur says, throwing his watch onto the dresser with an unusual amount of force. “I'm just wondering why, in the five years we've been together, I've never even heard you mention having a brother.”

“Don't be cross, love,” Eames murmurs, wrapping a strong arm around his middle and pulling him back against his chest. “Let's lay down, hmm?”

“I'm waiting,” Arthur says.

“I haven't seen him since I was 23, Arthur,” Eames sighs, laying his cheek against the downy-soft curls at the base of his neck. “As soon as I realized how deeply he was buying into Talia's ideals, I told him to leave and never come back. I certainly didn't know he'd went on to become a terrorist; he could have been dead for all I knew.”

“I get that,” Arthur sighs, tipping his face to allow Eames to kiss up the pale arch of his throat. “I just wish you would have mentioned it at some point. I don't like feeling like we still have...secrets.”

“It wasn't intentional,” Eames assures him, tugging him over to the bed and falling back onto it. “But I'm sorry, love.”

“I know,” Arthur admits, lips pulling up into a smile when Eames tugs him down on top of him. “Mmm, let's not think about Bane anymore for a while, okay?”

“Certainly,” Eames grins, twining his fingers into Arthur's hair and kissing him soundly.

Interesting!!!!! I'd love to find out more about that those 2 people wanted from Arthur :D and yayyyy all the love at the end! XD ♥

Re: Come Around, 4a/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-23 01:12 pm (UTC)

... was that Catwoman? o.0

I AM SO SORRY. School has just started and I've been working and just. I will finish this. ;_; I'm sorry this is so short; it's really just a teaser to tide you over....

~

Arthur awakens with a start and stares into the blackness. All is silent; he can't quite pinpoint what woke him, but. Something is not right.

Untangling his limbs from Eames' is a challenge. Luckily, the other man simply flips over and gives a light snore once he's free. His silenced Glock is within easy reach on the bedside table; Arthur grabs the cool metal in the dark and slips silently from bed.

A slight rustle in the darkness, beyond the half-open bedroom door. Arthur crouches low beside the door and peaks around it, gun aimed steadily. Just enough moonlight filters in from around the curtains to make out two figures moving quietly through the room.

They aren't John and Bane, that much is certain. Bane's bulk is not easily forgotten, and one of them is obviously female.

A catalog of enemies sits ready in his mind but Arthur disregards it for now, taking careful aim at the male figure. Now is not the time for guessing motives.

The gunshot isn't exactly quiet, even silenced, of course, but the neighbors will almost certainly write it off as a car backfiring or a far away shot. The male figure crumples to the ground with a cry of pain, blood fanning over the carpet. The woman cuts her shriek off halfway through.

Arthur flicks on the light.

Edited at 2012-08-29 12:43 am (UTC)

Re: Come Around, 5a/?

(Anonymous)

2012-08-30 12:14 am (UTC)

Omgosh Arthur is so amazingly efficient and precise! Is it weird that I find this unbelievably hot XD

unf! so good! XDDD I hope everything will ease up/you'll get into the swing of things soon! :) I'm eagerly awaiting the next part! XD

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