Recently I met a new friend, and in talking it was revealed that he's a huge Batman fan (who isn't?). Slash fiction isn't normally my thing -- I like to create my own characters and universe. However, I had to agree that DC's dark crusader fulfills more than a few of my darker fantasies. Therefore, one afternoon I decided to write a short story with our friend, the Batman. It's not the greatest piece of literature in the world, but I kind of like it.
Ah, so the rules of my writing. I always appreciate comments and feedback at erikritler@yahoo.com. And I always recognize that some of you are here for, well, let's say it's not for the plot. If storyline isn't your thing, search the phrase xes' using the find feature in your browser and you will be taken to the steamier bits. And if you like my writing style, you may enjoy my longer storyline entitled Space Ship Boys', which can be located in the science fiction section on Nifty.
Needless to say, this being slash, all of the standard disclaimers apply. The Batman and all other DC characters are the property of DC Comics and TimeWarner, and I take no credit for the creation of their characters. I make no assumptions about the sexuality of their characters. Any similarities to real people or events is completely coincidental. The dark brooding hero in the comics seems pretty heterosexual (sigh), but we can all appreciate that somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of our imaginations, what you are about to read isn't only entirely possible, but probable.
Enjoy!
Batman and the Black Cat Mystery
I'm a normal guy, really. Nothing special about me at all. I work in advertising -- illustrating layouts and putting together mockups for one of the average, medium-sized agencies on Gotham's Fuller Avenue. I'm average height -- five foot eleven, and I have an average build, not too muscular but not too thin either. Short black hair, nothing special there. My eyes, however, might be a little better than average. They're bright green, and people are usually instantly drawn to them. One other thing, I'm gay, which I think is perfectly average, but to some that might put me out of the mainstream.
I make an average income and lead an average life, spending my days tapping into the creative parts of my brain and my afternoons trying to figure out the company health care plan. I spent most nights alone, a string of bad boyfriends having left an alkaline taste in my mouth for dating. I know, I know, get back on the horse and all. Well, the last horse had been a little mean, and to be honest it had turned me against horses for now.
Besides, I was happy coming home to the true love of my life, Chase, my bright-eyed best friend, a grey British Shorthair with gleaming orange eyes. Chase and I had a lot in common, actually. Tuna on rye was the perfect supper for us, and we both hated the same movies. And Chase had endless affection for me, something I appreciated with all my heart.
But this isn't a story about my career or my apartment or my kitty. This is a story about three months that changed my life, and the story of how I met him. The darkness that protects Gotham. Our fearless champion. And, as far as I was concerned, the hottest man in tights (sorry, Supes). It's a good one, but unfortunately one that begins with pain.
I was sitting and I was in intense agony. No, wait, I was lying. I was burning up. I was freezing. I hurt all over. And then I was asleep again.
When I wake up, the pain is still there, and worse than before. I feel like someone has beaten me half to death with a police baton. I don't know where I am. My chest screams out in agony with each breath. It's dark. Wait, did someone beat me half to death with a police baton? Things are blurry. I want my cat.
"Don't be alarmed." The voice is gruff and calm and sneaks out of the darkness like a creeping spider. I'm in pain and confused and I don't know where I am. Of course I'm alarmed. I look over and a shape emerges from the shadow. I can't see well in the dim light, but I instantly know who it is. The profile is unmistakable. Gotham's Dark Knight.
If I could have jumped up off the table in sheer surprise, I may have. But my body felt like I'd just run a fifty mile marathon then stayed awake for nine days straight, so the best I could muster is a slight foot twitch.
"You're going to be ok. Do you remember what happened?" The man steps closer to me. I see now that he's, well, he's not quite as I would expect. His cape hangs open in the front and he's naked underneath except for a pair of black briefs. Am I dreaming? Then I see that he has a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his thigh, and another around his chest. And the memories come flooding back.
I'd been coming home from work late, and I took a shortcut down a dark alley. I know, I know, I should have learned from all those `Don't Do The Alley, Sally' PSA's the Gotham City Council puts out. But I had been in a hurry. That's when two guys, one roughly the size of the Titanic, had jumped me. At first I thought they wanted my wallet, and I handed it to them without a word. Then they started working me over. Terror seethed through me as I realized that I was about to become another morbid gay bashing statistic.
But then he'd shown up, swooping down from the darkened heights of the brownstones. He took the two guys out in about ten seconds. I think I remember some of Titanic's teeth flying out of his face. Gross. He'd saved me. Or so I thought.
It was just as Batman was reaching down to me to help me up that about twenty guys entered the alley, all of them carrying dangerous looking knives, their steely glint catching the neon glow of the street signs. A little extreme for a gay bashing, wouldn't you say?
I'd been kicked in the chest about ten times, and was getting a little fuzzy. I remember that Batman had swept into action immediately, taking on all of them. He was here, there, then here again, punching and kicking with a grace that reminded me of Chase, but it was also a dark, deadly grace.
Twenty guys were even a little much for Batman. I tried to drag myself to my feet, but the most I could muster was my knees. It was enough to grab a two by four and smack one of the thugs on the head, though. The good news was that one baddie was down for the count. The bad news was that two descended on me and began beating me again. I screamed in pain and terror, and I remember Batman spinning towards my cries. His concentration broken, one of the thugs managed to sink a knife deep into his thigh, and another raked furiously across his chest, ripping the costume and instantly drawing a bright crimson streak of blood.
After that, things get blurry. I remember that Batman flipped onto his hands and spun his powerful legs in a semi-circle, taking out three guys in one kick. I also remember that I took another pretty good pop in the face. And I recall that once he'd taken out maybe fifteen of the guys, the others ran in terror. I didn't blame them. Then he stumbled and fell, punching a button on his wrist as he collapsed. There were dark tendrils creeping into the sides of my vision, I was about to lose consciousness. But I knew that if I did, reinforcements would probably show up, and Batman didn't look up to saving me a second time. A pool of blood was forming on the ground under him.
There was a roar down the alleyway. I was alarmed at first, but then I saw unmistakable silhouette of the batmobile. Pulling up to us, its canopy opened automatically, there was no one inside. I'm a techie, so I instantly figured out Batman had called it with the button on his glove, and I also knew that inside the car was salvation, outside the car was death.
I pulled myself up, getting to my feet this time. I hurt all over. I don't remember how, but I walked over to the downed hero and managed to drag him to the car. Like I said, I have some muscle, and normally I could lift a couple hundred pounds into a car. But my body was on fire, and one of my biceps didn't seem to be working. Still, I was determined to save my hero (and myself). With all my remaining strength, I got him into the car and climbed in after.
I could hear the sound of running feet coming towards us, and I knew it had to be the creeps coming back. I didn't know how to drive this crazy thing, but as it turns out I didn't have to. There was a large red button flashing `home' on the center console. I pressed it, hoping for the best. The canopy closed in a metallic whoosh, and the engines roared.
The car spoke to me in an English accent. "Everything ok, sir?" The tendrils were creeping further and further into my vision.
"We're...hurt..." I mumbled. And that was the last thing I remembered.
At least until I woke up here.
"Uh, where am I?" I ask, coming back from the haze of recollection.
"You're going to be alright, but you need to take it easy. Do you remember what happened?" His voice is rough, like sandpaper, but sandpaper that rubs you in all the right places.
"Yeah, those guys. Thanks. Owww..." I groan, a little embarrassed at being such a wimp in front of my hero.
"Now that you're awake I've given you some morphine. It should kick in soon. I should be the one to thank you. You saved my life."
"Well, I guess we're even then," I reply, getting a little giggly over Batman's thanks. Wait, no, I tell myself, I think that's the morphine. Then I slip off into sleep again. Yep, it was the morphine.
When I wake up I feel better, although I think someone must have rolled me down a staircase. And judging by the tenderness in my ribs and butt and everywhere else, it was a staircase transcending Mount Everest.
I sit up and take a look around. It's still dark, but I've always been pretty good at seeing in the dark so I can make out that I'm in a cave. A pretty weird cave. My area is like a makeshift hospital room, and opens into a massive expanse filled with computers and equipment and bizarre dimly lit relics. A giant playing card with the terrifying grimace of the Joker stares menacingly into the room. Oh my god, I'm in the freaking batcave.
"You're safe here."
The voice, once again, comes from about ten inches behind me and I jump, pain shooting through my ribs. God freaking dammit, this guy is good at sneaking up on people. I look around at him, all of a sudden a little self-conscious that I'm dressed in nothing but my grey boxer briefs. Well, thank god I wasn't wearing my Batman underwear (yeah, I have some, don't ask).
"Your name is Ryan Parnell, right? This is my home. You've been here for two days, and we've been taking care of you. You'll be ok, I don't remember if you heard me say that before. Just a mild concussion and a bunch of bruises. You didn't even break any ribs, but I'll warn you that it's going to be pretty ugly when you look in a mirror the first time."
"Ugh," I groan, collapsing back on the bed. That was a mistake, I feel my back spasm. Every part of me still hurt. Suddenly, I realize that I don't have my necklace on. It's the most important thing in the world to me, next to Chase. My parents died in a plane crash when I was young, then my grandmother raised. I loved her dearly, but she got cancer when I was in twenty-one. Eight years later and the loss still hurt me deep inside. The pendant was the last thing she gave me. I reach up to my naked chest, alarm apparent in my eyes.
"They didn't get it. Here." Batman reaches to a side table and picks up my pendant; it's a gold disc with the image of an art deco cat engraved on the surface. Grandma told me that the cat reminded her of me -- it looked mysterious and intelligent, but also ready to cuddle.
I gratefully take the pendant from him, hoping he didn't think I feared he'd steal it. I'd been afraid that it had fallen off, or that the thugs had taken it. It was real gold, actually, so it had some value.
"Thanks," I tell him meekly.
Moving right past my gratitude, he asks me, "Look, Ryan, we need to talk. Do you know who Felix Daggert is? Do you know why those men came after you?"
Everyone had heard of Felix Daggert. Thug, crime lord, drug smuggler. An untouchable. "The crime boss guy? Yeah, I know about him. Those guys I assumed were out, uh, well, gay bashing. Did they work for him?"
Batman wanders over to a desk and picks up a file. "Yeah, they worked for him. What you may not know is that Daggert is closely linked to Cobblepot Industries, an organization controlled by a man called the Penguin. Daggert runs Penguin's criminal affairs, and his men don't go around bashing gays. They're thugs, but they're disciplined. Both Daggert and Penguin would have killed them for drawing unnecessary attention. They wanted something else. I don't know what yet, but I promise I'll find out."
Everyone knew who Daggert was, and everyone knew who the Penguin was. I'd attracted their attention. What the fuck? I was just an artist at an ad agency. What the hell did they want with me?
I ask Batman just that, and I don't like the answer. He doesn't know, but he does know that every crime syndicate, warlord, weirdo, transient and thug in the city had been put on alert by Daggert, and the instructions were to bring me in. Suddenly, I didn't feel very safe at all. I felt terrified. They were coming to get me in the dark and there was nothing I could do.
I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I'm ashamed that I'm about to cry in front of the valiant hero. He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. The leather of the costume feels smooth against my skin, and suddenly I am all too aware that this muscular dream figure is standing over me. I start to tent a little in my shorts, which honestly makes my humiliation about ten times worse.
"Don't worry, Ryan. You will be staying here for the time being. Cobblepot is up to something, and I'll find out what it is. No one will hurt you, I swear."
The prospect of a sleepover with Batman is many a nerdy gay boy's dream, but I look uncertainly around the cave, considering that I'm going to have to hole up in this dank, dark space.
Batman smiles a little and tells me I don't have to stay in the hospital. He asks me to follow him, and I do. We walk through the massive space, past mysterious machines and incredible artifacts. I think we pass a dry-docked Nazi submarine. We come upon a door leading into another chamber of the cave. Batman opens it and we enter. We're in, well, we seem to be in an apartment. And a pretty nice one.
All of a sudden, it's not like we're in cave at all. We're in a large living room tastefully decorated in mid-century modern furniture. One wall of the room is glass, looking out into the batcave. But if I drew the burgundy curtains, I might not know I was underground at all.
"If it's ok, this is where you'll be staying. I wish we could put you up in the city somewhere, but the alert to find you is too comprehensive. This is the only place you'll be completely safe. Unfortunately, for the time being, I can't even let you go outdoors. I won't force you to stay, but I recommend that you do."
I wander into an adjoining room and find a similarly decorated master suite. I sit down on the bed. I'm scared and weirded out by the situation, but the soft sheets are something of a comfort. "Yeah, I mean if you think I need to. I'd like to get some stuff from my apartment, or maybe you can. I can give you my key. I have a cat."
Batman stands silently in the corner for a moment. I can tell he's considering how to phrase something. Although a personal hero (now more than ever), a silent Batman is still a little frightening.
"Look, Ryan, I need to tell you something. It may be hard to hear."
"Ok," I reply uncertainly.
"I already went to your apartment. They torched it. Whole building, actually. I searched through everything, and nothing was salvageable. They'd searched before burning it, I could tell. I'm sorry, there was no cat."
And then came the worst feeling of my life. It was every negative emotion wrapped as one terrible and dark present. I was afraid, beaten, violated. And now alone. Chase was my best friend in the world, and they'd taken him too. Images of my poor little kitten burning alive, afraid and in pain and without his Ryan flashed through my mind. And then the tears started to come.
Batman made a motion to say something, but suddenly I needed to be alone. I told him to get out, and he left. What followed wasn't pretty, and all I can say is that my heart had been shattered. I lay in a lump on the bed, crying and shaking and feeling like my life had come to an end. I tried to put things out of my mind and focus on something, anything, else. Clouds. Beetles. Rainy afternoons. But every time, an image of my beautiful grey Chase would creep back in and I would begin wailing anew. I threw up more than once the first night. And then I lay down and didn't move for an hour. Then ten. Then I cried myself to sleep. Then I cried through another day and night. I was broken, and I knew I'd never be fixed.
The week that followed was rough. I was an emotional wreck. But three times per day, I found a lavish meal at my `doorstep'. One morning the closet was suddenly full of a variety of new clothes. Occasionally there were notes. One said I was not confined to the room and free to wander the cave as long as I stayed on the path and didn't touch anything, seeing as how there was an abundance of dangerous equipment around. Another told me that my privacy was being respected, but if I needed someone to talk to I could indicate it by opening the blinds. I thought about it, but a weird crime fighter in a black cloak wasn't really what I needed right then.
And then, one day, I felt better. Not a lot, but a little, and I wandered out of my apartment. The air of the cave was moist and cool, and felt good against my skin. I walked the paths, amazed at how expansive this place was. I didn't know Gotham was sitting on top of its own Carlsbad Caverns.
And there were unbelievable wonders to be found (but not touched). There were machines and cars and planes and computers. Some were quite creepy, and more than a few sent a shiver down my spine, especially any with the Joker's image on it. In a far corner of the cave I ran across a marble bust of Oswald Cobblepot, a smirk set in stone across his fat face. This was the man that had hurt me, the man that had killed my Chase. Rage bubbled up in me, instantly becoming a torrent.
"FUCK!" I screamed, giving the statue a solid roundhouse kick and sending it in shatters to the floor.
"Nice kick," came the voice from behind me. I almost jumped for cover. He's snuck up on me again.
I was a little embarrassed. "Uh, thanks, uh, sorry about the statue."
"No problem. I'd like to do that to the real thing. Bet you would too. Glad to see you out and about, so to speak."
I felt a little weird, and the oddness of my situation was setting in. I was stuck in the batcave under protective supervision. And Batman and I were becoming, what, friends? I'd been an average joe my whole life, the boy next door. And here was this crime fighter, this crusader for good and justice. He was a little scary and I knew nothing about him, but I was starting to feel like we could talk, like there was a human being under the mask.
And we did talk.
I walked the corridors of the cave with my dark hero, suddenly feeling like I could confide anything in him. I told him about growing up and about my job, and I told him about Chase and how his death hurt me. I may have cried a little, but it felt good to talk. I even blushed and told him about coming out. There was something about the mask. It made me want to confide in him. I knew it was supposed to be scary, but I wasn't scared. Batman, I learned, was a man of few words, but I could tell that he listened. I wasn't exactly glad about being stuck down here, but I was glad to have someone to talk to.
Another week passed and our afternoon walks became routine. Eventually I discovered that it was actually morning, he was stopping by after his nights out. I'd become confused in my new subterranean existence. He'd answer most of my questions. Yes, the thugs were all still looking for me, no he didn't know what Cobblepot wanted.
One day, he asks me a question. "Ryan, that pendant you wear. Can I borrow it for analysis?"
I reach up to my chest uncertainly. I trust this guy, but at the same time I've lost a lot. This is the last thing I have left.
"I won't lose it, and it will never leave the cave. I promise."
I take it off and hand it over. Suddenly I feel very naked and scared. Batman puts a hand on my shoulder. "We'll figure this out. Together. Nothing will happen to you."
A couple of days later I'm playing an old Star Wars pinball machine I'd found. Batman had confirmed it was just a game and not a bizarre death trap. I was deep into a particularly rousing game when he was suddenly behind me.
"I wanted to bring this back." I spin around, startled as always, and I hear all three of my multiballs click into the sinker behind me. Dammit. Batman is holding up my pendant. I gratefully take it back and put it around my neck.
"Thanks," I tell him.
"Ryan," he asks, "do you know about the history of that piece, about where it came from?"
I look down at the shiny gold disc. I'd worn it non-stop for eight years and it was like an old friend. "No. Well, my grandma gave it to me before she died. She had it in a box of some of her oldest things. She couldn't afford a coffee without a coupon, so I don't know where she got this or why she never sold it. Why, is it valuable? Does it have something to do with Daggert?"
Batman's answer is that, yes, it is probably exactly what Daggert was after, and that yes, it had value, although more mythical than monetary. It turns out, he tells me, the pendant is over 4,600 years old. My eyes grow wide at that info. I thought it was a swap meet necklace.
"Yes, my research indicates that it was forged at the end of Pharaoh Huni's reign, deep in the old kingdom, and that it depicts Sekhmet, the goddess of destruction, death, rebirth and wisdom. I could not locate much about the pendant's history, but there are myths about the amulet. It's sometimes referred to as The Black Cat, and it appears to have an unfortunate history, one that usually brings bad luck to its owners, although you seem to have possessed it for some time without coming to harm. From what I can tell, it shows no unusual properties at all, other than the fact the gold has not become deformed over time. Some believe that Plato's story about the Gyges ring was originally about a pendant, specifically this pendant. However, it clearly doesn't turn you invisible."
I was astounded. "And Cobblepot and Daggert -- they want it?"
"Yes, whether it's magic or not, they are convinced that it is, and I need to find out why. Until I do, you won't be safe outside the cave. I'm sorry, Ryan, I'm working on it, but I need a little more time."
I was a little disappointed, sure, but I was adapting to my life, and to be honest, working as a sidekick to Gotham's dark protector was a dream, so I didn't mind that much. I smile at Batman and tell him I'm ok staying a little longer, fingering the cold, smooth metal of the amulet while I do.
Two more weeks pass, and life underground becomes routine. I eventually find Batman's gym and begin lifting weights. My muscles had healed, and all but the worst bruises were fading away. I ran on the treadmill, my anger carrying me a little further each time.
But I couldn't work out all the time, and it was a little boring living alone underground. Well, I liked it, but still it got a little dull sometimes. One afternoon I wandered over to Batman's crime lab, an area predominately taken up by the massive bat-computer. I was always intrigued but the machine -- I'd worked my way through college as a computer technician, and this was a techie's dream. I could tell it was a powerful machine, and of course being down here it was all dark and mysterious. I flip on the monitor and am greeted by a security screen asking for my password. Why not? Let's see what Batman has on his hard drive.
I try several pass codes, bats', darkknight', `nightwing', and about the tenth try I feel a large, warm hand clamp down on my shoulder. Jesus, how does a guy that big move without making a sound? He's always creeping up on me.
"What are you doing?" His voice is terse and a little gruff, and for a moment I feel like a kid caught sneaking a sip of whiskey by their dad. I can tell we're dealing with the bat today, and he sounds crankier than usual.
"Uh, um," I consider lying, but then I quickly consider that this guy has made a living out of detective work, and he'd probably pick up on any mistruths. "Look, I'm bored out of my mind down here. If I have to dust that weird giant t-rex one more time, I swear to god. I thought I'd surf the net or something."
Batman's voice softens, although still retaining its edge. "Well, that's ok. The bat computer isn't a toy, though."
I look at the 1960's style console and wall of flashing red and green lights. "No," I laugh, "It's a fucking relic."
Batman pushes my chair aside, the casters rolling and clicking smoothly on the concrete floor. He reaches deep under the keyboard and a second later the computer comes to life. Hmm, there must be a trigger or something, not a password at all. Interesting. "This same system is in the Pentagon, so be careful. Also, it isn't working that great, and I haven't had time to have someone look at it."
I picture Batman on the phone to India trying to give the Dell technician directions to get here. It's a little comical and I laugh out loud. Batman looks at me inquisitively. Dang that cowl, you can never quite tell what he's thinking. Well, I get the feeling he'd be stone-faced even without it. "Sorry," I explain, "just thought of a funny computer repair story. Look, I've spent my whole life working with computers. I can take a look. I can't promise I'll find anything, but I can check."
"Ok."
Few words and not a lot of gratitude. It was kind of annoying, but also kind of a turn on. I pull up to the monitor and start running some diagnostics, asking Batman about the issues. It seems like it's running sluggish and crashing a lot. This is the system used in the Pentagon? Wonderful. That may explain a lot. It's not long before I find about a dozen problems.
"Ok, so here's the deal. For one thing, you're running Vista. You know that's crap, right? I mean, serious crap."
Batman has a slightly confused look at this comment. "Uh, Bill told me it was the wave of the future."
This guy knows Gates? Well, he does specialize in working with insane villains. "Yeah, well, maybe in ten years it will be the wave of the future. For now, I recommend going back to XP. Or get a freaking Mac. You know they're faster, and better in every way."
Batman shrugs, "Steve wouldn't make one in black for me."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, ok, whatever. But here's something else, see all these icons in the system tray?"
Batman leans over my chair and his chest brushes my left shoulder. I can feel the heat of his body through both his costume and my t-shirt and melt a little. Stop it, Ryan, I tell myself. Don't even start to develop feelings for the dark crusader guy. That has `emotional unavailability' written all over it.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Well, you have like a million programs running down here. They're hogging all your memory. Like what is sandsift.exe? I think it's tied to something called Sand Sifter 4.0?"
"That's a program for my USB sand sifter," he tells me, as if that explains anything.
"What the hell is a sand sifter?"
"Uh, the Joker has a dehydralizer. It's a ray gun that leeches the water out of you and can turn people to a pile of dust. This lets me put the dust into the computer and sort it, hydrating it and putting the people back to normal."
That was about the most retarded thing I'd ever heard, but I was in Batman's world now so I didn't question it. "Ok, well, do you use it often?"
"No, like once or twice. I need it in case he dehydralizes the city council again, but I don't use it that often."
"Well, then it doesn't need to run in the background all the time. I'll make a list of these programs and we can figure out which don't need to constantly run. Also, why the hell are you using Yahoo Jukebox? That's almost worse than Vista. And your MP3s are scattered all over the place." I click around on the icons, looking at the weird manner in which Batman's music is arranged and trying to organize it. It's all moody stuff, of course, dark and brooding. I try to move `Bach's Fugue in G Minor' into the appropriate folder, but I accidentally click wrong and the terrible Jukebox program begins launching, of course using about 90% of the system memory as it boots.
"No, don't..." Batman starts.
I cut him off, "It's ok, I'll close it." But before the program can come up on the desktop it begins playing, loud music filling the empty chambers of the cave. But instead of the elegant and haunting chords of the organ at St. Paul's Cathedral, I'm greeted with the obnoxious electronic oom-pah-pah of europop. A sickly sweet voice fills the cave.
Batman shuffles his feet, which is actually kind of cute. I exhale a laugh and look at him, arching my eyebrow mischievously. "I'm A Gummi Bear? Really?" It was about the worst europop song ever written, sure to rot your brain in about thirty seconds. I'm laughing at him, but my shoulder does start twitching to the beat. Damn gay genes.
"Uh, er, that was for a case," he snaps, reaching over me and closing the program. He lets me continue cleaning up his system, although he doesn't really talk to me for the rest of the day. Every time he walks by I involuntarily flash a big grin and he walks a little faster.
A week later I'm in the gym lifting on the shoulder machine when Batman comes in. He's dressed in about the weirdest costume yet -- cape and cowl over what can only be described as a bat-sweatsuit. I smile at him.
"Well, you're here. It's not like I wear my mask all the time when I'm alone."
"Sorry."
"Your shoulder is healing nicely. You should work on your chest."
I blush at the compliment, but I'm also a little peevish at the chest comment. I work out pretty hard, but I've never had much definition. I look at Batman sardonically, who is basically one huge slab of muscle. One pec probably has more lean body mass than my entire body.
"Well, you should," he says, "I work out this time every day. I can help you, if you want."
And that's how I became workout buddies with Batman. Each day I'd head down to the bat-gym and find him in the middle of his four hour routine. He'd spot me and show me new lifts. I'd often start throwing wood, and wondered if he considered why I had to go to the drinking fountain so often.
One day after a particularly hard work out he comes back to my apartment with me. I make him lunch -- I've become quite the cook in my sequestration. It's a particularly yummy pasta dish I'd discovered with feta cheese and ancho chilies. He takes his bowl gratefully, obviously hungry from lifting weights.
"This is great," he says, and I smile at the complement. "But I usually need a little more protein."
Without thinking I reply, "I can think of a couple of ways to get more protein into your diet." It's a crude joke laced with innuendo, the kind gay guys often make with their friends without thinking about it. I immediately regret saying it and turn a deep, dark purple. Way to go, Ryan, way to go.
The afternoons grew cooler. Well, the cave grew cooler. Outside it was autumn, but here is was perpetual gloom. When the cave got chilly I snuggled up in the big bed in my apartment, which, yes, I was starting to consider `my' apartment. Batman had offered to get me anything I wanted, and although I felt bad asking the guy to buy me stuff (how much money can a crime fighting bat make?), he did exactly as promised, and over time I started to amass a collection of personal items. It felt comforting, and although I sometimes sobbed at night over my lost life, and especially Chase, I was starting to think maybe things would work out in the end after all.
Of course, shortly thereafter things went wrong.
One day I was browsing the section I'd come to think of as the museum'. It was filled with displays of Batman's memorabilia, some of it bizarre and some of it odd. Most of it pretty dang cool. I stopped in front of an encased Robin uniform. It looked strange, sitting on the mannequin form torn and bloodied. Underneath a plaque read A Good Soldier'. I put my hand to the glass. I knew one of the Robins had died, everyone did.
"He was, you know. A good soldier." He'd snuck up on me again. I didn't start anymore, although it wasn't because I knew he was coming. I never did.
I turn around to see my friend, a little dirty, but no worse for wear, clearly back from a night of vigilance or detective work or butt kicking. Probably a little of all three. "Yeah?" I ask.
"Yes, although I did wrong by him, I'm afraid."
It wasn't often that Batman said anything about himself. He was very closed off, and I never pushed. A guy who wore a bat mask and kicked criminal ass probably didn't want to share his feelings. Still, in this case I could tell there was something on his chest. "Really? Tell me about him."
I expect Batman to say something like `later' and wander off, or to just wander off without saying anything at all. But he surprises me and tells me the story of Jason. Some of the details vague, of course, I assume to protect his identity, but he tells me Jason's name and how he came to meet him and how eventually the joker murdered him. Batman's tone is steady, but I'm getting to know him a little better and I can tell when it's the bat or the man coming through in his voice. The hinge of regret tells me it's more of the man today.
"That's terrible." I don't know what else to say. And then Batman continues, telling me about Jason's resurrection and how he became a sick version of Batman -- a crime fighter, sure, but one with no ethics or boundaries.
"The worst part," he explains, "is that I should have been a father figure to him. But I failed, in every way a father can fail. First, rather than keeping him safe, I took him out into my world. I knew a kid would eventually get hurt. What kind of parent lets their kid fight insane supervillains? And in a way, after he died, I thought that maybe I let him get hurt on purpose."
It was an odd comment. "Why?" I asked, a little horror creeping into my voice.
"My rage keeps me going. My anger. You've seen it when I work out, when I do everything that I do. That's because of something bad that happened a long time ago. Something terrible. It made me into this. After Jason died, I considered that maybe I let him get into dangerous situations because I knew if he got hurt it would foster my anger -- make me fiercer, stronger. I don't think so, but I always fear my subconscious wanted him hurt."
For the first time, I'm the one putting my hand on his shoulder. "I can't see you doing that. I mean, you protect people. You've saved thousands. If you wanted to get angrier about injustice in the world, you'd probably fail now and then. But you don't."
He thinks about it for a second. "And then later, Jason became this mockery of justice. That hit me hard. I turned him into that, and now I have to live with it. I let him become a monster because I was one, one that does good. But that's the thing about monsters, they're hard to control. Jason lost control, and I blame myself."
I look up into his eyes. They are full of sorrow, and I know that I am talking purely to the man now. "I have to ask. Were you and Jason, um, more than friends?"
It was an honest question. I mean, come on, the guy wears tights, liked to work out and hangs with younger dudes. I didn't mean anything by it, and it was an innocent question. But one I knew had the exact wrong impact. I could see Batman's eyes glaze over with anger in response, as if the bat had realized the man was spilling all its secrets and had been let loose in full force.
"No."
For some reason, I push things too far. "Well, it would be ok if you were. It's normal you know, two guys all sweaty and working on a car together, one spills oil, the other rubs it off..."
Batman pushes me away a little too forcefully and I smash into the glass case. It doesn't break, but I hear something in my shoulder pop painfully and I see stars. I look up at him, hurt on my face and in my green eyes. I'd meant it was a joke, but it obviously hit a sore spot. That's the problem being friends with someone in a mask. You never get the body language that tells you when to shut up.
"Don't you ever say that!" he yells. "The Robins were my friends and in a way my children. To do anything like that would be disgusting beyond belief, and to suggest that I'd ever touch them like that. You disgust me, Ryan."
"I'm sorry," I say. Tears are welling up in my eyes, mostly from pain this time.
"Well, sorry or not, I think your time here is almost over." His voice is terse and still laced with anger. "Cobblepot is waiting for the full moon in October, when he thinks the amulet will be at its most powerful. It's just a trinket, but he's mad and convinced it will grant him all his desires. Once the date passes, you should be safe. If not, we can put you up in Superman's Fortress of Solitude. It's cold, but there's plenty of space. So pack your things. And never talk to me about Jason again."
I didn't see Batman for a week after that, and there were no more notes with my food. I felt bad, I'd just wanted to know him a little better, but I was afraid my curiosity and silliness had lost me a friend.
When Batman does show up again, it's unexpected. One night I'm in bed on my stomach reading a suspense novel about a small town murder when I hear his voice behind me. This time it's gentle and deep.
"Ryan."
I flip around in bed to see one of the stranger sights in my life. Batman is still wearing his cowl, but other than that he's in an Armani tuxedo. I feel an immediate rush, and I can't hide the grin that forms at seeing my dark friend again. I'd gotten a little lonely down here all by myself for a week.
"I, uh, came to apologize. I was wrong to yell at you. I've had my butler prepare a special dinner. I hope you'll accompany me."
I would have accompanied my brawny dark knight anywhere, be it Antarctica or the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa, but I keep my answer to a simple `yes'.
I go to the closet to find something appropriate to wear, but Batman tells me that I'm fine the way I am. I feel a little underdressed in jeans and a t-shirt, not to mention sock feet, but I follow him out into the cave. He leads me to a table that is decked out in what appears to be a feast suitable for twenty. Being a bit of a cook, I immediately notice the quality of the spectacular selection. Fois gras. Truffled quails eggs. A bottle of Madeira wine that was labeled 1847. And I couldn't help but detect the wafting scent of Filet Mignon.
We eat our meal, the best I've ever had, and it's a little odd, to be honest. I'm sitting like ten feet away from Batman, him in a cowl and tux and me in dirty lounge clothes. We're in a cave sitting at a Chippendale table eating a feast suitable for Prince Charles. Can things get any weirder?
We ease back into our friendship. I appreciate that he's given me another chance, and although I want to apologize for my questions about Jason I don't broach the subject. After a helping of a particularly delicious sour cream chocolate baked Alaska, Batman's voice changes and I can tell something is on his mind.
"Ryan, I need to tell you something. I was unsure how to bring this up, but I need you to look at something. If I am correct, I think you will be happy, but I am worried that you will be hurt if I am wrong. I know the past couple of months have been difficult for you, and I don't want to bring you any more tears."
I blush a little. I know I cry a lot, but I didn't know he noticed.
"So, it's up to you. If you want to see this, you will probably be either heartbroken or extremely joyful."
I'm instantly intrigued -- beyond intrigued. Of course I want to see what he has to show me. "Well, yeah, I mean what's a little heartbreak, right? I know you wouldn't try to hurt me, so if you think it's something I need to see."
He motions to me and I follow him across the cave and into the crime lab. There he points to a cardboard box on a table, but remains in the doorway. I cross the room to the box, figuring whatever I'm supposed to see is in here. Jeez, I hope it's not Gwyneth Paltrow's head. Ha ha, "Seven" reference.
"I had been looking for a while. I found him in a shelter in the barrons. I have no idea if he's yours or not, but I hope that he is."
Batman's use of personal pronouns instantly tells me what's in the box, and I feel my dinner settle in my stomach in a tight lump. I rip the top off, my hopes rising and my logical side trying to keep them at bay. As I expect, in the box sits a small grey British Shorthair. At first I think that Batman has found a replacement kitten for me, but I'm wrong.
It's my cat.
It's Chase.
I stand there a moment in utter shock. Chase looks up at me, his bright orange eyes registering immediate recognition. He jumps up into my arms, mewing softly.
The reunion of Ryan and Chase was a mundane affair, at least in real life. Just a boy opening a box to find the cat he'd thought was dead. But in my mind, there were fireworks and a parade and a million, bazillion cheers. And I'm sure that this spectacular imaginary affair sparked out into the world through my brilliant green eyes, which instantly began watering profusely.
"I...how?" I ask, holding Chase so tightly to my chest that I become concerned I might be hurting him. He seems more than ready for my affection, though, and begins purring harder than I've ever felt.
"Well, I am the world's greatest detective," Batman replies softly from the corner. He's smiling -- actually smiling. All of a sudden, I see him in an entirely different light. In the tux, he just looks like an ordinary hunky guy, and I'd grown so used to the mask it was almost like a human face to me. This was the second time he'd saved me, and I instantly recognized that by finding Chase that's exactly what he'd done. He had utterly and completely saved me.
xes
A gay guy has a lot of emotions he has to deal with, and they're all linked to his hormones in one way or the other. I'd just experienced the happiest moment of my life, and Batman had been behind it. All of a sudden, I was overcome by a myriad of feelings. I was overjoyed, I was excited. I was attracted to my muscular, dark superhero. I felt like he was there to protect me and care for me. And when all of this converged like a train wreck in my soul, I crossed the room without a word and did something really stupid.
I kissed him.
And not like a little affectionate `thank you' peck. I took his head in my hands and pulled him to me, slipping my lips against his and feeling the heat and softness of his skin against mine. My mouth opened a little, and I could taste the alkaline saltiness of his saliva. I figured in another millisecond he's push me off him, so I might as well go for the gold. I slipped my tongue in his mouth and felt it brush against his smooth teeth. His hands were suddenly on my shoulders and I registered that Chase and I were about to be banished from the batcave forever.
Except he was kissing back.
Suddenly it was Batman's tongue in my mouth, feeling my teeth and tasting my sensual saltiness. I melted, my knees were weak. Well, all but one part of me melted. That part came to life. And I kissed back harder.
It was a surreal experience. I have to say, it's not like I haven't kissed a guy in a mask before (I know, I know, naughty Ryan), but this was about a thousand times more intense. This man was my hero, and I'd been attracted to him since he came on the scene in Gotham five years ago. Intensely attracted. Like secret-mag-with-Batman-pictures-under-my-mattress attracted. And then fate had thrust us together, making him my protector and then my friend. And now I was in his arms.
Our mouths remained connected and a torrent of hormones flushed through my body. I could smell him, musky and sharp, and I smiled at the sensuality of his dark stubble running over my face and chin as he kissed me. His hand found the back of my neck and started fingering my hair there, sending a shiver down my spine and deep into the soft tissue of my butt. I was flushing all over.
And then he stopped kissing me, and I again figured we'd reached the end of our little experiment. He was a lonely guy, I was a pretty boy - one kiss wouldn't hurt.
But instead he swept me off my feet, literally. I felt his strong arms reach around my back and behind my legs, and suddenly I was in the air. Now I can lift a couple of hundred pounds, sure, but the one time I'd tried to lift my boyfriend like this we'd gotten twenty feet before I collapsed. Batman, as if I need to point it out, was in better shape, and he lifted me without as much as a grunt, as if I were a cardboard cutout of a swooning boy. He carried me to my apartment, me gazing up at him with my big green eyes and Chase following us, mewing jealously.
Batman softly laid me down on my bed and we stared at each other a minute, not quite knowing what to do next. He answered that question by grabbing the collar of my shirt, effortlessly ripping it in two and off my body. It was exciting -- beyond exciting -- dark and thrilling, and my seven inches pushed painfully into my jeans.
Batman reached down and began stroking my stomach. I'd been a little chubby when I'd come, but endless days in the gym had given me a rather nice tummy, if I did say so myself. I let him touch me, his fingertips gracefully grazing the sensitive skin of my abs. While he was doing that, I was busy unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt.
I have to say, I was clumsy, well-practiced gay guy that I was, and Batman was, as with everything he did, powerful and graceful. In a single motion he gets me out of my pants, revealing a pair of orange briefs. Well, more like an orange pup tent. And he climbs out of his clothes in about the same way, turning a half circle and suddenly standing in front of my, dressed only in a cowl and (of course) black briefs.
Batman is a fine, fine man, let me tell you. Powerfully built with impossibly wide shoulders, he's the epitome of an Adonis. Well, a dark, scary Adonis. His chest was massive, and conspicuously heaved up and down with each breath. His abs were chiseled and defined -- in fact every muscle on the guy was huge and as hard as a rock.
And I mean every muscle.
His black briefs were sticking out from his body, obviously being extended by his rigid dick. I could see the tiniest bit into the depths of his underwear where the fabric pulled away from his abs, and I spied a tiny sliver of purple hidden within. A thrill went through my body at that sight, and I felt a wet warmth eject from my own turgid dick, the precum spilling out and darkening a widening wet spot on the front of my shorts.
Batman presses down into me, his body rubbing against mine. The friction between my underwear and body as he moves against me is unbelievably pleasurable, and I put on the silliest, goofiest gay boy `I'm about to get sex' grin in my repertoire.
He's feeling me everywhere, my chest, my nipples, my hair, and I'm doing the same. His skin is pale and soft, but also a myriad of small scars. I can see a slightly red line horizontally across his chest that marks where the blade had cut him the night he saved me. I trace it lightly with my fingers.
"I...you...we," I stammer, overjoyed but wordless. He looks up at me, ever the enigma in the mask.
"You don't have to say anything."
Batman moves his head down my body, peeling away my underwear as he goes. My fully erect, and by now quite throbbing, seven inch cock springs out, quite happy to greet the night air. I feel Batman's firm, rough fingers on my shaft; I about die and go to heaven right there. Pleasure courses through my body. He feels my tight, compact scrotum with his other hand and the sensations become overwhelming. His lightest touch is driving me wild, and I consider that nothing can be better than this.
That is, until I feel my dick encased in hot wetness. `Surely he isn't' I have time to think before my body spasms and I realize that, yes, he is. Batman has taken my dick into his mouth and moved expertly in an up and down fashion. "Oh god!", I cry out involuntarily. This man, my dark protector, was indeed a god of sorts, greater and more powerful and alluring than even zeus.
And better at giving head.
Batman moved up and down my pole, and like everything he does, he does it to perfection. I can feel his tongue licking and grazing all the right places, occasionally slipping down to gently suck my balls and then other times swirling around my increasingly sensitive helmet. Waves of pleasure wash over me, and I grab the sheets in ecstasy, squirming and reeling from the sensations. My animal groans and little noises spur him on, and he goes faster and harder, slipping up and down at an increasing speed. My toes curl and I feel a tingling in my butt. I thrash around, but his powerful hands hold my hips in place. The pleasure is almost too intense and tears come to my eyes, streaming down either side of my face.
And then I'm there, the orgasm hitting me like a wall of bricks. Batman feels my balls contract and lifts his head, rubbing my cockhead with his thumb in just the right manner. I convulse and feel every muscle in my body tense.
"ERG, ARGH!" I yell, not eloquent, but a pretty good representation of what I was feeling. My cock begins spraying triumphantly into the room, the first shot actually clearing my head by a full two feet. `I've never shot that far before', I think to myself, before the second shot splats me right in my face.
Batman masturbates me right to the end of my orgasm, and even a little beyond. Right to the point where the pleasure grows too much for me and I start giggling and squirming. Finally he relents, letting go of my dick. I look down to see a pretty pleased gay boy covered in cum and a fine sheen of sweat. It's messy and gooey, but man is sex worth it!
The other thing I see pleases me quite a bit too. Batman is straining in his shorts more than ever, and I lift myself up so that I can reach them. Pulling them down, I am greeted by a fully erect bat-dick.
Now, here's the thing. Somehow, I considered that maybe the guy was, I don't know, a little small or deformed or something. You know, maybe it would explain some of the rage. Like maybe his dick would extend about an inch out and the turn at a ninety degree angle to point towards the floor (worst boyfriend ever). But it didn't, and it was beautiful. Eight inches of glory, a large purple helmet seemingly smiling up at me. Like him, it was thick and powerful and exuded masculinity. And with him sitting over me in his cowl, nude and erect, well, I almost came again without being touched. But I controlled myself -- because it was his turn.
Usually I take things slow with guys, but this man had saved my life several times over and I was deep in both love and lust. I flipped over and reached for my nightstand, waggling my cute little ass as I went. I fumbled around and found the small plastic square I was looking for. I tossed it to my naked crusader and slipped down into the bed again.
"I want you inside me," I tell him, direct and bold and honest. I'm not sure if he's ever been with a guy before, but I'm taking him all the way to the county fair, that's for sure.
He opens the package with his teeth and rolls the condom onto his rigid shaft. It sticks straight out from his body, and once sheathed in latex it looks even sexier. Sexier because it's about to go to work.
And go to work it did. Batman pushes up on my legs and gently presses his engorged manhood (batmanhood?) against my eager hole. It's ecstasy all over again as he moves up and down against it, making me involuntarily pucker and gasp in pleasure.
And then he enters me, his dick slowly thrusting inward, filling me with his warmth and his hardness. I groan in pleasure, my secret spaces crying out in delight to have this bold, dark man inside me. Once I loosen up a little, he thrusts back and forth, moving in and out of me with expert grace. My legs press upward towards my chest, my toes curled in the air. It's a position that most of the world misses out on, and it's their loss. Folded up like this, my man entering me with increasing speed, I feel safe and content.
And fucking horny as hell.
It's hotter than hot to look up and see my hero fucking me, his thick shaft deeply penetrating my ring of muscle. I contract and squeeze, determined to offer him as much pleasure as he's giving me. I think about the sex, about his large, muscular body slamming into mine. I can feel his balls smack into my buttocks with each thrust, and I look up to see beads of sweat begin rolling down Batman's chest. It's too much -- too emotional and too wonderful and too intense. It overcomes me, and without even realizing I was amped up and had been playing with myself, I start cumming again, adding to the puddles of dried ooze from before.
My orgasm sets him off, and I feel him tense and spasm deep within me. He doesn't pull back as far and begins thrusting in short, quick jabs. His pants are almost like growls, and as I spray myself a second time I feel him ejaculate into the latex sleeve. Oh god, I see stars dancing in my vision. Or maybe they're little bats.
As his orgasm subsides, I almost expect him to punch me or something. What? He's a dark guy, you never know. But instead, still inside me, he reaches up and grabs both my wrists, effortlessly pinning them over my head against the bed. He leans in and kisses me deeply. Christ that's hot. I melt all over again.
I'm a mess, but it's a happy mess.
After that, Batman became slightly happier around the batcave. I often considered that I'd helped tame something dark within him, and it made me blush. All four cheeks.
But it's not like we were boyfriends or anything. There was an understanding between us, an unstated truth. He would always be a loner, dark and brooding and emotionally unavailable, and I would always need to be loved. It would never work, and I accepted that. With a little sadness, sure, but at night I often put my hands over my head the way he had and smiled at the memory of our night of passion. I don't have to tell you what I'd do next, although I will mention that Chase would always huff in distaste and jump off the bed, offering me privacy to fulfill my biological imperatives.
October came and Batman was involved in a big case. The stupid joker had teamed up with scarecrow in an idiotic plot to mess Gotham over on Halloween. Batman had successfully obstructed their efforts and sent them both to Arkham (where they'd inevitable escape -- what was the deal with security in that place?), but he was spending a lot of time rounding up the henchmen who had gotten away. Sigh, the crusade for justice was never finished, was it?
One such night I was alone in my room with my favorite toy (sorry, but it is), about to relive the best dinner party ever in my memory when my amulet began glowing. Literally glowing. I never took it off, not even for fun time, and all of a sudden there was a golden hue buzzing on my chest.
I tried to pick it up to examine it, but it was somehow stuck to my chest, and that freaked me out. I yelped in fear, sitting up and scratching at the pendant. Oh great, the stupid things was radioactive or something. Chase jumped up on the bed, hesitant to disturb me, but clearly concerned that my pleasurable gasping had become fearful panting. He mewed in rapid succession, pacing at the foot of the bed.
The golden light spread across my chest and down my abs. Suddenly, I was the one glowing, not the amulet. It raced up my erect penis, and it was about then that I became a little less scared. Mostly because the sensation that followed was as powerful as twenty orgasm (well, twenty-one, because the glowing stuff made me cream in real life also). My eyes rolled back in my head and I felt a powerful force enter my body.
I didn't have to ask, I just knew. It was the spirit, the essence, of Sekhmet, the cat goddess. I could see everything in my mind. The Black Cat amulet had been forged by her, not some Egyptian politician. It was the ensign of her army, a dark army formed to prowl the earth and punish mankind's evil, as well as reward his wisdom. The goddess spoke to me in my mind, it was a harsh voice, but one that had an underlying kindness. There was more wickedness and hate in the world than ever before, she told me, and I was to be hers, a new general forged with the power of the amulet after five thousand years of recharging. Dang, she should look into getting an ipod. They have much better batteries.
The golden glow faded, and I considered that it was kind of embarrassing to have been visited by a goddess of the ancient world while jerking off. I mean really.
I jumped up from the bed to grab a towel, but instead of landing on the floor at the foot I seemed to have leapt across the entire space, smashing into the wall. I was kind of annoyed at having hit my head, and I punched playfully at the plaster. My hand went through. Whoops.
I ran to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. Well, I was still human, that was good. But my eyes had changed. It was subtle, but the bright green had gone a shade or two lighter. Chase purred at my feet, tickling my calf with his tail as he walked back and forth.
I dressed and went out into the cave, careful to shut Chase in the apartment (he'd shredded one of Batman's punching bags, not a happy day). At first I wondered why the lights in here were turned up so bright, but then I realized they were completely off. I was seeing in the dark. And completely, not just a little.
Night vision? "Whoo hoo!" I gleefully yelp, jumping about twenty feet along the walkway and landing gracefully on my feet. I didn't even have to think about it, I felt the raw feline power of the cat goddess flowing through me. I was as powerful as a tiger, graceful as a cat. And horny as a freaking lion.
xes
That's about the time I heard him come in, from all the way across the cave. Batman back from his nightly prowl. But I was on the prowl too, and my newfound kitty powers were making me a little frisky and mischievous. I slinked through the narrow passages of the space. I found Batman in the garage area putting the batmobile into sleep mode. I'd never gotten this close to him without him noticing before, and I decided to test my luck.
I jump up in the air, silently grabbing a railing on a mezzanine, and propel myself to a spot directly behind him. I land without a sound, and I mean without a freaking sound. Batman stands completely still, looking over a diagnostic printout. I'm about two feet away, grinning as big as I can.
"Hiya, Bats," I say playfully. He spins around in surprise. Ha! I'd finally snuck up on the bastard, after months of him doing it to me.
He eyes me suspiciously. I haven't changed physically, but he seems to instantly know there's something different about me. "Ryan, what happened to you? You didn't drink anything from that Ra's al Ghul cabinet did you? That stuff is from a nether region."
"I'm more interested in your nether regions," I reply, grabbing at his crotch. He moves to avoid me, but I'm too quick and get a fistful of the delightful fleshiness between his legs.
Batman moves to grab me, and what follows is actually kind of comical. I'm dodging him, moving faster than I ever had before, and at the same time toying with him, tweaking his nipples through the suit and laughing. It kind of pisses him off, I guess, because he finally leaps at me, taking me down. I tumble to the floor backwards, at the last second making a graceful maneuver that flips us both and ends with me sitting on his chest. He looks up at me, panting and suspicious. I grab his hands and pin them to the floor above his head. This time it's him that can't move.
"Ugh, Ryan, ergh," he struggles, "tell me what this is about."
I shrug. "Sekhmet came and made me a warrior for good. No big deal. I have cat powers now. Imagine that, a gay superhero, and of course he's a freaking cat. Whadya do? Anyway, I'm supposed to spread wisdom to the good and punishment to the evil. Not the most specific instructions ever, but I guess they'll have to do."
He relaxes a little. We live in a crazy world, and somehow I doubt it's the most bizarre story he's ever heard. Suddenly I discover another of my powers. Wisdom. All of a sudden a million pieces of an immense jigsaw puzzle assemble in my brain. "Hey, you're Bruce Wayne!" I exclaim, the mystery suddenly so easy that a child could have figured it out.
"What...what do you...how?" he stammers.
"Power of infinite wisdom," I reply mundanely, "Didn't even know I had it. Now that I do, it's obvious who you are. But don't worry, I won't tell. Besides, you know my identity, so we're even."
I let him up and he brushes himself off. "Well, if you're sure..."
I eye him naughtily. I know the batcave is built for one, and now that I have superpowers it's definitely too small for the two of us. My time here is growing short, but there's one last thing I want to do. I pounce on my dark knight -- literally pounce. He's holding me with my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms on his shoulders. Ah, I love this position with a strong man. Me in his arms.
"Oof, Ryan, what the hell are you doing?"
I reply, "Saying goodbye. In cat language."
I lick his mask, tasting the mellow leather against my tongue. It is slightly salty and tastes of his sweat. My senses are exhilarated. New smells, new tastes. Everything is vivid and clear. I tug on the cowl, figuring that he doesn't need it now that I know his secret. He lets me, and for the first time I gaze on Bruce Wayne, him smiling back up at me.
And then we begin to wrestle. A naughty, hot, hilariously fun gay man wrestle. I'm ripping his costume off and he's tearing at my clothes. I pin him and he pins me. My lithe body slips across his, a sweaty sheen lubricating us as we slip against one another. I'm strong -- about as strong as he is, and we use our lovemaking to test my limits. I playfully scratch at his chest and four red marks appear immediately. I'd drawn blood.
"Oh man, Bruce, I'm sorry man. I didn't know, man, I'm so sorry," I stammer.
He eyes me fiercely, and I'm not sure what he's thinking about me slicing him up. Then he grins evilly at me. "Well, looks like kitty has claws."
He comes at me aggressively and we tumble to the floor. It's a night of passion. He fucks me, I fuck his fist. Then he fucks me again and blows me. We end up in my apartment, spent and panting, lying side by side on the bed.
"Ryan, about all of this..." he starts, but I don't let him finish.
"I know, it's not a relationship. Dark brooding loner, I get it. And besides, Sekhmet has tasked me with dispensing justice, I don't think I want to disappoint her."
"No, but you should feel like you aren't loved," he replies. I roll over, disappointed to get out of our first cuddle, but wanting to look into his deep, dark eyes.
Tears well up in my eyes. I may be a superhero now, but I'm still gay, and apparently that comes with the waterworks, "I know that you love me. And you love all of them, too," I nod my head in the general direction of the exit, "Out there, all alone and scared and hurting in the dark. And we love you, our dark knight. Gotham needs you, and it needs me now too."
"What will you do?" he asks.
I think about it for a second. "Well, first I'll go after Daggert. He needs to be brought down, one piece at a time. And then anyone else that threatens the city, you know. Wherever there's a cry for help, Gotham will now have a cat as well as a bat."
"You're going to call yourself Catman?" he asks dubiously. He's right, it sounds retarded. If I'm to be a dark mysterious cat figure slinking through the alleys, I'll need a better name. I'll be using smarts and strength to craftily take down villains everywhere, the same as I'd snuck up on Batman earlier. That's it, I thought, the perfect name.
"No, that doesn't sound too great. Actually, when I do get a costume made (where do you have yours done, by the way?) you can call me Sneak. An enigmatic name for an enigmatic gay cat hero."
Bruce laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "Ok, whatever you say. As long as you promise me one thing."
"Yeah?"
"Promise me you'll come back now and then. I like cats." He reaches down and tugs playfully on my flaccid member. It sends a shiver of pleasure through me and I start purring. Actually purring. I blush fiercely -- I didn't know I could do that either.
Shortly after that night I pack up and leave the batcave for the first time in ninety days. It had been a long sequestration, and my eyes narrowed at my first view of sunlight. When I'd come in, the world was a dark scary place seething with danger. Now it was a wondrous world of infinite possibility. My senses delighted in everything -- the sunlight, the smell of the grass. I set out on my new life with a smile on my face and a glow emanating from my now brighter green eyes.
A man named Alfred took me in a limo to the city, where Bruce had taken an apartment in my name. It was perfect, and when I walked through the doors I gasped in delight. It wasn't unlike my batcave apartment, tastefully decorated and filled with my personal effects. It was great, really. A place to start my new life (and a place to bring back hot guys, definitely). It was perfect, and Chase took to it as quickly as I did, staking out every single square inch of territory other than the large king bed in the master suite as his personal possession. I was so happy to have him back, he could have the apartment (as long as he shared).
On the kitchen table there was a note and an envelope. It read: "Crime fighting is expensive, you'll find. This should get you started, but ask for more when you need it. We superheroes are very progressive -- the rich ones always help the poor, B" I opened the envelope. In it was a cashier's check made out to me. It was for ten million dollars. Expensive?! What the fuck about roaming the streets of Gotham was going to cost ten million dollars? But I was grinning a wide Ryan grin, more over the note than the money.
Three months later I was set up and ready to go, and Gotham needed Sneak more than ever. Thieves, conmen, crooks, whatever filth roamed the streets, they had a new force to reckon with.
And crime fighting was as fun as it looked. Late nights, great workouts. One by one, I pulled away the bricks that held up the Daggert crime empire and watched it slowly tumble. For the most part I worked alone, although more than once a dark shadow would cross my path. And although I now always heard him coming well in advance, I always had a big grin for my Batman.
In social circles, a hot new artist named Ryan Parnell came onto the scene. His drawings showed almost a supernatural grace. He became a mainstay in all the best Gotham households, but seemed to favor Wayne Manor most of all. There was always a fish dish on the menu when he was in attendance.
I worked hard to keep the city clean, and every once in a great while, when the urge called and I couldn't tame the lion within, I'd make my way to the outskirts of town and through the rolling hills. A passionate tumble would usually follow, and although I'd always leave when morning was over, he'd always spend at least a little while holding me tight, my savior and hero, his brawny arms crossed over my chest and me purring contently in his arms.
The End