touch - for sednareinedeseaux

Prompt: Bane/Blake, gentle interaction


Bane is sensory-seeking.

It had surprised John when he’d first noticed, although he’s not sure why it was so surprising. Maybe because Bane – for all that he’s physically powerful, for all that brutal violence hangs around him like a shroud – lives so often in his head. He talks strategy and philosophy like it’s no more difficult than breathing; he debates with John when he’s bored; he devours books at an unbelievable pace, and then he wants to talk about them afterward.

But Bane likes to touch. More than likes to. He seems to get lost in it sometimes. He runs his hands along John’s back, along his sides, like he’s petting a cat. It’s nice. Relaxing. John’s dozed off more than once to the feel of Bane’s fingers carding through his hair.

Bane’s desire to touch isn’t limited to just John, however.

On the few occasions they’d needed to go into Wayne Manor – well, the Wayne Home now – John had seen Bane rub his fingers, almost absently, against silk cushions or glossy lacquered wood. He’d initially thought Bane had a thing for luxury. After a while, he’d realised that wasn’t it at all.

Because Bane touches John’s things – much more humble and worn-in than the offerings of Wayne Manor – with just as much focus. John has caught him more than once, running his fingers over the knobbly surface of John’s knitted winter blankets, and the fleece lining of John’s jacket seems to fascinate him.

It’s texture, John knows now. Bane just likes the feel of certain things, and he treats those things like they’re precious. John can’t help but feel pleased that he’s apparently one of those precious things.

John thinks of that thing he’d learned from… somewhere, or someone, from Father Reilly, maybe, about how people who lose one sense develop heightened other senses. That’s not really the case with Bane, John knows, but he thinks it’s kind of like that.

He’d asked Bane once, what things smelled like through the mask.

“Not so different. The gas is odourless,” Bane had said, petting John’s hair. John had already begun to drift off against Bane’s side. “Its anaesthetising properties affect me more.”

There’d been an odd note in his voice. John wouldn’t have described it as melancholy, exactly – he doesn’t think he’ll ever apply that word to Bane, Bane doesn’t mope – but it had seemed faintly… bitter, maybe. Or resigned.

John hadn’t asked him about the mask again.

But he keeps an eye out for certain things nowadays. He’s never been one to keep knick-knacks; it’s too easy to become attached to things, and things can be lost or taken away at a moment’s notice. But he buys things now. He trawls flea markets and second-hand stores, and his apartment slowly fills with his finds.

There’s a piece of spiky dried coral on the bedside table. He has a few glass baubles – paperweights, he supposes – sitting around the apartment, cold and glossy to the touch. There are velvet cushions on the couch, which admittedly look really out of place. And he owns more knitted and woollen throw rugs than two people ostensibly need.

Bane doesn’t say anything about them, just as John doesn’t comment when he catches Bane rolling the paperweights in his hands or pressing the coral against his palms. But sometimes he’ll reach a hand out to John, as John moves around him, heading for the kitchen or the bedroom, and his touch lingers. And John will smile, and squeeze Bane’s hand, and press a kiss against his fingertips, before continuing on his way.

May 27 2013, 10:35 AM   •   71 notes
  1. iwasnotaslasher reblogged this from sibilantly
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  3. everknowing said: Awwwwww. <3
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  8. oracleholly reblogged this from sibilantly and added:
    I just love how Sib writes Bane/Blake (and her other pairings) and fills in the colors of the BB universe with careful...