Between the Bars
folder
zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Batman (All Movies)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,409
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Batman (All Movies)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,409
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye or Batman Begins/The Dark Knight, and I do not make any money from these writings
Between the Bars
It was unfortunate, really.
Jackson Rippner was a creature of habit, bad habits that tended to get him in more trouble than they were ever worth. Lisa, for example, was a terrible habit he simply couldn’t quit. It was an obsession, over her but more importantly over the situation, over his mistake and why, why had his plan failed. It drove him, well, mad you could say, detail after detail he poured over again and again to no avail. He couldn’t read the shadow of her smile or the phantom pain ghosting over the scars her righteous little hands had given him. He didn’t understand.
Jonathan Crane was much the same. Jackson could watch the man for hours if he were given the chance, and yet each movement was foreign. Why the lift of his brow there? The tilt of his head? Jackson noted the particular way his lips would twist, a fraction of a smirk that seemed to laugh at whoever it faced.
Yes, Jonathan Crane was a terrible habit. Far too self indulgent really, perhaps narcissistic. As much as seeing his own face mirrored so perfectly intrigued him it was what was behind that gaze that drew him still, some shadow that watched him back just as intently. He wanted the other man to crack and see what was inside.
Truly an unfortunate drive.
--
He had insomnia for nearly two weeks by the time they spoke again. Jackson was prim, perfect, not a bag under his eye even as he felt them burn. He had used concealer, an old trick for bruises because he couldn’t look any less than prepared, no no, that wouldn’t do. Jackson was always in control of his form, the angle of his smile, even as the walls turned without informing him first.
Jonathan just smiled, pouring his double a cup of coffee and chatting over the intricacies of the time. The universe being in constant decay. Jackson watched his fingers move and wondered if his own looked so pale and long. Wondered how Lisa’s would look against the dark burgundy of the table.
The doctor asked him politely if he was alright and when Jackson looked up he could read that twisted smile like an open book. He smiled in return, shoving the contents of the table aside with an alarming shatter.
As he shoved the other man against the wall he whispered in his ear. What have you done to me? Jonathan’s lips quirked, twisted, into Jackson’s neck. The breath on his skin a silent laugh as Jackson crushed his wrists over his head and stole the inaudible laughter from his lips.
--
Two weeks before he had called on Jonathan, invited him to Miami. He had smiled when the man agreed, led him into a fine restaurant and ordered his drink. You don’t seem like a hard liquor man. White wine? No, not red either. Blush. The way Jonathan’s lips had curled unconsciously had been worth what he paid for the information.
They drank and they ate, Jackson controlling the conversation subtly. It was what he did best, the awkward comments and disarming air far greater than a gun to the head. He watched the shifts in Jonathan’s face, the darkening and lightening as subjects arose, nearly unseen. He watched and Jonathan watched back and it thrilled Jackson more than he cared to admit.
There was something far too egotistic about it, and he wondered often if the fascination would still be there if they didn’t share the same face. But when Jonathan’s too clear eyes met his after a particularly loaded question, goading and enraging, completely engrossing, Jackson knew nothing was so simple.
When they walked back, past the Lux, Jackson stopped Jonathan at his door. His fingers curled around the other’s wrist, still warm from the alcohol and heart rate steady. The way Jonathan’s eyes flashed showed he knew the gesture was to monitor his heart rate and that simply made Jackson’s own lips curl in that self indulgent way. When the doctor’s heart rate fluxed ever so slightly as Jackson shoved him roughly into the door frame it was all he needed to press his lips against the others.
The taste was strange, a bitter sharpness until it shifted, straw and sawdust and bad dreams. Jonathan was smiling against his mouth and Jackson wanted to rip him open. He pushed him further instead, shoving him on the hotel bed and pulling the sweater vest off the other man’s chest. He ran his fingers over the familiar chest, raking in each change of heart rate, each soft breath that betrayed the other’s lips. He held the doctor’s wrists hard enough to bruise, slid his hands up to the other’s neck just as his skin began to bead with sweet. The smile, smirk, never left Crane’s face even when his lips were forced open in a low moan.
Jackson could see demons in the man’s breath, vanishing as quickly as they came, and when Crane’s fingers dug into his back he swore they were claws. He slid into the other man and the sharp groan set his blood on fire, intoxicating and painful. Their rhythm was sharp and erratic, counted on the low breaths and moans Crane couldn’t hold and the near growl Jackson breathed into his neck. Crane’s nails dug into the scars Lisa gave him and asked Jackson where they came from, why they stayed. Relive them for me. He saw Lisa’s face and clenched his jaw. I’m not her.
He came, resenting the amusement in that tone, resenting the way the other’s smile was still pressed to his skin. The shadows were trying to close around them and when Jonathan moved as though to part, to leave, Jackson pulled him back, his own smile sharp and dangerous. I never said we were done doctor.
--
He couldn’t sleep. It had been a week and he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing a million spiders crawling under his skin. He saw his father smile and tell him the world wasn’t out to get him. He saw Lisa stare and shake as his finger brushed over her scar. He saw her smile with Jonathan’s twisted lips.
He saw Jonathan arching under him as he learned the doctor’s body, which touch shortened his breath. He left long, stinging marks down his back and smiled when it made the man moan more loudly. Smiled when Crane glared up at him then pulled him closer, more desperately.
Everything he ate had that bitter taste he couldn’t place. He caught himself scratching at his arm hard enough to draw blood and laughed. He was losing control.
--
Two weeks from the first time and he had Jonathan against a wall, wrists crushed above him. The doctor’s lips still tasted bitter and Jackson laughed, a manic edge. Jonathan’s skin felt like burlap and his lips were a twine smile.
Such interesting affects. He was muttering into Jackson’s ear. What do you see? Jackson scraped his nails down the other’s side. What do you feel? He tore at Crane’s shirt. What are you afraid of?
Jackson laughed, growled, into his ear as Crane placed his hands on either side of his face, deceptively gentle. Beg for me and I’ll take it away. Jackson threw him against the table, hand at the doctor’s neck. I’m sure I’ll find another way to convince you. The look in Crane’s eyes was either fear or anticipation. Jackson hoped it was both.
Jackson Rippner was a creature of habit, bad habits that tended to get him in more trouble than they were ever worth. Lisa, for example, was a terrible habit he simply couldn’t quit. It was an obsession, over her but more importantly over the situation, over his mistake and why, why had his plan failed. It drove him, well, mad you could say, detail after detail he poured over again and again to no avail. He couldn’t read the shadow of her smile or the phantom pain ghosting over the scars her righteous little hands had given him. He didn’t understand.
Jonathan Crane was much the same. Jackson could watch the man for hours if he were given the chance, and yet each movement was foreign. Why the lift of his brow there? The tilt of his head? Jackson noted the particular way his lips would twist, a fraction of a smirk that seemed to laugh at whoever it faced.
Yes, Jonathan Crane was a terrible habit. Far too self indulgent really, perhaps narcissistic. As much as seeing his own face mirrored so perfectly intrigued him it was what was behind that gaze that drew him still, some shadow that watched him back just as intently. He wanted the other man to crack and see what was inside.
Truly an unfortunate drive.
--
He had insomnia for nearly two weeks by the time they spoke again. Jackson was prim, perfect, not a bag under his eye even as he felt them burn. He had used concealer, an old trick for bruises because he couldn’t look any less than prepared, no no, that wouldn’t do. Jackson was always in control of his form, the angle of his smile, even as the walls turned without informing him first.
Jonathan just smiled, pouring his double a cup of coffee and chatting over the intricacies of the time. The universe being in constant decay. Jackson watched his fingers move and wondered if his own looked so pale and long. Wondered how Lisa’s would look against the dark burgundy of the table.
The doctor asked him politely if he was alright and when Jackson looked up he could read that twisted smile like an open book. He smiled in return, shoving the contents of the table aside with an alarming shatter.
As he shoved the other man against the wall he whispered in his ear. What have you done to me? Jonathan’s lips quirked, twisted, into Jackson’s neck. The breath on his skin a silent laugh as Jackson crushed his wrists over his head and stole the inaudible laughter from his lips.
--
Two weeks before he had called on Jonathan, invited him to Miami. He had smiled when the man agreed, led him into a fine restaurant and ordered his drink. You don’t seem like a hard liquor man. White wine? No, not red either. Blush. The way Jonathan’s lips had curled unconsciously had been worth what he paid for the information.
They drank and they ate, Jackson controlling the conversation subtly. It was what he did best, the awkward comments and disarming air far greater than a gun to the head. He watched the shifts in Jonathan’s face, the darkening and lightening as subjects arose, nearly unseen. He watched and Jonathan watched back and it thrilled Jackson more than he cared to admit.
There was something far too egotistic about it, and he wondered often if the fascination would still be there if they didn’t share the same face. But when Jonathan’s too clear eyes met his after a particularly loaded question, goading and enraging, completely engrossing, Jackson knew nothing was so simple.
When they walked back, past the Lux, Jackson stopped Jonathan at his door. His fingers curled around the other’s wrist, still warm from the alcohol and heart rate steady. The way Jonathan’s eyes flashed showed he knew the gesture was to monitor his heart rate and that simply made Jackson’s own lips curl in that self indulgent way. When the doctor’s heart rate fluxed ever so slightly as Jackson shoved him roughly into the door frame it was all he needed to press his lips against the others.
The taste was strange, a bitter sharpness until it shifted, straw and sawdust and bad dreams. Jonathan was smiling against his mouth and Jackson wanted to rip him open. He pushed him further instead, shoving him on the hotel bed and pulling the sweater vest off the other man’s chest. He ran his fingers over the familiar chest, raking in each change of heart rate, each soft breath that betrayed the other’s lips. He held the doctor’s wrists hard enough to bruise, slid his hands up to the other’s neck just as his skin began to bead with sweet. The smile, smirk, never left Crane’s face even when his lips were forced open in a low moan.
Jackson could see demons in the man’s breath, vanishing as quickly as they came, and when Crane’s fingers dug into his back he swore they were claws. He slid into the other man and the sharp groan set his blood on fire, intoxicating and painful. Their rhythm was sharp and erratic, counted on the low breaths and moans Crane couldn’t hold and the near growl Jackson breathed into his neck. Crane’s nails dug into the scars Lisa gave him and asked Jackson where they came from, why they stayed. Relive them for me. He saw Lisa’s face and clenched his jaw. I’m not her.
He came, resenting the amusement in that tone, resenting the way the other’s smile was still pressed to his skin. The shadows were trying to close around them and when Jonathan moved as though to part, to leave, Jackson pulled him back, his own smile sharp and dangerous. I never said we were done doctor.
--
He couldn’t sleep. It had been a week and he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing a million spiders crawling under his skin. He saw his father smile and tell him the world wasn’t out to get him. He saw Lisa stare and shake as his finger brushed over her scar. He saw her smile with Jonathan’s twisted lips.
He saw Jonathan arching under him as he learned the doctor’s body, which touch shortened his breath. He left long, stinging marks down his back and smiled when it made the man moan more loudly. Smiled when Crane glared up at him then pulled him closer, more desperately.
Everything he ate had that bitter taste he couldn’t place. He caught himself scratching at his arm hard enough to draw blood and laughed. He was losing control.
--
Two weeks from the first time and he had Jonathan against a wall, wrists crushed above him. The doctor’s lips still tasted bitter and Jackson laughed, a manic edge. Jonathan’s skin felt like burlap and his lips were a twine smile.
Such interesting affects. He was muttering into Jackson’s ear. What do you see? Jackson scraped his nails down the other’s side. What do you feel? He tore at Crane’s shirt. What are you afraid of?
Jackson laughed, growled, into his ear as Crane placed his hands on either side of his face, deceptively gentle. Beg for me and I’ll take it away. Jackson threw him against the table, hand at the doctor’s neck. I’m sure I’ll find another way to convince you. The look in Crane’s eyes was either fear or anticipation. Jackson hoped it was both.