Chapter 8
1813words
Bruce leaned against him, almost pressing his full weight on him. That body, which had just erupted with godlike power, now resembled a machine that had exhausted all its energy, barely able to stand. Forcibly harnessing and controlling the cursed power, fighting against the most elite knights of the Order of St. Dumas, had completely drained him. He was breathing heavily, sweat soaking his black hair at the forehead, making him look as vulnerable as a lost child.
"We need to go," Dick's voice was hoarse, mixed with blood and exhaustion, "They will come back, and next time... next time it will be the entire Order's judgment army." He knew that Azrael's failure would only incite more frenzied fury from those fanatics; they wouldn't send just a small squad again, but an army powerful enough to sweep the entire mountain range.
Bruce didn't speak, just weakly nodded his head. Dick supported him as they staggered toward the depths of the forest. They had no destination, no plan, only the most primal survival instinct. They were two wounded beasts, licking each other's wounds, fleeing from the hunters' pursuit. Every step aggravated their injuries, but as long as they could feel the warmth of each other's body, that pain seemed to lessen somewhat. This was no longer one person's escape, but two people's wandering.
Several hours later, when the first hint of dawn appeared on the horizon, they stopped in front of an abandoned church. Half of the church's roof had collapsed, revealing the gray sky above, and the massive stained-glass windows had long since shattered, leaving only twisted lead frames that resembled huge, weeping eye sockets. But its tall stone walls could at least provide momentary shelter, protection against the approaching daylight and those ever-present prying eyes.
They walked into the great hall covered in dust and fallen leaves. A huge statue of the Madonna lay on the ground, with a compassionate smile on her face, yet covered in cracks. Sunlight penetrated through the broken dome, casting a dappled beam of light that illuminated the broken face of the sacred statue. Everything here seemed like a portrait of their fate—sacred yet broken, solemn yet disheveled.
Dick helped Bruce sit down on a relatively intact pew, then he could no longer hold himself up and fell to his knees in front of Bruce. He looked up, carefully examining the man before him. Bruce's face, chest, and arms were covered with fresh wounds, ghastly gashes made by silver weapons, with blackened edges emitting an ominous aura. These wounds were inflicted because of him.
A surge of uncontrollable emotions—a mixture of heartache, guilt, and passionate love—completely shattered Dick's last vestiges of reason. He reached out with a trembling hand, gently caressing the longest scar on Bruce's chest. Then, he lowered his head and, with an almost pilgrim-like devotion, pressed his lips against it.
He kissed the wound, carefully tracing the charred, silver-poisoned skin along its edges with the tip of his tongue. The bitter, scorching taste spread throughout his mouth. He didn't stop; like the most devout believer, he kissed every sacred mark on his deity's body. From chest to shoulder, then to arm, he used his lips and tongue to feel every ounce of pain Bruce had endured, to purify those impure curses.
"...I used to worship you, Bruce," his voice spilled out between kisses, with a heavy nasal tone and undisguisable trembling, "When I was just a child, you were my god. You pulled me out of darkness, gave me a home, taught me how to fly. I thought I would forever follow behind you, being your shadow, your Robin."
His kisses became deeper, more fervent, no longer mere comfort, but carrying a hint of undisguised desire. He raised his head, those blue eyes reflecting Bruce's slightly widened eyes of shock. He saw his own reflection, a mad version of himself completely filled with desire, love, and possessiveness.
"But you disappeared," he continued, his hand caressing Bruce's cheek, his thumb tracing the other's lips, "You vanished from my world. For those two years, I searched for you like a madman. I joined them, those hunters... I learned all their techniques, I became colder and more ruthless than them. Because I had only one thought—to find you. Every time I hunted those 'monsters,' every time my hands were stained with blood, I wondered, could that be you, could you be suffering somewhere in some corner, just like them."
His lips descended once more, this time directly covering Bruce's lips. This kiss was no longer as fierce as the one in the basement, but was filled with the preciousness of something lost and found again, and long-suppressed deep affection. He pried open Bruce's teeth, his tongue exploring inside, gently yet firmly entangling with the other's. He could feel the stiffness in Bruce's body, but he did not back down. He wanted to let him know, to make him feel this emotion that had already become twisted and changed, yet had grown even more passionate because of it.
"When I found you... when I locked you in that basement..." he parted his lips, his forehead pressed against Bruce's forehead, breathing heavily, "I hated myself, and I hated you too. I hated that I had become the hunter, and hated that you had become the prey. But every time in the dead of night, watching you tortured by the curse, every time you looked at me with those beastly eyes... God, Bruce, I realized what I wanted was never to 'cure' you at all."
His fingers slid down, through Bruce's black hair, gently pressing against the back of his neck, a gesture full of possession. "I want you, just as you are now. I want your strength, your wildness, your loss of control. I want you to mark me, hurt me, possess me in your way. I want to fall with you, to sink together into this hell. This love... it has long gone mad, Bruce. It is not worship, nor longing, it is desire, possession, it is the madness of wanting to swallow you along with your curse into my very bones and blood."
He confessed everything, laying bare the dark and twisted love from the depths of his soul before Bruce, without a trace of pretense remaining.
This time, Bruce didn't push him away.
Those eyes, appearing somewhat unfocused due to weakness, now reflected Dick's face—both anguished and fervent—with extraordinary clarity. He silently listened, feeling the warmth of the other's lips and tongue, experiencing that burning, desperate love. After a long moment, he slowly raised the hand he could still control and, with a gentle touch that carried a slight tremor, caressed Dick's face.
His movement was slow, light, as if touching a priceless treasure that had been lost and found again. His fingertips traced Dick's eyes and brows, moved along his straight, high nose, and finally rested on his slightly swollen lips.
"Dick..."
A hoarse voice, as if it hadn't spoken for centuries, struggled out from deep within his throat. This was the first time since the curse that he had, with Bruce Wayne's own will, uttered a complete sentence.
"...Stay by my side..." He looked into Dick's eyes, those black orbs churning with pain and struggle deeper than the curse itself, "...you will become like me, hunted by the entire world."
This wasn't a warning, but a cruel statement of fact. He had accepted Dick's love, so he must make him understand the price this love would demand—becoming an enemy of the world, never knowing peace.
However, Dick smiled. That smile bloomed across his face covered in scars and blood, as bright as sunlight breaking through dark clouds. He took Bruce's hand that was caressing his cheek, brought it to his lips, and gently kissed the back of it.
"I have hunted you," he gazed into Bruce's eyes, his voice without a trace of hesitation, only rock-solid determination, "now, I will be hunted alongside you."
He leaned in, gently kissing Bruce's lips again, like a vow.
"Wherever I am with you is home."
——
The cool moonlight poured down like mercury, dyeing the mountaintop a silent silver-white. In the distance, the city lights resembled shattered stars, spreading out like a brilliant velvet carpet under the night sky, prosperous yet distant.
Bruce leaned against a massive rock, maintaining a peculiar form between man and beast. Black fur covered his shoulders and back, like the most luxurious cloak, and those eyes burning with golden flames appeared gentle and calm under the moonlight. He was no longer that ferocious monster, nor the man tortured by pain, but a new being who had found a way to coexist with his inner darkness. His claws were retracted, and beneath the warm, thick fur was a still powerful human body.
Dick snuggled beside him, his head resting on the furry shoulder, wrapped in Bruce's coat. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful and content. When the mountain breeze blew with a hint of coolness, Bruce would instinctively tighten his arms, enveloping him more securely with his warm body and fur. Beneath them was cold stone; behind them, endless darkness and pursuit; but in their embrace was each other—their entire world.
Now, they were no longer Gotham's Dark Knight and Boy Wonder, nor the hunter of the Order of St. Dumas and the cursed monster. They had cast aside all identities imposed by the outside world, shed all armor of pretense. Atop this mountain peak far from the mortal realm, they were only lovers, conspirators to each other, the only harbor where they could warm and redeem each other in this boundless darkness.
Bruce lowered his head, gently nuzzling Dick's soft black hair with his cheek. Dick didn't open his eyes, only making a satisfied soft hum, like a feline that had found the most comfortable sleeping position, burrowing deeper into that warm and safe fur.
Facing an unknown future filled with traps and deadly threats, there wasn't a trace of fear in their eyes. There was only a kind of calmness between them, forged in fierce fire and belonging to each other. It was a dangerous and burning tranquility, the ultimate peace obtained by two souls who had decided to stand against the whole world after finding each other.
