Knight of Darkness 1/? [Mast, MF]

Gotham City

	His suit was black on black.  A single symbol on
the chest told who he was, but by his accounts no one had
looked long enough to see it.  The silhouette of a bat on
a circle.  It was simple.  Here in the cave, his home, he
sewed the cape back on the kevlar suit that held this
symbol.  He remembered last night, when his cape was
ripped.  Last night was a horror show, the last year was
a horror show.
	All of this madness had started a year ago.  He had
been working in the uptown office again, sitting alone in
a huge conference room.  His eyes were red, he numbly
worked on some meaningless order form.  Thousands of
dollars, millions of dollars, it was all separate from
any reality he knew, just distant numbers.  He sat on his
desk cradeling his face when he heard the sharp crack of
wood splitting.
	He had trained in the martial arts, not for
defence, but for clarity, but now the things he learned
took over his body.  A man in black entering the room. 
The gun flashed in the cold light of the moon.  Bruce's
jaw clenching, heart beating quickly yet somehow
controlled.  The intruder eyes were squinting to see in
the darkness.  Two quick kicks and one punch, his gun on
the floor, his shoulder dislocated, his nose thrust
upward penetrating his brain and killing him instantly. 
The lifeless body on the ground.
	It was sudden, the change.  From the time his hand
touched the face of this stranger, to the time the body
made a dull thud onto the ground the change was done.  He
was Batman at that moment.  The name came later, the
costume and weapons needed to be researched, but the
personality was formed.  The persona was born.
	Under the loyalty to justice.  Under the desire to
protect.  Even under the revenge for murdered parent,
something crystallized in Bruce Wayne's mind that day:
the power of taking life, and that was why he punished
himself.  That is why he lived under a posh mansion, in a
cold, damp, cave.
	That night in the office he felt a rush of
pleasure.  He knelt down next to the dead man and put his
hands on his back.  The body was warm still.  He picked
up the intruder's gun.  It was heavy and real, so heavy
and thick it surprised him.  
	Later that week, wearing a ski mask and brandishing
the same gun he foiled a bank robbery in Gotham.  He
remembered then men running away from the bank.  He
remembered squeezing the trigger lightly, feeling it pull
his arm back.  He remembered the spray of blood from the
criminal's leg.  The robbery was stopped.
	He remembered moments when criminals gave him no
choice, when they held children hostage, when there was
no other choice.  He came from behind many times,
snapping their necks, and then the feeling came again.

	Alone in the darkness of the cave he didn't notice
as the needle he sewed the thick materials together with
jabbed his finger.  

	The cave was huge.  He sat in such utter blackness
it seemed inhuman.  It was like a sensory deprivation
tank.  He sat on mattress on the cement floor.  Suddenly
to room was ablaze with digital red light, flashing.  
	The "hero" was at the matte black computer console
in less then a second.  Punching in an access code, his
face was bathed in the grey light of a digital map of
Gotham.  A Diamond District store's silent alarm was
disconnected.  He smiled silently, the police would not
get this message, only his special computer set up would
pick up a alarm system being turned off.
	His face was unshaven and sweaty under the tight
mask.  The suit felt taut and secure around his limbs. 
He was in his suit and in the car as the door opened to
the secret road and within minutes he was in downtown
Gotham.

	A woman and a man rushed to fill sacks with various
jewels and bobbles.  The man was short and stocky, waring
a mismack of clothing and a red bandana wrapped around
his face.  The woman was small and thin wearing a cat
suit and a stocking over head, a few red curls hung out
of the sides.
	The Batman watched from outside.  He studied them,
how they communicated, how they interacted.  He knew they
were not loyal to one another by the way they fought over
certain items.  He knew they would run and not try to
help each other if confronted.
	He would grab the man first, knock him out, then
the woman would be tied up.  Simple.
	The criminals existed the building silently.  The
Batman slid out the long smooth car and crept into the
ally they were walking through.  He hid in the shadows. 
The man came into view first, he seemed almost aware of a
presence.  Before he could question who or what was
watching him he was knocked across the face with a firm
leather clad fist.  The tight leather ripped the skin of
his face.
	With one fluid motion the vigilante turned and
threw a cable with a weight at the end.  This cable
wrapped around the body of the female culprit.
	Then as sudden as the action had began, it was
over.  The man laid silent and bleeding on the ground,
his bag of treasure open next to him.  The woman bound
with a thin black cable that cut into her nylon clad
skin, making a line across her soft breasts.
	Batman pressed the button on his belt that signaled
the police.  Now he closed his eyes to exorcise the high
that the small fight has given him.  The bound jewel
thief recognized that shudder of pleasure.
	Her voice sounded low and lusty.  "You like it
don't you?"  Batman's eyes flashed open.  "What did you
say?" he spat at her.  His voice was rough and masculine. 
It was the first time in hours he had spoken and it felt
odd to him.  He repeated, moving closer to her and
pulling the cable so she moved towards him.  
	"What did you say," his voice was calmer now,
regaining his cold demeanor, "thief?" he added.  She
looked him over with an eye that long calculated the
desires of men.  She smiled wickedly, "You like the rush
of the fight don't..." she was cut off by a gloved hand
across her face.  A tiny drop of blood formed under the
mask of nylons over her face.
	The Batman pulled her mask off.  Her hair came down
across her face.  "I only enjoy watching the police put
you away." he said with shaky confidence.  She looked up
from her face, now framed with dark red curls.  "I think
you liked hitting me."  She flashed that same smile.
	The ally was bathed in blue and red light suddenly. 
A siren chirped behind them.  The criminal turned to face
the lights, then back to her captor.  He of course was
gone.

	Back in the cave he stood in the overwhelming
darkness again.  His heart was still racing.  "I showed
weakness this time," he thought.  "I am transparent and
weak, how many people have seen how pathetic I am?  How
many realize that I am sick?  That I enjoy hurting?" he
scolded himself in the darkness of his cave.
	He took of his glove.  He tried to put it down, to
forget the night and the red haired thief.  He fought
with himself.  He lifted the glove to his face, he
shuddered at the scent of a cheap perfume.  
	In minutes he was naked, free of the uniform, lying
on the cold bare mattress.  He knew his body needed
sleep.  He knew this incessant insomnia was diminishing
his efficiency, but every time he closed his eyes she
came back to him.
	The sound she made when she was stuck.  A squeak, a
quick little moan, barely audible.  The way the tiniest
droplet formed seconds later at the edge of her pouting
lips.  How she looked up at him defiantly.  "She would
break so easily." he thought.  "Tied tight, hit, she
would lower those glowing eyes to the ground to avoid my
stair."  His body coiled and moved in the darkness, dust
that settled on the mattress stuck to his muscular form.
	His jaw was clenched now.  His forehead wet with
sweat.  He pictured what might had happened if the police
had not arrived.  This insolent little thief looking at
him, thinking she knew what he felt when he stuck her
partner.  He could see himself closing in on her, how she
would vainly attempt to move back, but he would pull the
cable that held her tighter.
	Then he would press against her, she was about a
foot shorter so she would look up to meet his stair.  He
would clench his fist around her hair, she would let out
a cry.  Her mind would be frantic, thinking of a way to
escape, but there would be no way.  He would force his
lips onto hers.  They would be soft and warm against him. 
His hand would reach for her breast, feeling odd under
these leather gloves.  He would still feel the hard
nipples, even over the leather.
	These images flashed in his mind as he writhed on
the mattress.  One hand clenched on the makeshift bed,
the other on his manhood.  His hand was dry, rough,
causing friction against his hard sex.  
	He pictured her melting in his steel grip, how her
mouth would open to his, how her tongue would taste fresh
and sweet.  He pictured finding her nipple and pinching
it hard and sudden, making her knees go weak.  
	With that image in his mind's eye he came, feeling
his cum spurting from his closed fist in pulses.  He laid
there silently.  After a minute or two it come was cold
on his chest.  It made him sick now.
	He stood with a start, feeling blindly for the
mattress he grabbed the edges and threw it into the
darkness.  He heard something break.  He lied on the
cement floor.  He felt the guilt of these fantasies in
his stomach.  It was a real and physical pain.  He held
his knees to his chest, and after and hour his body
finally gave in to sleep.