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Title: It’s All Happening At the Zoo
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Part: 2
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,430
Warnings: Depressed!Bruce followed by Dark!Bruce; masochistic Joker and violent sex (well, sort of, depending on your definition).
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All the characters and settings are the profit of Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and maybe more people as well.
Summary: Bruce won't come out to play, so the Joker draws him out.
A/N: Sequel to Elephants Are Kindly. Guys, for the life of me I can’t decide if this is done or not. It’s part two of what was going to be a one-shot, and then I started this and shelved it for over a month and then was compelled to finish it. And this was going to be the end, but now I have a few possible ideas for more. So to sum up, this may be the end, or it may not be. I know it’s open for more but I hope that it’s reasonably satisfying as an ending (if indeed it is an ending) if I don’t end up writing more. (I’m probably giving too many disclaimers. Augh.)
The dreams hadn't stopped.
If anything, they had grown worse over the last few weeks. The harder Bruce tried not to think about what had happened, the more frequently the Joker haunted his sleeping brain. And the dreams were more intense now, with more details, scent and heat...
Bruce had sent Alfred away. It had taken nearly a week of pleading and serious looks and in the end he had been afraid he wouldn't go at all. It didn't help that he couldn't tell him why he needed him to leave.
How could he even begin to relate the story? His monumental stupidity throughout the entire night was almost as bad as what had happened in the end.
"But Master Bruce, why hasn't he unmasked you? What are you going to do about it? What do you mean, you're sure he won't tell anyone? How can you be sure?" Bruce could see Alfred asking all these questions, and more, with perfect clarity. He could almost hear him.
Alfred had tried to get him to say what was wrong, of course. He had needled subtly for days. A part of Bruce wanted to break down sobbing and confess, as he'd done on a few occasions when he'd been young. Alfred had always made him feel absolved, once he'd made amends. Bruce couldn't stand the thought that this time, he might not be able to. Worse, he might not want to.
He didn’t go out; not as Bruce Wayne, not as Batman. If Alfred were still there, he knew, he would have made him do something. But he couldn’t seem to summon the energy or will. He brooded over the news, or over a book, or really anything in his path, and he did his best not to think about the Joker.
Fortunately for his current hermetic tendencies, it had been a quiet few weeks, and the cell phone Gordon had finally talked him into for emergencies (disposable, he threw his out and mailed Gordon a new number every couple of days even if they didn’t use it) remained silent.
Until, at last, it didn’t.
***
Bruce sighed at the blinking, buzzing phone, cleared his throat, and picked it up. “Gordon?” he said, in Batman’s growl. Gordon said a few things and Bruce started frowning. “At the zoo?” Another moment. “Who are his hostages?”
***
Gotham had gone through a great deal of trouble, and even greater expense, to finally acquire two giant pandas; a mating pair, or theoretically anyway. Zookeepers had been coaxing them to mate for some time now, without success.
From the top of the penguin house, Bruce could see the Joker in the panda’s habitat nearby. Vaguely it occurred to him that Gotham Zoo was arranged oddly, but the thought fell out of his mind as he jumped down and snuck up to the edge of the panda habitat.
The Joker was walking back and forth muttering to himself, waving a gun in the general direction of Sing Sing and I Ching. They were perhaps a dozen yards away from him and seemed entirely unconcerned with his presence. One appeared to be asleep, the other was munching thoughtfully on a leaf.
“I can hear you,” the Joker called suddenly, almost in sing-song. Bruce froze, and the Joker giggled. “No…I can feel you.” He leveled the gun at one of the pandas. “Show yourself, or the bear gets it.”
Bruce rose slowly and entered the enclosure. “Isn’t this beneath even you?” he asked.
The Joker laughed. “I was getting desperate,” he said. “Look – listen – I’ve been reading this book. You haven’t called, or even dropped me an email, and I have to wonder; is it true? Are you just not that into me?”
In a flash, Bruce punched the Joker hard in the stomach. With a whoop the Joker threw his gun to the side, pulled a knife out from somewhere and started slashing at him. Bruce punched him again, in the face this time, and the Joker reeled back, laughing hysterically.
“Oh, yes!” he said, voice sounding slightly thick. “This is what I’ve been missing; oh, Bruce, I’ve been so empty without you. Where have you been?”
Bruce simply punched him in the stomach again, thankful that they were both in costume tonight. Everything was so much simpler like this. The Joker went down with the blow, wheezing and still giggling, and Bruce pinned him swiftly. “Have you been holed up in that big, dark house of yours? I thought about paying you a visit, but it seemed impolite, without an invitation. I almost sent you flowers. Would you have liked it, if I had?” The Joker was peering at him with faux-anxiety, and Bruce tried not to let his words throw him off.
“What is this about, Joker?” he growled.
“I thought it was obvious,” the Joker said. “I missed you.” He licked his lips and Bruce fought the urge to jump off him.
“You’re holding pandas hostage just to play a game with me?” Bruce demanded. The Joker giggled, and Bruce was horrified to realize the Joker was hard against his thigh. The Joker thrust against him and moaned, giving his usual twisted grin.
“It’s not a game, lover. Or, well, maybe it is. It’s all games when you first start dating someone, isn’t it?” He was shifting underneath Bruce, trying to find a spot against him with better friction. Bruce pushed down harder, trying to keep him in place.
“We’re not dating,” he growled. The Joker fluttered his eyelashes and – was he attempting to pout?
“I thought you were different than the other guys. I thought that blowjob in the back of your limo meant something to you. It was so…intimate. Don’t you think?”
“I’m taking you to jail, Joker,” Bruce said, trying desperately to keep this conversation on track.
“The police will want to know everything I know,” the Joker said. He was shifting again and Bruce realized with a sick feeling that the feeling of the other man moving beneath him was arousing him. Those stupid, awful dreams, it wasn’t his fault –
“I don’t care what you tell the police,” Bruce said. “Tell them everything you know. I can’t let you go free.” The Joker stopped moving, much to Bruce’s relief, although he had to resist the urge to thrust forward at him. He wouldn’t have been able to feel anything through the armored plate at his groin anyway, but try telling that to his cock.
The Joker was studying him curiously. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to go on if you couldn’t be Batman. You wouldn’t be you.”
“What choice do I have?” The growl was slipping out of his voice; he was starting to feel vulnerable again, unmasked. Why did the Joker have this effect on him?
“You could keep me prisoner yourself.” The Joker licked his lips. “Take me to your secret hideaway; where is it, beneath that beautiful house of yours?” Bruce made no reply, and the Joker grinned. “Knock me out before we go so I can’t guess where we are. And once we’ve arrived – and, pre-fer-ab-ly, I’m conscious again – you can do anything you want to me.”
Bruce couldn’t speak for a minute. Was he considering this? No. “I’m taking you to the police,” he said firmly. “Making you my prisoner is no justice.”
“But it would be so much fun,” the Joker moaned, and he thrust against Bruce’s leg again. Bruce forced himself to stay still, which was easy enough. He’d been holding the Joker down so long his muscles were cramping.
“Well,” the Joker sighed. “If you won’t take me home with you, I’ll go quietly. And I won’t spill a word to the police about your i-den-tity.” He licked his lips and Bruce’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“If,” the Joker continued, “you fuck me before we go.” He blinked up at Bruce with a lazy smile.
Bruce was suddenly thankful for his cramped muscles; if they weren’t locked in place, he might have jumped off the Joker in horror. He let go one of the Joker’s wrists and punched him in the face; the Joker cackled and shoved Bruce off him. His reaction time slowed by the long minutes in such an awkward position, Bruce fell backwards and by the time he’d jumped to his feet, the Joker had grabbed his gun and had it leveled at the pandas again. He was still on the ground, and the gun was in his left hand, but Bruce hesitated. It looked like he was aiming in the right direction.
“Do it for the bears, Bruce,” the Joker said, his eyes boring into Bruce’s. Bruce felt a sudden rush of fury and he found himself vaulting towards the Joker, who tried to squeeze off a shot but Bruce had landed on top of him, forcing his wrist down. There was a sickening crack and the Joker cried out, dropping the gun.
“That’s…ow…more like it.” The Joker was giggling and Bruce punched him again, and again, and even through the blows and the broken wrist the Joker was still hard, trying to rub up against him. Bruce growled and kept hitting him, but the Joker wouldn’t stop laughing and smiling and licking his lips and trying to find friction against his leg and laughing…Well, Bruce thought he knew one way to make the laughter stop.
He pulled the Joker up by the front of his shirt. “On your knees,” he growled, and let him fall back down again. The Joker hit his head on the ground none-too-gently but still he scrambled up right away and arranged himself, on his knees but only one hand, the broken wrist held up against his chest. He was humming with pleasure and moaned when Bruce yanked his pants down unceremoniously. Bruce took off his gloves and released the groin plate on his armor. He pulled out of a little tube of Vaseline he kept on his belt (he’d thought it might come in handy sometime, had thought of a few different scenarios in which it might be useful; this hadn’t been one of them). He slicked his cock and, hand on the Joker’s hip, pulled him towards him.
A dark, nasty impulse came over him as he positioned himself and he paused. “Put your hand down,” he said, and the voice that he heard was so angry he could hardly recognized it as his own.
“Oh, Bruce, you’re just like I dreamed,” the Joker said, and as he put it down Bruce thrust forward, pushing in and forcing the Joker to put weight on his wrist. The Joker screamed and then moaned, pushing back against Bruce, and Bruce found himself thrusting hard and fast, as hard as he could. The Joker’s good hand went to his cock and he stroked himself frantically, his moans about equal parts pain and pleasure.
Bruce ignored this for a minute, but when he thought heard bones in the Joker’s wrist scraping together (did he imagine it?) he tore the Joker’s hand from his cock and put it on the ground. The Joker gave a frustrated grunt which was quickly followed by a gasp as Bruce wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked him roughly.
The Joker bucked and twisted and Bruce had to squeeze his hip hard to keep the rhythm he wanted. After a few minutes the Joker cried out and came into his hand. Bruce, on the edge himself, thrust a few more times, and it was the pain in the Joker’s moans as much as the pleasure that made cum with a grunt.
He started to collapse forward and then hastily moved back, remembering the Joker’s wrist. He pulled out and quickly reattached the bit of armor he’d taken off. His face burned with shame, not only because he’d fucked the Joker, but because of his cruelty towards him. What had possessed him to make him put weight on his injured wrist?
Evidently, he had liked it. Somehow the thought wasn’t very comforting. Bruce looked down at the Joker, who had rolled over onto his back without bothering to pull his pants back up. He clutched his wrist to his chest, but except for that gesture, didn’t look like he was in any pain. He was grinning wide, eyes glittering in triumph.
“Just what I wanted for Christmas,” the Joker said. Bruce decided not to point out that it was early September.
“Pull up your pants,” he said. The Joker complied slowly, using only his good wrist. Bruce reached out a hand to help him to his feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take me prisoner?” the Joker asked, grinning.
“You’re going to the police,” Bruce repeated firmly, as much to himself as the Joker. Horrible thoughts were flitting across his mind - you might be able to rehabilitate him better than anyone at Arkham or in jail, if he can be rehabilitated…he obviously feels a connection to you… He pushed the thoughts away. “You said you’d go quietly.”
“I’m a man of my word,” the Joker said dreamily. “Do we get to go in your car? I like riding in cars with y–” Bruce pulled out a needle and stuck it in the Joker’s arm, depressing the plunger. The Joker stared at it for a moment in surprise. “That’s cheating,” he said, and started to crumple to the ground. Bruce caught him and, being careful of his wrist, gathered him up and carried him to the Batmobile.
In the car, Bruce found the cell phone he used to call Gordon. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at the Joker, unconscious in the seat next to him. He punched in Gordon’s number.
“I have something for you,” he growled, when Gordon picked up.
In a few minutes he was driving fast towards police headquarters, resisting the urge to turn around and head to Wayne Manor. There’s nothing you can do for him, he told himself. Nothing except confirm everything he’s convinced himself is true about the world, and about you.
***
In the morning the Joker woke up alone in a jail cell. His wrist was bound, but it hurt, and that wasn’t the only part of him that was sore. He sat up slowly and started to make some plans.
***
In the morning Bruce woke up alone in the manor. For once, he wasn’t hard. He tried not to think about anything at all.
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Part: 2
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,430
Warnings: Depressed!Bruce followed by Dark!Bruce; masochistic Joker and violent sex (well, sort of, depending on your definition).
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All the characters and settings are the profit of Warner Brothers, DC Comics, and maybe more people as well.
Summary: Bruce won't come out to play, so the Joker draws him out.
A/N: Sequel to Elephants Are Kindly. Guys, for the life of me I can’t decide if this is done or not. It’s part two of what was going to be a one-shot, and then I started this and shelved it for over a month and then was compelled to finish it. And this was going to be the end, but now I have a few possible ideas for more. So to sum up, this may be the end, or it may not be. I know it’s open for more but I hope that it’s reasonably satisfying as an ending (if indeed it is an ending) if I don’t end up writing more. (I’m probably giving too many disclaimers. Augh.)
The dreams hadn't stopped.
If anything, they had grown worse over the last few weeks. The harder Bruce tried not to think about what had happened, the more frequently the Joker haunted his sleeping brain. And the dreams were more intense now, with more details, scent and heat...
Bruce had sent Alfred away. It had taken nearly a week of pleading and serious looks and in the end he had been afraid he wouldn't go at all. It didn't help that he couldn't tell him why he needed him to leave.
How could he even begin to relate the story? His monumental stupidity throughout the entire night was almost as bad as what had happened in the end.
"But Master Bruce, why hasn't he unmasked you? What are you going to do about it? What do you mean, you're sure he won't tell anyone? How can you be sure?" Bruce could see Alfred asking all these questions, and more, with perfect clarity. He could almost hear him.
Alfred had tried to get him to say what was wrong, of course. He had needled subtly for days. A part of Bruce wanted to break down sobbing and confess, as he'd done on a few occasions when he'd been young. Alfred had always made him feel absolved, once he'd made amends. Bruce couldn't stand the thought that this time, he might not be able to. Worse, he might not want to.
He didn’t go out; not as Bruce Wayne, not as Batman. If Alfred were still there, he knew, he would have made him do something. But he couldn’t seem to summon the energy or will. He brooded over the news, or over a book, or really anything in his path, and he did his best not to think about the Joker.
Fortunately for his current hermetic tendencies, it had been a quiet few weeks, and the cell phone Gordon had finally talked him into for emergencies (disposable, he threw his out and mailed Gordon a new number every couple of days even if they didn’t use it) remained silent.
Until, at last, it didn’t.
***
Bruce sighed at the blinking, buzzing phone, cleared his throat, and picked it up. “Gordon?” he said, in Batman’s growl. Gordon said a few things and Bruce started frowning. “At the zoo?” Another moment. “Who are his hostages?”
***
Gotham had gone through a great deal of trouble, and even greater expense, to finally acquire two giant pandas; a mating pair, or theoretically anyway. Zookeepers had been coaxing them to mate for some time now, without success.
From the top of the penguin house, Bruce could see the Joker in the panda’s habitat nearby. Vaguely it occurred to him that Gotham Zoo was arranged oddly, but the thought fell out of his mind as he jumped down and snuck up to the edge of the panda habitat.
The Joker was walking back and forth muttering to himself, waving a gun in the general direction of Sing Sing and I Ching. They were perhaps a dozen yards away from him and seemed entirely unconcerned with his presence. One appeared to be asleep, the other was munching thoughtfully on a leaf.
“I can hear you,” the Joker called suddenly, almost in sing-song. Bruce froze, and the Joker giggled. “No…I can feel you.” He leveled the gun at one of the pandas. “Show yourself, or the bear gets it.”
Bruce rose slowly and entered the enclosure. “Isn’t this beneath even you?” he asked.
The Joker laughed. “I was getting desperate,” he said. “Look – listen – I’ve been reading this book. You haven’t called, or even dropped me an email, and I have to wonder; is it true? Are you just not that into me?”
In a flash, Bruce punched the Joker hard in the stomach. With a whoop the Joker threw his gun to the side, pulled a knife out from somewhere and started slashing at him. Bruce punched him again, in the face this time, and the Joker reeled back, laughing hysterically.
“Oh, yes!” he said, voice sounding slightly thick. “This is what I’ve been missing; oh, Bruce, I’ve been so empty without you. Where have you been?”
Bruce simply punched him in the stomach again, thankful that they were both in costume tonight. Everything was so much simpler like this. The Joker went down with the blow, wheezing and still giggling, and Bruce pinned him swiftly. “Have you been holed up in that big, dark house of yours? I thought about paying you a visit, but it seemed impolite, without an invitation. I almost sent you flowers. Would you have liked it, if I had?” The Joker was peering at him with faux-anxiety, and Bruce tried not to let his words throw him off.
“What is this about, Joker?” he growled.
“I thought it was obvious,” the Joker said. “I missed you.” He licked his lips and Bruce fought the urge to jump off him.
“You’re holding pandas hostage just to play a game with me?” Bruce demanded. The Joker giggled, and Bruce was horrified to realize the Joker was hard against his thigh. The Joker thrust against him and moaned, giving his usual twisted grin.
“It’s not a game, lover. Or, well, maybe it is. It’s all games when you first start dating someone, isn’t it?” He was shifting underneath Bruce, trying to find a spot against him with better friction. Bruce pushed down harder, trying to keep him in place.
“We’re not dating,” he growled. The Joker fluttered his eyelashes and – was he attempting to pout?
“I thought you were different than the other guys. I thought that blowjob in the back of your limo meant something to you. It was so…intimate. Don’t you think?”
“I’m taking you to jail, Joker,” Bruce said, trying desperately to keep this conversation on track.
“The police will want to know everything I know,” the Joker said. He was shifting again and Bruce realized with a sick feeling that the feeling of the other man moving beneath him was arousing him. Those stupid, awful dreams, it wasn’t his fault –
“I don’t care what you tell the police,” Bruce said. “Tell them everything you know. I can’t let you go free.” The Joker stopped moving, much to Bruce’s relief, although he had to resist the urge to thrust forward at him. He wouldn’t have been able to feel anything through the armored plate at his groin anyway, but try telling that to his cock.
The Joker was studying him curiously. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to go on if you couldn’t be Batman. You wouldn’t be you.”
“What choice do I have?” The growl was slipping out of his voice; he was starting to feel vulnerable again, unmasked. Why did the Joker have this effect on him?
“You could keep me prisoner yourself.” The Joker licked his lips. “Take me to your secret hideaway; where is it, beneath that beautiful house of yours?” Bruce made no reply, and the Joker grinned. “Knock me out before we go so I can’t guess where we are. And once we’ve arrived – and, pre-fer-ab-ly, I’m conscious again – you can do anything you want to me.”
Bruce couldn’t speak for a minute. Was he considering this? No. “I’m taking you to the police,” he said firmly. “Making you my prisoner is no justice.”
“But it would be so much fun,” the Joker moaned, and he thrust against Bruce’s leg again. Bruce forced himself to stay still, which was easy enough. He’d been holding the Joker down so long his muscles were cramping.
“Well,” the Joker sighed. “If you won’t take me home with you, I’ll go quietly. And I won’t spill a word to the police about your i-den-tity.” He licked his lips and Bruce’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“If,” the Joker continued, “you fuck me before we go.” He blinked up at Bruce with a lazy smile.
Bruce was suddenly thankful for his cramped muscles; if they weren’t locked in place, he might have jumped off the Joker in horror. He let go one of the Joker’s wrists and punched him in the face; the Joker cackled and shoved Bruce off him. His reaction time slowed by the long minutes in such an awkward position, Bruce fell backwards and by the time he’d jumped to his feet, the Joker had grabbed his gun and had it leveled at the pandas again. He was still on the ground, and the gun was in his left hand, but Bruce hesitated. It looked like he was aiming in the right direction.
“Do it for the bears, Bruce,” the Joker said, his eyes boring into Bruce’s. Bruce felt a sudden rush of fury and he found himself vaulting towards the Joker, who tried to squeeze off a shot but Bruce had landed on top of him, forcing his wrist down. There was a sickening crack and the Joker cried out, dropping the gun.
“That’s…ow…more like it.” The Joker was giggling and Bruce punched him again, and again, and even through the blows and the broken wrist the Joker was still hard, trying to rub up against him. Bruce growled and kept hitting him, but the Joker wouldn’t stop laughing and smiling and licking his lips and trying to find friction against his leg and laughing…Well, Bruce thought he knew one way to make the laughter stop.
He pulled the Joker up by the front of his shirt. “On your knees,” he growled, and let him fall back down again. The Joker hit his head on the ground none-too-gently but still he scrambled up right away and arranged himself, on his knees but only one hand, the broken wrist held up against his chest. He was humming with pleasure and moaned when Bruce yanked his pants down unceremoniously. Bruce took off his gloves and released the groin plate on his armor. He pulled out of a little tube of Vaseline he kept on his belt (he’d thought it might come in handy sometime, had thought of a few different scenarios in which it might be useful; this hadn’t been one of them). He slicked his cock and, hand on the Joker’s hip, pulled him towards him.
A dark, nasty impulse came over him as he positioned himself and he paused. “Put your hand down,” he said, and the voice that he heard was so angry he could hardly recognized it as his own.
“Oh, Bruce, you’re just like I dreamed,” the Joker said, and as he put it down Bruce thrust forward, pushing in and forcing the Joker to put weight on his wrist. The Joker screamed and then moaned, pushing back against Bruce, and Bruce found himself thrusting hard and fast, as hard as he could. The Joker’s good hand went to his cock and he stroked himself frantically, his moans about equal parts pain and pleasure.
Bruce ignored this for a minute, but when he thought heard bones in the Joker’s wrist scraping together (did he imagine it?) he tore the Joker’s hand from his cock and put it on the ground. The Joker gave a frustrated grunt which was quickly followed by a gasp as Bruce wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked him roughly.
The Joker bucked and twisted and Bruce had to squeeze his hip hard to keep the rhythm he wanted. After a few minutes the Joker cried out and came into his hand. Bruce, on the edge himself, thrust a few more times, and it was the pain in the Joker’s moans as much as the pleasure that made cum with a grunt.
He started to collapse forward and then hastily moved back, remembering the Joker’s wrist. He pulled out and quickly reattached the bit of armor he’d taken off. His face burned with shame, not only because he’d fucked the Joker, but because of his cruelty towards him. What had possessed him to make him put weight on his injured wrist?
Evidently, he had liked it. Somehow the thought wasn’t very comforting. Bruce looked down at the Joker, who had rolled over onto his back without bothering to pull his pants back up. He clutched his wrist to his chest, but except for that gesture, didn’t look like he was in any pain. He was grinning wide, eyes glittering in triumph.
“Just what I wanted for Christmas,” the Joker said. Bruce decided not to point out that it was early September.
“Pull up your pants,” he said. The Joker complied slowly, using only his good wrist. Bruce reached out a hand to help him to his feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take me prisoner?” the Joker asked, grinning.
“You’re going to the police,” Bruce repeated firmly, as much to himself as the Joker. Horrible thoughts were flitting across his mind - you might be able to rehabilitate him better than anyone at Arkham or in jail, if he can be rehabilitated…he obviously feels a connection to you… He pushed the thoughts away. “You said you’d go quietly.”
“I’m a man of my word,” the Joker said dreamily. “Do we get to go in your car? I like riding in cars with y–” Bruce pulled out a needle and stuck it in the Joker’s arm, depressing the plunger. The Joker stared at it for a moment in surprise. “That’s cheating,” he said, and started to crumple to the ground. Bruce caught him and, being careful of his wrist, gathered him up and carried him to the Batmobile.
In the car, Bruce found the cell phone he used to call Gordon. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at the Joker, unconscious in the seat next to him. He punched in Gordon’s number.
“I have something for you,” he growled, when Gordon picked up.
In a few minutes he was driving fast towards police headquarters, resisting the urge to turn around and head to Wayne Manor. There’s nothing you can do for him, he told himself. Nothing except confirm everything he’s convinced himself is true about the world, and about you.
***
In the morning the Joker woke up alone in a jail cell. His wrist was bound, but it hurt, and that wasn’t the only part of him that was sore. He sat up slowly and started to make some plans.
***
In the morning Bruce woke up alone in the manor. For once, he wasn’t hard. He tried not to think about anything at all.