THE RESCUER

By Batfan60

 

DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters belong to a giant corporation, not me. This is a work of fan fiction; no infringement intended.

 

 

1. RESTRAINED

 

He awoke to find himself in a tight spot.

 

Again.

 

When the Batman opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the oldest, moldiest, most decrepit-looking ceiling in Gotham City. Book-sized flakes of mildew-soaked paint peeled away from the surface and threatened to drop down beside him at any moment. He vaguely recalled something about an anonymous tip -- or was it a threat? -- assuring him that dozens, hundreds maybe, of innocent lives were at risk without his help. The rest was a blur.

 

He turned his head slowly to the left and right, taking note of his surroundings. He could not remember the last several hours of his life or whom he'd been pursuing, but a soreness in his skull, neck, and shoulders told him first that he'd been overpowered and, second, that he was now pinned, spread-eagle, to the hard cement floor.

 

He could tell, too, that his mask was still in place. Underneath it, his forehead was drenched and his hair matted with sweat. A simple cloth gag, probably nothing more than a handkerchief, was wrapped tightly around his mouth; he could feel the knot on the other side of his cowl just below the base of his skull.

 

Squirming around, he took in more and more information quite quickly. His wrists and ankles were fastened to metal posts with several layers of durable nylon cord. His utility belt lay draped over a chair about twenty feet away, just barely in his line of vision. The rest of his uniform appeared to be intact, despite a few hairline rips and tears. Good: between his gauntlets and boots, he still had enough hidden supplies to free himself, if he could only access them. That might take some time.

 

But how much of that did he have? Resting for a moment and growing silent, he could hear a faint, rapid ticking sound. He scanned the room once more to locate its source: a nondescript gray duffle bag not far from his feet was the most likely candidate. No sense yet of the size of the device inside or how long it might be before the likely bomb exploded.

 

There was something disconcerting about this--and not just because he might die at any moment, bringing with him countless numbers of unsuspecting fellow citizens. The average supervillain he'd grown accustomed to was prone to far more visible deathtraps, prefaced with teasing clues, then long speeches about exactly what was going to happen and how long he'd have to try and escape. This one was a wild card, though. Likely some newcomer to the criminal underworld. Those were the ones to watch out for: unpredictable, unstable, and potentially the most dangerous of all.

 

He concentrated on wiggling his left wrist just so, in order to loosen the mini-laser concealed within his glove. That task came to an abrupt halt, though, with the first jostle of a doorknob somewhere on the other side of the room. Footsteps, drawing ever closer. From the clomp they made as they hit the cement, the master detective guessed they were motorcycle boots. Dehners, to be precise. Batman couldn't yet see his visitor, but he was already gathering clues as to his identity.

 

*****

2. RESURRECTED

 

Seconds later, the bound Batman was staring up at the duly deputized officer of the law who towered over him. This man was clad almost entirely in city-issued black and dark blue. His boots (yes, Dehners) and tight-fitting breeches made it clear that he was assigned to the motorcycle division of the GCPD; so, too, did his black leather gauntlets and the white helmet which covered his head.

 

Though his mouth was covered, Batman's eyes practically screamed the urgency of the matter. Wasting no time, the cop bent down and pulled the gag away from the captive crimefighter's mouth, then set to work trying to untie the cord wrapped around Batman's left wrist.

 

As soon as he could speak, Batman barked out a series of fragmentary commands. "NO TIME ,,, TO UNTIE ME NOW ... MUST -- ACT QUICKLY ... EXPLOSIVES -- COULD GO OFF ANY MINUTE... YOU'LL HAVE TO -- DEFUSE THEM YOURSELF..."

 

The officer abandoned his attempts to free the bound man and headed over to the duffel bag. By this point, Batman's words were coming more slowly, forming themselves into complete sentences. "Don't worry about freeing me yet -- we have to think of others who might be in the building. Do you have any experience with explosive devices?"

 

"A little, Batman."

 

"Good. Tell me what you see, and I'll talk you through the rest."

 

"Well, it looks like a type A-46 device. There are two red wires leading into the mechanism and a green one connected to the timer."

 

Batman was relieved, if slightly surprised, by the officer's knowledge. "Do you have any wire cutters on you?"

 

The cop shook his head. "Out in my bike, but there's not enough time to get them."

 

"I've got a pair on my belt. Do you see it over there? Good. Be careful -- I've got it rigged to be tamperproof." The bound hero talked his newfound savior through the security measures, then told him where to find the correct tool. "Go to the third pouch to the left of the buckle. Do you see it?"

 

"Sure thing," the officer replied, lingering for a moment as if to examine the famous belt before locating the correct compartment, unsnapping it and retrieving the small silver cutters, then walking back to the ticking bag. "Which wires do you want me to cut?"

 

"The green first, then the red one on the right."

 

Both men held their breath and gritted their teeth as metal crunched through metal.

 

****

3. RESCUED

 

The ticking continued and seemed to grow louder and faster for a moment. Then it stopped. The two crimefighters sighed, each lost in his own worst-case scenarios. They looked at each other and smiled. Batman spoke first. "Put the cutters back. Two pouches to the left of them, you should see a knife..."

 

"Got it, Batman." The cop carried the knife in one hand and the rest of the belt in the other as he walked over to the spot where the masked man still lay immobilized. The blade sliced quickly and cleanly through the cords binding Batman's wrists and ankles. In no time the costumed crimefighter was back on his feet.

 

Batman extended his right arm to pat his rescuer on the shoulder.

 

"Officer --"

 

"Call me Marco."

 

"Alright, Officer Marco. I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. Not only have you saved me from imminent death, you've also spared the lives of untold numbers of civilians who might have perished had the bomb exploded. I don't know how I can repay you."

 

Marco's right hand moved slowly but directly to Batman's arm, then followed it down to his waist and rested on the vigilante's crotch. "I can think of a thing or two."

 

*****

4. REPAID

 

With one black-gloved hand still solidly planted on Batman's trunks, Marco leaned over and kissed the surprised superhero full on the lips. It was a long, slow, seductive kiss, and gradually Batman relaxed his jaw, opened his mouth, and allowed the cop's tongue to explore what lay inside.

 

Marco could feel the vigilante's cock stiffening with each passing second. Batman brought both his arms around the policeman in an embrace, holding him tightly while the two men continued to kiss for several minutes longer. Marco unzipped his pants and fished his own erect penis past the bulging cup of his black jockstrap so that it poked out of his fly. He brought one hand to the back of Batman's cowled head and stroked it, guiding the masked man slowly but forcefully down to the floor.

 

Batman silently knealt and feasted on the cop's waiting dick, savoring its thickness and considerable length. His mouth slid back and forth along the shaft with the precision of a seasoned vet.

 

Marco watched in silent satisfaction as the masked man sucked away. In due time he released a sizable load of jism; the portion which didn't wind up down Batman's throat landed on his chin and the nosepiece and forehead of his mask.

 

The cop smeared this stray spunk all over his companion's face and cowl, then presented his black leather palm to the costumed crimefighter, who diligently licked it clean. The sensation of Batman's tongue dragging over the surface of the come-spattered glove was already making Marco hard once again. Using both hands this time, he held the edges of Batman's mask in his thumbs and index fingers and began to lift it upward.

 

*******

5. REDEEMED

 

Whatever considerable vulnerability Batman had recently displayed now vanished immediately, and he pulled away. "I'm sorry; I can't allow you to do that," he said. "I'm sure you understand my need for absolute secrecy."

 

"Of course," Marco said, a curious expression forming on his face.

 

"Maybe we should continue somewhere else, where it's safer," Batman said, apparently trying to make peace. "Sometime when my work allows it. At the moment, there's a bomber on the loose."

 

"Sure," Marco mumbled, tucking his cock back into his breeches and zipping them shut. "Some other time."

 

By this point Batman was back up on his feet and wiping his face clean with the gag which had once covered his mouth. He shook the dust off his tights and cape and inspected the condition of his garb. Aside from his belt, he was ready for action once again.

 

It took him a moment to realize that Marco was nowhere in sight. "I thought I was the only one who could make an exit that quietly," he told himself as he scanned the room for some sort of calling card the officer might have left behind. There was nothing. Curious...

 

He picked up his utility belt from its temporary spot on the floor and scanned its pouches quickly to be sure everything was in its right place. Then he placed the belt around his waist and snapped its buckle into position. He moved to the door and into the stairwell with well-honed efficiency.

 

On his way down the stairs, he felt a slight but sharp pinprick just above his right hip. The belt! Someone had tampered with it ... a tiny needle -- poisoned, no doubt -- jabbing him through his bodysuit. Dizzy. Disoriented. Starting to ... fall.

 

******

6. RETURNED

 

Once again, Batman awoke to find himself immobilized. This time he was seated in a wooden chair, his bare wrists fastened to its arms with handcuffs and his ankles held to the chair's legs with padlocked chains. Several loops of rope were wrapped around his chest and waist and tied behind his back. His cape, tunic, and gloves had all been removed and tossed haphazardly on the dirty floor, far out of reach. The poisoned utility belt lay near them, with all of its compartments opened and their contents scattered about, driving home the sense of violation.

 

Batman's magnificently muscular, hairy chest was now on full display, his pectorals rising and sinking ever so slightly below the ropes with each breath he took. Each massive arm, flecked with hair, was smudged with dirt and wet with sweat. Even devoid of their usual gear, his wrists almost seemed too thick to be contained within the metal cuffs. His cowl, still in place but divorced from the top half of his familiar costume, slightly resembled a bondage mask as it cloaked his head in mystery. A heavy growth of five o'clock shadow further concealed the lower portion of his face.

 

The mighty man had been trapped and subdued once more. Although he wasn't sure where he was or how long he'd been there, he had a pretty good idea who had done this to him.

 

***********

7. REUNITED

 

Beyond a doubt, this was Marco's work. And sure enough, the man himself soon entered the room. He was shirtless, just like his prey, and displayed an equally stunning example of masculine strength. His duty belt and boots once again accentuated his skin-tight breeches. He had replaced his thick gauntlets with thin, tight black leather gloves which appeared to be almost painted over his large hands. Mirrored shades obscured his eyes as effectively as Batman's mask. He was unknowable and unbeatable.

 

The cop walked over to the chair and stood behind his prey, resting one gloved hand on Batman's left shoulder.

 

"So... it was you," Batman said. "I suspected as much. You were too familiar with that bomb, and your badge number looked suspect. But why--"

 

"To teach you a lesson," Marco interrupted. "Keep you in line." He bent down and kissed the top of Batman's cowl. The gesture combined affection and dominance, like a man petting a puppy and reminding him who was Master. The sound of metal clanking against metal and wooden chair legs scraping the floor filled the room as Batman struggled against the bonds which held him in place.

 

The officer continued. "I was testing you before. I wanted to see how much of your defenses you would drop if you thought we were working on the same side. You didn't crack: I admire that. But now it's time to break you."

 

************

 

 

8. REPROACHED

 

For the next two hours, the motorcycle cop worked over the vigilante with a variety of tools and techniques whose purpose was part torture, part pleasure, separated by the finest of lines. Ice and flame, metal and leather -- all came into play as Marco toyed with his prey. The pace was slow and deliberate. Batman's face was knotted into a grimace, his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched. Noticing this, the officer changed his tactics and ran his gloved hand gently over the captive man's bare torso. "You might as well relax and enjoy yourself, my friend," Marco said. "You've already lost the battle."

 

Batman let out a long, deep sigh and appeared to settle into his confinement for a moment. Marco patted him on the head. "Good boy," he said.

 

But the bound man's demeanor quickly changed once more, and he made one last sudden, foolhardy attempt to break through the ropes and chains with sheer strength. Marco reached into his holster and produced his gun, pointing it directly at Batman. "Don't give me that shit," the cop commanded. He pressed the gun into Batman's lips, forcing them open with a nudge. "Suck it," Marco barked, and Batman obeyed, taking the barrel into his mouth with silent resolve. The weapon grew wet with saliva as it slid back and forth over the surface of the captive's tongue and lips. After a gruelling ten minutes of this treatment, the gun was returned to its place on the cop's belt.

 

Marco then wrapped both his hands around Batman's neck, almost as if he were intending to strangle the man. One hand held the stubbled chin in place while the other unfastened the single snap on the cowl, just above its wearer's Adam's apple.

 

"You don't need this anymore," the burly officer announced, curling his gloved fingers under the rim of the mask and beginning to peel it up and away from Batman's face.

 

 

****

9. REVEALED

 

There was nothing for the masked manhunter to do now but be still and surrender to the officer whose hands now loomed large in front of him. Batman struggled, more for the show of resistance than from any genuine desire to prevent what was about to happen. He'd been in this predicament many times before -- it went with the territory of living as a masked man -- but this time, for whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to fight back.

 

The mask came off in mere seconds; lubricated with the sweat of Batman's brow, it slipped off as easily as a pair of eyeglasses. And there he stood: bound and bested, his naked face and bare chest exposed to this handsome if dangerous stranger.

 

Marco held the cowl in his right hand. Having outlived its purpose, the legendary disguise now hung limply in the air, retaining only the slightest amount of its once-familiar shape. The cop held it to his nose and sniffed the traces of Batman's sweat which lay trapped inside. After a moment or two, he tossed it carelessly to the gound near his captive's feet.

 

Neither man spoke, but each silently acknowledged the bond which now united them for the rest of their lives. One man had a secret; the other had stolen it away.

 

At last Marco said something. "Well, well, well. Bruce Wayne. I never would have guessed. What's a rich guy like you doing dressed up and risking your life to fight the bad guys?"

 

Batman--Bruce-- still said nothing, while the shock of the moment caught up with him. Being unmasked was almost a relief as the cool air met his sweat-soaked forehead. Stripped of his single most important secret, the captive crimefighter felt humiliated and powerless -- but also strangely free. He could sense himself blushing, as if he'd been caught naked in public. To make matters worse, he sensed his penis growing harder and harder beneath his tights.

 

His silence was cut short when a gloved thumb and forefinger grabbed one of his nipples and squeezed it tightly, causing him to grunt with surprise. Marco's other hand moved quickly toward his protruding cock and balls and held them with a viselike grip.

 

"I asked you a QUESTION, Wayne," Marco barked. "I expect an ANSWER." He punctuated these phrases by increasing the pressure on each sensitive body part.

 

Bruce's facial muscles again contracted almost involuntarily into a grimace, his eyes closed and the corners of his mouth stretched as far apart as they could go. The veins in his neck practically popped out of his skin. He was determined to say nothing, even though a growing part of him was all too ready to submit. A tiny kernel of his being -- the part he kept more hidden than any other -- was absolutely prepared to lay down his cape and cowl and everything else and surrender wholly to this man who towered before him.

 

Batman looked down at the black-sheathed hand which was currently inflicting so much pain to his tender nipple. His tormentor's glove ended at the wrist; from there, hair and muscle extended up along the massive forearm and bicep all the way to a broad shoulder. Marco's chest was a similarly impressive display of masculinity.

 

The officer seemed to smile just a bit. "Without your weapons and your mask, you know, you look like an idiot in that outfit. Just some guy out jogging in his tights. A grown-up little boy playing superhero. Or cop. "

 

Marco's words, intended to humiliate him, hit home. There was indeed a sense in which Batman's "uniform" -- dark, tight-fitting, designed to intimidate with its display of musculature -- was modeled on the attire of motorcycle cops like Marco, down to the gauntlet-style gloves, the calf-hugging boots, and heavy belt of weaponry.

 

****

10. RENEWED

 

Marco cupped one of his hands over Bruce's mouth and held it there a moment. The bound man took in the aroma of leather and felt his cock swell once more. He parted his lips slightly and Marco forced his left index finger into Wayne's waiting mouth, just as he'd done with the gun a few moments earlier. Bruce sucked again with the same attentiveness he'd paid to Marco's member, not so long ago, under what now seemed like far better conditions.

 

The motorcycle cop shifted position, then withdrew his finger from Wayne's mouth. Now straddling the chair, he pressed the prisoner's face into his hairy chest, forcing Batman's lips against one of the cop's large tits. Bruce reluctantly obeyed the unspoken command like a true submissive and caressed the nipple, soon bringing his tongue into play. Surrender was easy, at the hands of a captor this irresistable.

 

"Bite it," Marco barked, and Bruce did as he was told, taking care not to cause serious injury. He had the opportunity, right here and now, to induce enough pain to distract the cop and buy time for an escape, but he did no such thing, suspecting that failing this test of trust might carry dire consequences. Instead, he savored the taste and texture of the nipple and felt the brush of a stray chest hair or two against his lips. "Now the other one," the cop declared, shifting his torso so that the second nipple landed squarely between Wayne's lips.

 

Once his tits had been satisfactorily serviced, Marco reached down to his duty belt, pulled out his gun and handcuff keys, and addressed his victim while making a number of adjustments. "I need you to change position," he said while releasing Batman from his confines and forcing him onto his knees, then refastening one wrist and one ankle to the heavy chair so that the defenseless detective had no choice but to kneel. The entire process took no more than a minute or two, and the combined threat of Marco's gun and his sheer physical strength insured that Batman would not attempt to break free this time. The position the unmasked detective now found himself in, hobbled and forced into submission, was awkward, uncomfortable, and more than a little humiliating.

 

Marco holstered his gun and returned the keys to their regular location on his belt, then unzipped his pants and produced his thick, long sausage of a cock once again. The kneeling Batman approached it in silence. The cop allowed him to suck away for a few moments, getting off on the view of multimillionaire Bruce Wayne in the grey tights of Gotham's best known citizen, bowing down before his superior. Wayne's unmasked head slid back and forth along the length of the shaft with expert precision, and Marco was soon ready to shoot his wad. Before he did so, though, he pulled out of Wayne's mouth and briefly stepped away from the humbled hero.

 

Marco stared long and hard at his chained captive, forced onto all fours like a beast. This grovelling creature was no superhero, no wealthy celebrity, just a slave in need of training. An asshole in need of filling. With a slight readjustment of the chains and one quick shove from the cop's boot, Batman was forced painfully onto his stomach. Marco reached down and yanked the waistband of the detective's tights toward his ankles. The officer straddled the helpless man and produced a small tube of lubricant from his duty belt. He smeared a handful on his cock and a second glob into the crack of Batman's ass. Marco's left hand covered Wayne's mouth and his right one caressed the captive's right nipple. The full weight of his body further prevented any potential escape attempts. The cop's cement-hard cock worked its way toward its intended target and plunged as deep in as it would go, retreated a bit, then charged even farther forward, then back, building up a rhythm which could end only one way.

Lying on his stomach, overpowered and unable to regain control of the situation, the man on bottom wasn't quite sure of his true identity at this moment: Half in costume, half out, was he: Bruce Wayne? Batman? Or some amalgam of the two? Perhaps he was a new being, not yet namable...

 

No time for such questions now, when his very existence was in jeopardy. The sensation of Marco's cock up his ass didn't really hurt, and the small flood of dense fluid which eventually and inevitably poured out of it was an enormous turn-on. No, what hurt, just a bit, was Marco's gunbelt pressing into Bruce/Batman's backside, over and over again until at last the thrusting stopped. It served as a constant reminder that Batman's own belt was far out of reach, along with all his other weapons. There was nothing he could do but lie here now, feeling the weight of Marco's belly against the curve of his back, of Marco's boots pinning his own bare feet in place, of Marco's gloved hands locked around his own exposed wrists. No telling what was coming next, but odds were it wouldn't be freedom.

 

****

11. REDIRECTED

 

It could have been anything: an execution. More torture. Further humiliation. Another kiss, even. But instead the next moment brought a crash. Batman couldn't quite see what was going on, but he heard and felt a chain of events: the door being knocked down. A batarang with a rope attached, hurling across the room and wrapping its way around Marco, who was still straddled on top of him until the bat-lasso did its work. Finally, a voice, young and eager and comfortably familiar. Robin. Walking right into a trap.

 

"Batman! Are you okay? Who is this guy, and what has he done to you?"

 

No time to warn the boy. No time to say, "Robin, look out, you don't know what you're getting into!" Time only to turn, as far as the cuffs would allow, and watch as Marco managed to escape the ropes and use them on the lad.

 

Yes. Robin was down now, trussed and flat on his back, a second trophy for this muscular motorcycle marauder. The Boy Wonder tried in vain to reach for a compartment on his utility belt with one free hand, but Marco caught his wrist and moved it swiftly away from his waist and into another set of handcuffs.

 

The cop's gloved hands were still wet with lube and come, and he wiped them both on Robin's forehead before removing the Teen Titan's mask and tossing it toward the pile of Batman's discarded boots and gloves.

 

"So, Bruce, this is your little boyfriend, huh?" Marco sneered. "You dress him up and play with him, is that what you do?"

 

"Unhand the boy!" Batman shouted. "Do what you will with me, but leave him alone. It's me you want, not him!"

 

"Is that so?" Marco said, running a black-leather-clad finger along the length of Robin's vest. He produced a knife from his belt and began cutting the lacings on the younger crimefighter's costume until a bare and impressively chiseled chest was exposed. The cop stood up beside the young man and brought a black boot to rest on the now-exposed flesh.

 

Batman and Robin -- Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson? -- lay helpless at his feet. He hovered over them, pondering his next move. The first lesson had been taught. Now it was time to press on.

 

****

12. RESCUED

 

"Officer Marco Moretti. You are under arrest. Come out with your hands up." The voice on the other end of the bullhorn was firm and insistent. It could only belong to one man, Bruce knew instantly: Commissioner James Gordon.

 

"The building is surrounded. We know you have captured Batman and Robin. Release them and surrender immediately, or we will be forced to shoot."

 

Marco did not look the least bit concerned by this latest turn of events. He stood still and said nothing. At last he smiled, and knealt down by each of his captives, offering each a kiss. Rising to his feet again, he moved toward one of the room's few windows and retrieved three small balls from a pouch on his belt and a lighter from the pocket of his breeches. Once he'd lit the wicks on the three balls, he hurled one toward the door Robin had recently kicked in, one out the window, and one in the direction of the dynamic duo. Vast amounts of thick, choking colored smoke issued forth.

 

"Tear gas, or some derivative," Batman managed to rasp before his coughing made speech nearly impossible. In the fog, he was able to free himself from the chair. Still chained, he fumbled his way toward the spot where he'd remembered seeing his utility belt and located a lockpick before heading over to Robin's side. Marco's knife was not far away, and made quick work of the boy's bindings. Both heroes were able to retrieve their masks in record time. When the smoke cleared, they looked disheveled but none the worse for wear. And Marco was nowhere in sight.

 

In his place stood Gordon, two prominent detectives, and three members of the GCPD SWAT team. They all looked a bit embarrased by the scene they'd stumbled into -- that was obviously sperm smeared on Robin's mask and Batman's hastily pulled-on tights -- but tried to conduct a conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

 

"Gosh, Batman, who WAS that guy?" Robin asked.

 

"Officer Marco Moretti, Boy Wonder," Gordon replied. "Actually, he's not an officer any longer. Hasn't been for months. We'd received some reports that he was functioning as a rogue cop, a kind of one-man police force. And this city has all the vigilantes it needs, right here."

 

"Where do you think he went?" Robin continued.

 

"There's no way of knowing," Batman said. "He appears to have slipped out that window and walked right past twenty of Gotham City's finest. I have no idea how he did it. But I have a very strong hunch we haven't seen the last of him."

 

"Pardon me for asking, Batman, but how do you know?" Gordon asked.

 

"Marco started something just now, and he's going to want to finish it. We don't know where, and we don't know when, but we can be certain he'll be back. Now if you'll excuse us, Commissioner, Robin and I have some cleaning up to do."

 

WILL ROGUE COP MARCO RETURN TO WREAK HAVOC ON THE GUARDIANS OF GOTHAM? WHAT WILL HE DO WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF BATMAN'S TRUE IDENTITY? WILL BRUCE BE FOREVER CHANGED BY HIS ENCOUNTER WITH THIS ARRESTING OFFICER?

 

ONLY BAT-TIME WILL TELL ...