Unprofessional Artist (Evil Variant)

Police sirens sound off in the labyrinth of concrete and steel that is Gotham. They wail through the streets like a warning for any criminal up to no good.

Or for a fugitive on the run.

Red and blue flash against grimy puddles that rest in the grooves of the streets and sidewalks. Drug dealers tuck themselves into the dark and prostitutes disappear into neon havens.

A puddle holding the reflection of some pink neon sign is disturbed and distorted by a faded orange canvas slip on shoe as it sinks into the deceiving depth. With one leg soaked, the wearer doesn’t stop to groan about the cold and wet seeping through their shoe or pants.

In the dark of the city it’s hard to read the street signs and even harder when adrenaline is pumping through your body. Roman’s hand comes up to his chest to absentmindedly massage his pacemaker scar through his orange jumpsuit. It’s starting to hurt, but he can’t focus on that—he has somewhere to be.

He stops at a lonely intersection to read the street signs, eyes squinting to read them as the stoplights flash in his face. His vision isn’t improving in his age, but he can still read the words well enough. Like hell if he’ll be caught with glasses.

Fifth Avenue and Rendezvous Way.

Not far now.

The sirens increase in volume as he continues running; the cuffs on his wrists softly rattling. The streets become darker with street lamps in need of service with dim or dead bulbs. Roman is able to hide in the patches of darkness. There are also less wandering citizens here which is good.

The escape from Blackgate Penitentiary wasn’t easy and it went a little sideways tonight hence the cops looking for him, but it was one of those now or never moments.

Two years.

He’s been imprisoned for two years.

It’s hard to catch him in the first place, but the fact that Blackgate managed to hold him for so long was what really pissed him off. It’s overshadowed by the wisp of white straps trailing behind a tall figure that disappears into the mouth of an alley up ahead, right on the street he’s looking for; Cautus Amor.

It’s quiet here because everyone is inside and minding their business and their business is being in places they aren’t supposed to be; drugs, paid company, affairs, you name it. Here there are secrets and it’s where Roman is seeing his biggest one.

Sweat starts to build and drip down the hair that sticks to his forehead. It stings on the scrapes across his skin, but he roughly pushes it out of his face before running to the entrance of the alley. He walks past some dumpsters and flinches as a few rats scurry by. At the end of the alley there’s a sharp turn around a corner and he barely takes a step to pivot before two large hands grab his shirt and pull him around to the back of the building. His back hits the brick wall and before he can say anything, hands grasp his face, squeezing it and pulling upward before a set of lips connect with his.

Roman recognizes the feel of his lover’s incomplete face and his hands grab at him as well and he moans into the kiss. It’s violent and passionate and furious and their mouths open wide to try and take control over the other. The need for air is an afterthought as their tongues explore and remind themselves of the taste of one another. It’s not whiskey and cigars on their tongues or the scent of expensive cologne anymore. Instead, it’s mostly cheap cigarettes and bitter coffee. The remnants of rationed toothpaste are gone before breakfast since both are chain smokers. There might be a hint of some alcohol on Roman’s lips since he can’t stay away from the bottle, but whatever was left, Harvey’s kissed it off of him by now.

It’s not until their hands awkwardly roam one another after two years that they become fully aware of each other.

Harvey wonders why the fuck Roman isn’t touching him properly, but when he pulls away to ask he notices that Roman is in handcuffs. And Roman can’t find purchase past Harvey’s clothes and the material is far too thick to just be the required state of dress of Arkham, but he sees now, it’s a straitjacket.

Roman’s wearing an orange jumpsuit and orange slip on shoes, his hands cuffed in front of him and on his ankles are more cuffs that have been broken. One leg of his suit is soaked, there’s some dirt and grass stains, and a smidgen of blood near the collar.

Harvey has on a similar jumpsuit except he’s wearing a straitjacket. The sleeves have been cut or torn, but whatever happened to them, his arms are free though covered by oversized sleeves now.

“What the fuck??” Roman says, pissed at seeing his lover wearing such a thing. “Couldn’t get the buckles undone in the back,” Harvey grumbles.

Roman holds the ends of the sleeves in his hands and sees how the cloth frays at the edges where it’s been severed.

“Christ, what happened to you?” Now it’s Harvey’s turn to be worried even with Two-Face fronting.

His hands come out from the sleeves to hold Roman’s hands that are cuffed. His wrists are red and raw from where they’ve been working into his skin over the years. And his face. By the dim glow of the light above them begging for a bulb change, Harvey can see a few new scars added to Roman’s features. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and what looks like the remains of a shiner. The once handsome face marred by violence makes Harvey pull Roman into a tight embrace. Roman returns the gesture as best he can with the cuffs still on. He buries his face into Harvey’s shoulder and lets out a deep shaky sigh of relief.

His breathing is erratic like he’s holding back something; Harvey knows it’s tears and he knows Roman hates to cry. He also knows that holding him like this is exactly what he’s needed all this time.

Roman hands fist into Harvey’s jacket as he grunts to keep back the emotions that are flooding him. Guards and fellow inmates have punched him, kicked him, stabbed him, and touched him in dark unfiltered ways. Harvey’s arms around him are a haven.

The word that hangs between them is unspoken and will remain as such. It’s hard enough being the people they are; powerful men, masters of the underworld of Gotham. Adding a third ingredient into the mix would complicate things and upset the balance of the city.

They have to die with this secret.

This is the mask Roman will wear forever.

It was just a few times at first…just drinks….then dinner…and then…

Harvey was sure that Roman had to be messing with him when he kissed him, but to his surprise, he wasn’t. Harvey thought his own feelings were confused, but they weren’t. He didn’t even need a coin flip for that.

They wanted each other as often as they could get—every week turned into every day.

And then the GCPD finally got to Roman.

He suspects there was a rat in his ranks that got cold feet about a job which is why he stresses to his men to vet new recruits and to properly break them in. One scare and they run with their tails between their legs. These kids nowadays just want a quick buck and don’t know anything about loyalty. It makes him sick.

So, he went to prison and Harvey visited a few times before he was thrown into Arkham. It cost both of them a lot of money to get communications to one another and it’s not like they were flowery love letters either. No, they had to speak in code to get their feelings and thoughts across. Handwritten letters were the only thing they were allowed between them. Roman wasn’t used to his poor handwriting being the one to carry his secrets.

“I MIght take Some riSks. i’ll take mY chances Of coUrse,” he would write.

“More risk, more rEwards. That’s gOOd,” Harvey would write back. To anyone else who might read them, it was all incoherent and terrible writing, but to each other it was everything.

“Just a few lucky punches the guards got,” Roman grumbles finally.

He sighs and pulls back from the embrace. Looking over the straitjacket again, he huffs. “Those bastards,” he hisses. “Turn around, babe.”

His cuffed hands turn the large man to face away from him and that’s when he sees what’s holding the straitjacket together; the duck cloth buckles are strapped to nearly the furthest belt hole, which Roman knows must have been painful, and the straps have padlocks on them to hold them in place.

“Oh. Oh, God,” he murmurs.

“What? What is it?” Harvey asks.

“They…they put locks. They…”

He’s speechless. He knows Arkham is one of the shittiest places to be, but seeing it done to Harvey, it breaks him. Roman tugs on the straps feebly thinking he could rip them off, but it’s useless. Angry, he tugs harder and harder until he’s throttling Harvey from his efforts.

“Roman- mmph! Rom- sweetheart, it’s-”

“Those bastards are gonna pay,” Roman grumbles as he keeps trying to tear the straps and rip into the fabric. He’s not so much upset that they won’t come off, but that they did this to Harvey. His Harvey.

“I swear to God,” Roman seethes through gritted teeth. He’s glad Harvey can’t see him because he can definitely feel the tears pricking at his eyes now. “I’ll put every one of ‘em at the bottom of the harbor.”

But Harvey doesn’t need to see it, he can hear it in the way Roman’s voice shakes with rage.

The taller man whips around and smacks his lover’s hand away.

“Forget it right now,” he gruffs. “Right now we gotta-”

Sirens sounds off in the distance again and they’re close enough that the pair can hear the garbled radio chatter from the cruisers.

Harvey takes Roman’s hand and leads him further into the alley. The walls go from plain grimy bricks to kaleidoscopic murals of graffiti; tags of all kinds decorate the walls and dumpsters the further they go. They settle behind a dumpster underneath a bluish green neon sign that reads: “IT’S ONLY 4EVER.”

“Can’t go just yet,” Roman sighs.

“No, we can’t.”

Two brown irises look up from under long dark lashes up at his one blue eye and one white. Two cuffed hands come up and cup his face on either side, thumbs tracing across his cheeks and jawline. Roman’s hands come up and around Harvey’s neck. The metal of the cuffs digs into his skin against the duck cloth of the jacket as he’s pulled down towards Roman where their lips meet again. It’s slow at first, but steadily takes a turn and becomes more heated. Roman’s mouth presses against his to pry it open and slide his tongue inside. He’s always been such a whore that it doesn’t surprise Harvey when Roman parts his legs and guides Harvey’s large thigh in between them.

“Baby, wait-”

Harvey’s cut off as Roman starts to grind against his leg. He can feel his cock hardening beneath the jumpsuit and his own is starting to form a tent in his pants. He groans as it strains against the bottom strap of his jacket begging for relief.

“Did the waiting, Roman huffs as plants hurried kisses all over Harvey’s face and neck. “Come on.”

His leg pushes upward into Harvey’s crotch and massages his erection. This is not the most romantic setting for them to fuck, but they’ve been in stranger places before.

“Bet you fucked plenty in Arkham,” Roman growls as he removes his hands from around Harvey’s neck. “Bet they made you like it, too.”

“Yeah,” Harvey breathes. His hands plant on the wall on either side of Roman. “They weren’t you though.”

Roman brings his hands up to his face and spits into his palms. Both hands reach between them and squeeze past the waistband of Harvey’s pants. His slick palms find his hard cock and he begins to stroke him, cupping his hands around the girth.

“Ah! Fuck!” Harvey’s voice accidentally gets too loud which earns him a soft shush from Roman. “Easy, baby Been so long with you…Don’t…Don’t wanna come like this.”

And yet Harvey bucks his hips into Roman’s hands shamelessly like he was fucking a hole. The handcuffs around Roman’s wrists jingle louder now with the impact and he works his hands faster, groaning when he feels Harvey’s cock start to leak pre-cum.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “That’s it baby. That’s it.”

Harvey starts to huff as he bucks harder and faster, but finally finds enough control to remove Roman’s hands from his pants. He spins him around to press his chest against the wall. Two large hands grip just above the waist of the jumpsuit and tear into the fabric. It’s not as sturdy as the straitjacket and now allows Harvey access to his ass. He gives his cock a few quick pumps and angles himself to enter Roman.

Roman’s forehead presses hard into the brick wall as he braces himself. There’s no time for the usual prep that they do, but their longing is too great and they can’t wait anymore. Harvey sinks his large cock into Roman’s ass which makes him start to shout before Harvey’s hand quickly comes around to cover his mouth. This is not how he wants to be caught if the GCPD finds them.

“Shh. You’re so tight, baby,” Harvey groans before shifting his hips a bit. “They not break you in at Blackgate? Or maybe they used that mouth of yours. I know I would’ve.”

Roman moans behind Harvey’s hand, nostrils flaring furiously as his cuffed hands try to pry the palm from his face. He’s not given the reprieve yet. Harvey begins to buck into Roman now and the buckles and locks of his jacket clink gently as his motions increase in speed and intensity.

God, he missed this, missed being sheathed inside the warmth of Roman, his walls squeezing his cock, his body writhing in his grasp. He starts to grunt and groan louder now. How they must look to someone who might be watching from their window up above; two hulking figures desperately fucking one another.

Roman starts to push back against Harvey, but the latter presses his chest against Roman’s back so that he’s squished between his broad frame and the brick wall. Being the taller of the two, he cranes his head down to cover his lover’s identity and his own. Tonight, they are nameless in the dark.

When they usually fuck, it’s slow and drawn out, but this time it’s hard and fast. Harvey’s muscles in his massive thighs tauten to draw himself out almost completely then he thrusts himself back in, sack coated in the pre-come dribbling out of Roman and slapping against his ass and joining the cacophony of their love making. Harvey takes his hand off of Roman’s mouth and grabs his hips for leverage. His fingers twist into the orange fabric of the jumpsuit and he pulls it tight to thrust harder and deeper into Roman.

Pressed between the wall and Harvey’s chest, Roman’s cheek is squished against the grimy wall. He hardly has room to pleasure himself so his hard on grinds against the wall with each thrust from Harvey.

“F-Fuck,” Roman stutters.

Harvey’s able to fuck Roman easier with less resistance as his pre-come lubes up Roman’s hole and he stretches him open. Roman’s able to squeeze his hands down to the front of his jumpsuit. He undoes the fly and frees his cock, his hands wrapping around it. Every thrusts from Harvey makes Roman thrusts into his hands, his own cock dribbling on his hands now.

“That’s it, baby,” Harvey growls. “Oh, yeah, ‘body still remembers how to take me, hm?”

“Y-Yeah, Roman breathes out, eyes glazing over. “Y-Yeah…it does- Agh! Fuck!”

Harvey thrusts upward hard into him at a savage pace now. He fucks his cupped palms in tandem with being fucked by Harvey. His cheek scrapes against the wall and his skin starts to go raw.

The police sirens in the distance grow faint as their pants become louder. They start to sweat with the air around them becoming hot, their uniforms sticking to their skin as the material becomes damp.

“I…I gotta come, baby,” Harvey whispers into his ear, breath hot and his voice a desperate rasp. “Agh…fuck..Fuck, I gotta come, Roman.”

“Go ‘head, Harv. Come for me,” Roman replies with some strain, turning his head enough to look back at Harvey. “Give it to me, baby.”

They both grunt and hiss and curse. The sounds they make are more associated with violence than with romance.

“G-God,” Roman groans. “M-Missed you. Missed…this. They…They don’t fuck this good on the inside-”

A loud growl escapes Harvey. “Nah…don’t think about them right now, sweetheart,” he says. “Worry ‘bout takin’ my load. Fuck…Roman…I- Ah!”

Harvey is louder than he wanted to be when he pushes inside to the hilt and comes harder than he has in a long time. He nearly smothers Roman against the wall who lets out the faintest muffled whimper as he comes. His muscles tense and milk Harvey’s cock still seated inside him. He moans and lets his cock twitch and finish spilling inside of Roman before he pulls out.

The neon light from above catches on the strands of spend that webs and strings between them. When Roman steps away from the wall, it catches on the cum that’s been spurted over a patch of graffiti.

Breathing hard, they stand there and weakly stuff themselves back inside of their clothes.

“You hear somethin’” A voice calls from the entrance of the alley.

“Shit,” Roman whispers as he sees a flashlight shine from around the corner. “Quick, we gotta get outta here.”

Just as the flashlight swings around to flood its light on them, they run. The cops step into the alley and see a flash of orange disappear into the shadows.

“Hey!” The cops shout as they give chase.

Navigating the alleys, the lovers come back out onto the street. It’s empty except for a police cruiser. The red and blue lights quietly flash, but the car is empty. Roman hurries to the car and opens the door. He’s not so stupid as to steal a cop car, but he’s smart enough to check the glove compartment.

Two guns.

“Typical pigs,” Roman mutters.

Meanwhile, Harvey finds a piece of metal lying near the curb of the street. He wraps his jacket sleeve around his hand and wields it then jabs it into the back tire which proceeds to let out a loud hiss at being punctured. He removes it and stabs the front tire as well. It’s good enough for now and he drops the metal shard.

Roman tosses him one of the guns.

“Come on,” he says. “I know a way.”