AN: I do not own.
Bane sits beside his lover—no, his husband now—surrounded by waves of lavender rippling in the wind. The skies are clear, the sunlight strong and warm making Waylon's scales shimmer like they never could in Gotham. Bane brings his hand up, stroking Croc from throat to spine to hip.
Waylon shivers, smiles with his beautiful, sharp, myriad teeth. Sighing, he closes his eyes and growls "This was the best fucking idea you ever had, sweetheart."
Bane chuckles, pulling up the bottom of his mask. "Are you entirely sure about that?" He leans over, nestles the crook of Waylon's neck then nibbles delicately.
Waylon Jones' grin widens. His eyes glint.
"Oh so that's the game you want to play."