7A/N: So, I've been hanging on to this drabble/prose poem for a while and finally decided to post it. Enjoy :)
Unspoken
It's the words they don't speak that mean the most—after all, promises never made can never be broken. So they don't talk—not in those rare moments of tenuous compromise, temporary truces where crusades and ideals are set aside, and it's just them, just lips and hands and skin and breath and darkness… and an undeniable feeling that overwhelms them both—Joker had called it completion; Bruce would have called it love, if he had believed that either of them were still capable of such a thing. It was as undeniable as gravity, as inescapable as the moon's pull on the ocean, as irresistible as a plant's instinct to grow towards the sunlight, and as essential as breathing.
Neither of them would ever admit the full extent of their need for each other—never admit that their costumed exploits had gradually become less about their respective missions and more about making excuses to seek out the other—never admit that somehow they had managed to become each other's weakness.
They still fought, still bantered, still used the city as their playground and made each other's lives difficult—but they also had moments where nothing existed but the two of them, and for once in their lives, they both felt whole and undamaged. Unbroken. Unscarred.
In these moments, there is silence. No laughter, no growls—just breath and lips and the moans they try desperately to stifle. Darkness hides the need in their eyes, the emotions they can't bear to share. Silence hides the rest—all of the things they'll never say—and most forbidden of all, that three-word confession that they'll never let pass their lips, although they can both taste it on the other's tongue, forever unspoken.
Reviews are very much appreciated! :)
