Bane sat on the edge of his cot in the dimly lit corner of his cell in Arkham Asylum, his massive frame dwarfing the small cot, the stark white walls of the cell closing in on him. He leaned forward, his fingers curling into fists as the quiet hum of the facility wrapped around him. His chest heaved slowly as his mind wandered, the silence pressing on him like a weight. His thoughts drifted back to Peña Dura, the prison that had birthed him. Back then, survival was a game, and love—or anything close to it—had been a cruel joke. The men in his past had been hungry, grasping for something, always seeking to exploit his body or his position. In that unforgiving world, there was no place for tenderness, no room for real affection. But here? There was something different.

Bane’s gaze shifted to the guard who had entered his line of sight, moving across the observation deck like a shadow against the dim lights. They were quiet, like a ghost, their dark uniform blending in with the surroundings.

The guard’s eyes flicked over to him, meeting his gaze for only a moment before quickly looking away, almost as if they hadn’t meant to linger. But Bane didn’t miss it. He couldn’t help the smirk that curved his lips.

He leaned back against the wall, his muscles flexing as he adjusted himself, the chains rattling softly with the movement. His mask was the only thing that concealed his emotions, but the heavy, powerful air of attraction radiating from his presence was unmistakable. His fingers gently ran over the edges of his Venom tubes, the metal is smooth but empty.

When the guard glanced back, Bane caught their eye again, his gaze full of intent. "Oye, cariño,” he called softly, using the nickname he had learned to use with a light, teasing undertone in his voice. "You seem... lost with all that staring. ¿Qué pasa? You know, I don't bite.” His deep voice rumbled with that signature playful lilt, only a hint of menace tucked underneath.