Midnighter can smell the distress wafting off of him, but as for its origin he can't surmise yet. His statistical analysis suggests an injury. Perhaps he's bleeding out. That seems contradictory; if he were bleeding, wouldn't he suture himself up first? Does he need Midnighter to do the job?
Whatever it is, Midnighter doesn't stand around to question it, not yet at least. His hands work fast on the lock sealing aways one of Batman's safehouses. Frankly, he feels very lucky to see it. The heavy doors slide open with little resistance, and are shut just as easily with his strength.
"Tell me you didn't come out to save that scumbag when you're injured. You could've had one of your birds fly by."
He gets inside and the lights on. The warehouse is, first and foremost, a warehouse. There is a lot of empty space, the ceilings are incredibly high so the lights that come on are well above them.
"No."
Just that, as he starts peeling off his gloves.
Which should add some 'tipping into heat' into his scent, since skin is exposed. Drops the gloves and reaches up to disarm his cowl, while moving directly toward a cabinet. A well stocked cabinet, because it's him and that includes medical supplies.
Which means he can, at least, try to knock some edge off via sedation.
"Then—" Puzzling this out falls by the wayside, much like the glove the Batman impatiently yanked off his hand. He has his answer there on the ground. A better one than any words he might've used.
Midnighter's steel-toed combat boots crunch under the grit of the concrete floor as he carefully, step by step, follows after the retreating man. He retrieves it where it fell and crushes the leather to his nose. The pheromones and sweat, the dead skin still clinging to the fabric, it might all turn into 1s and 0s for his computer brain to process, but from that input comes a very organic and animalistic output.
Like a punch to the stomach, a guttural breath pushes out of Midnighter, louder as it continues until the low growl morphs into a throaty laugh. if that doesn't raise the hair on the back of the Batman's neck, nothing will.
Whatever the dark knight plans to do is no longer within his reach. Suddenly he is pulled several meters back across the warehouse flooring, held tight by steely arms and a body to match.
"I knew it. I knew it," are the words murmured into the sweat damp hair just above the Batman's ear.
Unfortunately, he is not afraid of the Batman when he's in a state like this. What's left of his strength will soon bend to Midnighter's body naturally. So he takes it, his nose crushed from the back of the Dark Knight's head. Lined with carbon fiber, the Batman would have cracked his damn skull on him, so Midnighter throws his head back with him to dissipate the harm.
"Or what, buttercup? You're not gonna get far," he growls. Warm blood is flowing from his broken nose, and Midnighter wipes it across the back of his neck, marking him.
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no subject
Whatever it is, Midnighter doesn't stand around to question it, not yet at least. His hands work fast on the lock sealing aways one of Batman's safehouses. Frankly, he feels very lucky to see it. The heavy doors slide open with little resistance, and are shut just as easily with his strength.
"Tell me you didn't come out to save that scumbag when you're injured. You could've had one of your birds fly by."
no subject
"No."
Just that, as he starts peeling off his gloves.
Which should add some 'tipping into heat' into his scent, since skin is exposed. Drops the gloves and reaches up to disarm his cowl, while moving directly toward a cabinet. A well stocked cabinet, because it's him and that includes medical supplies.
Which means he can, at least, try to knock some edge off via sedation.
no subject
Midnighter's steel-toed combat boots crunch under the grit of the concrete floor as he carefully, step by step, follows after the retreating man. He retrieves it where it fell and crushes the leather to his nose. The pheromones and sweat, the dead skin still clinging to the fabric, it might all turn into 1s and 0s for his computer brain to process, but from that input comes a very organic and animalistic output.
Like a punch to the stomach, a guttural breath pushes out of Midnighter, louder as it continues until the low growl morphs into a throaty laugh. if that doesn't raise the hair on the back of the Batman's neck, nothing will.
Whatever the dark knight plans to do is no longer within his reach. Suddenly he is pulled several meters back across the warehouse flooring, held tight by steely arms and a body to match.
"I knew it. I knew it," are the words murmured into the sweat damp hair just above the Batman's ear.
no subject
"Let. Me. Go."
It's still Batman and he's still not a big fan of just being grabbed at, thank you very much, you horny asshole.
no subject
"Or what, buttercup? You're not gonna get far," he growls. Warm blood is flowing from his broken nose, and Midnighter wipes it across the back of his neck, marking him.