Continuation of Intoxicating touch
Bruce wasn't sure why he went, it very well may have been a trap but the lack of threats said otherwise. He had awoken to the note on his bedside table and tried not to think about who put it there and how they got in. The letter contained nothing but an address located in The Narrows. Bruce had immediately recognized the handwriting and felt a flush crawl across his skin.
Memories of quick hands, soft words, and even softer lips flicked through his mind at the thought of him. Bruce should feel ashamed, more ashamed than he did. He should have left the warehouse and went to the police station but instead, he ambled home and laid in bed for hours replaying the memories of Jeremiah's too gentle touches.
It would be his luck a criminally insane psychopath would fall for him. Even more, so that he wasn't disgusted by the idea.
Alfred knew something was amiss, he didn't ask if it was personal or dealt with his 'night time activities' but he could tell Bruce had been off kilter. He can only imagine the shock and disgust on his face if he knew what Jeremiah and he had done in the dark.
But he couldn't think about that now. He had an address and despite everything in his body telling him not to go he couldn't help but move his body to the exact spot Jeremiah wanted him. He couldn't resist the urge. He wonders if Jeremiah would come for him if he asked. He wonders if Jeremiah would get himself help for him.
Would he want that?
The answer to his own question makes him sick.
Bruce glances down that the paper and back up to confirm he's at the right spot, it couldn't be. The billionaire glanced around the empty sidewalk littered with trash as if expecting armed gunman to attack but nothing. Bruce glanced up at the building. He can't believe he didn't recognize the address sooner, it's the same warehouse Jeremiah had taken him to last time.
Only this time he came on his own volition, he doesn't think that makes the situation any better.
Bruce slowly stepped forward to open the warehouse door with one last glance at the outside world and the constant cloud covered skies of Gotham and stepped into the small decrepit reception center. The air felt just as heavy last time but now he felt anticipation thick within it. Bruce opened a door that he knew led to the area he was held last time.
He remembers Jeremiah standing shakily and pressing the lightest kiss to the side of his face before leaving. Bruce had shuddered before clasping over himself and sobbing before finally stumbling out of the building. Now he was back.
The room was empty now, the chair that he sat in was gone and nothing else seemed to be there. He closed the door slowly and turned, for the first time noticing a stairwell that led to a second floor.
He cautiously approached the steps and listened, straining his ears to pick up any sounds of life in the building. He couldn't hear a thing but the gentle rain that had started falling outside. Slowly Bruce pulled himself up the stairs until he reaches the second floor.
He glanced down the hallway, the floors were surprisingly less dirty up here. It looked as if someone had taken care to make it as clean as possible without raising suspicion. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion he knew who.
He let his feet walk on their own, past the closed doors that lined the hall to the only door open. He slowly lifted a hand pushed the door open.
He wasn't sure what he had expected to find but a bedroom wasn't it.
His eyes were closed. Chest lazily rising and falling. He laid across the bed looking the perfect picture for contentment. Without opening his eyes Jeremiah spoke, "I wasn't sure you'd come."
