“You realize I can’t let you go. It’s too late now.”

“I’m not asking you to let me go, Steve. I’m asking you not to kill me just yet.”

Steve’s finger hovered just above the red button. Bruce could tell he was thinking hard by the way that little bit of skin between his eyes folded when he brought his eyebrows together.

“And say I don’t kill you? What would you have me do? Throw you in a jail cell and watch you rot for the next millennia?”

Bruce lifted his head from the cold, metal table to get a better look. “I mean, that’s not ideal, but definitely preferable to dying.”

Steve threw up his hands in frustration. “This isn’t a joke, Bruce. Convince me you’re worthwhile, or close your eyes and pray that all the people you’ve killed haven’t bought you a ticket downstairs.”

“I’ve killed bad people,” Bruce said, flashing a Hollywood smile. “I’m not like you. I’m not a supervillain.”

“You may be right, but that doesn’t make you less of a murderer.”

“Semantics.”

Steve could feel his eyes involuntarily roll into the back of his head. Bruce could be so irritating sometimes. No, scratch that. All the time.

“Listen,” he said, letting out a sigh. “You have thirty seconds. Go.”

“Thirty seconds? Never done it that fast,” he said, that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered on his face.

“Seriously? You know what, if you’re going to be like that then I’ll save us both the trouble.” Steve’s finger grazed the remote, his eyes scanning the laser beam inches away from the crotch of Bruce’s fancy dress pants.

“Wait! Come on Steve, you don’t really want to kill me, do you? What about all the good times we’ve had, pal?”

“Mm, I’m sorry, having a bit of a hard time recalling those “good times” you’re talking about. And don’t think that you’ll survive this on your shitty personality alone. I need something.”

“Obviously, you’re looking a bit tense lately. Maybe you just need some di—“

“Bruce!”

“Okay, okay. Do you want information on all the new gadgets in development? Safe house locations?” He raised an eyebrow. “My therapist’s number?”

The laser started to inch forward. Bruce’s cocky expression quickly turned to panic.

“Do you want Guam? Operation Rascal?”

His pants began to smoke, a quickly expanding hole forming near his thigh.

“Are you crazy? You’re going to actually kill me!”

Bruce let out a cry as the beam hit his skin, drawing a dark line in his pale flesh.

“I’ll give you Teacup! Just stop! Please!” He yelled, his arms fighting against his restraints.

The laser stopped half a centimeter into his upper leg.

“Teacup?”

“Yes, Teacup, you fucking sociopath!”

“I gave you thirty seconds. It’s not my fault you chose to behave like a child.”

“Me, a child? Oh, that’s rich.” He said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re the one who ruined a perfectly good Versace suit, asshole!”

Steve motioned to his henchmen. “I’m done here. Take him back to the cell. And you,” he said, pointing at Bruce, “better hand me Teacup on a silver platter, or your suit will be the least of your worries.”

“It’s a one-of-a-kind work of art! How could you—“

One of the henchmen jabbed him in the arm with a syringe, knocking him out instantly. Then, after undoing his restraints, they hoisted him up, and carried him out of the lab.

“What an idiot,” Steve murmured to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bruce had always been a smartass, but this was a new level, even for him. It was almost as if he was trying to call his bluff. And, to his dismay, he was right--as much as Steve hated his ex-boyfriend turned-arch-nemeses, they both knew that he wasn’t ready to end him just yet.