Team Knight- Round 1- Fic: Rise and Fall
Title: Rise and Fall (terrrrrible title, I know, but I'm working on that...still thinking....) Part I
Author: whreflections
Prompt: “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.” - Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene i)
Disclaimer: don't own these guys...wish I did. lol
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smex, knifeplay, character death...little bit of fluff, but not sure if that's a warning, lol (and only in this fandom could you use knifeplay and fluff in the same sentence...o.O)
Summary: "They need you right now, but when they don't they'll cast you out..."
Word Count: 4, 829
Wow, this is soooo much huger than I ever imagined it would be. I had the idea for this story right after seeing the prompt, but I imagined it as a fairly short oneshot, and then I just kept thinking "well what about this scene, and this, and this, and..." Yeah. Sooo....here's part I. ^^
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Joker unfastened the buttons slowly, sliding the shirt off and onto the thick carpet. Kicking off his shoes he stretched out on the bed by the windows, turning to look out at the skyline of Gotham. He twitched impatiently, pulled a knife from his pocket to twirl in his hands.
He’s late. Couldn’t have been that much to clean up, it was only one building.
And only a bank, nothing major, nothing that would have his Bat angry at him for a week, not even for a night. No, by his standards it was almost nothing, almost unnoticeable. So why was he late? He slid the blade gracefully across his skin, just short of breaking it. The steel glinted in the light from the lamp, shining beautifully.
Can never have enough knives. Have to remember to get some new ones…
He rolled over, moved from tracing on his arm to tracing on one of the pillows, watching the threads part to show the stuffing beneath.
“Hey, I like that one.” Joker’s eyes came up to take in the image of the billionaire, his Kevlar suit already shed and locked away. The clothes he wore now were fashionable but rumpled, and Joker smirked. He had worn them the night before, for some big dinner or other. He knew, because he had come in disguise, unnoticed even by his lover.
“Too bad.” he smirked wider, closed the blade and slid it to rest on his shirt on the floor. “You were late, I was bored…your fault, Batsy.” He sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so pissy about the bank, a couple of Maroni’s-“
“Oh, shut up.” He took Joker’s chin in his hand, tilted his head back to kiss him thoroughly as he crawled onto the bed and took his place over him. Joker fell back willingly, his frame molding around the larger, more muscular man. He swept his hands down the front of his shirt, dug in his pocket for another knife. He didn’t feel like opening buttons. Bruce growled almost dangerously when he felt the blade skim his skin, but in the next moment his ruined shirt had been pushed from his shoulders and Joker’s hands were on his chest, and just as Joker had known he would, he lost the will to complain about anything. Those searching hands slid from his chest around to grasp him back, pulling him closer to the man beneath him.
Bruce shifted, rested his body more fully on Joker’s. At the added pressure Joker groaned into his mouth, hips jerking up automatically to rub against his lover. He clenched his hands tighter around the other man, the hilt of the knife he still held digging into Bruce’s shoulder. Breaking the kiss, Bruce slid his hand smoothly up Joker’s arm to his wrist, clasping it firmly and pushing his hand back, slipping the knife into his own hand.
Joker let him take it, willing to give it up only because he knew… Yes! He felt the bite of the cold steel against the inside of his arm and he whimpered, arched his neck in pleasure, his eyes falling shut.
Bruce’s lips traveled down his cheek, pausing briefly at the scar on the left side before traveling on to rest his lips against his ear, his breath hot. “Do you want me to use it on you, hm?”
“Yes.”
He could feel Bruce smirk, heard the soft, hard breath that was almost a laugh. He moved his hand slowly, the blade inching down his arm, the touch light, not breaking the skin. “You do, hm? You caused me a lot of trouble tonight. I’m not sure you deserve it.”
His voice was teasing and Joker knew it, but he was too eager to care. They had done this before and he could remember it all too well, could almost feel the other man’s tongue lapping blood from his skin already. He squirmed at the thought, pressing as close as he could. “Do it.”
Bruce put a little more force behind the knife, enough to just break the skin, a tiny drop of blood seeping up at the knife point. As he did he fastened his lips over Joker’s collarbone, sucking hard. The clown gasped and arched into both the knife and his lover’s mouth, trembling with desire. “Yes. Yesyesyes.” Bruce pulled back enough to look him in the eye, slide the knife down slowly, leaving a thin line of red in its wake. Their eyes still locked, he dropped the knife and took the arm in both hands, nuzzling against the other man’s wrist before he began licking at the slight trickle of blood running from the cut. “Fuck, Bat, yes, ah…” He shifted impatiently, his eyes almost rolling back in his head at the combined sting of the cut and the ecstasy of having Bruce’s tongue on his skin.
It was a moment before he finished ‘cleaning’ his arm, but when he did he dropped fully on top of Joker again, his hands and lips rougher, more desperate than before. When they met in a kiss Joker could taste his own blood on Bruce’s lips and he moaned at the taste, bit into the other man’s lip to taste him as well.
Their remaining clothes were shed quickly under Bruce’s hands, both men crying out as their bare skin met fully. Bruce prepared him briefly, teasing his entrance with one finger until he was whimpering continually and thrusting against his hand. Joker growled when he pulled that hand away, reaching over to fish blindly in the top drawer of the bedside table for the bottle he always kept there.
Joker whined impatiently as Bruce prepared himself, his eyes fixed on the other man’s movements. “Would you just…” he panted, breath coming ragged. “Get on with it?”
Bruce chuckled softly at his impatience before entering him in one smooth stroke, moving forward as he did to catch the clown’s cry with a kiss. Tonight their movements were forceful, strong, their embrace full of desperately grasping hands and nipping teeth. It wasn’t nearly as rough as they were sometimes, and it wasn’t nearly as tender as they had been, on occasion. It was somewhere in the middle, raw need.
Joker came first, arching up to press against Bruce, legs locking tightly around his waist to hold him deep inside as the waves of pleasure shook him. Bruce wasn’t far behind, and he cried out Joker’s name as he let go, muscles in his back clenching as he pulled his lover tight against his chest. He came down from the aftershocks with his head nuzzled in the crook of Joker’s neck, slowly noticing that he was still buried inside him. And that he could taste a mixture of paint, blood, sweat and Joker that only came from moments like this. He sighed, lifted himself up on one arm to pull out and roll over on his back, arms already open in anticipation of what he knew Joker would do. The smaller man snuggled in against his side, twining their bodies together as completely as possible. He was all but purring with happiness, his body limp in utter satisfaction.
Bruce brought a hand up to cup his jaw, traced his thumb across one scar. “You know Alfred hates it when we get paint all over the sheets.”
“Well, then, someone should have thought of that before he jumped me, hmm?”
Bruce chuckled, reached over with one arm to throw a blanket over them. “You have a point.”
“I always do. Now shhh… time to sleep.”
He fell asleep quickly, just as he always did when Bruce held him. The nervous energy only seemed to quiet enough to let him rest when he was able to wrap around the bigger man as tightly as he could. Otherwise, he slept fitfully, twitching uneasily in his sleep. Bruce had never been able to determine if it had something to do with anxiousness he had acquired from years as a criminal or if it was a long term side effect of drugs they’d kept him on, either in Arkham or elsewhere….or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Bruce much preferred to see him sleep like this, pretty much passed out, his face relaxed.
The knock on the door was feather soft, and Bruce barely turned his head to look. “Hm?” He didn’t have the heart to be annoyed, even though he had asked Alfred not to interrupt them tonight.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s…there’s trouble.”
Of course there was. It was Gotham; trouble was unavoidable. Just like his urge to fix it. He sighed, nodded slowly. “Thank you, Alfred.” He rolled his shoulders, shifted to free one arm from the Joker’s grasp. He didn’t wake, only snuggled closer into Bruce’s chest with a soft hum of pleasure, arms tightening like a constricting vine. Moments like this, Bruce could feel more acutely than he would have ever believed possible, for him. After the loss of his parents he had shut himself off almost entirely from the world, and he had been certain that Rachel and Alfred were the last connections he would ever have to love, the last two people on earth he would ever be bound to. Against all odds, this undoubtedly insane clown had wormed his way into every aspect of Bruce’s life, into whatever remnants of a soul he had left. They really were two sides of the same coin, and he wasn’t sure how his life had been anything short of empty before. He only knew that right now, this was…well, it couldn’t be called right, but it was where he wanted to be, where he needed to be.
And at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay here in bed with him. Still, he could never ignore the call to protect his city, certainly not for his own selfish reasons. He gripped Joker’s shoulder with his free hand, pushed back firmly. The other man started to wake, then, but he didn’t cooperate, arms tightening further, nails digging into Bruce’s skin. Bruce rolled his eyes, shoved harder. “Come on. Get off.”
Joker’s eyes snapped open, green glinting brightly in the low light. “No. You’re staying with me. They get you all the time, I -“
“You get me all the time, too, so don’t even try that argument. Off. Now.”
Joker growled, but the noise wasn’t a dangerous one, pure annoyance instead of anger. “It’s cold.”
“Then I’ll throw another blanket on the bed.” Bruce gave up on shoving him, instead twisting his left arm to wrap around Joker’s wrist, prying his hand forcefully away. At first the nails dug in harder, and he could feel blood welling up in the thin cuts. He hardly noticed. Living with Joker, blood being spilled as a sign of affection was just something he had had to get used to. Bruce jerked harder on the other man’s arm, detaching it from his back and rolling a little to free his own right hand to pry Joker’s other arm off with. Both hands immediately snapped around his wrists, and Bruce sighed in frustration. “Seriously. Stop it. I don’t even know what’s going on, I have to hurry it might be-“
“An emergency? Oh please, it’s always an emergency. How did they ever manage before they had you?” His expression was half anger half amused grin, eyes locked with Bruce’s, hands still tight around his wrists. “They dealt with it. On their own.”
“Well, that’s the reason I help them. So they don’t have to just ‘deal with it’. Let. Go.” Yanking his hands out of Joker’s slightly loosened grip he rolled over and stood up, searched on the floor a moment before finding his pants and pulling them on. “Look, I probably won’t be too long.” He turned back to the bed, pressed one hand against the window pane as he leaned over Joker. “Then I’ll be back, and you can have whatever you want. Just…stay here, and don’t get up and go bother Alfred, alright?”
“Whatever I want?” Joker cackled happily, rolled over onto his back to look up at Bruce. “Batsy, how sweet of you!”
Bruce glared. “Let me clarify. You can how however much of me and my time you want. When I get back.”
“And to think I thought I had taught you to be more careful with your words.”
He was still giggling when Bruce leaned down further and kissed him, tongue gliding past lips that opened willingly to the intrusion. He tasted him slowly, traced the outlines of his scars. He was good at this, but it wouldn’t have mattered because almost anything he did made Joker writhe and moan for him; just so long as he was the one touching him. Bruce would have been lying to say that he didn’t love that, didn’t at least use it a little. He kissed him until he made a soft, low noise, one hand coming up to grip hopefully at his shoulder.
He pulled away quickly then, turning and leaving without another word, smirking when he heard Joker mutter “tease” at his retreating form.
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””
“What’s going on, Alfred?” He was dressed in the suit once more, his body protesting slightly at going out again so soon.
Alfred turned to half face him, still half eyeing GCN news. “There’s a hostage situation at the orphanage. Recent Arkham escapee Miles Schneider is holding the kids, asking for the removal of his sentence, money, and…” Alfred faced him fully now, eyes narrowing. “To be put in contact with the Joker. Says he wants to work for him.”
Bruce could feel his blood boil, and he only just managed to suppress a snarl. “Well, he isn’t. And he sure as hell isn’t meeting him either.” Who knew what Joker would do in celebration if he heard he had such an avid follower. Whatever it would be, it’d be nothing good, and Bruce was ready to prevent it at all costs. Lately, things had been relatively calm. He wasn’t about to have this idiot tip Joker off again.
Ignoring anything else Alfred might have said he rushed off to reach the batpod, deep in thought. While the Joker was undoubtedly still Gotham’s largest problem besides the far-reaching mob, the terror had come down a great many notches from what the threat had been before. Completely controlling Joker was, obviously, out of the question, but he had made more progress in that area than he had honestly ever had reason to hope. As long as the man was destroying something, it seemed he could be kept pretty happy. In the beginning of all of this, he had only been able to tell Gordon he would try to control the worst of it…
Joker launched himself onto Batman as soon as he stepped in the door, the momentum of it carrying them both to the concrete floor. Furious, Batman shoved him roughly off and leapt to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think…you think that…” He gestured at the charred remains of the building around them, livid. “You blew up an elementary school!”
Joker followed his hand, took his own look around as he leaned back on his elbows on the ground. “Mmhm. It was beautiful.”
With a growl of rage Batman threw himself back onto the man, hands locking around his neck. Joker wasn’t fazed, reaching with his own hands to grip Batman’s hips, pull him closer. They wrestled ineffectively for a moment before Batman disengaged again, rolling off of him. “I’m not…I can’t do this.”
Joker laughed, rolling onto his side. “You…you really are even more messed up than I thought. You…” He pulled himself closer to the dark knight, gripped his chin hard. “Have already done this…” He kissed him hard, teeth scraping against teeth and skin. “And you liked it. And you’ll want it again. And it won’t matter to you what I’ve done or how many little brats died here today, you’re going to keep coming back. Because you can’t kill me, and so I’ll always be here. If you could kill me, eliminate the temptation….” Joker shrugged, unaffected by the thought of his own death. “Then you might have a point. But we both know you can’t, so you can stop the act. No one’s watching you here, you know. You don’t have to pretend.”
It wouldn’t have infuriated him quite so much if Bruce hadn’t heard the truth in it all, the horrifying fact that he was right. He lunged, pinned Joker below him again. “I know that you want this. And I know you’d be willing to give at least something up to make me agree that I won’t stop.”
Joker chuckled. “Not a good threat, Batsy. I already told you, it’s plain you want it too much to stop. You see, I’m holding better cards…you’re going to have to fold.”
He punched him, ignored the sickening sound his head made as it slammed back into the pavement, ignored the laughter that continued even as he punched him again. “Just because I might lose control sometimes…that’s not everything you want. You want me.” he knew it was true; he could see it in Joker’s eyes. Even if he hadn’t, it was plain, it had been from the first time had made this particular mistake, the first time they had come together in a violent mesh of tangled limbs and desperation. “If you really want me, then you’re going to have to do some things for me. Nothing’s free.”
“Batsy, I didn’t know you were the kind to sell-“
“I’m not selling. I’m saying you can’t have anything without compromise.” He had almost said ‘a relationship’, but it would have sounded absurd, even if he knew that was what they were discussing. Whatever this…thing was between them, he wasn’t sure he could ever say that title out loud.
Joker turned serious then, eyes narrowing in a dangerous, calculating way. “What do you want?”
Bruce flexed his fist, his mind racing. What did he want? What could he ask for that was actually potentially possible? Joker wouldn’t stop, he knew that much. But what could he ask for that might be doable, that might give Joker an outlet for his insane games and yet keep him from causing utterly catastrophic damage? “I want you to take down the mobs. Hunt them, steal from them, burn their money, bomb them….whatever you like, play with them. Leave the rest of Gotham alone.”
Joker licked his lips, and Bruce could almost see the idea turning over in his head. “You know I can’t. that’d be too boring in the long run.”
It was almost exactly what Bruce had known he’d say. Of course he wouldn’t give up everything, he was Joker. But even if he eased up only a little, it would be more manageable, and if Batman could control the damage mostly before it happened….well, this might could work. “No, I’m sure you can’t. But if you spent some time doing it…”
In the end, it had worked out as well as anything with Joker could ever be expected to work out. He toyed with the mob when he felt like not pissing Bruce off, but he did bore with it quickly, and there was never much time that went by until he was messing with the city as a whole again. Still, Batman kept him mostly in check. He did it well enough to justify hauling him back to Arkham, and he had even spoken to Gordon about the situation. He knew only the absolute basics of course, that Batman was keeping Joker in control. He wondered, sometimes, if Gordon suspected something more, if there was something in his voice when he talked about Joker that he just couldn’t hide but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think about it often. If Gordon suspected anything between them, he had said nothing and he probably never would. He was a good man, a very good man to trust.
Even now, knowing they were hunting him, Bruce felt just a little better knowing it would probably be Gordon’s unit he evaded at the orphanage tonight. He slid into the batpod, mind already focused on his job. He’d get it and get out, get the man bound and leave him for the cops to deal with. With any luck he’d be out of there before they even caught on that he had slipped in, and he could be back home before sunrise.
“””””””””””””””””””””
Everything was so much more boring when Batsy wasn’t here. He had tried to sleep, really, but without the other man’s warm body to curl up against he never slept comfortably. He had managed, before, but now that he had another option trying to sleep fitfully alone seemed pretty pointless.
So, he had gotten out of bed and gone down to the kitchen, raiding the fridge for the good food Bruce kept only for his benefit. Chocolate milk on frosted flakes always tasted good; he couldn’t understand the Bat’s aversion to it.
Probably related to the way he automatically rejects anything that feels good, at least at first. Think he’s the one that needs a psych work up, heh heh.
The kitchen was quiet, maddeningly so, and even though Alfred could be annoying at least talking to him would have been something to do, something to hear, something to break the monotony. When he finished his cereal he drifted over to the knife drawer, leaving the bowl and spoon out on the counter. Yanking out the drawer he skimmed his hands over the blades, smiling as he pulled out one of the sharpest. There was a wooden cutting board in the top drawer, he remembered that from the last time had watched Bruce make dinner. He pulled it out, laid it on the counter and began drawing on the surface with the tip of the knife.
Amusing, but the pictures lacked color, heart, and he gave up on them quickly. He had just wandered into the pantry and was inspecting the options there when Alfred came in behind him, knocking on the door to keep from startling him. Even so, Joker turned with the knife held ready, eyes wary. “Oh. It’s you. Midnight snack?” But something was off…his face was too…something Joker couldn’t identify. And that looked like blood on his hands….
“You need to come with me.”
Wary, Joker edged back rather than forward. “Why?”
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Look, normally I’d pretend to play along but we really don’t have time for you to act like I’m here to try to get you locked up.” He sighed, for once letting emotion bleed into his stoic features. “He’s been hurt. Severely.”
Something in his chest seemed suddenly heavier, and he pushed past Alfred with a snarl, storming in the direction of the elevator. The butler just made it into the cage behind him, pulling it shut as Joker slammed the lever down, pacing as it fell. “Who? What?”
Alfred shook his head, eyes fixed on the blood on his own hands. “Cops, and an accident trying to escape them from what I gather.”
It took far too long to reach the bottom, but Joker was out of the elevator as soon as they did, darting across the room to where Bruce lay stretched out on the ground, a dark pool of blood coloring the stone around him. There were at least two gunshot wounds that Joker could see, though due to the armor those weren’t as severe as they could have been. No, the worst part was what must have been the ‘accident’, a long, sharp metal shard jabbed under an armor plate and protruding from his side, blood dripping. His hand caught Joker’s as it skimmed close, his grip weak.
“Hey.”
His voice was terrifyingly weak and Joker felt his own breath come uneven, his heart racing. Something just under his ribs seemed to be clawing frantically, like a mad rat trying to gnaw its way free from a cage by chewing off its own foot. “…the hell did you do? You idiot! I told you they’d turn on you, I told you they’d….dammit, stop moving!”
Bruce was shifting as best he could, trying to turn to face Joker better. Joker held him still with one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping tighter around Bruce’s almost limp fingers. “Call an ambulance.” There was only a split seconds silence, but it was enough to set him off. He jerked his head to look over his shoulder, glaring at Alfred. “I said-“
“No, Alfred.” Bruce coughed weakly, a trickle of blood sliding from already bloodied lips. “They can’t know…don’t want them to know…”
“You’re…you’re…it doesn’t matter now!”
“It does. Yes it does.” He swallowed, and it was plain it took almost all his effort. “Listen, I-“
“No.”
“I lo-“
“NO! Don’t tell me anything you think I need to hear, don’t do it. Don’t.” He had never heard him say it, and he wasn’t sure what to think, wasn’t sure if there was anything to think, but he didn’t want to hear it now.
He can’t. Can’t. No. Why won’t he argue; why won’t he say it anyway? He never listens to me…
Joker swiped the blood away from his lips, leaned farther over him to meet eyes that looked far too distant, far too tired. “Come on, damn it, Bats, fight me! Tell me I can’t tell you what to do!” No response. He couldn’t feel his hands, couldn’t feel anything. “Fight me!” His voice was a growl but an unfamiliar one, the tone unrecognizable even to his own ears. The beast clawing his chest reached a new frantic pitch, but even that pain seemed distanced, not his own. It was foreign, impossible. Nothing ever hurt in a way he didn’t welcome, but this… “Fight me!”
Bruce’s lips parted, struggling to get something out. He couldn’t manage, and Joker could feel his last breath ghost against his thumb. Joker’s heart thumped strangely in his chest, loudly, impossibly loudly. “Bruce.” It slipped from his lips in a whisper, involuntary. He shook him, gentle at first, harder when he didn’t respond. “Say it. Say whatever you want, say it. Say it. I’ll listen. I’ll…”
Gone. He’s gone. Gone.
Whatever had been digging at his ribs broke through and he doubled over with the pain, his head coming to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, hands clenching into claws on the armor.
Joker was never really sure it was himself screaming, but the noise was coming from somewhere. It was the cry of a wounded animal, rage and undiluted fury along with something he was sure had never felt until this moment, something he could have lived forever and never known existed and never have missed. Whether or not it was him or something else screaming, it wasn’t long before he was laughing uncontrollably, the sound ripping painfully out of his lungs. The feeling came back to his hands and he could feel the armor cutting into them, blood running down his fingers. He jerked clumsily backward, breaking his contact with the body and falling on his back on the floor, chest shaking with the force of laughter he couldn’t control.
His eyes fell on Alfred, the way he moved slowly to take his place beside the body, hand reaching down to gently close his eyes, brush a hand across his forehead. The old man was crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. Even so, when he looked at Joker there was something hesitant in his eyes, something that looked ready to offer comfort.
He didn’t want it, didn’t need it, and he finally broke the laughter, snarling angrily. He scrambled to his feet, red hot rage boiling in his veins. “Where?”
Alfred hesitated, sat back on his heels to study him. “Killing them wouldn’t have made him happy. You know that at least as well as I do. Now I know you don’t respect anything or anyone, and I’ve never liked that…but I know you loved him, in your way. And he wouldn’t-“
Joker darted forward, claiming the kitchen knife from where he had dropped it to grab his lover’s hand and pressed the blade to Alfred’s cheek, head held steady with his other hand. “Where.” His voice was calm, steady enough that Alfred shivered when he spoke. He wasn’t listening but he didn’t feel like arguing. He didn’t want to kill the old man, not right here, not when he knew Bruce…but he wanted his answer, and if he didn’t get it…
“The orphanage. But they might not still be…there.”
Before he finished the sentence, Joker shoved him roughly away and twirled around, disappearing.
Within seconds, Alfred heard the elevator taking him back to Wayne Manor.
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A/N: Bad place to break, I know, but I'm soooo sleepy, lol
Author: whreflections
Prompt: “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.” - Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene i)
Disclaimer: don't own these guys...wish I did. lol
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: smex, knifeplay, character death...little bit of fluff, but not sure if that's a warning, lol (and only in this fandom could you use knifeplay and fluff in the same sentence...o.O)
Summary: "They need you right now, but when they don't they'll cast you out..."
Word Count: 4, 829
Wow, this is soooo much huger than I ever imagined it would be. I had the idea for this story right after seeing the prompt, but I imagined it as a fairly short oneshot, and then I just kept thinking "well what about this scene, and this, and this, and..." Yeah. Sooo....here's part I. ^^
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Joker unfastened the buttons slowly, sliding the shirt off and onto the thick carpet. Kicking off his shoes he stretched out on the bed by the windows, turning to look out at the skyline of Gotham. He twitched impatiently, pulled a knife from his pocket to twirl in his hands.
He’s late. Couldn’t have been that much to clean up, it was only one building.
And only a bank, nothing major, nothing that would have his Bat angry at him for a week, not even for a night. No, by his standards it was almost nothing, almost unnoticeable. So why was he late? He slid the blade gracefully across his skin, just short of breaking it. The steel glinted in the light from the lamp, shining beautifully.
Can never have enough knives. Have to remember to get some new ones…
He rolled over, moved from tracing on his arm to tracing on one of the pillows, watching the threads part to show the stuffing beneath.
“Hey, I like that one.” Joker’s eyes came up to take in the image of the billionaire, his Kevlar suit already shed and locked away. The clothes he wore now were fashionable but rumpled, and Joker smirked. He had worn them the night before, for some big dinner or other. He knew, because he had come in disguise, unnoticed even by his lover.
“Too bad.” he smirked wider, closed the blade and slid it to rest on his shirt on the floor. “You were late, I was bored…your fault, Batsy.” He sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so pissy about the bank, a couple of Maroni’s-“
“Oh, shut up.” He took Joker’s chin in his hand, tilted his head back to kiss him thoroughly as he crawled onto the bed and took his place over him. Joker fell back willingly, his frame molding around the larger, more muscular man. He swept his hands down the front of his shirt, dug in his pocket for another knife. He didn’t feel like opening buttons. Bruce growled almost dangerously when he felt the blade skim his skin, but in the next moment his ruined shirt had been pushed from his shoulders and Joker’s hands were on his chest, and just as Joker had known he would, he lost the will to complain about anything. Those searching hands slid from his chest around to grasp him back, pulling him closer to the man beneath him.
Bruce shifted, rested his body more fully on Joker’s. At the added pressure Joker groaned into his mouth, hips jerking up automatically to rub against his lover. He clenched his hands tighter around the other man, the hilt of the knife he still held digging into Bruce’s shoulder. Breaking the kiss, Bruce slid his hand smoothly up Joker’s arm to his wrist, clasping it firmly and pushing his hand back, slipping the knife into his own hand.
Joker let him take it, willing to give it up only because he knew… Yes! He felt the bite of the cold steel against the inside of his arm and he whimpered, arched his neck in pleasure, his eyes falling shut.
Bruce’s lips traveled down his cheek, pausing briefly at the scar on the left side before traveling on to rest his lips against his ear, his breath hot. “Do you want me to use it on you, hm?”
“Yes.”
He could feel Bruce smirk, heard the soft, hard breath that was almost a laugh. He moved his hand slowly, the blade inching down his arm, the touch light, not breaking the skin. “You do, hm? You caused me a lot of trouble tonight. I’m not sure you deserve it.”
His voice was teasing and Joker knew it, but he was too eager to care. They had done this before and he could remember it all too well, could almost feel the other man’s tongue lapping blood from his skin already. He squirmed at the thought, pressing as close as he could. “Do it.”
Bruce put a little more force behind the knife, enough to just break the skin, a tiny drop of blood seeping up at the knife point. As he did he fastened his lips over Joker’s collarbone, sucking hard. The clown gasped and arched into both the knife and his lover’s mouth, trembling with desire. “Yes. Yesyesyes.” Bruce pulled back enough to look him in the eye, slide the knife down slowly, leaving a thin line of red in its wake. Their eyes still locked, he dropped the knife and took the arm in both hands, nuzzling against the other man’s wrist before he began licking at the slight trickle of blood running from the cut. “Fuck, Bat, yes, ah…” He shifted impatiently, his eyes almost rolling back in his head at the combined sting of the cut and the ecstasy of having Bruce’s tongue on his skin.
It was a moment before he finished ‘cleaning’ his arm, but when he did he dropped fully on top of Joker again, his hands and lips rougher, more desperate than before. When they met in a kiss Joker could taste his own blood on Bruce’s lips and he moaned at the taste, bit into the other man’s lip to taste him as well.
Their remaining clothes were shed quickly under Bruce’s hands, both men crying out as their bare skin met fully. Bruce prepared him briefly, teasing his entrance with one finger until he was whimpering continually and thrusting against his hand. Joker growled when he pulled that hand away, reaching over to fish blindly in the top drawer of the bedside table for the bottle he always kept there.
Joker whined impatiently as Bruce prepared himself, his eyes fixed on the other man’s movements. “Would you just…” he panted, breath coming ragged. “Get on with it?”
Bruce chuckled softly at his impatience before entering him in one smooth stroke, moving forward as he did to catch the clown’s cry with a kiss. Tonight their movements were forceful, strong, their embrace full of desperately grasping hands and nipping teeth. It wasn’t nearly as rough as they were sometimes, and it wasn’t nearly as tender as they had been, on occasion. It was somewhere in the middle, raw need.
Joker came first, arching up to press against Bruce, legs locking tightly around his waist to hold him deep inside as the waves of pleasure shook him. Bruce wasn’t far behind, and he cried out Joker’s name as he let go, muscles in his back clenching as he pulled his lover tight against his chest. He came down from the aftershocks with his head nuzzled in the crook of Joker’s neck, slowly noticing that he was still buried inside him. And that he could taste a mixture of paint, blood, sweat and Joker that only came from moments like this. He sighed, lifted himself up on one arm to pull out and roll over on his back, arms already open in anticipation of what he knew Joker would do. The smaller man snuggled in against his side, twining their bodies together as completely as possible. He was all but purring with happiness, his body limp in utter satisfaction.
Bruce brought a hand up to cup his jaw, traced his thumb across one scar. “You know Alfred hates it when we get paint all over the sheets.”
“Well, then, someone should have thought of that before he jumped me, hmm?”
Bruce chuckled, reached over with one arm to throw a blanket over them. “You have a point.”
“I always do. Now shhh… time to sleep.”
He fell asleep quickly, just as he always did when Bruce held him. The nervous energy only seemed to quiet enough to let him rest when he was able to wrap around the bigger man as tightly as he could. Otherwise, he slept fitfully, twitching uneasily in his sleep. Bruce had never been able to determine if it had something to do with anxiousness he had acquired from years as a criminal or if it was a long term side effect of drugs they’d kept him on, either in Arkham or elsewhere….or something else entirely. Whatever it was, Bruce much preferred to see him sleep like this, pretty much passed out, his face relaxed.
The knock on the door was feather soft, and Bruce barely turned his head to look. “Hm?” He didn’t have the heart to be annoyed, even though he had asked Alfred not to interrupt them tonight.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s…there’s trouble.”
Of course there was. It was Gotham; trouble was unavoidable. Just like his urge to fix it. He sighed, nodded slowly. “Thank you, Alfred.” He rolled his shoulders, shifted to free one arm from the Joker’s grasp. He didn’t wake, only snuggled closer into Bruce’s chest with a soft hum of pleasure, arms tightening like a constricting vine. Moments like this, Bruce could feel more acutely than he would have ever believed possible, for him. After the loss of his parents he had shut himself off almost entirely from the world, and he had been certain that Rachel and Alfred were the last connections he would ever have to love, the last two people on earth he would ever be bound to. Against all odds, this undoubtedly insane clown had wormed his way into every aspect of Bruce’s life, into whatever remnants of a soul he had left. They really were two sides of the same coin, and he wasn’t sure how his life had been anything short of empty before. He only knew that right now, this was…well, it couldn’t be called right, but it was where he wanted to be, where he needed to be.
And at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay here in bed with him. Still, he could never ignore the call to protect his city, certainly not for his own selfish reasons. He gripped Joker’s shoulder with his free hand, pushed back firmly. The other man started to wake, then, but he didn’t cooperate, arms tightening further, nails digging into Bruce’s skin. Bruce rolled his eyes, shoved harder. “Come on. Get off.”
Joker’s eyes snapped open, green glinting brightly in the low light. “No. You’re staying with me. They get you all the time, I -“
“You get me all the time, too, so don’t even try that argument. Off. Now.”
Joker growled, but the noise wasn’t a dangerous one, pure annoyance instead of anger. “It’s cold.”
“Then I’ll throw another blanket on the bed.” Bruce gave up on shoving him, instead twisting his left arm to wrap around Joker’s wrist, prying his hand forcefully away. At first the nails dug in harder, and he could feel blood welling up in the thin cuts. He hardly noticed. Living with Joker, blood being spilled as a sign of affection was just something he had had to get used to. Bruce jerked harder on the other man’s arm, detaching it from his back and rolling a little to free his own right hand to pry Joker’s other arm off with. Both hands immediately snapped around his wrists, and Bruce sighed in frustration. “Seriously. Stop it. I don’t even know what’s going on, I have to hurry it might be-“
“An emergency? Oh please, it’s always an emergency. How did they ever manage before they had you?” His expression was half anger half amused grin, eyes locked with Bruce’s, hands still tight around his wrists. “They dealt with it. On their own.”
“Well, that’s the reason I help them. So they don’t have to just ‘deal with it’. Let. Go.” Yanking his hands out of Joker’s slightly loosened grip he rolled over and stood up, searched on the floor a moment before finding his pants and pulling them on. “Look, I probably won’t be too long.” He turned back to the bed, pressed one hand against the window pane as he leaned over Joker. “Then I’ll be back, and you can have whatever you want. Just…stay here, and don’t get up and go bother Alfred, alright?”
“Whatever I want?” Joker cackled happily, rolled over onto his back to look up at Bruce. “Batsy, how sweet of you!”
Bruce glared. “Let me clarify. You can how however much of me and my time you want. When I get back.”
“And to think I thought I had taught you to be more careful with your words.”
He was still giggling when Bruce leaned down further and kissed him, tongue gliding past lips that opened willingly to the intrusion. He tasted him slowly, traced the outlines of his scars. He was good at this, but it wouldn’t have mattered because almost anything he did made Joker writhe and moan for him; just so long as he was the one touching him. Bruce would have been lying to say that he didn’t love that, didn’t at least use it a little. He kissed him until he made a soft, low noise, one hand coming up to grip hopefully at his shoulder.
He pulled away quickly then, turning and leaving without another word, smirking when he heard Joker mutter “tease” at his retreating form.
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””
“What’s going on, Alfred?” He was dressed in the suit once more, his body protesting slightly at going out again so soon.
Alfred turned to half face him, still half eyeing GCN news. “There’s a hostage situation at the orphanage. Recent Arkham escapee Miles Schneider is holding the kids, asking for the removal of his sentence, money, and…” Alfred faced him fully now, eyes narrowing. “To be put in contact with the Joker. Says he wants to work for him.”
Bruce could feel his blood boil, and he only just managed to suppress a snarl. “Well, he isn’t. And he sure as hell isn’t meeting him either.” Who knew what Joker would do in celebration if he heard he had such an avid follower. Whatever it would be, it’d be nothing good, and Bruce was ready to prevent it at all costs. Lately, things had been relatively calm. He wasn’t about to have this idiot tip Joker off again.
Ignoring anything else Alfred might have said he rushed off to reach the batpod, deep in thought. While the Joker was undoubtedly still Gotham’s largest problem besides the far-reaching mob, the terror had come down a great many notches from what the threat had been before. Completely controlling Joker was, obviously, out of the question, but he had made more progress in that area than he had honestly ever had reason to hope. As long as the man was destroying something, it seemed he could be kept pretty happy. In the beginning of all of this, he had only been able to tell Gordon he would try to control the worst of it…
Joker launched himself onto Batman as soon as he stepped in the door, the momentum of it carrying them both to the concrete floor. Furious, Batman shoved him roughly off and leapt to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think…you think that…” He gestured at the charred remains of the building around them, livid. “You blew up an elementary school!”
Joker followed his hand, took his own look around as he leaned back on his elbows on the ground. “Mmhm. It was beautiful.”
With a growl of rage Batman threw himself back onto the man, hands locking around his neck. Joker wasn’t fazed, reaching with his own hands to grip Batman’s hips, pull him closer. They wrestled ineffectively for a moment before Batman disengaged again, rolling off of him. “I’m not…I can’t do this.”
Joker laughed, rolling onto his side. “You…you really are even more messed up than I thought. You…” He pulled himself closer to the dark knight, gripped his chin hard. “Have already done this…” He kissed him hard, teeth scraping against teeth and skin. “And you liked it. And you’ll want it again. And it won’t matter to you what I’ve done or how many little brats died here today, you’re going to keep coming back. Because you can’t kill me, and so I’ll always be here. If you could kill me, eliminate the temptation….” Joker shrugged, unaffected by the thought of his own death. “Then you might have a point. But we both know you can’t, so you can stop the act. No one’s watching you here, you know. You don’t have to pretend.”
It wouldn’t have infuriated him quite so much if Bruce hadn’t heard the truth in it all, the horrifying fact that he was right. He lunged, pinned Joker below him again. “I know that you want this. And I know you’d be willing to give at least something up to make me agree that I won’t stop.”
Joker chuckled. “Not a good threat, Batsy. I already told you, it’s plain you want it too much to stop. You see, I’m holding better cards…you’re going to have to fold.”
He punched him, ignored the sickening sound his head made as it slammed back into the pavement, ignored the laughter that continued even as he punched him again. “Just because I might lose control sometimes…that’s not everything you want. You want me.” he knew it was true; he could see it in Joker’s eyes. Even if he hadn’t, it was plain, it had been from the first time had made this particular mistake, the first time they had come together in a violent mesh of tangled limbs and desperation. “If you really want me, then you’re going to have to do some things for me. Nothing’s free.”
“Batsy, I didn’t know you were the kind to sell-“
“I’m not selling. I’m saying you can’t have anything without compromise.” He had almost said ‘a relationship’, but it would have sounded absurd, even if he knew that was what they were discussing. Whatever this…thing was between them, he wasn’t sure he could ever say that title out loud.
Joker turned serious then, eyes narrowing in a dangerous, calculating way. “What do you want?”
Bruce flexed his fist, his mind racing. What did he want? What could he ask for that was actually potentially possible? Joker wouldn’t stop, he knew that much. But what could he ask for that might be doable, that might give Joker an outlet for his insane games and yet keep him from causing utterly catastrophic damage? “I want you to take down the mobs. Hunt them, steal from them, burn their money, bomb them….whatever you like, play with them. Leave the rest of Gotham alone.”
Joker licked his lips, and Bruce could almost see the idea turning over in his head. “You know I can’t. that’d be too boring in the long run.”
It was almost exactly what Bruce had known he’d say. Of course he wouldn’t give up everything, he was Joker. But even if he eased up only a little, it would be more manageable, and if Batman could control the damage mostly before it happened….well, this might could work. “No, I’m sure you can’t. But if you spent some time doing it…”
In the end, it had worked out as well as anything with Joker could ever be expected to work out. He toyed with the mob when he felt like not pissing Bruce off, but he did bore with it quickly, and there was never much time that went by until he was messing with the city as a whole again. Still, Batman kept him mostly in check. He did it well enough to justify hauling him back to Arkham, and he had even spoken to Gordon about the situation. He knew only the absolute basics of course, that Batman was keeping Joker in control. He wondered, sometimes, if Gordon suspected something more, if there was something in his voice when he talked about Joker that he just couldn’t hide but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think about it often. If Gordon suspected anything between them, he had said nothing and he probably never would. He was a good man, a very good man to trust.
Even now, knowing they were hunting him, Bruce felt just a little better knowing it would probably be Gordon’s unit he evaded at the orphanage tonight. He slid into the batpod, mind already focused on his job. He’d get it and get out, get the man bound and leave him for the cops to deal with. With any luck he’d be out of there before they even caught on that he had slipped in, and he could be back home before sunrise.
“””””””””””””””””””””
Everything was so much more boring when Batsy wasn’t here. He had tried to sleep, really, but without the other man’s warm body to curl up against he never slept comfortably. He had managed, before, but now that he had another option trying to sleep fitfully alone seemed pretty pointless.
So, he had gotten out of bed and gone down to the kitchen, raiding the fridge for the good food Bruce kept only for his benefit. Chocolate milk on frosted flakes always tasted good; he couldn’t understand the Bat’s aversion to it.
Probably related to the way he automatically rejects anything that feels good, at least at first. Think he’s the one that needs a psych work up, heh heh.
The kitchen was quiet, maddeningly so, and even though Alfred could be annoying at least talking to him would have been something to do, something to hear, something to break the monotony. When he finished his cereal he drifted over to the knife drawer, leaving the bowl and spoon out on the counter. Yanking out the drawer he skimmed his hands over the blades, smiling as he pulled out one of the sharpest. There was a wooden cutting board in the top drawer, he remembered that from the last time had watched Bruce make dinner. He pulled it out, laid it on the counter and began drawing on the surface with the tip of the knife.
Amusing, but the pictures lacked color, heart, and he gave up on them quickly. He had just wandered into the pantry and was inspecting the options there when Alfred came in behind him, knocking on the door to keep from startling him. Even so, Joker turned with the knife held ready, eyes wary. “Oh. It’s you. Midnight snack?” But something was off…his face was too…something Joker couldn’t identify. And that looked like blood on his hands….
“You need to come with me.”
Wary, Joker edged back rather than forward. “Why?”
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Look, normally I’d pretend to play along but we really don’t have time for you to act like I’m here to try to get you locked up.” He sighed, for once letting emotion bleed into his stoic features. “He’s been hurt. Severely.”
Something in his chest seemed suddenly heavier, and he pushed past Alfred with a snarl, storming in the direction of the elevator. The butler just made it into the cage behind him, pulling it shut as Joker slammed the lever down, pacing as it fell. “Who? What?”
Alfred shook his head, eyes fixed on the blood on his own hands. “Cops, and an accident trying to escape them from what I gather.”
It took far too long to reach the bottom, but Joker was out of the elevator as soon as they did, darting across the room to where Bruce lay stretched out on the ground, a dark pool of blood coloring the stone around him. There were at least two gunshot wounds that Joker could see, though due to the armor those weren’t as severe as they could have been. No, the worst part was what must have been the ‘accident’, a long, sharp metal shard jabbed under an armor plate and protruding from his side, blood dripping. His hand caught Joker’s as it skimmed close, his grip weak.
“Hey.”
His voice was terrifyingly weak and Joker felt his own breath come uneven, his heart racing. Something just under his ribs seemed to be clawing frantically, like a mad rat trying to gnaw its way free from a cage by chewing off its own foot. “…the hell did you do? You idiot! I told you they’d turn on you, I told you they’d….dammit, stop moving!”
Bruce was shifting as best he could, trying to turn to face Joker better. Joker held him still with one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapping tighter around Bruce’s almost limp fingers. “Call an ambulance.” There was only a split seconds silence, but it was enough to set him off. He jerked his head to look over his shoulder, glaring at Alfred. “I said-“
“No, Alfred.” Bruce coughed weakly, a trickle of blood sliding from already bloodied lips. “They can’t know…don’t want them to know…”
“You’re…you’re…it doesn’t matter now!”
“It does. Yes it does.” He swallowed, and it was plain it took almost all his effort. “Listen, I-“
“No.”
“I lo-“
“NO! Don’t tell me anything you think I need to hear, don’t do it. Don’t.” He had never heard him say it, and he wasn’t sure what to think, wasn’t sure if there was anything to think, but he didn’t want to hear it now.
He can’t. Can’t. No. Why won’t he argue; why won’t he say it anyway? He never listens to me…
Joker swiped the blood away from his lips, leaned farther over him to meet eyes that looked far too distant, far too tired. “Come on, damn it, Bats, fight me! Tell me I can’t tell you what to do!” No response. He couldn’t feel his hands, couldn’t feel anything. “Fight me!” His voice was a growl but an unfamiliar one, the tone unrecognizable even to his own ears. The beast clawing his chest reached a new frantic pitch, but even that pain seemed distanced, not his own. It was foreign, impossible. Nothing ever hurt in a way he didn’t welcome, but this… “Fight me!”
Bruce’s lips parted, struggling to get something out. He couldn’t manage, and Joker could feel his last breath ghost against his thumb. Joker’s heart thumped strangely in his chest, loudly, impossibly loudly. “Bruce.” It slipped from his lips in a whisper, involuntary. He shook him, gentle at first, harder when he didn’t respond. “Say it. Say whatever you want, say it. Say it. I’ll listen. I’ll…”
Gone. He’s gone. Gone.
Whatever had been digging at his ribs broke through and he doubled over with the pain, his head coming to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, hands clenching into claws on the armor.
Joker was never really sure it was himself screaming, but the noise was coming from somewhere. It was the cry of a wounded animal, rage and undiluted fury along with something he was sure had never felt until this moment, something he could have lived forever and never known existed and never have missed. Whether or not it was him or something else screaming, it wasn’t long before he was laughing uncontrollably, the sound ripping painfully out of his lungs. The feeling came back to his hands and he could feel the armor cutting into them, blood running down his fingers. He jerked clumsily backward, breaking his contact with the body and falling on his back on the floor, chest shaking with the force of laughter he couldn’t control.
His eyes fell on Alfred, the way he moved slowly to take his place beside the body, hand reaching down to gently close his eyes, brush a hand across his forehead. The old man was crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. Even so, when he looked at Joker there was something hesitant in his eyes, something that looked ready to offer comfort.
He didn’t want it, didn’t need it, and he finally broke the laughter, snarling angrily. He scrambled to his feet, red hot rage boiling in his veins. “Where?”
Alfred hesitated, sat back on his heels to study him. “Killing them wouldn’t have made him happy. You know that at least as well as I do. Now I know you don’t respect anything or anyone, and I’ve never liked that…but I know you loved him, in your way. And he wouldn’t-“
Joker darted forward, claiming the kitchen knife from where he had dropped it to grab his lover’s hand and pressed the blade to Alfred’s cheek, head held steady with his other hand. “Where.” His voice was calm, steady enough that Alfred shivered when he spoke. He wasn’t listening but he didn’t feel like arguing. He didn’t want to kill the old man, not right here, not when he knew Bruce…but he wanted his answer, and if he didn’t get it…
“The orphanage. But they might not still be…there.”
Before he finished the sentence, Joker shoved him roughly away and twirled around, disappearing.
Within seconds, Alfred heard the elevator taking him back to Wayne Manor.
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A/N: Bad place to break, I know, but I'm soooo sleepy, lol