Team Anarchy - Round 1 - Fic - Title: Sinners
Title: Sinners
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Prompt: “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.” - Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene i)
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Rough sex, violence, implied childhood sexual abuse, blasphemy, religious imagery, angst
Summary: What is sin, and who is more sinned against than sinning? Does virtue in fact mask vice, or vice versa?
A/N: Many thanks to my beta, who wishes to remain anonymous.
Word Count: 565
Fingers slide across the surface of a bare stone wall, vainly trying to grip. Sweat and blood and drizzle have worn trails in the greasepaint and the once sharp and immaculate purple suit now bears more than a few stains and holes. The Joker is smiling, of course. Oh, he always smiles, but there’s not just a Glasgow grin on his face anymore. He’s cackling like the demented clown he is, and his eyes are rolling back in his head as the Batman fucks him hard in this dirty alleyway. Nobody, save for a few scurrying rats, is around, and the air is thick with the stench of rotting garbage and desperation.
The Joker’s pants are around his ankles, keeping him as trapped and pinioned as the body of the man behind him. And who knows how the Batman loosened enough of his armor to push his hardness deep within the Joker? Anyone could come by at any moment and catch them, but the Batman doesn’t seem to give a damn. The Joker certainly doesn’t. He still has the taste of his own blood in his mouth, his whole body aches from the battering he just took and he feels like he’s being ripped apart inside.
It’s as close to heaven as the Joker’s ever going to get.
Almost all their fights seem to end this way these days. Frenzied attacks that appear destined to cause mutual destruction, then a surge of lust and brutal, illicit sex that is fueled by hatred more than anything else. A passion that’s more real and pure and immediate than the kind of love that’s endlessly sighed about in puerile poetry could ever be.
It never ceases to amuse the Joker, when the holy and self-righteous give in to base desires. Already the virtue of the Batman is beginning to crack, revealing the darkness that truly motivates him. His so-called goodness is as much a mask as the cowl over his face.
All it takes is enough exposure to the truth, enough temptation. Enough pressing on the last raw nerve, and the need that’s gnawing at them both, painful as a suppurating wound, will start the deadly games again. It will come to this conclusion every time, vicious rutting that leaves them sore and filthy and ashamed, yet longing for more, unless one of them finally snaps entirely and kills the other.
The Joker has seen this kind of fall from grace many times before. Ever since he was a tiny child, cowering in the corner, shrinking away in utmost loathing and disgust from the leering priest with the darting eyes and the clammy hands. Ever since the dreams that haunted his earliest years, night visions of creepy angels with pale eyes and serene expressions that somehow gave the impression of knowing unspeakable horrors, winged denizens of paradise who whispered secrets to him that were far more frightening than anything in hell.
He has only faith in chaos now.
For the Joker’s madness, his evil if you will, has brought him exactly what he wants. The one who completes him, driven near insane by need, seeking the Joker again and again in this violent communion. And all that the Batman’s virtuous intentions have given him is a façade that’s breaking down more and more, bringing to light a loathsome inner self that makes the Joker’s grin grow ever wider.
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Prompt: “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.” - Measure for Measure (Act II, Scene i)
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Rough sex, violence, implied childhood sexual abuse, blasphemy, religious imagery, angst
Summary: What is sin, and who is more sinned against than sinning? Does virtue in fact mask vice, or vice versa?
A/N: Many thanks to my beta, who wishes to remain anonymous.
Word Count: 565
Fingers slide across the surface of a bare stone wall, vainly trying to grip. Sweat and blood and drizzle have worn trails in the greasepaint and the once sharp and immaculate purple suit now bears more than a few stains and holes. The Joker is smiling, of course. Oh, he always smiles, but there’s not just a Glasgow grin on his face anymore. He’s cackling like the demented clown he is, and his eyes are rolling back in his head as the Batman fucks him hard in this dirty alleyway. Nobody, save for a few scurrying rats, is around, and the air is thick with the stench of rotting garbage and desperation.
The Joker’s pants are around his ankles, keeping him as trapped and pinioned as the body of the man behind him. And who knows how the Batman loosened enough of his armor to push his hardness deep within the Joker? Anyone could come by at any moment and catch them, but the Batman doesn’t seem to give a damn. The Joker certainly doesn’t. He still has the taste of his own blood in his mouth, his whole body aches from the battering he just took and he feels like he’s being ripped apart inside.
It’s as close to heaven as the Joker’s ever going to get.
Almost all their fights seem to end this way these days. Frenzied attacks that appear destined to cause mutual destruction, then a surge of lust and brutal, illicit sex that is fueled by hatred more than anything else. A passion that’s more real and pure and immediate than the kind of love that’s endlessly sighed about in puerile poetry could ever be.
It never ceases to amuse the Joker, when the holy and self-righteous give in to base desires. Already the virtue of the Batman is beginning to crack, revealing the darkness that truly motivates him. His so-called goodness is as much a mask as the cowl over his face.
All it takes is enough exposure to the truth, enough temptation. Enough pressing on the last raw nerve, and the need that’s gnawing at them both, painful as a suppurating wound, will start the deadly games again. It will come to this conclusion every time, vicious rutting that leaves them sore and filthy and ashamed, yet longing for more, unless one of them finally snaps entirely and kills the other.
The Joker has seen this kind of fall from grace many times before. Ever since he was a tiny child, cowering in the corner, shrinking away in utmost loathing and disgust from the leering priest with the darting eyes and the clammy hands. Ever since the dreams that haunted his earliest years, night visions of creepy angels with pale eyes and serene expressions that somehow gave the impression of knowing unspeakable horrors, winged denizens of paradise who whispered secrets to him that were far more frightening than anything in hell.
He has only faith in chaos now.
For the Joker’s madness, his evil if you will, has brought him exactly what he wants. The one who completes him, driven near insane by need, seeking the Joker again and again in this violent communion. And all that the Batman’s virtuous intentions have given him is a façade that’s breaking down more and more, bringing to light a loathsome inner self that makes the Joker’s grin grow ever wider.