Singles Awareness Day Series Part 2/5
Title: Apologize for the World
Word Count: 2,489
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, I just crush their dreams and destroy their souls like the sadistic author I can be.
Rating: R
Warnings: masturbation, ALOTTA ANGST LIKE WOAH
Summary: Batman witnesses something he should never have seen, but the fight against fate is a losing battle.
A/N: So, this is Part 2 of my little B/J series, beginning with "Singles Awareness Day." Just heads up, this has got to be one of the most depressing things I've ever written. AND IT ONLY GETS WORSE. D:
...oh, and nearly forgot, I also wrote a song about this fic. Still no chords for instrumentals, but it's in the works lyric-wise. I may post it with the rest of my poems at a later date.
Part 1 can be found here. (PG-13)
Batman stared out into the dark night that bore such a similar name to his own. Nothing urgent had called his attention yet that night, but then again it was hardly to be expected otherwise. Not after the latest roundup of his foes last week that had left Gotham quite settled for the time being. The odd mugging had called him down from his vantage point on top of the MCU, but it was all small business, nothing major. The few, inevitable crimes that were bound to happen in a big city like this. Nothing he couldn’t stop.
But as the vigilante remained ever vigilant while crouched on the ledge of the building’s roof, he suddenly heard a pair of scuffling footsteps on the roof behind him.
And he had a sinking feeling he knew whose footsteps they were.
He had been certain that the cops would have found him and taken him back to Arkham after what happened, but…oh, what a fool he was! He hadn’t taken him back himself, and had just walked away, leaving the maniac just standing there in the middle of burning wreckage with the police sirens still minutes away. Even seconds would still have given the cruel escape artist enough time to evade them. True, he hadn’t done anything noteworthy to attract attention again, but that had to mean that he was in his cell, not running loose still.
And in fact, Bruce had been quite relieved in believing that the criminal was behind bars again. It would at least give him some time to think over what exactly had happened that night with the burning apartment complex.
Most specifically, the reason why he had just walked away.
The memories of that night came burning back to him just like the flames of the collapsing building as the footsteps behind him continued to scramble about the rooftop. Scrambled, indeed; really, it sounded as if Joker were drunk or something, the footfalls unevenly paced, speeding up and stumbling, slowing with purpose, as if he were maybe in some pain, or having a psychotic hallucinatory episode, or…
Batman turned his head slightly to see out of the corner of his eye exactly what merited his enemy’s irregular gait, and was greeted with the oddest image of the Joker he had ever seen in his life.
Joker was breathing hard, staggering as if on something illegal, and…seemed completely unaware of Batman’s presence. At least, the living Batman. His purpose on the rooftop, it seemed, was not to visit the crusader, but rather the dormant floodlight that bore his symbol. He nearly fell as he approached it, bringing his gloved hand up to the ledge to support himself, and carried on until he had reached the object of his attention. No, not just attention; it was more than just attention as he gripped the rim of the floodlight in dire need. It was his need, his goal, his purpose for walking down the path of life, as he brought his other hand up to the black insignia, running across it in a manner that his onlooker had never seen him do before…save for across his own armored shoulders that night…
His labored breathing grew more ragged still, never taking his eyes from the Batsignal, as Batman watched in chilling memory of how those eyes had behaved last Valentine’s Day, full of want and yearning. He then draped himself over the floodlight, as if trying to reach access to his foe by imbuing himself with the essence of the signal, still breathing hard against the cold glass and metal.
It was when he thrust his hips forward into the floodlight that Batman’s eyes widened in fear.
He hadn’t forgotten. Well, of course he wouldn’t forget, he wasn’t going to let his archenemy’s moment of weakness slide without exploiting it to its fullest, was he? But this wasn’t to exploit him; Joker didn’t even know he was there at all, and was acting under the assumption that he was completely alone. He groaned, and Batman felt an involuntary shudder race down his spine. A shudder that he wasn’t completely sure attributed to any kind of revulsion.
Joker clawed viciously at the symbol then, raking down the glass as he moaned the Bat’s name on his tongue. The one he called for was there, but too paralyzed and (dare he say?) entranced to move. He could only watch as the clown clung to the floodlight like a life preserver in stormy seas, pressing in his hips and whispering “Batsy, Bats…” to the glass below him.
Without warning, he cried out and pushed himself away from the floodlight, the overwhelming contact with the false Batman too much for even him. He stumbled back to the building’s ledge next to the signal, and gripped it hard, leaned his head back to the heavens and continued his whispered prayers to his Bat. He turned around then and pressed his front into the wall, a better and less overpowering substitute for whatever was playing through his head.
Then he started to unzip his pants.
Batman was at a loss for thoughts. This couldn’t be what he was seeing, it wasn’t supposed to happen, why were his eyes relaying false information to his brain? This was preposterous that Joker was actually going to -
The murderer withdrew his pounding cock in his hand and let loose something akin to a scream of terrible ecstasy at the contact, obviously imagining a very different hand cupping his erection so harshly. He moaned out again as he jutted his hips into the wall, shuddering and rasping “Ugh, Batsy” as his bare skin made contact with the cold concrete. On and on he drove his groin against the wall as he humped it vigorously, pumping his cock with a dying man’s desperate fervor, unable to stop his cries and moans if he tried.
He started to whine, squeezing his eyes closed tighter, stopping at the peak of his thrusts to rub his hips all along the wall, before arching completely against it to increase the pressure as much as possible. His finger traced around the tip of his dick, causing his breath to hitch as he murmured “Batsy…” and began a renewed assault on the wall with labored, painful breathing and moans that were quickly escalating in volume and passion.
As Batman stayed frozen in his crouch watching the display, he felt something fragile ripping inside him, each shattered piece stabbing at his insides at odd angles. Something that, call him crazy, may have just been called his heart. It wasn’t the absolute disgust that should have claimed him at the sight of his worst enemy masturbating to the thought of him, an act that he would have certainly filed under Joker’s hideous obsession with him. Had that just been the case, he would have stopped the madman before it escalated to that point, and would have carted him back to his cell that awaited him.
But one other thought kept him in his place, which overrode everything else that he should have done.
It was that he wanted to be there with him.
He could see it in the way Joker was pounding so rapidly and forcefully and desperately against the wall, how he tried all sorts of varying methods to bring himself to completion. How he squeezed his eyes shut for another reason entirely besides fantasizing or nearing his peak. But most of all, he could hear it. He heard that plaintive note in every breath, every groan, every curse word, every “Bats” the madman uttered. He called for more, more and more and more, just one more push that would finally satisfy his need.
But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Nothing he did by himself, while making him reach orgasm just fine, would ever make him feel anything close to complete. All he would ever be left with afterwards was what started his jacking off in the first place: a hollow emptiness, a broken half that searched in the dark for its missing piece in vain. Such would continue the cycle again, and again, and again, to the end of time, without ever achieving the nirvana he craved and yearned for.
The dark knight knew that almost instinctively as he felt his own self splintering with the increasing yelps, moans, screams, and cries of “Batsy, Bats, BATSY!” from the suffering smileman’s mouth, which was definitely not smiling at all at this point. A tremor of a shriek wracked his ears and made his throat catch as he watched the Joker slam his hips into the wall one last time to finally come against the concrete. As his semen rocketed out onto the ledge he screamed and babbled out “Yes, Batsy, yes,” at his loudest pitch yet, his whole body vibrating with the release.
It was the most arousing sight Batman had ever seen. He wanted to look away, to shut his eyes against the sorrowful sight before him, but his own hidden desires wouldn’t let him, wanting to file away this beautiful moment of his enemy for the rest of his days.
For he knew he would never see anything like it again.
Joker finished out, and once he had squeezed out the last drop he slumped against the wall, exhausted and empty of all essence. He gasped for air to rattle past his rasping throat, still holding his withering erection in his come-coated hand. If the cops burst in on top of their roof at that moment he wouldn’t have been able to fight them off if he wanted to; he was wasted and hung out to dry, with nothing left within himself to draw from.
He slowly hoisted himself up off the wall after a time, and turned around to lean back against the wall, still exposed to the night air. His eyes were still closed, letting an updraft blow past his eyelids and face, chilling and waking up his previously heated countenance. Then his eyes opened to invite the breeze to sting his eyeballs…
…only to meet eyes with the Batman across the roof.
Batman saw his eyes widen at the recognition of the man before him, then settled on him with a silent fire that burned holes through his very soul. His message was clear, and Batman couldn’t deny it if he tried. His already-shattered heart sank lower and lower as he continued to gaze upon the Joker before him, hand still drenched with semen, his cock hanging out of his pants that perfectly reflected his lack of defense. He looked so vulnerable, an image that could not and should not ever correspond with the madman he fought so vehemently.
He descended from the ledge and walked cautiously towards the Joker. His heart pounded as he approached him, but he continued slowly onward, as Joker gazed back at the oncoming figure of his voyeur who had stood by and done nothing.
He came to a halt an inch from the Joker, clearly remembering the last time that he had stood this close to him and what had followed afterward. Joker remembered too, and, still leaning back on the wall, looked up to him silently, pleadingly.
Batman lowered his eyes from the clown’s and softly grabbed his cock, knowing full well what Joker would assume from the action. But his reaction was something he hadn’t expected: Joker’s eyes rolled back in his head that reclined immediately backwards as his throat bulged with his intake of breath and struggle to make any form of sound. But no sound was produced; the level of emotion he felt at the simple, gentle touch transcended any form of vocalization. This one moment was better than any fantasy, any memory, anything he had ever known around Batman. It was so ultimately gentle, and almost familiar, as if no boundaries had ever been crossed in the intimate motion.
He then opened his eyes as he felt Batman return his cock inside his boxers, then gently laid hands on his zipper, closing his pants back up. Once the motion was complete, his hand still lingered at his waistband, before placing his palms on either side of his hips, keeping him still.
Joker met his eyes again, and the crusader was shot with several rounds of guilt’s gunfire as he saw the green eyes he was so used to leering at him meet him with a hurt, questioning glance. The clown had been so certain that the intimate touch had promised something more, but the shelter and protection that the next act had provided had also broken that promise. They had just been on the cusp of something more, something he knew they both yearned and pleaded for beyond any form of social change. Why couldn’t Batman bring himself to give them both what they wanted, what they needed?
He brought his own arms, still shaking from their previous spasms, around the knight’s waist, searching for answers. But Batman held him back when he tried to close the short distance between their bodies, his strength overpowering the other’s. Joker’s eyes brought soft questions to the pair of blue, but the other’s gaze met him with nothing but dead ends, flat answers that the clown could never bring himself to believe.
Then, Batman raised a hand to his face and brought his head to his as he met the painted, sweaty forehead with a soft kiss. Joker closed his eyes as he let the contact happen, losing himself in the lips pressed against him, in the gesture he couldn’t know when to expect again. The warmth they both felt was a simple paradise that they knew they could never hope to come close to with anyone else, but in that knowledge they still didn’t take it any further than the horrible reality they had unwittingly constructed would allow.
The everlasting minute ended as Batman gently removed his lips, still hovering a millimeter from Joker’s forehead. Their eyes remained closed as they stood together motionless, Joker’s arms still wrapped around Batman’s waist, Batman’s hand on Joker’s hip, the other cupping his cheek with the closest thing to tenderness the Joker had probably ever known, and ever would.
But as the seconds wore on, they knew they could only savor the moment so much before it soured on their tongues. And so Batman, eyes threatening to open, whispered all he could to the terrorist who held him, and wanted to hold him, forever.
“I’m sorry.”
Joker knew what he meant, in every meaning of the phrase. Its acceptance was something he would try to fight, but ultimately had to live with. And so it was once again with a golden heart of broken glass that Batman released his adversary and vanished into the night, with his pain-filled memories all he had left to hold onto in the nights and years to come.
Word Count: 2,489
Pairings: Batman/Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, I just crush their dreams and destroy their souls like the sadistic author I can be.
Rating: R
Warnings: masturbation, ALOTTA ANGST LIKE WOAH
Summary: Batman witnesses something he should never have seen, but the fight against fate is a losing battle.
A/N: So, this is Part 2 of my little B/J series, beginning with "Singles Awareness Day." Just heads up, this has got to be one of the most depressing things I've ever written. AND IT ONLY GETS WORSE. D:
...oh, and nearly forgot, I also wrote a song about this fic. Still no chords for instrumentals, but it's in the works lyric-wise. I may post it with the rest of my poems at a later date.
Part 1 can be found here. (PG-13)
Batman stared out into the dark night that bore such a similar name to his own. Nothing urgent had called his attention yet that night, but then again it was hardly to be expected otherwise. Not after the latest roundup of his foes last week that had left Gotham quite settled for the time being. The odd mugging had called him down from his vantage point on top of the MCU, but it was all small business, nothing major. The few, inevitable crimes that were bound to happen in a big city like this. Nothing he couldn’t stop.
But as the vigilante remained ever vigilant while crouched on the ledge of the building’s roof, he suddenly heard a pair of scuffling footsteps on the roof behind him.
And he had a sinking feeling he knew whose footsteps they were.
He had been certain that the cops would have found him and taken him back to Arkham after what happened, but…oh, what a fool he was! He hadn’t taken him back himself, and had just walked away, leaving the maniac just standing there in the middle of burning wreckage with the police sirens still minutes away. Even seconds would still have given the cruel escape artist enough time to evade them. True, he hadn’t done anything noteworthy to attract attention again, but that had to mean that he was in his cell, not running loose still.
And in fact, Bruce had been quite relieved in believing that the criminal was behind bars again. It would at least give him some time to think over what exactly had happened that night with the burning apartment complex.
Most specifically, the reason why he had just walked away.
The memories of that night came burning back to him just like the flames of the collapsing building as the footsteps behind him continued to scramble about the rooftop. Scrambled, indeed; really, it sounded as if Joker were drunk or something, the footfalls unevenly paced, speeding up and stumbling, slowing with purpose, as if he were maybe in some pain, or having a psychotic hallucinatory episode, or…
Batman turned his head slightly to see out of the corner of his eye exactly what merited his enemy’s irregular gait, and was greeted with the oddest image of the Joker he had ever seen in his life.
Joker was breathing hard, staggering as if on something illegal, and…seemed completely unaware of Batman’s presence. At least, the living Batman. His purpose on the rooftop, it seemed, was not to visit the crusader, but rather the dormant floodlight that bore his symbol. He nearly fell as he approached it, bringing his gloved hand up to the ledge to support himself, and carried on until he had reached the object of his attention. No, not just attention; it was more than just attention as he gripped the rim of the floodlight in dire need. It was his need, his goal, his purpose for walking down the path of life, as he brought his other hand up to the black insignia, running across it in a manner that his onlooker had never seen him do before…save for across his own armored shoulders that night…
His labored breathing grew more ragged still, never taking his eyes from the Batsignal, as Batman watched in chilling memory of how those eyes had behaved last Valentine’s Day, full of want and yearning. He then draped himself over the floodlight, as if trying to reach access to his foe by imbuing himself with the essence of the signal, still breathing hard against the cold glass and metal.
It was when he thrust his hips forward into the floodlight that Batman’s eyes widened in fear.
He hadn’t forgotten. Well, of course he wouldn’t forget, he wasn’t going to let his archenemy’s moment of weakness slide without exploiting it to its fullest, was he? But this wasn’t to exploit him; Joker didn’t even know he was there at all, and was acting under the assumption that he was completely alone. He groaned, and Batman felt an involuntary shudder race down his spine. A shudder that he wasn’t completely sure attributed to any kind of revulsion.
Joker clawed viciously at the symbol then, raking down the glass as he moaned the Bat’s name on his tongue. The one he called for was there, but too paralyzed and (dare he say?) entranced to move. He could only watch as the clown clung to the floodlight like a life preserver in stormy seas, pressing in his hips and whispering “Batsy, Bats…” to the glass below him.
Without warning, he cried out and pushed himself away from the floodlight, the overwhelming contact with the false Batman too much for even him. He stumbled back to the building’s ledge next to the signal, and gripped it hard, leaned his head back to the heavens and continued his whispered prayers to his Bat. He turned around then and pressed his front into the wall, a better and less overpowering substitute for whatever was playing through his head.
Then he started to unzip his pants.
Batman was at a loss for thoughts. This couldn’t be what he was seeing, it wasn’t supposed to happen, why were his eyes relaying false information to his brain? This was preposterous that Joker was actually going to -
The murderer withdrew his pounding cock in his hand and let loose something akin to a scream of terrible ecstasy at the contact, obviously imagining a very different hand cupping his erection so harshly. He moaned out again as he jutted his hips into the wall, shuddering and rasping “Ugh, Batsy” as his bare skin made contact with the cold concrete. On and on he drove his groin against the wall as he humped it vigorously, pumping his cock with a dying man’s desperate fervor, unable to stop his cries and moans if he tried.
He started to whine, squeezing his eyes closed tighter, stopping at the peak of his thrusts to rub his hips all along the wall, before arching completely against it to increase the pressure as much as possible. His finger traced around the tip of his dick, causing his breath to hitch as he murmured “Batsy…” and began a renewed assault on the wall with labored, painful breathing and moans that were quickly escalating in volume and passion.
As Batman stayed frozen in his crouch watching the display, he felt something fragile ripping inside him, each shattered piece stabbing at his insides at odd angles. Something that, call him crazy, may have just been called his heart. It wasn’t the absolute disgust that should have claimed him at the sight of his worst enemy masturbating to the thought of him, an act that he would have certainly filed under Joker’s hideous obsession with him. Had that just been the case, he would have stopped the madman before it escalated to that point, and would have carted him back to his cell that awaited him.
But one other thought kept him in his place, which overrode everything else that he should have done.
It was that he wanted to be there with him.
He could see it in the way Joker was pounding so rapidly and forcefully and desperately against the wall, how he tried all sorts of varying methods to bring himself to completion. How he squeezed his eyes shut for another reason entirely besides fantasizing or nearing his peak. But most of all, he could hear it. He heard that plaintive note in every breath, every groan, every curse word, every “Bats” the madman uttered. He called for more, more and more and more, just one more push that would finally satisfy his need.
But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Nothing he did by himself, while making him reach orgasm just fine, would ever make him feel anything close to complete. All he would ever be left with afterwards was what started his jacking off in the first place: a hollow emptiness, a broken half that searched in the dark for its missing piece in vain. Such would continue the cycle again, and again, and again, to the end of time, without ever achieving the nirvana he craved and yearned for.
The dark knight knew that almost instinctively as he felt his own self splintering with the increasing yelps, moans, screams, and cries of “Batsy, Bats, BATSY!” from the suffering smileman’s mouth, which was definitely not smiling at all at this point. A tremor of a shriek wracked his ears and made his throat catch as he watched the Joker slam his hips into the wall one last time to finally come against the concrete. As his semen rocketed out onto the ledge he screamed and babbled out “Yes, Batsy, yes,” at his loudest pitch yet, his whole body vibrating with the release.
It was the most arousing sight Batman had ever seen. He wanted to look away, to shut his eyes against the sorrowful sight before him, but his own hidden desires wouldn’t let him, wanting to file away this beautiful moment of his enemy for the rest of his days.
For he knew he would never see anything like it again.
Joker finished out, and once he had squeezed out the last drop he slumped against the wall, exhausted and empty of all essence. He gasped for air to rattle past his rasping throat, still holding his withering erection in his come-coated hand. If the cops burst in on top of their roof at that moment he wouldn’t have been able to fight them off if he wanted to; he was wasted and hung out to dry, with nothing left within himself to draw from.
He slowly hoisted himself up off the wall after a time, and turned around to lean back against the wall, still exposed to the night air. His eyes were still closed, letting an updraft blow past his eyelids and face, chilling and waking up his previously heated countenance. Then his eyes opened to invite the breeze to sting his eyeballs…
…only to meet eyes with the Batman across the roof.
Batman saw his eyes widen at the recognition of the man before him, then settled on him with a silent fire that burned holes through his very soul. His message was clear, and Batman couldn’t deny it if he tried. His already-shattered heart sank lower and lower as he continued to gaze upon the Joker before him, hand still drenched with semen, his cock hanging out of his pants that perfectly reflected his lack of defense. He looked so vulnerable, an image that could not and should not ever correspond with the madman he fought so vehemently.
He descended from the ledge and walked cautiously towards the Joker. His heart pounded as he approached him, but he continued slowly onward, as Joker gazed back at the oncoming figure of his voyeur who had stood by and done nothing.
He came to a halt an inch from the Joker, clearly remembering the last time that he had stood this close to him and what had followed afterward. Joker remembered too, and, still leaning back on the wall, looked up to him silently, pleadingly.
Batman lowered his eyes from the clown’s and softly grabbed his cock, knowing full well what Joker would assume from the action. But his reaction was something he hadn’t expected: Joker’s eyes rolled back in his head that reclined immediately backwards as his throat bulged with his intake of breath and struggle to make any form of sound. But no sound was produced; the level of emotion he felt at the simple, gentle touch transcended any form of vocalization. This one moment was better than any fantasy, any memory, anything he had ever known around Batman. It was so ultimately gentle, and almost familiar, as if no boundaries had ever been crossed in the intimate motion.
He then opened his eyes as he felt Batman return his cock inside his boxers, then gently laid hands on his zipper, closing his pants back up. Once the motion was complete, his hand still lingered at his waistband, before placing his palms on either side of his hips, keeping him still.
Joker met his eyes again, and the crusader was shot with several rounds of guilt’s gunfire as he saw the green eyes he was so used to leering at him meet him with a hurt, questioning glance. The clown had been so certain that the intimate touch had promised something more, but the shelter and protection that the next act had provided had also broken that promise. They had just been on the cusp of something more, something he knew they both yearned and pleaded for beyond any form of social change. Why couldn’t Batman bring himself to give them both what they wanted, what they needed?
He brought his own arms, still shaking from their previous spasms, around the knight’s waist, searching for answers. But Batman held him back when he tried to close the short distance between their bodies, his strength overpowering the other’s. Joker’s eyes brought soft questions to the pair of blue, but the other’s gaze met him with nothing but dead ends, flat answers that the clown could never bring himself to believe.
Then, Batman raised a hand to his face and brought his head to his as he met the painted, sweaty forehead with a soft kiss. Joker closed his eyes as he let the contact happen, losing himself in the lips pressed against him, in the gesture he couldn’t know when to expect again. The warmth they both felt was a simple paradise that they knew they could never hope to come close to with anyone else, but in that knowledge they still didn’t take it any further than the horrible reality they had unwittingly constructed would allow.
The everlasting minute ended as Batman gently removed his lips, still hovering a millimeter from Joker’s forehead. Their eyes remained closed as they stood together motionless, Joker’s arms still wrapped around Batman’s waist, Batman’s hand on Joker’s hip, the other cupping his cheek with the closest thing to tenderness the Joker had probably ever known, and ever would.
But as the seconds wore on, they knew they could only savor the moment so much before it soured on their tongues. And so Batman, eyes threatening to open, whispered all he could to the terrorist who held him, and wanted to hold him, forever.
“I’m sorry.”
Joker knew what he meant, in every meaning of the phrase. Its acceptance was something he would try to fight, but ultimately had to live with. And so it was once again with a golden heart of broken glass that Batman released his adversary and vanished into the night, with his pain-filled memories all he had left to hold onto in the nights and years to come.