"Once" Part 3
This is Part 3 of "Once," the fifth and final installment of my fic series "Singles Awareness Day." This fic is long as hell, and rated NC-17 for graphic porn.
This segment is mostly just cuddly stuff. :D
Bruce came to the conclusion that he was awake, and soon after that to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep before that. His eyes were still closed, and he could feel that he was entirely naked, and laying on a rumpled and sticky bed. The stickiness wasn’t entirely surprising to him, for he had had many a wild night before, from as few people as just himself to as many as twelve others during some daredevil stunt in college. But what he was surprised at was just how…relaxed he felt. His duties as Batman had entered his thoughts, but for the moment he couldn’t summon up enough will to care too much about them. That was what brought the first tendrils of suspicion to his mind, for him not caring about what he needed to do in the city next was certainly brought on by nothing short of divine intervention.
It was then he noticed that his body was resting against the equally-naked and equally-sticky body of another man. And at that realization, the memory of what had occurred in his most recent moments of waking came roaring back to him. The Joker was beside him, and they had just made love.
He paused as he turned that sentence around his head again; sure he hadn’t processed his subconscious correctly.
He and the Joker had just made love.
It brought a sigh out of him, borne half of contentment, half of dejection. For it had come to pass, and was now an unalterable fact. But it would also never come true again after tonight. And their hopeless worlds that followed would never be the same. There would be no hope, no hidden dream, to seek after anymore.
Breathing deeply once more, he opened his eyes, just barely making out in the darkness the docile form of his Joker laying in undisturbed slumber beside him. He realized suddenly that they were breathing at the same pace, and with each deep exhale from his nose a similar breath would escape Joker’s nostrils. He considered trying to alter the rhythm, but decided against it. It would end everything they had just worked to achieve.
He rubbed some sleep out of his eyes and turned to glance over his shoulder to the glowing blue numbers of the digital clock. 2:26 AM. He had been asleep beside the Joker for scarcely three hours now, but something had awoken him. It could have been the grimy feel on his cock more than anything else, for it seemed coated with more than just semen and sweat. What exactly, he wasn’t sure, nor was he sure exactly why it disturbed him so much. It was just, laying here on top of the restless sheets they hadn’t had the strength or coherency to use, he felt…
…dirty.
He glanced at Joker one last time. The clown continued to breathe deeply at his side, limbs splayed wide open in a state of total defenselessness. He supposed that Joker didn’t feel the need to shield himself from anything now, so powerful was the absolute trust he felt toward his Batman. Bruce sighed again at the clown-like appearance of his clown, and then lifted himself out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
He closed the door and turned on the lights, blinded for a few seconds by the sudden light that had entered his unaccustomed eyes. But as soon as he adjusted, he was greeted by his completely disheveled appearance in the mirror. Hair sticking up everywhere, body covered in come, and…
He looked down at his cock. Plenty of dried semen, of course, but along its length were a few telltale smudges of white and red. Greasepaint. Such a notion, that the Joker in sucking his dick had left traces of himself upon him, made a glow of heat escape into his blood.
Blood…
Come and greasepaint weren’t the only things on his cock, which probably attributed to his feelings of filthiness earlier. Beyond the red lipstick, there was a darker and more pronounced red liquid that coated his cock just as much as the come.
It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, for it wasn’t an altogether foreign sight. He had been taken into many a virgin’s willing bed, and sometimes these things tended to happen. But right now, under the circumstances, with this person, he had been pounding so forcefully into him that…
…he had made the Joker bleed.
Not in the usual manner that they always did, where blood spilt in battle was a given. No, when they had joined together, he had…
…his mind flashed back to the night at the pier.
And then another image came to mind, of when the Joker had taken him into his mouth, driven by a force outside of his control, just like he himself had been forced to perform that same act those many months ago…and now he had caused the same pain to the Joker as he had been subjected to…
…he was no better a man than those that had assaulted him. Than the ones the Joker had mercilessly mowed down with his blades. But yet the Joker was even worse off than he had been, for he couldn’t see that fact, instead filled himself with nothing but worship for the man that hurt him so, just as he hurt him night after night. And still he always crawled back to him. Always coming back for more. For more pain to himself, more of anything he could get. Even if it was the worst injury Bruce could bring himself to imagine.
Bruce stepped into the shower and turned the water on as cold as it would allow.
Joker woke with a start, an act not usually reserved for the likes of him. Usually he had raging chaotic dreams that he would wake up laughing hysterically at, whether he remembered them or not. But just now he had been immersed in the quietest of slumbers, in a sort of subconscious blackout with no dreams to speak of at all. That is, until something had shifted, and a strange ugly storm of thoughts and images flitted through his dreams nonstop, leaving him with a very unsettled feeling. Something he wasn’t used to having his dreams leave him with.
He looked around him, to the stickiness he was laying in, and the completely relaxed feeling of his body, how his skin was glowing with a recent pleasure, and he remembered what had happened.
The Batman had made love to him.
And now he was gone.
He felt on the empty space on the pillow next to him in the dark, sure that his eyes were telling him a story different than what was true, that Bats wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be, not after what had just happened, what they had silently promised each other…
He then noticed the sprinkling sound of running water coming from the wall he was staring at, and then the glimmer of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He relaxed again. Bruce was just in the shower. But turning to look at the time, the clock read 2:28 AM…
…something was wrong with Bruce.
He curled up off the bed and walked to the bathroom door, ignoring any stiffness or soreness from the much different kind of physical exertion than he was used to. Batman was always more important than, and always worth, any pain in the world. Once inside the room, he blinked momentarily in the sudden light on his unaccustomed retinas, and immediately turned to the closed shower curtain. Had he looked in the mirror he would have noticed the dried blood that still collected around his ass. But even if he had noticed, he probably wouldn’t have cared. What he did notice was that there was no steam from the shower, which meant the water was turned on cold. And if something was wrong with Bruce, he’d probably turned it as cold as it could get.
He slid the yellow curtain open a tad, met with the image of Bruce’s naked back to him, brown hair sticking to his head directly underneath the water’s spray. Bruce let the water run down his face and body, numbing himself to what he had done, and what he had turned into as the price for what he had craved so relentlessly, deaf to the rest of the world for a moment…
…until he felt strong, slick arms nestle around his torso, one hand snaking to his sternum, the other to his abs, and a man’s wet front pressed into his back, aligning their forms seamlessly. Instantly he felt his eyes close as he all but relaxed into the body behind him, tension in his back suddenly relieved with the touch. The arms pulled him stronger into their embrace, and he knew whose arms they were, and who it was that was cradling him so in the shower. His head inclined slightly to where Joker’s was, whose chin was resting on his right shoulder, and absurdly he was reminded of his dream, where they stood as close as they did now, Joker silently waiting for an answer.
An answer…
A soft kiss was pressed against his jaw, and he moved his arms to lightly grip his hands to the ones that held him. They stood there for a moment, Joker’s lips gently attached to Bruce’s face, until Bruce shifted in his arms, turning his body around to press their fronts together as their lips met softly. Remnants of the intense connection they had undergone earlier still lingered around their kisses, and as their arms wrapped around each other they knew it full well.
Bruce reached behind him to turn the water on hotter, this time as hot as they could get it. The rush of heat that gradually wove its way around the bathroom in vaporous steam cocooned them in an external bubble of warmth, supporting the internal suspension of surging emotions that blurred through their bodies. The semen was washed from their skin, but the power that its release had contained was never lost to them for an instant.
Bruce was backed against the tiled wall, sinking into the indulgence Joker offered him, when he felt thicker streams of some sort of pasty fluid drip between his fingers that were now cupped around Joker’s face. Pausing, he broke their mouths apart and looked to what it was, and upon doing so realized that semen wasn’t the only thing being washed from skin.
Joker’s facepaint was washing away under the water.
Driven by a need to see the face he would otherwise never get to see if he passed up this night of opportunities, with the same inexplicable drive that had brought Joker’s mouth to his cock hours ago, Bruce’s hands began to sift away the layers of paint that covered the other’s face. Joker smirked at what he was doing, but said nothing. If his Batman wanted to see that tonight, he wouldn’t stop him. Tonight wasn’t about stopping each other; they’d have all the time in the world for that later. Just…not tonight.
Slowly the layer of actual skin was becoming apparent, making Bruce want to scrub harder at the greasepaint, brushing away every last smudge of black from around his eyes, every red stain from the scars, using his mouth to lick some paint flecks away. Hands and lips worked almost feverishly at the simple task, something Joker knew was not to be impeded or interrupted. This was a process for Bruce’s sake.
At last the tiniest traces of makeup were rubbed away, but without even pausing Bruce reached for the sample bottle of shampoo left by the hotel for guests’ convenience on the shower racks, and poured some onto his hands to lather them through the dyed green hair. Soon Joker’s forehead found its way to Bruce’s neck, tucked underneath his chin, as the cleansing process took on a purpose of calmly stroking through the soaking locks, soothing them both. They closed their eyes in the slow rhythmic movements of fingers and palms snaking through hair, until at last Bruce tilted Joker’s head back up into the water, letting his hair rinse out as he gazed upon what his efforts had produced.
It was certainly not what he had expected, but then again he hadn’t really known what to expect. The makeup sunk into the smallest creases on his face, pronouncing them and making him look a bit older than he really was. In fact, all this time Bruce had been under the impression that the Joker, always claiming to know something Bruce didn’t, was several years older than him at least. But now looking upon that striking face with far pinker scars than usual, he realized that the opposite most likely held true. Who knew exactly how old the Joker was, but it had just struck Bruce that his age was probably very close to his own.
Joker watched Bruce’s appraising face with a pronounced interest, enjoying how those blue eyes he so adored were gazing so intently upon him, never leaving his face for an instant. To have that soft focus upon him so completely made every frustration about the Bat’s denial totally worth it, especially with the slight ghost of a grin that he swore was fighting to rise onto Bruce’s lips.
He was making his Bat smile.
He wanted to kiss those nearly-smiling lips and absorb every bit of that grin’s essence into his own, knowing that since his own smile could be so powerful, the Batman’s smile must be the mixed of most potent force in the universe. And so he jumped up to those lips with his hungrily, and he was gently responded to as fingers threaded through locks now revealed to be dirty blonde, darkened under the shower’s spray.
The kiss slowly broke after a time, and green eyes lazily opened to blue, staring curiously at the other’s face that was now as naked as the rest of them. Bruce, still backed against the shower wall, felt Joker’s body lean closer into him, and hands snaked from his dark brunette hair to the sides of his face, palms holding his cheeks in a tender curiosity. The Joker’s thumbs then left their fellow digits, and traced gossamer patterns to the corners of Bruce’s mouth, slowly spidering up his cheeks and back down.
Tracing a familiar pattern on his face with a faraway look in his eyes.
Bruce turned the water off. They parted and stepped out of the bathtub, toweling off separately. Joker looked at his makeup-free expression in the mirror as he did so, and wondered if Bruce saw the same thing in his face as he did in the knight’s. But then again, he realized, of course he did. For after all, as he had known all along and what this night proved beyond any doubt, they were the same.
Continue to part 4...
This segment is mostly just cuddly stuff. :D
Bruce came to the conclusion that he was awake, and soon after that to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep before that. His eyes were still closed, and he could feel that he was entirely naked, and laying on a rumpled and sticky bed. The stickiness wasn’t entirely surprising to him, for he had had many a wild night before, from as few people as just himself to as many as twelve others during some daredevil stunt in college. But what he was surprised at was just how…relaxed he felt. His duties as Batman had entered his thoughts, but for the moment he couldn’t summon up enough will to care too much about them. That was what brought the first tendrils of suspicion to his mind, for him not caring about what he needed to do in the city next was certainly brought on by nothing short of divine intervention.
It was then he noticed that his body was resting against the equally-naked and equally-sticky body of another man. And at that realization, the memory of what had occurred in his most recent moments of waking came roaring back to him. The Joker was beside him, and they had just made love.
He paused as he turned that sentence around his head again; sure he hadn’t processed his subconscious correctly.
He and the Joker had just made love.
It brought a sigh out of him, borne half of contentment, half of dejection. For it had come to pass, and was now an unalterable fact. But it would also never come true again after tonight. And their hopeless worlds that followed would never be the same. There would be no hope, no hidden dream, to seek after anymore.
Breathing deeply once more, he opened his eyes, just barely making out in the darkness the docile form of his Joker laying in undisturbed slumber beside him. He realized suddenly that they were breathing at the same pace, and with each deep exhale from his nose a similar breath would escape Joker’s nostrils. He considered trying to alter the rhythm, but decided against it. It would end everything they had just worked to achieve.
He rubbed some sleep out of his eyes and turned to glance over his shoulder to the glowing blue numbers of the digital clock. 2:26 AM. He had been asleep beside the Joker for scarcely three hours now, but something had awoken him. It could have been the grimy feel on his cock more than anything else, for it seemed coated with more than just semen and sweat. What exactly, he wasn’t sure, nor was he sure exactly why it disturbed him so much. It was just, laying here on top of the restless sheets they hadn’t had the strength or coherency to use, he felt…
…dirty.
He glanced at Joker one last time. The clown continued to breathe deeply at his side, limbs splayed wide open in a state of total defenselessness. He supposed that Joker didn’t feel the need to shield himself from anything now, so powerful was the absolute trust he felt toward his Batman. Bruce sighed again at the clown-like appearance of his clown, and then lifted himself out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
He closed the door and turned on the lights, blinded for a few seconds by the sudden light that had entered his unaccustomed eyes. But as soon as he adjusted, he was greeted by his completely disheveled appearance in the mirror. Hair sticking up everywhere, body covered in come, and…
He looked down at his cock. Plenty of dried semen, of course, but along its length were a few telltale smudges of white and red. Greasepaint. Such a notion, that the Joker in sucking his dick had left traces of himself upon him, made a glow of heat escape into his blood.
Blood…
Come and greasepaint weren’t the only things on his cock, which probably attributed to his feelings of filthiness earlier. Beyond the red lipstick, there was a darker and more pronounced red liquid that coated his cock just as much as the come.
It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, for it wasn’t an altogether foreign sight. He had been taken into many a virgin’s willing bed, and sometimes these things tended to happen. But right now, under the circumstances, with this person, he had been pounding so forcefully into him that…
…he had made the Joker bleed.
Not in the usual manner that they always did, where blood spilt in battle was a given. No, when they had joined together, he had…
…his mind flashed back to the night at the pier.
And then another image came to mind, of when the Joker had taken him into his mouth, driven by a force outside of his control, just like he himself had been forced to perform that same act those many months ago…and now he had caused the same pain to the Joker as he had been subjected to…
…he was no better a man than those that had assaulted him. Than the ones the Joker had mercilessly mowed down with his blades. But yet the Joker was even worse off than he had been, for he couldn’t see that fact, instead filled himself with nothing but worship for the man that hurt him so, just as he hurt him night after night. And still he always crawled back to him. Always coming back for more. For more pain to himself, more of anything he could get. Even if it was the worst injury Bruce could bring himself to imagine.
Bruce stepped into the shower and turned the water on as cold as it would allow.
Joker woke with a start, an act not usually reserved for the likes of him. Usually he had raging chaotic dreams that he would wake up laughing hysterically at, whether he remembered them or not. But just now he had been immersed in the quietest of slumbers, in a sort of subconscious blackout with no dreams to speak of at all. That is, until something had shifted, and a strange ugly storm of thoughts and images flitted through his dreams nonstop, leaving him with a very unsettled feeling. Something he wasn’t used to having his dreams leave him with.
He looked around him, to the stickiness he was laying in, and the completely relaxed feeling of his body, how his skin was glowing with a recent pleasure, and he remembered what had happened.
The Batman had made love to him.
And now he was gone.
He felt on the empty space on the pillow next to him in the dark, sure that his eyes were telling him a story different than what was true, that Bats wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be, not after what had just happened, what they had silently promised each other…
He then noticed the sprinkling sound of running water coming from the wall he was staring at, and then the glimmer of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He relaxed again. Bruce was just in the shower. But turning to look at the time, the clock read 2:28 AM…
…something was wrong with Bruce.
He curled up off the bed and walked to the bathroom door, ignoring any stiffness or soreness from the much different kind of physical exertion than he was used to. Batman was always more important than, and always worth, any pain in the world. Once inside the room, he blinked momentarily in the sudden light on his unaccustomed retinas, and immediately turned to the closed shower curtain. Had he looked in the mirror he would have noticed the dried blood that still collected around his ass. But even if he had noticed, he probably wouldn’t have cared. What he did notice was that there was no steam from the shower, which meant the water was turned on cold. And if something was wrong with Bruce, he’d probably turned it as cold as it could get.
He slid the yellow curtain open a tad, met with the image of Bruce’s naked back to him, brown hair sticking to his head directly underneath the water’s spray. Bruce let the water run down his face and body, numbing himself to what he had done, and what he had turned into as the price for what he had craved so relentlessly, deaf to the rest of the world for a moment…
…until he felt strong, slick arms nestle around his torso, one hand snaking to his sternum, the other to his abs, and a man’s wet front pressed into his back, aligning their forms seamlessly. Instantly he felt his eyes close as he all but relaxed into the body behind him, tension in his back suddenly relieved with the touch. The arms pulled him stronger into their embrace, and he knew whose arms they were, and who it was that was cradling him so in the shower. His head inclined slightly to where Joker’s was, whose chin was resting on his right shoulder, and absurdly he was reminded of his dream, where they stood as close as they did now, Joker silently waiting for an answer.
An answer…
A soft kiss was pressed against his jaw, and he moved his arms to lightly grip his hands to the ones that held him. They stood there for a moment, Joker’s lips gently attached to Bruce’s face, until Bruce shifted in his arms, turning his body around to press their fronts together as their lips met softly. Remnants of the intense connection they had undergone earlier still lingered around their kisses, and as their arms wrapped around each other they knew it full well.
Bruce reached behind him to turn the water on hotter, this time as hot as they could get it. The rush of heat that gradually wove its way around the bathroom in vaporous steam cocooned them in an external bubble of warmth, supporting the internal suspension of surging emotions that blurred through their bodies. The semen was washed from their skin, but the power that its release had contained was never lost to them for an instant.
Bruce was backed against the tiled wall, sinking into the indulgence Joker offered him, when he felt thicker streams of some sort of pasty fluid drip between his fingers that were now cupped around Joker’s face. Pausing, he broke their mouths apart and looked to what it was, and upon doing so realized that semen wasn’t the only thing being washed from skin.
Joker’s facepaint was washing away under the water.
Driven by a need to see the face he would otherwise never get to see if he passed up this night of opportunities, with the same inexplicable drive that had brought Joker’s mouth to his cock hours ago, Bruce’s hands began to sift away the layers of paint that covered the other’s face. Joker smirked at what he was doing, but said nothing. If his Batman wanted to see that tonight, he wouldn’t stop him. Tonight wasn’t about stopping each other; they’d have all the time in the world for that later. Just…not tonight.
Slowly the layer of actual skin was becoming apparent, making Bruce want to scrub harder at the greasepaint, brushing away every last smudge of black from around his eyes, every red stain from the scars, using his mouth to lick some paint flecks away. Hands and lips worked almost feverishly at the simple task, something Joker knew was not to be impeded or interrupted. This was a process for Bruce’s sake.
At last the tiniest traces of makeup were rubbed away, but without even pausing Bruce reached for the sample bottle of shampoo left by the hotel for guests’ convenience on the shower racks, and poured some onto his hands to lather them through the dyed green hair. Soon Joker’s forehead found its way to Bruce’s neck, tucked underneath his chin, as the cleansing process took on a purpose of calmly stroking through the soaking locks, soothing them both. They closed their eyes in the slow rhythmic movements of fingers and palms snaking through hair, until at last Bruce tilted Joker’s head back up into the water, letting his hair rinse out as he gazed upon what his efforts had produced.
It was certainly not what he had expected, but then again he hadn’t really known what to expect. The makeup sunk into the smallest creases on his face, pronouncing them and making him look a bit older than he really was. In fact, all this time Bruce had been under the impression that the Joker, always claiming to know something Bruce didn’t, was several years older than him at least. But now looking upon that striking face with far pinker scars than usual, he realized that the opposite most likely held true. Who knew exactly how old the Joker was, but it had just struck Bruce that his age was probably very close to his own.
Joker watched Bruce’s appraising face with a pronounced interest, enjoying how those blue eyes he so adored were gazing so intently upon him, never leaving his face for an instant. To have that soft focus upon him so completely made every frustration about the Bat’s denial totally worth it, especially with the slight ghost of a grin that he swore was fighting to rise onto Bruce’s lips.
He was making his Bat smile.
He wanted to kiss those nearly-smiling lips and absorb every bit of that grin’s essence into his own, knowing that since his own smile could be so powerful, the Batman’s smile must be the mixed of most potent force in the universe. And so he jumped up to those lips with his hungrily, and he was gently responded to as fingers threaded through locks now revealed to be dirty blonde, darkened under the shower’s spray.
The kiss slowly broke after a time, and green eyes lazily opened to blue, staring curiously at the other’s face that was now as naked as the rest of them. Bruce, still backed against the shower wall, felt Joker’s body lean closer into him, and hands snaked from his dark brunette hair to the sides of his face, palms holding his cheeks in a tender curiosity. The Joker’s thumbs then left their fellow digits, and traced gossamer patterns to the corners of Bruce’s mouth, slowly spidering up his cheeks and back down.
Tracing a familiar pattern on his face with a faraway look in his eyes.
Bruce turned the water off. They parted and stepped out of the bathtub, toweling off separately. Joker looked at his makeup-free expression in the mirror as he did so, and wondered if Bruce saw the same thing in his face as he did in the knight’s. But then again, he realized, of course he did. For after all, as he had known all along and what this night proved beyond any doubt, they were the same.
Continue to part 4...