Fic: Heartbeat Ch. 2/3
Chapter 2: Toothache
Word Count: 4,436
Pairing: Vamp!Bruce/Vamp!Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, only this blood-ridden AU filled with vampire hickey-sex.
Rating: NC-17 this chap. And the next, most likely.
Warnings: violence, blood, bloodplay, somewhat dubcon, graphic fang!sex
Fic Summary: Bruce was bitten when he was eight years old, and has sworn to destroy all others of his kind that ravage the mortals of his city - even the most sadistic and unstoppable of them all.
A/N: I know what you're thinking: how can vampires realistically have sex? They have no blood pumping through their systems, how can male vamps get aroused? Never fear, here's where all your questions get answered about everything you ever wanted to know (and then some) about my original take on vampiric sex. Assisting me in this vamp!sex-ed fic are the one and only Batman and Joker. Because they're HOT getting it on together no matter WHAT immortal creature they happen to be stuck as.
Bruce barely knows what he is seeing anymore. His teeth feel on fire, more potent and lethal than ever before. He never realized just how deadly the two natural weapons could be until this night. Had the Joker been a mortal, he would be long gone by now, what with the ferocity and savagery in which Bruce’s fangs have latched into his lips.
But all Bruce can think of anymore is his fangs and the blood around them. Burning, tearing, flowing, ebbing, humming, groaning, more…
The dark hook of his wingclaw has torn through the Joker’s greening hair, sending a quiet stream of more of the cherry pie liquid down his scalp, toward the base of his neck. Bruce doesn’t know how he senses every cell of the demon’s blood so acutely, for his eyes have been closed this entire time…but he doesn’t give a damn at present.
The Joker feels the wet blood lap at his neck, and with a sudden hungry snarl lurches forward, driving his fangs ever deeper into Bruce’s lips.
They had never left the edge of the rooftop.
Bruce teeters backward, and can’t snap his wings open fast enough from the Joker’s body to catch himself. Entwined in each other’s leathery membranes, they plummet down to the merciless, damp concrete.
Bruce yells in shock, but this appears to have been the Joker’s intention - with a wicked cackle and a lightning blur of movement he spreads his own wings, and it is all Bruce can do to hold on for dear half-life with wings and aching teeth as the deranged monster glides them away with a howl of macabre laughter.
Finally Bruce is able to pull his mouth away from the rapidly increasing timpani of the Joker’s arteries to shout, “What the hell are you doing?”
The Joker flashes a shredded smile and a pair of gleaming green eyes. “Taking us somewhere…better suited to our purposes.”
Bruce isn’t sure exactly what he means, but is quite certain he doesn’t want to stick around and find out. He is just about to voice his objections - which will most likely entail a more violent response as follow-up - when the Joker ends his haphazard glide and turns them sharply into a window.
Glass rains in a dizzying crystalline shower around them, and at their entrance the young mortal couple inside ends their foreplay routine abruptly. The color drains from their faces until they look like wide-eyed versions of the pale-faced demons themselves. They recognize the shapes of Bat-wings that are all they can discern from the projectile that interrupted their anniversary night.
It may look like their hearts have stopped beating, but the ears of the two intruders can clearly attest to the contrary.
The couple tries to slink away, hoping against hope that they haven’t been seen, while knowing all the while that it is their unfaithful heartbeats that give them away long before a vampire turns to rely upon its sight. But when a blue eye appears from the mess of wings, they surge with hope.
A hope that instantly fades the moment a green eye shows itself as well.
Bruce sees the spark in the heathen’s eye, and lurches forward to pin him down with a sharp, piercing shrill. The Joker takes hold of his throat with his wingclaw and hisses through his fangs, mad emeralds glowing with bloodlust.
The couple gets the message and takes their hurried leave for another hotel - hell, another city - in which to spend their anniversary.
Bruce slashes with his claws at the Joker’s face as he grabs a hold of his head, and makes to throw him across the room and into the wall. But the Joker, in an unexpected move, darts his head forward like the venomous snake he is, latching his fangs into Bruce’s right shoulder and sucking ravenously.
Bruce’s heart thunders to a deafening pitch in his ears, rivaled only by his razor shriek that pierces the night just as sharply as the Joker’s fangs have pierced him. It shouldn’t feel this electric; it should be nothing but pain, and bad pain at that. Not this strangling euphoria that wants to rip his guts out with each and every scream…
The Joker has pushed him onto the bed before he regains as much of his senses as his body will allow. Blood that still runs from his mouth flecks into the air with each human moan and inhuman screech. His eyes squeeze shut in nerve-numbing bliss. The Joker pushes his full weight down on top of him, slathers his tongue all along the new wounds he has dug into his dark Bat’s shoulder.
After a particularly raucous vampiric cry, the Joker chuckles. “I completely agree,” he murmurs lowly into Bruce’s shoulder. “Those two would’ve been good snacks and all,” - he dips his tongue into the puncture marks, eliciting a guttural growl from Bruce - “but why settle for the unwilling, when you can make the sex fun on both ends?”
Bruce becomes a statue at his words. Most specifically at one word in particular.
The Joker senses the transition in his fangmate, and cocks a brow curiously at the change in demeanor. He traces the tip of a fang past the edge of a wound to procure another one of those delicious cries. But Bruce remains silent as the graves they both should have filled ages ago. His eyes stare into the suspicious stain on the ceiling as he attempts to register what he just heard the demon say.
He turns his head to the Joker, looking for all the world like a deer in the green headlights.
“What do you mean…sex?”
Now it is the Joker’s turn to look surprised, and his pale brow furrows around his luminous green eyes. Slowly, his face coils into action, as an inevitable brew of giggles spouts up deep in his throat -
- until he can’t contain it any longer and bursts out in squeals of incredulous laughter.
If Bruce were still completely human he would have blushed bright red. The Joker had clearly misunderstood the nature of his question; of course he knew what sex was. He may be undead, but he was still in some senses a man; he wasn’t ignorant. But…that the Joker had brought it up, while he was enslaved to this jolting current of rapture from the monster’s fangs…it couldn’t be…it couldn’t mean…
“Oh, that’s rich!” the Joker hoots. “Wow, what a great idiot I am! Of course you don’t…don’…doheehaHEEHAHAH!” He descends into his laughter again. “Oh, sweet demons in Hell, I never…”
Bruce scoots away from him on the bed, making to get up and leave. There is no way that - whatever this is - could ever possibly be related to sex. Sex is something human, something he was surprised to still possess a diluted appetite for as he matured through his semi-immortal years. It is not something to be associated with his relations to the bloodthirsty animals he encounters every night, least of all this creature…
The Joker’s wingclaw snags him on his chest before he can get out of reach, and with a sudden display of ferocious strength the monster has Bruce pinned to the bed again. He still shakes with sniggers, but has regained himself enough to look directly into the edgy blue eyes.
“My mistake for not enlightening you,” the Joker says, “but I just assumed you knew, being a vampire and all. But then again, you’re not truly a vampire, are you?” He giggles once at the realization that takes true root in his mind. “Why, I’m your first taste, after all this time! You finally chose, out of all the other suckers out there, little old me to sink your teeth into!” He moves his wingclaw up to stroke down Bruce’s face in a tenderness of questionable sincerity. “I’m honored, dearest.”
Bruce yanks the hook away from his face with his own claw, frustration seething in his eyes. “And what exactly is it that I don’t know?” he snaps.
The Joker spreads his fangs in a sinister smile. “Why, how vampires have sex, darling.”
Bruce is still confused as to what the Joker is referring to, not to mention as to why the menace feels the need to bring this up now. Slowly things are starting to add up in his head, though, and his fangs are positively aching in his mouth, but he still knits his eyebrows together and says dryly, “There’s a difference when it’s vampires?”
The Joker bubbles out a laugh again. “Oh sweetbat, you still don’t get it! There’s all the difference in the world!”
Without warning, the laughing demon surges forward with his fangs again, tearing into Bruce’s lips once more by biting yet another two sets of holes. Bruce’s fangs respond automatically, and at the contact of the two pairs of venom-secreting structures the reaction is instantaneous: Bruce arches up into the Joker, the Joker slams Bruce with his body back into the bed, their teeth become an inferno of rupturing sensation, Bruce is choking down his own blood, nothing makes sense, nothing else matters -
The Joker maneuvers his teeth to rake their saber points down the length of Bruce’s own fangs, dragging down the blood-soaking canines in a gesture simultaneously cruel and gentle, pleasant and agonizing. Bruce leans his head back in a lengthy moan that catches in the back of his throat. He shudders. His teeth are sizzling, fierce in their want for more contact, more blood and teeth.
The Joker has dragged his fangs to dig the most delicate twin turrets down his chin, just barely breaking the ivory flesh. The pressure minutely lessens, inch by inch, until the toxic tips are just barely brushing the skin along his exposed neck.
Bruce hadn’t even realized how far he had thrown his head back, an action he is always so careful to guard against when around the vampires. It’s common sense to safeguard your neck flesh when the fanged ones are on the hunt. But under the actions of the Joker and the carnal wants of his aching teeth, he had simply…reacted. And now his bare neck is exposed with all its red rivers just beneath the chalk surface, trembling in what he realizes the Joker had meant.
…make it fun on both ends…
The Joker is at his Adam’s apple, taking his time as he always does, drawing it out as he lightly sucks at the taut skin, letting his fangs dance just on the edges of penetration.
Why settle for the unwilling…
…PENETRATION…
“…you’re joking,” Bruce gasps. This can’t be what the wretch had meant…
The Joker pauses in his ministrations, lips and fangs still lingering at the base of Bruce’s neck, and raises his green eyes of Hell into the blue of the fallen angel.
“I know my name can be misleading in that way, honeybear,” he intones darkly, “but this time I’m not joking.”
If Bruce were still alive right now he would’ve probably passed out from hyperventilation, but as it is his lungs remain as useless as the vestigial organs they will always remain to be. But his heart has skyrocketed into the realms of sheer insanity at this point, which is what he is about to indulge in, he just knows it. The years of never taking blood into his fangs, and now he pays for it with his ruin.
“It’s quite intriguing,” the Joker continues as he relishes the feel of the throbbing pulse against his fangs, separated only by a thin layer of skin, “just how long you’ve been able to avoid the taste. After all,” he smirks against Bruce’s neck, “it’s only part of our nature. They don’t call it bloodlust for nothing.”
He drifts his head to the side, a practiced mouth tracing the familiar pathways of vessels, smearing his own blood that oozes from his lips along the way, honing in on the prominent jugular as Bruce stiffens like a corpse.
“And it only makes sense, if you really pause to think about it. We don’t have heartbeats. And no blood pumping equals no boners, no?”
His bottom lip drags along Bruce’s clavicle. Marking territory. Bruce can’t stand the way his eyes are pulled like magnets to the Joker’s mouth, engrossed in the entire process.
“Now, between two vampires, it’s purely...recreational. Just to have a good time together.” A single green eye rises from the Joker’s task to wink at Bruce, a strange quirk looming in its depths. “Our…procreative intercourse…well,” he breathes a low, light cackle into Bruce’s neck, “you already know what that is.”
So they propagate their race through rape with the occasional murder on the side, Bruce thinks with revulsion. It makes him want to vomit, had he still possessed that capacity of a human.
He refuses to refer to the vampires as “we.” He is not one of them.
He isn’t.
“Maybe tonight, your opinion of that will change,” the Joker muses into Bruce’s skin, still referring to what he was speaking of aloud, but with that knowing edge of sensing his fellow demon’s thoughts as only he can. “Once I show you just how…good it can be.”
The Joker’s fangs are unsheathed to their full extent, bared and ready for the familiar yet foreign taste they crave beyond any other bath. Bruce’s neck glistens with the Joker’s blood and saliva, lingers with his scent. Marked as his. Bruce wants to clench his neck back down, away from the fangs-turned-phallic-tools that hover an inch above his jugular vein. But his neck and newly-unleashed instincts aren’t letting him, and he proffers his neck up in paralysis as the fangs lower to half an inch above his flesh, a centimeter, a millimeter…
The Joker slowly, slowly, opens his jaw almost like a yawn, bottom teeth resting as anchors on Bruce’s lower neck. His fang tips are just barely grazing the skin, yielding little more than two indentations on the surface. His body vibrates in the anticipation of the thrill.
“Would you just get on with it?” Bruce rasps. Anticipation is not having nearly as positive an effect on him as it is on the practiced torturer.
That one sentence of permission is all the Joker needs to hear, and his lips pull up for a flash into one final grin before locking back into position. His fangs begin their descent.
All is relatively silent as a graveyard. The lancing pain hits the most sensitive of targets in Bruce’s nerve receptors, only gradually intensifying with every dragging second. The tips of the fangs are imbedded, like the initial prick of a shot at the doctor’s office.
But from there it only worsens. The fangs bury deeper, slicking past his flesh and sinew, blood surging frantically to meet them and mix with the venom that leaks uncontrollably from the glands tucked in the anterior catacombs of the Joker’s fangs.
Bruce has seen the Joker feast countless times, but never has he been quite this quiet about it.
Nor has the monster ever quivered to quite this degree while engaged in the act.
When the fangs are engulfed up to half their length, Bruce is the first to break the silence with a less-than-dignified moan that sticks in his throat like a whimper. It only serves to buzz the pain even further, and vibrates against the Joker’s teeth. The continual resurge of liquid against his questing teeth, reinforced by the sudden vibratory sensation, sends the Joker’s senses reeling even further. He hums into Bruce’s neck, sending chills through the dark Bat’s system.
The fangs continue their way in. Bruce is keening with increased voracity with clenched lips and eyes squinted shut, brow tied together yet constantly shifting and writhing, attempting to settle on the most tolerable position to steel against the pain.
But the pain won’t quit, and now a more silent fire is burning through his veins - the venom is lacing through his limbs, centering in his chest within the cavities of his heart, intent on its course to reach the coronary arteries and infect his cardiac muscle with its life-altering drug. Bruce, however, has already been through this process, and the venom instead is uncoiling the most insatiable pit of arousal in his body that he has ever experienced. It’s liquid fire, and he’s drowning in the Joker’s volcano.
The fangs are sheathed to the gums. They lay there, Bruce writhing in miniscule motions, grasping for more comfortable adjustments and finding none. The Joker quivers on top of him and makes no sound.
He is lost in the elixir he has found in Bruce’s neck.
Bruce arches his neck further into the Joker’s mouth, spurred on by instinct as his rational thought diminishes by the second. Suddenly an uncharacteristic intake of unneeded air rushes into the Joker’s nostrils that rest flush with Bruce’s jaw line. Bruce flutters his eyelids open at the breeze, and wonders what it means.
He finds out as the hissing from the Joker’s mouth transforms into a murmur, then a shuddering groan, finally building louder and louder into a great scream of exultation, layered rich and thick with the high-pitched shrills of the undead, yet underscored with a venomous trace of a guttural roar. Of a human roar.
The Joker’s teeth are burning in the pits of Hell.
He lets loose at that instant with a feral snarl, snapping his jaw with all his might with an insistent moan of euphoric madness. Bruce arches off the bed at the jagged gashes that are ripped through the meat on his neck, and screams in a blistering storm of torment. He yelps in pain mixed with that sweet, horrific brand of static pleasure, while the Joker tears strangled cries from his throat and sends them to mingle with the flood of Bruce’s lifeblood that scatters around his teeth, down their necks, into the sheets, slopping every which way it can get.
The Joker twists his neck in irrational fervor to gnaw into more of that sinewy vault that stores this aphrodisiacal nectar. He nips up further to Bruce’s earlobe, and a chunk of muscle is just barely exposed from his assaults.
But Bruce is lost to the sensations. All he wants is for it to stop and for it to never end, to cease and to go on forever. This…this is…the flames at the gates of some twisted Heaven…
The Joker’s fangs, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, lick and ravage and rub and nuzzle and destroy everywhere in the left side of Bruce’s neck. He flies like the wildfire he sprang from, never settling, always suckling somewhere new, yelling and screaming against the power he has never before chanced to come into contact with. Never before this was he ever this high upon taking another’s neck for his own. Never had this much pleasure been produced from it, not from Harvey, not from Harley, not even from the three girls earlier this evening. Nothing like what this immortal heartbeating Bat could give to him.
The Bat is flexing his neck up into the Joker’s mouth, arching over and over into the joyous annihilation that put him in this condition those many years ago. But that was terrifying and had none of these thrills of bliss. That attack has no place compared to this...
At a particularly aching throb that resounds all throughout his teeth, Bruce jolts his eyes open in an ungodly moan. His vision is spinning, but at the same time in better clarity than ever before. His hearing has soared as well, and beyond his own pulse and both his and the Joker’s dying euphoric screams, he hears the thudding, the newest sensation of them all, clamoring, begging for his aching teeth to gain access…
His eyes alight on the writhing and twitching expanse of the Joker’s neck, with the pulse he recently introduced to it clanging in the demon’s veins.
It needs to be let out.
He wastes no time in drawing out the process like the Joker did; he has no experience, no technique to use upon the hapless and inexpert victim - and the Joker, he knows, is neither one of these things. Besides, Bruce cannot wait any longer, and nothing draws Bruce forward but raw instinct and - even more innate - fundamental need, as he vies against the Joker’s strength pressed against him and pounces forward to gouge his fangs into the pale tissue.
He and the Joker both roar in horrendous and furious rapture.
Bruce all but mauls into the Joker’s veins, spurting cold blood everywhere in a powerful rhythmic spray every half-second. The Joker is brought into a sudden new horizon of pain and joy, never having received this treatment in his memory. And all the purple-winged heathen can muster is a repetitive whine into Bruce’s neck for more.
Their wings fold and unwrap chaotically in their bent tunnels of thought, changing from hand to wing and back again in uneven textures and mixtures. They at last settle somewhat in the savage single talons at each dark wingcrest, and claw viciously into each other’s hair and backs. They push each other’s necks closer to them at one point, then change directions and tangle into dark brown and moldy green locks the next moment, in the only warped brand of affection that two so twisted could ever conjure up for the other.
They drink their banquets - the Joker’s warm, Bruce’s chilled - down their gullets with greedy slurps and lascivious moans, but their throats only take the excess flow of whatever drips past the sieves of their fangs. The piercing teeth absorb the blood into their surfaces, which further spurs the venom secretion into each other’s veins and launches the pair into even further groans of ecstasy as their teeth ache and throb anew.
Bruce is soaring into Nirvana now, he can tell, and some faraway corner of his mind tells him that this is better than human sex, better than anything. He can fight the call of the Joker’s blood off no longer, and his new indulgence with this monster is sending his body into tremors and shouts and uneven vampiric pitches and the Joker is doing the same and he knows they must be so close -
This is it.
Right as he hits the peak, Bruce knows this is it. His teeth flood their most potent reserve of venom yet, the kind that he has analyzed over and over in hidden laboratories, searching for its secret that finally plunges the victim into the boneclawing depths of insatiable immortality. It is a drug that has only been proven successful when secreted in its most natural form, and he and the Joker are entwined and united in this most natural ejection of all.
It is only afterward, when the high diminishes and deposits them back on the shores of reality again, that Bruce realizes just how much they were shaking, and how loud they were screaming. The dilapidated bed frame and the soreness of his vocal cords are testament enough to that fact.
As far as Bruce knows, they lay there unmoving for an eternity; they very well could have, given their immortal states. But finally he stirs, and the motion ends up almost mimicking an affectionate nuzzle into the Joker’s bloodied neck.
The Joker hums quietly at the touch, whether from the pleasure or the pain - or perhaps, Bruce muses, the pleasure of both. The Mortal’s Champion then feels a slippery lick on his ear as the Joker sloppily curls his tongue, dripping with both their blood, up into the spiraling contours of the ear shell, down to the lobe to suckle with teasing gossamer lips.
Neither of them speaks, until Bruce slowly, weakly, shifts his right wing into an arm and gingerly feels the over-exaggerated hickey mark on his maimed neck. Inspecting the damage. It throbs dully, and stings at his touch, but in light of all the bliss it finally brought him, he supposes it’s a fair price for his indulgence.
“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” he mutters, not really meaning to voice the thought aloud, but it earns a weak but cunning chuckle from his satanic companion.
“Good thing it’s not morning yet,” the Joker points out. He’s recovering faster from the orgasmic high, having been accustomed to similar sensations a thousand times over before, but even he is thrown into a loopy state of delirium from just how intense it was. No one else had ever brought him to such lofty heights of bloodlusting climax before. Especially with the newer sensations that he still can’t shake off just yet, something long-forgotten…or maybe not even utilized before at all, unneeded until now.
In a flurry of wings Bruce rolls to straddle the Joker as his wings transform fully into arms, and his sated, ache-free fangs retract as he smothers the Joker in a fangless, venomless, simply human…kiss. The Joker is surprised, but the unexpected sensations bloom further, and he isn’t about to start fighting off a new source of potential pleasure anytime soon.
Their devastated necks are spurting blood with an increasing tempo, and the Joker ponders his heart that has unexpectedly begun to beat with a life of its own now. He wonders if he’ll be able to control it in the future, for he is sure that he’ll never get a good grip on it while this Bat is around, if his experiences so far tonight are anything to go by.
“Remember what you told me,” Bruce utters after breaking his initiated kiss for a few heartbeats, “about how vampires don’t get boners because their hearts can’t beat?”
“Uh-huh,” the Joker slurs before returning for another sloppy kiss. He wants to chase back the awakening stirrings in his gut that just feel so ultimately right with this blue-eyed demon, and doesn’t really take in Bruce’s words until he pauses in the kiss, turns the thought around in his head, and opens his eyes slowly to Bruce’s.
He looks down their bodies, and the physical evidence is there. Making it so very obvious that, unlike all other vampires, these two do have heartbeats. Very, very prominent heartbeats.
“Oh,” is all a mystified Joker can say before Bruce invades the Joker’s mouth with his lips, tongue, teeth, chewing on the bulging scars and licking everything he can gain purchase on within the Joker’s lips. The Joker responds, and for one who never does anything so banally human, oh does he respond.
They are both quite thankful that it isn’t morning just yet.
A/N 2: And yes, Part the Third will include both vampiric AND human intercourse. C'mon, mortal AND immortal orgasms combined together? Who WOULDN'T want to write that? It'll be coming soon. :)
Word Count: 4,436
Pairing: Vamp!Bruce/Vamp!Joker
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, only this blood-ridden AU filled with vampire hickey-sex.
Rating: NC-17 this chap. And the next, most likely.
Warnings: violence, blood, bloodplay, somewhat dubcon, graphic fang!sex
Fic Summary: Bruce was bitten when he was eight years old, and has sworn to destroy all others of his kind that ravage the mortals of his city - even the most sadistic and unstoppable of them all.
A/N: I know what you're thinking: how can vampires realistically have sex? They have no blood pumping through their systems, how can male vamps get aroused? Never fear, here's where all your questions get answered about everything you ever wanted to know (and then some) about my original take on vampiric sex. Assisting me in this vamp!sex-ed fic are the one and only Batman and Joker. Because they're HOT getting it on together no matter WHAT immortal creature they happen to be stuck as.
Bruce barely knows what he is seeing anymore. His teeth feel on fire, more potent and lethal than ever before. He never realized just how deadly the two natural weapons could be until this night. Had the Joker been a mortal, he would be long gone by now, what with the ferocity and savagery in which Bruce’s fangs have latched into his lips.
But all Bruce can think of anymore is his fangs and the blood around them. Burning, tearing, flowing, ebbing, humming, groaning, more…
The dark hook of his wingclaw has torn through the Joker’s greening hair, sending a quiet stream of more of the cherry pie liquid down his scalp, toward the base of his neck. Bruce doesn’t know how he senses every cell of the demon’s blood so acutely, for his eyes have been closed this entire time…but he doesn’t give a damn at present.
The Joker feels the wet blood lap at his neck, and with a sudden hungry snarl lurches forward, driving his fangs ever deeper into Bruce’s lips.
They had never left the edge of the rooftop.
Bruce teeters backward, and can’t snap his wings open fast enough from the Joker’s body to catch himself. Entwined in each other’s leathery membranes, they plummet down to the merciless, damp concrete.
Bruce yells in shock, but this appears to have been the Joker’s intention - with a wicked cackle and a lightning blur of movement he spreads his own wings, and it is all Bruce can do to hold on for dear half-life with wings and aching teeth as the deranged monster glides them away with a howl of macabre laughter.
Finally Bruce is able to pull his mouth away from the rapidly increasing timpani of the Joker’s arteries to shout, “What the hell are you doing?”
The Joker flashes a shredded smile and a pair of gleaming green eyes. “Taking us somewhere…better suited to our purposes.”
Bruce isn’t sure exactly what he means, but is quite certain he doesn’t want to stick around and find out. He is just about to voice his objections - which will most likely entail a more violent response as follow-up - when the Joker ends his haphazard glide and turns them sharply into a window.
Glass rains in a dizzying crystalline shower around them, and at their entrance the young mortal couple inside ends their foreplay routine abruptly. The color drains from their faces until they look like wide-eyed versions of the pale-faced demons themselves. They recognize the shapes of Bat-wings that are all they can discern from the projectile that interrupted their anniversary night.
It may look like their hearts have stopped beating, but the ears of the two intruders can clearly attest to the contrary.
The couple tries to slink away, hoping against hope that they haven’t been seen, while knowing all the while that it is their unfaithful heartbeats that give them away long before a vampire turns to rely upon its sight. But when a blue eye appears from the mess of wings, they surge with hope.
A hope that instantly fades the moment a green eye shows itself as well.
Bruce sees the spark in the heathen’s eye, and lurches forward to pin him down with a sharp, piercing shrill. The Joker takes hold of his throat with his wingclaw and hisses through his fangs, mad emeralds glowing with bloodlust.
The couple gets the message and takes their hurried leave for another hotel - hell, another city - in which to spend their anniversary.
Bruce slashes with his claws at the Joker’s face as he grabs a hold of his head, and makes to throw him across the room and into the wall. But the Joker, in an unexpected move, darts his head forward like the venomous snake he is, latching his fangs into Bruce’s right shoulder and sucking ravenously.
Bruce’s heart thunders to a deafening pitch in his ears, rivaled only by his razor shriek that pierces the night just as sharply as the Joker’s fangs have pierced him. It shouldn’t feel this electric; it should be nothing but pain, and bad pain at that. Not this strangling euphoria that wants to rip his guts out with each and every scream…
The Joker has pushed him onto the bed before he regains as much of his senses as his body will allow. Blood that still runs from his mouth flecks into the air with each human moan and inhuman screech. His eyes squeeze shut in nerve-numbing bliss. The Joker pushes his full weight down on top of him, slathers his tongue all along the new wounds he has dug into his dark Bat’s shoulder.
After a particularly raucous vampiric cry, the Joker chuckles. “I completely agree,” he murmurs lowly into Bruce’s shoulder. “Those two would’ve been good snacks and all,” - he dips his tongue into the puncture marks, eliciting a guttural growl from Bruce - “but why settle for the unwilling, when you can make the sex fun on both ends?”
Bruce becomes a statue at his words. Most specifically at one word in particular.
The Joker senses the transition in his fangmate, and cocks a brow curiously at the change in demeanor. He traces the tip of a fang past the edge of a wound to procure another one of those delicious cries. But Bruce remains silent as the graves they both should have filled ages ago. His eyes stare into the suspicious stain on the ceiling as he attempts to register what he just heard the demon say.
He turns his head to the Joker, looking for all the world like a deer in the green headlights.
“What do you mean…sex?”
Now it is the Joker’s turn to look surprised, and his pale brow furrows around his luminous green eyes. Slowly, his face coils into action, as an inevitable brew of giggles spouts up deep in his throat -
- until he can’t contain it any longer and bursts out in squeals of incredulous laughter.
If Bruce were still completely human he would have blushed bright red. The Joker had clearly misunderstood the nature of his question; of course he knew what sex was. He may be undead, but he was still in some senses a man; he wasn’t ignorant. But…that the Joker had brought it up, while he was enslaved to this jolting current of rapture from the monster’s fangs…it couldn’t be…it couldn’t mean…
“Oh, that’s rich!” the Joker hoots. “Wow, what a great idiot I am! Of course you don’t…don’…doheehaHEEHAHAH!” He descends into his laughter again. “Oh, sweet demons in Hell, I never…”
Bruce scoots away from him on the bed, making to get up and leave. There is no way that - whatever this is - could ever possibly be related to sex. Sex is something human, something he was surprised to still possess a diluted appetite for as he matured through his semi-immortal years. It is not something to be associated with his relations to the bloodthirsty animals he encounters every night, least of all this creature…
The Joker’s wingclaw snags him on his chest before he can get out of reach, and with a sudden display of ferocious strength the monster has Bruce pinned to the bed again. He still shakes with sniggers, but has regained himself enough to look directly into the edgy blue eyes.
“My mistake for not enlightening you,” the Joker says, “but I just assumed you knew, being a vampire and all. But then again, you’re not truly a vampire, are you?” He giggles once at the realization that takes true root in his mind. “Why, I’m your first taste, after all this time! You finally chose, out of all the other suckers out there, little old me to sink your teeth into!” He moves his wingclaw up to stroke down Bruce’s face in a tenderness of questionable sincerity. “I’m honored, dearest.”
Bruce yanks the hook away from his face with his own claw, frustration seething in his eyes. “And what exactly is it that I don’t know?” he snaps.
The Joker spreads his fangs in a sinister smile. “Why, how vampires have sex, darling.”
Bruce is still confused as to what the Joker is referring to, not to mention as to why the menace feels the need to bring this up now. Slowly things are starting to add up in his head, though, and his fangs are positively aching in his mouth, but he still knits his eyebrows together and says dryly, “There’s a difference when it’s vampires?”
The Joker bubbles out a laugh again. “Oh sweetbat, you still don’t get it! There’s all the difference in the world!”
Without warning, the laughing demon surges forward with his fangs again, tearing into Bruce’s lips once more by biting yet another two sets of holes. Bruce’s fangs respond automatically, and at the contact of the two pairs of venom-secreting structures the reaction is instantaneous: Bruce arches up into the Joker, the Joker slams Bruce with his body back into the bed, their teeth become an inferno of rupturing sensation, Bruce is choking down his own blood, nothing makes sense, nothing else matters -
The Joker maneuvers his teeth to rake their saber points down the length of Bruce’s own fangs, dragging down the blood-soaking canines in a gesture simultaneously cruel and gentle, pleasant and agonizing. Bruce leans his head back in a lengthy moan that catches in the back of his throat. He shudders. His teeth are sizzling, fierce in their want for more contact, more blood and teeth.
The Joker has dragged his fangs to dig the most delicate twin turrets down his chin, just barely breaking the ivory flesh. The pressure minutely lessens, inch by inch, until the toxic tips are just barely brushing the skin along his exposed neck.
Bruce hadn’t even realized how far he had thrown his head back, an action he is always so careful to guard against when around the vampires. It’s common sense to safeguard your neck flesh when the fanged ones are on the hunt. But under the actions of the Joker and the carnal wants of his aching teeth, he had simply…reacted. And now his bare neck is exposed with all its red rivers just beneath the chalk surface, trembling in what he realizes the Joker had meant.
…make it fun on both ends…
The Joker is at his Adam’s apple, taking his time as he always does, drawing it out as he lightly sucks at the taut skin, letting his fangs dance just on the edges of penetration.
Why settle for the unwilling…
…PENETRATION…
“…you’re joking,” Bruce gasps. This can’t be what the wretch had meant…
The Joker pauses in his ministrations, lips and fangs still lingering at the base of Bruce’s neck, and raises his green eyes of Hell into the blue of the fallen angel.
“I know my name can be misleading in that way, honeybear,” he intones darkly, “but this time I’m not joking.”
If Bruce were still alive right now he would’ve probably passed out from hyperventilation, but as it is his lungs remain as useless as the vestigial organs they will always remain to be. But his heart has skyrocketed into the realms of sheer insanity at this point, which is what he is about to indulge in, he just knows it. The years of never taking blood into his fangs, and now he pays for it with his ruin.
“It’s quite intriguing,” the Joker continues as he relishes the feel of the throbbing pulse against his fangs, separated only by a thin layer of skin, “just how long you’ve been able to avoid the taste. After all,” he smirks against Bruce’s neck, “it’s only part of our nature. They don’t call it bloodlust for nothing.”
He drifts his head to the side, a practiced mouth tracing the familiar pathways of vessels, smearing his own blood that oozes from his lips along the way, honing in on the prominent jugular as Bruce stiffens like a corpse.
“And it only makes sense, if you really pause to think about it. We don’t have heartbeats. And no blood pumping equals no boners, no?”
His bottom lip drags along Bruce’s clavicle. Marking territory. Bruce can’t stand the way his eyes are pulled like magnets to the Joker’s mouth, engrossed in the entire process.
“Now, between two vampires, it’s purely...recreational. Just to have a good time together.” A single green eye rises from the Joker’s task to wink at Bruce, a strange quirk looming in its depths. “Our…procreative intercourse…well,” he breathes a low, light cackle into Bruce’s neck, “you already know what that is.”
So they propagate their race through rape with the occasional murder on the side, Bruce thinks with revulsion. It makes him want to vomit, had he still possessed that capacity of a human.
He refuses to refer to the vampires as “we.” He is not one of them.
He isn’t.
“Maybe tonight, your opinion of that will change,” the Joker muses into Bruce’s skin, still referring to what he was speaking of aloud, but with that knowing edge of sensing his fellow demon’s thoughts as only he can. “Once I show you just how…good it can be.”
The Joker’s fangs are unsheathed to their full extent, bared and ready for the familiar yet foreign taste they crave beyond any other bath. Bruce’s neck glistens with the Joker’s blood and saliva, lingers with his scent. Marked as his. Bruce wants to clench his neck back down, away from the fangs-turned-phallic-tools that hover an inch above his jugular vein. But his neck and newly-unleashed instincts aren’t letting him, and he proffers his neck up in paralysis as the fangs lower to half an inch above his flesh, a centimeter, a millimeter…
The Joker slowly, slowly, opens his jaw almost like a yawn, bottom teeth resting as anchors on Bruce’s lower neck. His fang tips are just barely grazing the skin, yielding little more than two indentations on the surface. His body vibrates in the anticipation of the thrill.
“Would you just get on with it?” Bruce rasps. Anticipation is not having nearly as positive an effect on him as it is on the practiced torturer.
That one sentence of permission is all the Joker needs to hear, and his lips pull up for a flash into one final grin before locking back into position. His fangs begin their descent.
All is relatively silent as a graveyard. The lancing pain hits the most sensitive of targets in Bruce’s nerve receptors, only gradually intensifying with every dragging second. The tips of the fangs are imbedded, like the initial prick of a shot at the doctor’s office.
But from there it only worsens. The fangs bury deeper, slicking past his flesh and sinew, blood surging frantically to meet them and mix with the venom that leaks uncontrollably from the glands tucked in the anterior catacombs of the Joker’s fangs.
Bruce has seen the Joker feast countless times, but never has he been quite this quiet about it.
Nor has the monster ever quivered to quite this degree while engaged in the act.
When the fangs are engulfed up to half their length, Bruce is the first to break the silence with a less-than-dignified moan that sticks in his throat like a whimper. It only serves to buzz the pain even further, and vibrates against the Joker’s teeth. The continual resurge of liquid against his questing teeth, reinforced by the sudden vibratory sensation, sends the Joker’s senses reeling even further. He hums into Bruce’s neck, sending chills through the dark Bat’s system.
The fangs continue their way in. Bruce is keening with increased voracity with clenched lips and eyes squinted shut, brow tied together yet constantly shifting and writhing, attempting to settle on the most tolerable position to steel against the pain.
But the pain won’t quit, and now a more silent fire is burning through his veins - the venom is lacing through his limbs, centering in his chest within the cavities of his heart, intent on its course to reach the coronary arteries and infect his cardiac muscle with its life-altering drug. Bruce, however, has already been through this process, and the venom instead is uncoiling the most insatiable pit of arousal in his body that he has ever experienced. It’s liquid fire, and he’s drowning in the Joker’s volcano.
The fangs are sheathed to the gums. They lay there, Bruce writhing in miniscule motions, grasping for more comfortable adjustments and finding none. The Joker quivers on top of him and makes no sound.
He is lost in the elixir he has found in Bruce’s neck.
Bruce arches his neck further into the Joker’s mouth, spurred on by instinct as his rational thought diminishes by the second. Suddenly an uncharacteristic intake of unneeded air rushes into the Joker’s nostrils that rest flush with Bruce’s jaw line. Bruce flutters his eyelids open at the breeze, and wonders what it means.
He finds out as the hissing from the Joker’s mouth transforms into a murmur, then a shuddering groan, finally building louder and louder into a great scream of exultation, layered rich and thick with the high-pitched shrills of the undead, yet underscored with a venomous trace of a guttural roar. Of a human roar.
The Joker’s teeth are burning in the pits of Hell.
He lets loose at that instant with a feral snarl, snapping his jaw with all his might with an insistent moan of euphoric madness. Bruce arches off the bed at the jagged gashes that are ripped through the meat on his neck, and screams in a blistering storm of torment. He yelps in pain mixed with that sweet, horrific brand of static pleasure, while the Joker tears strangled cries from his throat and sends them to mingle with the flood of Bruce’s lifeblood that scatters around his teeth, down their necks, into the sheets, slopping every which way it can get.
The Joker twists his neck in irrational fervor to gnaw into more of that sinewy vault that stores this aphrodisiacal nectar. He nips up further to Bruce’s earlobe, and a chunk of muscle is just barely exposed from his assaults.
But Bruce is lost to the sensations. All he wants is for it to stop and for it to never end, to cease and to go on forever. This…this is…the flames at the gates of some twisted Heaven…
The Joker’s fangs, his lips, his teeth, his tongue, lick and ravage and rub and nuzzle and destroy everywhere in the left side of Bruce’s neck. He flies like the wildfire he sprang from, never settling, always suckling somewhere new, yelling and screaming against the power he has never before chanced to come into contact with. Never before this was he ever this high upon taking another’s neck for his own. Never had this much pleasure been produced from it, not from Harvey, not from Harley, not even from the three girls earlier this evening. Nothing like what this immortal heartbeating Bat could give to him.
The Bat is flexing his neck up into the Joker’s mouth, arching over and over into the joyous annihilation that put him in this condition those many years ago. But that was terrifying and had none of these thrills of bliss. That attack has no place compared to this...
At a particularly aching throb that resounds all throughout his teeth, Bruce jolts his eyes open in an ungodly moan. His vision is spinning, but at the same time in better clarity than ever before. His hearing has soared as well, and beyond his own pulse and both his and the Joker’s dying euphoric screams, he hears the thudding, the newest sensation of them all, clamoring, begging for his aching teeth to gain access…
His eyes alight on the writhing and twitching expanse of the Joker’s neck, with the pulse he recently introduced to it clanging in the demon’s veins.
It needs to be let out.
He wastes no time in drawing out the process like the Joker did; he has no experience, no technique to use upon the hapless and inexpert victim - and the Joker, he knows, is neither one of these things. Besides, Bruce cannot wait any longer, and nothing draws Bruce forward but raw instinct and - even more innate - fundamental need, as he vies against the Joker’s strength pressed against him and pounces forward to gouge his fangs into the pale tissue.
He and the Joker both roar in horrendous and furious rapture.
Bruce all but mauls into the Joker’s veins, spurting cold blood everywhere in a powerful rhythmic spray every half-second. The Joker is brought into a sudden new horizon of pain and joy, never having received this treatment in his memory. And all the purple-winged heathen can muster is a repetitive whine into Bruce’s neck for more.
Their wings fold and unwrap chaotically in their bent tunnels of thought, changing from hand to wing and back again in uneven textures and mixtures. They at last settle somewhat in the savage single talons at each dark wingcrest, and claw viciously into each other’s hair and backs. They push each other’s necks closer to them at one point, then change directions and tangle into dark brown and moldy green locks the next moment, in the only warped brand of affection that two so twisted could ever conjure up for the other.
They drink their banquets - the Joker’s warm, Bruce’s chilled - down their gullets with greedy slurps and lascivious moans, but their throats only take the excess flow of whatever drips past the sieves of their fangs. The piercing teeth absorb the blood into their surfaces, which further spurs the venom secretion into each other’s veins and launches the pair into even further groans of ecstasy as their teeth ache and throb anew.
Bruce is soaring into Nirvana now, he can tell, and some faraway corner of his mind tells him that this is better than human sex, better than anything. He can fight the call of the Joker’s blood off no longer, and his new indulgence with this monster is sending his body into tremors and shouts and uneven vampiric pitches and the Joker is doing the same and he knows they must be so close -
This is it.
Right as he hits the peak, Bruce knows this is it. His teeth flood their most potent reserve of venom yet, the kind that he has analyzed over and over in hidden laboratories, searching for its secret that finally plunges the victim into the boneclawing depths of insatiable immortality. It is a drug that has only been proven successful when secreted in its most natural form, and he and the Joker are entwined and united in this most natural ejection of all.
It is only afterward, when the high diminishes and deposits them back on the shores of reality again, that Bruce realizes just how much they were shaking, and how loud they were screaming. The dilapidated bed frame and the soreness of his vocal cords are testament enough to that fact.
As far as Bruce knows, they lay there unmoving for an eternity; they very well could have, given their immortal states. But finally he stirs, and the motion ends up almost mimicking an affectionate nuzzle into the Joker’s bloodied neck.
The Joker hums quietly at the touch, whether from the pleasure or the pain - or perhaps, Bruce muses, the pleasure of both. The Mortal’s Champion then feels a slippery lick on his ear as the Joker sloppily curls his tongue, dripping with both their blood, up into the spiraling contours of the ear shell, down to the lobe to suckle with teasing gossamer lips.
Neither of them speaks, until Bruce slowly, weakly, shifts his right wing into an arm and gingerly feels the over-exaggerated hickey mark on his maimed neck. Inspecting the damage. It throbs dully, and stings at his touch, but in light of all the bliss it finally brought him, he supposes it’s a fair price for his indulgence.
“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” he mutters, not really meaning to voice the thought aloud, but it earns a weak but cunning chuckle from his satanic companion.
“Good thing it’s not morning yet,” the Joker points out. He’s recovering faster from the orgasmic high, having been accustomed to similar sensations a thousand times over before, but even he is thrown into a loopy state of delirium from just how intense it was. No one else had ever brought him to such lofty heights of bloodlusting climax before. Especially with the newer sensations that he still can’t shake off just yet, something long-forgotten…or maybe not even utilized before at all, unneeded until now.
In a flurry of wings Bruce rolls to straddle the Joker as his wings transform fully into arms, and his sated, ache-free fangs retract as he smothers the Joker in a fangless, venomless, simply human…kiss. The Joker is surprised, but the unexpected sensations bloom further, and he isn’t about to start fighting off a new source of potential pleasure anytime soon.
Their devastated necks are spurting blood with an increasing tempo, and the Joker ponders his heart that has unexpectedly begun to beat with a life of its own now. He wonders if he’ll be able to control it in the future, for he is sure that he’ll never get a good grip on it while this Bat is around, if his experiences so far tonight are anything to go by.
“Remember what you told me,” Bruce utters after breaking his initiated kiss for a few heartbeats, “about how vampires don’t get boners because their hearts can’t beat?”
“Uh-huh,” the Joker slurs before returning for another sloppy kiss. He wants to chase back the awakening stirrings in his gut that just feel so ultimately right with this blue-eyed demon, and doesn’t really take in Bruce’s words until he pauses in the kiss, turns the thought around in his head, and opens his eyes slowly to Bruce’s.
He looks down their bodies, and the physical evidence is there. Making it so very obvious that, unlike all other vampires, these two do have heartbeats. Very, very prominent heartbeats.
“Oh,” is all a mystified Joker can say before Bruce invades the Joker’s mouth with his lips, tongue, teeth, chewing on the bulging scars and licking everything he can gain purchase on within the Joker’s lips. The Joker responds, and for one who never does anything so banally human, oh does he respond.
They are both quite thankful that it isn’t morning just yet.
A/N 2: And yes, Part the Third will include both vampiric AND human intercourse. C'mon, mortal AND immortal orgasms combined together? Who WOULDN'T want to write that? It'll be coming soon. :)