Happy (belated) Heath Ledger Day!!! (aka "Lessons" sequel, aaka PORN)
So sorry, but I wasn't able to get this finished in time for April 4th, which would have been Heathus' 32nd birthday. So I'll have to make do with a belated celebration entry. Because what better way to celebrate the life and work of one of the greatest actors of our time than by letting one of his most colorful characters have hot gay sex with said character's soulmate? :D
Title: Tests
Word Count: 10, 128
Pairing: Joker/Bruce
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, but if I did...well...this wouldn't be called "fanfic," it would be called "FUCKING CANON OF CANON-FUCKING. NOW MAKE THE OWNER OF BATMAN AND JOKER A SANDWICH." *starves to death because I'm not Bob Kane, Bill Finger, or Chris Nolan*
Rating: NC-17 fo' sho'
Warnings: references to rough sex in the past, graphic depictions of sex in the present, allusions to wonderful hot sex in the future :D YAY!
Summary: Bruce's thoughts directed at Joker as they get it on the very next night.
A/N: This is the sequel to "Lessons," my first ever porno fic experiment. That one was from J's POV, so obviously its sequel has to be from B's. Because I can't leave these things one-sided when it comes to this pairing. I love them both too much. <3<3 But since this is Porn Without any semblence of Plot, it's not totally necessary to read "Lessons" before "Tests." But hey, it's a quickie B/J sex fic, so why not? ;) /pimping prequel
I remember the first time I fucked you. Well, the first time I chose to fuck you. The first few times, those first few weeks, it couldn’t quite be called choice. No more than our usual battles are. Yes, we are fully responsible for our actions against each other in this city we’ve grown to share, but I don’t think you viewed leaving as a viable option any more than I did. Fate is our mutual snare, my lo…
…my love.
That is what you are to me now.
God have mercy on us both.
No, God have mercy on everyone else. They’ll need it, they’ll deserve it, more than we ever could.
But the first time we knew each other, and the several times after that, everything was a mess. You remember, I know you do. It was a delirious time of my life, of sheer insanity. Always half-drunk, or maybe too sober to be thinking clearly. All I knew was that it was a necessary release. Just as Batman is. It was an action, a fact of life, as unavoidable as your smiling scars and my darkened cowl. And my id blotted out any moral objections my superego tried to raise.
Until that night. The night I realized just what it was I had been doing to you, or you to me, or both of us to each other and ourselves. I hadn’t just been trying to win against you; I had been fucking you. You weren’t just bringing yourself intolerably closer to my own tattered soul; you had brought yourself inside of me. In every physical and metaphorical sense of those actions.
I couldn’t let you do that anymore.
I wasn’t going to, couldn’t let myself lose control to your whims and my own perverse instincts again. But that night…later, I tried to tell myself that you made me, but now I know that’s a flat-out lie. If anything, I made you.
Before I knew it, the calculated decision was made, as I stripped you to your skin and cuffed your wrists behind your back, barely taking the time to slick up with my saliva before I took you hard and unannounced. Every stroke was filled with purpose now, and I couldn’t deny that I was fully aware of my actions and their consequences that time around.
You nearly broke me that night.
I’ve never told you that, but maybe you already knew. I wanted to kill you that night.
I wanted to fuck you to death.
And maybe if we had been two uncomplicated criminals, I would have been able to. You would have bled out, a crucial vein would have popped, you would have gone into shock, a long-dormant aneurysm would have ruptured, your heart would have beat too fast to maintain itself, something. You would’ve been gone before you came. I was that brutal.
But all you did was laugh. Your knees, shins, and half your face were bloodied, scraped raw across the concrete with each of my domineering movements. Your wrists were chafed purple from yanking to get free, maybe to escape, maybe to touch yourself, maybe to kick me away to reciprocate the same treatment; maybe just from reflexive contraction like the rest of your body. Who knows what exactly I had been hoping to evoke from you, but gasping cackles were all that bubbled to the surface with every pump.
You knew, didn’t you. You knew that I was close to the edge, closer than ever. That I was going to personally end your life that night, one way or another. And that I’d spend every moment afterward screaming at myself in the shower, stroking myself to drown me in my broken shame of horrifying orgasms, too cracked beyond repair to leave my memories.
Maybe I sensed you knew, just before I spilled into you. It held me on the edge, that realization. And I was a coward.
I stopped my motions. I couldn’t do it. I had failed.
And you laughed harder into your own bloodstains.
I was trying to catch my breath, but I was still inside your squeezing, pulsing body. I still had to finish this to leave, and at least end it with a shred of dignity still intact. As if it wasn’t too late at that point for any show of nobility. But I had to bring myself back. I couldn’t let myself bring the Batman down. I didn’t deserve that honor.
So I resumed the halted actions, meekly and softly rocking into you. A far cry from my previous fare, but I could at the least pretend to show some compassion after sinking so low. There was hardly anything left to lose at that point.
I will never understand what happened after that. I’ll never understand you. Of all the societal deviants I’ve come across, you have to be the most enigmatic. Anyone else would have somewhat welcomed the change of pace, and would have gloated further at my sign of semi-surrender.
But you couldn’t stand it.
You let out this moan - you remember, I bet, though you may have tried to include it among your blocked and repressed memories. I, on the other hand, have savored that sound in my head nearly every early morning afterward. And you didn’t stop there. You writhed and wriggled, what anyone else would have done in the face of the preceding treatment. You keened against the gentle brushes inside you, and now I knew your struggles against the handcuffs were motivated with the intent of breaking loose. Maybe even of leaving.
But I was the one who left you, after a warm and spreading orgasm for each of us in quick succession. I uncuffed you and fled like the coward I am, but even if I had stayed I don’t think you would have been able to muster a rebuke. We were both too far gone in shock for that.
From there, I realized that the key to breaking the beast was pleasure, the tender baring of a human soul that you (and sometimes myself) always denied that we both possessed. We were men of a different mettle, you said, and our carnal appetites unsheathed our greatest elements through the roughest interaction, the most extreme of fucking sessions, the silent petrified agony of severed veins and split, bleeding skin. Of pain. And with those two opposing ideologies of what our trysts should embody, we entered a fray of an entirely different kind.
You dealt out the worst pain I’ve endured. You’d bind me in the most inhumane of fashions, laughing yourself silly as you rode me into the night, while I screamed your name and panted like the cheapest of whores. We were each others’ whores, and maybe still are, lending our favors to each other exclusively, for no one else can afford the steep price to be paid for our services.
You’d press your thumb into my shame like smearing a crushed insect’s guts across the glass, bringing me just to the edge before backing off and retreating into the shadows without a trace, except for the agonizing erection you’d coaxed from me. Restrained as I was, I could do nothing about it, waiting sometimes for hours on end for you to return and finish the damn job, knowing you were scarcely yards away just out of my sight, to better watch the beginnings of my mindless thrusting into the air. That was what brought you back, letting me think of you to just barely suffice at getting me off, while the display would inevitably bring the sensation of semen spilling onto my ass not three seconds after my own ended. Timing your body just so I could feel the worst of the shame crush my splintered spirit, my low in sync with your high.
You’d untie me after you finished, and I’d summon the will somehow to grab you and hold you close, pressing the kisses we both hated into your skin. But it was the one way I had found of getting you on edge, so as much as it repulsed me the next day how I had to nuzzle your neck, weave through your hair, caress your genitals, give you affection to gain an advantage, I still followed through with my pledge to never let you win.
I certainly wasn’t winning either, but I had never created this distilled monster of Batman to gain a total victory. That was always out of the question. There is no saving my soul at this point.
Until…
Wow, you must be having a potent effect on me, to get me cracking jokes like that. To think either one of us could be saved through this new bond we’ve forged. Through anything.
But all the same…
If anything could raise us up, this is it. Because as wrong as it may seem for two enemies, two rivals, two men of broken souls and scarred psyches to have found a painful, bastardized rendition of that thing called love…
…it’s still something.
And I think - I hope - it’s enough. For me. For you. For us.
I don’t quite know exactly when the shift happened in my motives. When the actions of gentle lovemaking I initiated began to spring from the desire of their intended aim. When I didn’t pleasure you to make you weak, but simply…to pleasure you. To make you feel…good. Why I wanted you to feel good, I didn’t think I would ever know. In retrospect, I was just treading the same path of denial I had always walked.
I didn’t want to admit I was falling in love with you. That you meant something to me beyond a man who was only my biggest obstacle. You had become the man, the person, I shared my most intimate desires with, my core persona, not Batman or Bruce Wayne or any variant in between. Just…me. Whoever I am, he was only ever expressed in his purest form with you. His best, his worst, everything. And no one but you would ever know him as you did.
I tried so desperately to teach you pleasure, without even consciously knowing why I worked so hard each night to have you accept my bared heart and soul, now as naked as my body was with yours each night. But now I realize you had already accepted both. And I had returned the acceptance in kind. We just didn’t know it, didn’t recognize it, until it was mutually understood how we had staked our claim.
Last night I told you that I loved you. After we left the construction site together, I brought you to my home, into my own bed, and I showed you. I demonstrated all you had tried to teach me.
There were no restraints, but that was the only thing missing to separate it from the torture you put me through for eight months. But this time, I dealt it out. I claimed you as mine in the first morning light, cementing this strangling, horrendous bond we’ve been born into together with every harsh, rapid thrust. You pushed back on my every stroke, my nails clawed your bleeding hips, you moaned, I gasped, our knees fought for traction on my silken sheets to fight our joined momentum, our sweat mingled together, you looked over your shoulder to softly moan my name (Bruce this time, not Bats) in my ear as my chin hooked over your collarbone, before biting down with a shout of Joker as I watched you climax into my hand and I was coming inside you and fuck -
You left not twenty minutes later. Said you had “things to do.”
And now, as I walk up the stairs to the second floor of my manor, I’m not sure if I’m dreading what I might find in my bedroom…or thrilled.
Usually a day at Wayne Enterprises only appeals to me when I can spend it working on my next project in my nightly crusade against crime. Against you, most of the time. But today even that couldn’t keep me engaged. All day my mind was on last night, and how it might shape tonight. Meetings had me staring out the window, wondering where you are, while testing my latest weaponry made me think of fighting you, and what our new pseudo-struggle in my bed might entail.
Today at work lasted eight hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-three seconds. Dinner after that took seventy-six minutes, nine seconds.
I think you finally succeeded.
I am going crazy because of you.
Congratulations, Joker. You brought the Batman down by making him fall. In love. With you. I hope you’re happy.
I know I’m fucking ecstatic. High, even. Just thinking about you.
And about what I want from you tonight.
I have no idea what it is you’re planning next, whether your reference to “things to do” involves your usual mass-murdering agenda, something I should be concerned about stopping, or…what I hope it means. But regardless, somehow I’ll get you back in my arms tonight, and when I do, I know where I want things to go. What I want is…
God. I’m at my bedroom door. And you’d better be behind it, or I think I’ll go mad from leaving you for so long. Usually the drive to be in close proximity to you isn’t quite this strong, but it’s there now, and it’s alive, and I can’t fight it and I don’t want to. I’m tired of denying the bliss you make me feel, the surrender I’ve come to crave both to you and from you at the same time. Last night gave me a taste of nirvana. Tonight, I want to take it all for us both, and drown myself in this love. Your love. You.
If that’s what you have in mind, too. I still can’t trust your veiled intentions entirely. You lead me on a haphazard guessing game with every word, every gesture, every look. To deny that it’s become my favorite puzzle to solve would taste a lie.
I open the door before I even make the conscious decision too. I’ve delayed this long enough; my want for you has waited all day. You may not even be behind the door, but somehow I get the feeling you’re there. Maybe I just want you there so badly I’m deluding myself. But as I enter the room, I know this feeling is too strong to be conjured from my own mind.
…candles?
I blink. The lights are off, but the room is filled with a soft glow.
…candles?
I’m not sure what to think. Once again, caught between desire and edginess. Now I’m not sure which one will win out.
Until I see you, lounging on my bed in the middle of the candles’ warmth, and upon noticing the door opening, you open your black-rimmed eyes and send that green gaze at me…
Finally.
…what are you doing? I still can’t form words, I’m so caught off-guard. Mixing you with anything burning is usually a very lethal combination. But the way you’re situated on my bed, shaded just so in the dozens of flickering pinpricks of firelight, with those eyes…
And now you’re smiling with your mouth along with your eyes, with that light that I’m sure is only reserved for me. Even more so than for killing people.
I hope.
Wordlessly you ease off the bed and start toward me. All the while I’m paralyzed by my apprehension. I finally claim the wits enough to close the door behind me and ask, “…what are you doing?”
You flash a smirk in amusement at my skepticism. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Quite honestly, Joker, “Like you’re about to set my house on fire.”
Now you’re slowing toward me, smiling wider, letting a low chuckle loose from your throat. “Now Bats, you know I’ve never been one for using the same gag twice.” I stiffen slightly at the reference to the last time one of my enemies burned my parents’ mansion to the ground, but you’re getting closer, and the room is getting warmer with your every step…
“Besides,” you continue, “I thought it would…set the mood and all. Or is that not what playboy vigilantes r’into these days?”
You’re right in front of me now, your nose nearly touching mine, and as your hands spread across my shoulders it eases me enough to lean forward, brushing our noses together. This is such a foreign experience to me - not just to have this tenderness with you, but that you are the one to instigate it. Usually you shun this type of interaction between us; it’s always been your weakness that I’ve exploited. But now…
“So no gasoline on the floor?” is all I can think of to say, and you hum once before…
Jesus.
You’ve never kissed me this softly, this gently, so chaste yet so enticing at the same time. My eyes are closed without a second thought, and my hands move up your sides as yours rest still at my shoulders. Each point of contact is pulled into a pulsing hypersensitivity, spikes of heat striking my blood at each location.
You lessen the contact so minutely until your lips are a hair’s breadth from mine. Our eyes open, and we’re still so close our noses touch, with only the slightest lean forward necessary to lock our mouths together again. Your eyes speak exactly how I feel inside: calm, focused, knowing. And utterly enthralled with the man we’re on the verge of holding to us.
“Not tonight,” you whisper, and I bring you in for another, firmer kiss, wrapping my arms around your purple-garbed back. It’s one of those times where I realize just how warm you are, how solid and real you feel when I hold you to me. Your hands curl over to clutch my biceps, which nearly tremble at your touch. Your lips begin to change things up, nipping almost playfully. Your tongue is flicking out, like it always does, only this time with the purpose of swiping at my lips, not yours. I must say I like this better.
I’m certainly enjoying these kisses, so unlike what I’ve ever experienced with you. Even more than I’ve experienced with any date, any girlfriend, even Rach -
You notice my brief pause, and in response you deepen the kiss, requesting access with your tongue.
You’ve never requested access before.
You’ve forced that wet muscle down my throat countless times without a care, yes, but now you’re lapping at my lips, asking permission. Far more than you usually do - the most you’ve ever done of that nature is a sly glance up at me before you suck me off, or a hand cupping my jaw with fingers probing to be suckled in tandem with your thrusts behind me. You follow through with the actions you know I’ll love just as much as I’ll hate myself for loving them, with you completely uncaring whether I signed up for it or not.
But now it’s you that I love. Which makes everything so much more enjoyable. And that’s why I willingly open my mouth to your tongue for the second time of my life, letting you lick at my teeth and drown me in your wild world of sweet sensation.
My head touches back on the closed door, and you reach beside me for the lock. I’ll worry about explaining this chain reaction of a relationship to Alfred tomorrow. Tonight, I need us to belong to us.
But more than that…
…I need myself…
…to belong…to you.
The slightest moan catches in my throat as my inner drive for tonight finally forms into actual thoughts in my head. That’s what I want, I’m sure of it. Last night I claimed you as mine in my own bed. Tonight, I want that final surrender, losing myself to you as I’ve tried not to for so long. You’ve trusted me with your body and soul; now I need to trust you with mine.
I pull you closer to me, guiding us both behind me as the rest of my back finds the door. You’re pressed against me now, and our chests, our bellies, our groins, our thighs, everything’s flaring with flowing heat. You moan at the contact, and my knees are nearly buckling under you after that noise you send into my mouth. It makes me grip you tighter, and you hold me against you like the desperate lovers we’re starting more and more to resemble.
My right hand reaches to the back of your neck to pull your head closer to mine, causing the heat between our lips to start aching with need. This time I guide my body in the direction your hands are pulling me. I swivel us around to pull you away from the door, deeper into the room with you in my arms. You’re the one walking forward, so you help guide me to avoid the candles until we make it to the bed.
You’re gathered in my lap now as I sit on the edge of my - now our - bed, and your erection is rubbing against mine as you shift slightly. It’s so much more noticeable when I’m not trapped in my armor. You seem to be of the same mind, your hands running all through my hair that you can now fully indulge in without the cowl to hinder your actions. Your left fingers brush down my jaw line, tilting my chin up at you to meet your smothering mouth at a better angle, what with you perched on top of me.
Your hips are rocking in my lap, and you maneuver them to better rest on top of my crotch. You’re preparing to ride me that way, I realize. To have me take you, as is what usually happens when this much gentleness is achieved. This time though, you seem to have a goal in sight, one that differs from mine. You want to prove what I proved to you last night: that the other’s method of lovemaking can be reciprocated, even relished. We’ve spent eight months teaching each other, and now it’s time to put our knowledge to the test.
But this isn’t the way I want you to sit for this exam.
My hands circle to your shoulder blades, and I fall backward to the sheets. You’re a bit startled at the change to a more dominant position for you, the way you half-yelp into my mouth as our kiss continues unbroken. I arch my back into the curve of your own lithe body, our spines bending to the same shape, one folded inside the other before I crash you down on top of me in earnest.
It’s so good, so overpowering, that I’m losing my sense of place; my kisses are becoming more desperate now, my hands scrambling for purchase on your hair, your face, your back, your chest, anywhere that’s part of you. My hips jump up into yours out of instinct, and you moan at the spike of pressure, and I’m whimpering…
You pause, and break our kiss after one last brush of wet suction on my tongue. Your breathing is as loud as mine now, and I’m not sure who’s quivering more. You must have taken the delegated position of being on top of me to mean something, for it is you that aligns us with the bed properly, our heads at the pillows. Your lips leave a tiniest trace of red greasepaint on my neck, then trace to my ear, nipping just once before you whisper to me.
“Tell me what you want,” your voice says, and my heart is pounding so fast I’m going to burst. “Tell me what you want me to do.” My chin tilts up and I give a soft cry as you nuzzle my ear with your nose slowly, tracing its shape.
“Bruce…”
You’re going to make me die from this heat in my soul if you keep this up.
“My Bat…”
Yes, yours, only yours, all I want…
“My Bruce…”
“Fuck me.”
Your breath is hot and heavy in my ear as your licking and nuzzling, gentle grinding further south and caressing further up, stops at my words. I’m not even bothering to contemplate the words that are spilling from my mouth; they’re the surest words I’ve ever spoken to you.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whisper. A shiver shocks through us, whether originating from you or me is difficult to say. “I want you to fuck me so hard I scream your name and…” - I can barely catch my breath for the words - “…I lose myself…in you.”
You don’t move. I slide my eyes open, and looking sideways I meet yours, which are considering and judging the situation. You know though, I can tell; you can sense just how much I need this. Please give this to me, for once, when I need you charging inside me as I rise to meet your every thrust…
You stir in the candlelight, and plant the tenderest kiss on my cheek. I close my eyes, lost to every other aspect of the world but your lips on my face. You’ve learned your lessons of pleasure quite well. Another kiss to my temple, and I know it’s going to happen, and there’s no stoppi -
“No.”
I freeze at the single word you have just uttered.
…what…?
…what do you mean, no?
If you have proven yourself skilled at anything, it’s reading my needs and urges, my motives and reasons, with deadly accuracy. You’ve always said we’re two forces of nature, catering to each other’s whims and wills to oppose and, yes, complete each other. Denying this, denying me at my weakest, at my most vulnerable, is not completing me. What could you possibly mean by…NO?
Your breath stills my sudden upsurge in shaking, and your whisper…oh God…
“I’m going to make…the sweetest love to you.”
And once again, long fic is long, so this must be divvied up into two parts. Part 2 is here.
Title: Tests
Word Count: 10, 128
Pairing: Joker/Bruce
Disclaimer: I don't own TDK or its characters, but if I did...well...this wouldn't be called "fanfic," it would be called "FUCKING CANON OF CANON-FUCKING. NOW MAKE THE OWNER OF BATMAN AND JOKER A SANDWICH." *starves to death because I'm not Bob Kane, Bill Finger, or Chris Nolan*
Rating: NC-17 fo' sho'
Warnings: references to rough sex in the past, graphic depictions of sex in the present, allusions to wonderful hot sex in the future :D YAY!
Summary: Bruce's thoughts directed at Joker as they get it on the very next night.
A/N: This is the sequel to "Lessons," my first ever porno fic experiment. That one was from J's POV, so obviously its sequel has to be from B's. Because I can't leave these things one-sided when it comes to this pairing. I love them both too much. <3<3 But since this is Porn Without any semblence of Plot, it's not totally necessary to read "Lessons" before "Tests." But hey, it's a quickie B/J sex fic, so why not? ;) /pimping prequel
I remember the first time I fucked you. Well, the first time I chose to fuck you. The first few times, those first few weeks, it couldn’t quite be called choice. No more than our usual battles are. Yes, we are fully responsible for our actions against each other in this city we’ve grown to share, but I don’t think you viewed leaving as a viable option any more than I did. Fate is our mutual snare, my lo…
…my love.
That is what you are to me now.
God have mercy on us both.
No, God have mercy on everyone else. They’ll need it, they’ll deserve it, more than we ever could.
But the first time we knew each other, and the several times after that, everything was a mess. You remember, I know you do. It was a delirious time of my life, of sheer insanity. Always half-drunk, or maybe too sober to be thinking clearly. All I knew was that it was a necessary release. Just as Batman is. It was an action, a fact of life, as unavoidable as your smiling scars and my darkened cowl. And my id blotted out any moral objections my superego tried to raise.
Until that night. The night I realized just what it was I had been doing to you, or you to me, or both of us to each other and ourselves. I hadn’t just been trying to win against you; I had been fucking you. You weren’t just bringing yourself intolerably closer to my own tattered soul; you had brought yourself inside of me. In every physical and metaphorical sense of those actions.
I couldn’t let you do that anymore.
I wasn’t going to, couldn’t let myself lose control to your whims and my own perverse instincts again. But that night…later, I tried to tell myself that you made me, but now I know that’s a flat-out lie. If anything, I made you.
Before I knew it, the calculated decision was made, as I stripped you to your skin and cuffed your wrists behind your back, barely taking the time to slick up with my saliva before I took you hard and unannounced. Every stroke was filled with purpose now, and I couldn’t deny that I was fully aware of my actions and their consequences that time around.
You nearly broke me that night.
I’ve never told you that, but maybe you already knew. I wanted to kill you that night.
I wanted to fuck you to death.
And maybe if we had been two uncomplicated criminals, I would have been able to. You would have bled out, a crucial vein would have popped, you would have gone into shock, a long-dormant aneurysm would have ruptured, your heart would have beat too fast to maintain itself, something. You would’ve been gone before you came. I was that brutal.
But all you did was laugh. Your knees, shins, and half your face were bloodied, scraped raw across the concrete with each of my domineering movements. Your wrists were chafed purple from yanking to get free, maybe to escape, maybe to touch yourself, maybe to kick me away to reciprocate the same treatment; maybe just from reflexive contraction like the rest of your body. Who knows what exactly I had been hoping to evoke from you, but gasping cackles were all that bubbled to the surface with every pump.
You knew, didn’t you. You knew that I was close to the edge, closer than ever. That I was going to personally end your life that night, one way or another. And that I’d spend every moment afterward screaming at myself in the shower, stroking myself to drown me in my broken shame of horrifying orgasms, too cracked beyond repair to leave my memories.
Maybe I sensed you knew, just before I spilled into you. It held me on the edge, that realization. And I was a coward.
I stopped my motions. I couldn’t do it. I had failed.
And you laughed harder into your own bloodstains.
I was trying to catch my breath, but I was still inside your squeezing, pulsing body. I still had to finish this to leave, and at least end it with a shred of dignity still intact. As if it wasn’t too late at that point for any show of nobility. But I had to bring myself back. I couldn’t let myself bring the Batman down. I didn’t deserve that honor.
So I resumed the halted actions, meekly and softly rocking into you. A far cry from my previous fare, but I could at the least pretend to show some compassion after sinking so low. There was hardly anything left to lose at that point.
I will never understand what happened after that. I’ll never understand you. Of all the societal deviants I’ve come across, you have to be the most enigmatic. Anyone else would have somewhat welcomed the change of pace, and would have gloated further at my sign of semi-surrender.
But you couldn’t stand it.
You let out this moan - you remember, I bet, though you may have tried to include it among your blocked and repressed memories. I, on the other hand, have savored that sound in my head nearly every early morning afterward. And you didn’t stop there. You writhed and wriggled, what anyone else would have done in the face of the preceding treatment. You keened against the gentle brushes inside you, and now I knew your struggles against the handcuffs were motivated with the intent of breaking loose. Maybe even of leaving.
But I was the one who left you, after a warm and spreading orgasm for each of us in quick succession. I uncuffed you and fled like the coward I am, but even if I had stayed I don’t think you would have been able to muster a rebuke. We were both too far gone in shock for that.
From there, I realized that the key to breaking the beast was pleasure, the tender baring of a human soul that you (and sometimes myself) always denied that we both possessed. We were men of a different mettle, you said, and our carnal appetites unsheathed our greatest elements through the roughest interaction, the most extreme of fucking sessions, the silent petrified agony of severed veins and split, bleeding skin. Of pain. And with those two opposing ideologies of what our trysts should embody, we entered a fray of an entirely different kind.
You dealt out the worst pain I’ve endured. You’d bind me in the most inhumane of fashions, laughing yourself silly as you rode me into the night, while I screamed your name and panted like the cheapest of whores. We were each others’ whores, and maybe still are, lending our favors to each other exclusively, for no one else can afford the steep price to be paid for our services.
You’d press your thumb into my shame like smearing a crushed insect’s guts across the glass, bringing me just to the edge before backing off and retreating into the shadows without a trace, except for the agonizing erection you’d coaxed from me. Restrained as I was, I could do nothing about it, waiting sometimes for hours on end for you to return and finish the damn job, knowing you were scarcely yards away just out of my sight, to better watch the beginnings of my mindless thrusting into the air. That was what brought you back, letting me think of you to just barely suffice at getting me off, while the display would inevitably bring the sensation of semen spilling onto my ass not three seconds after my own ended. Timing your body just so I could feel the worst of the shame crush my splintered spirit, my low in sync with your high.
You’d untie me after you finished, and I’d summon the will somehow to grab you and hold you close, pressing the kisses we both hated into your skin. But it was the one way I had found of getting you on edge, so as much as it repulsed me the next day how I had to nuzzle your neck, weave through your hair, caress your genitals, give you affection to gain an advantage, I still followed through with my pledge to never let you win.
I certainly wasn’t winning either, but I had never created this distilled monster of Batman to gain a total victory. That was always out of the question. There is no saving my soul at this point.
Until…
Wow, you must be having a potent effect on me, to get me cracking jokes like that. To think either one of us could be saved through this new bond we’ve forged. Through anything.
But all the same…
If anything could raise us up, this is it. Because as wrong as it may seem for two enemies, two rivals, two men of broken souls and scarred psyches to have found a painful, bastardized rendition of that thing called love…
…it’s still something.
And I think - I hope - it’s enough. For me. For you. For us.
I don’t quite know exactly when the shift happened in my motives. When the actions of gentle lovemaking I initiated began to spring from the desire of their intended aim. When I didn’t pleasure you to make you weak, but simply…to pleasure you. To make you feel…good. Why I wanted you to feel good, I didn’t think I would ever know. In retrospect, I was just treading the same path of denial I had always walked.
I didn’t want to admit I was falling in love with you. That you meant something to me beyond a man who was only my biggest obstacle. You had become the man, the person, I shared my most intimate desires with, my core persona, not Batman or Bruce Wayne or any variant in between. Just…me. Whoever I am, he was only ever expressed in his purest form with you. His best, his worst, everything. And no one but you would ever know him as you did.
I tried so desperately to teach you pleasure, without even consciously knowing why I worked so hard each night to have you accept my bared heart and soul, now as naked as my body was with yours each night. But now I realize you had already accepted both. And I had returned the acceptance in kind. We just didn’t know it, didn’t recognize it, until it was mutually understood how we had staked our claim.
Last night I told you that I loved you. After we left the construction site together, I brought you to my home, into my own bed, and I showed you. I demonstrated all you had tried to teach me.
There were no restraints, but that was the only thing missing to separate it from the torture you put me through for eight months. But this time, I dealt it out. I claimed you as mine in the first morning light, cementing this strangling, horrendous bond we’ve been born into together with every harsh, rapid thrust. You pushed back on my every stroke, my nails clawed your bleeding hips, you moaned, I gasped, our knees fought for traction on my silken sheets to fight our joined momentum, our sweat mingled together, you looked over your shoulder to softly moan my name (Bruce this time, not Bats) in my ear as my chin hooked over your collarbone, before biting down with a shout of Joker as I watched you climax into my hand and I was coming inside you and fuck -
You left not twenty minutes later. Said you had “things to do.”
And now, as I walk up the stairs to the second floor of my manor, I’m not sure if I’m dreading what I might find in my bedroom…or thrilled.
Usually a day at Wayne Enterprises only appeals to me when I can spend it working on my next project in my nightly crusade against crime. Against you, most of the time. But today even that couldn’t keep me engaged. All day my mind was on last night, and how it might shape tonight. Meetings had me staring out the window, wondering where you are, while testing my latest weaponry made me think of fighting you, and what our new pseudo-struggle in my bed might entail.
Today at work lasted eight hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-three seconds. Dinner after that took seventy-six minutes, nine seconds.
I think you finally succeeded.
I am going crazy because of you.
Congratulations, Joker. You brought the Batman down by making him fall. In love. With you. I hope you’re happy.
I know I’m fucking ecstatic. High, even. Just thinking about you.
And about what I want from you tonight.
I have no idea what it is you’re planning next, whether your reference to “things to do” involves your usual mass-murdering agenda, something I should be concerned about stopping, or…what I hope it means. But regardless, somehow I’ll get you back in my arms tonight, and when I do, I know where I want things to go. What I want is…
God. I’m at my bedroom door. And you’d better be behind it, or I think I’ll go mad from leaving you for so long. Usually the drive to be in close proximity to you isn’t quite this strong, but it’s there now, and it’s alive, and I can’t fight it and I don’t want to. I’m tired of denying the bliss you make me feel, the surrender I’ve come to crave both to you and from you at the same time. Last night gave me a taste of nirvana. Tonight, I want to take it all for us both, and drown myself in this love. Your love. You.
If that’s what you have in mind, too. I still can’t trust your veiled intentions entirely. You lead me on a haphazard guessing game with every word, every gesture, every look. To deny that it’s become my favorite puzzle to solve would taste a lie.
I open the door before I even make the conscious decision too. I’ve delayed this long enough; my want for you has waited all day. You may not even be behind the door, but somehow I get the feeling you’re there. Maybe I just want you there so badly I’m deluding myself. But as I enter the room, I know this feeling is too strong to be conjured from my own mind.
…candles?
I blink. The lights are off, but the room is filled with a soft glow.
…candles?
I’m not sure what to think. Once again, caught between desire and edginess. Now I’m not sure which one will win out.
Until I see you, lounging on my bed in the middle of the candles’ warmth, and upon noticing the door opening, you open your black-rimmed eyes and send that green gaze at me…
Finally.
…what are you doing? I still can’t form words, I’m so caught off-guard. Mixing you with anything burning is usually a very lethal combination. But the way you’re situated on my bed, shaded just so in the dozens of flickering pinpricks of firelight, with those eyes…
And now you’re smiling with your mouth along with your eyes, with that light that I’m sure is only reserved for me. Even more so than for killing people.
I hope.
Wordlessly you ease off the bed and start toward me. All the while I’m paralyzed by my apprehension. I finally claim the wits enough to close the door behind me and ask, “…what are you doing?”
You flash a smirk in amusement at my skepticism. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Quite honestly, Joker, “Like you’re about to set my house on fire.”
Now you’re slowing toward me, smiling wider, letting a low chuckle loose from your throat. “Now Bats, you know I’ve never been one for using the same gag twice.” I stiffen slightly at the reference to the last time one of my enemies burned my parents’ mansion to the ground, but you’re getting closer, and the room is getting warmer with your every step…
“Besides,” you continue, “I thought it would…set the mood and all. Or is that not what playboy vigilantes r’into these days?”
You’re right in front of me now, your nose nearly touching mine, and as your hands spread across my shoulders it eases me enough to lean forward, brushing our noses together. This is such a foreign experience to me - not just to have this tenderness with you, but that you are the one to instigate it. Usually you shun this type of interaction between us; it’s always been your weakness that I’ve exploited. But now…
“So no gasoline on the floor?” is all I can think of to say, and you hum once before…
Jesus.
You’ve never kissed me this softly, this gently, so chaste yet so enticing at the same time. My eyes are closed without a second thought, and my hands move up your sides as yours rest still at my shoulders. Each point of contact is pulled into a pulsing hypersensitivity, spikes of heat striking my blood at each location.
You lessen the contact so minutely until your lips are a hair’s breadth from mine. Our eyes open, and we’re still so close our noses touch, with only the slightest lean forward necessary to lock our mouths together again. Your eyes speak exactly how I feel inside: calm, focused, knowing. And utterly enthralled with the man we’re on the verge of holding to us.
“Not tonight,” you whisper, and I bring you in for another, firmer kiss, wrapping my arms around your purple-garbed back. It’s one of those times where I realize just how warm you are, how solid and real you feel when I hold you to me. Your hands curl over to clutch my biceps, which nearly tremble at your touch. Your lips begin to change things up, nipping almost playfully. Your tongue is flicking out, like it always does, only this time with the purpose of swiping at my lips, not yours. I must say I like this better.
I’m certainly enjoying these kisses, so unlike what I’ve ever experienced with you. Even more than I’ve experienced with any date, any girlfriend, even Rach -
You notice my brief pause, and in response you deepen the kiss, requesting access with your tongue.
You’ve never requested access before.
You’ve forced that wet muscle down my throat countless times without a care, yes, but now you’re lapping at my lips, asking permission. Far more than you usually do - the most you’ve ever done of that nature is a sly glance up at me before you suck me off, or a hand cupping my jaw with fingers probing to be suckled in tandem with your thrusts behind me. You follow through with the actions you know I’ll love just as much as I’ll hate myself for loving them, with you completely uncaring whether I signed up for it or not.
But now it’s you that I love. Which makes everything so much more enjoyable. And that’s why I willingly open my mouth to your tongue for the second time of my life, letting you lick at my teeth and drown me in your wild world of sweet sensation.
My head touches back on the closed door, and you reach beside me for the lock. I’ll worry about explaining this chain reaction of a relationship to Alfred tomorrow. Tonight, I need us to belong to us.
But more than that…
…I need myself…
…to belong…to you.
The slightest moan catches in my throat as my inner drive for tonight finally forms into actual thoughts in my head. That’s what I want, I’m sure of it. Last night I claimed you as mine in my own bed. Tonight, I want that final surrender, losing myself to you as I’ve tried not to for so long. You’ve trusted me with your body and soul; now I need to trust you with mine.
I pull you closer to me, guiding us both behind me as the rest of my back finds the door. You’re pressed against me now, and our chests, our bellies, our groins, our thighs, everything’s flaring with flowing heat. You moan at the contact, and my knees are nearly buckling under you after that noise you send into my mouth. It makes me grip you tighter, and you hold me against you like the desperate lovers we’re starting more and more to resemble.
My right hand reaches to the back of your neck to pull your head closer to mine, causing the heat between our lips to start aching with need. This time I guide my body in the direction your hands are pulling me. I swivel us around to pull you away from the door, deeper into the room with you in my arms. You’re the one walking forward, so you help guide me to avoid the candles until we make it to the bed.
You’re gathered in my lap now as I sit on the edge of my - now our - bed, and your erection is rubbing against mine as you shift slightly. It’s so much more noticeable when I’m not trapped in my armor. You seem to be of the same mind, your hands running all through my hair that you can now fully indulge in without the cowl to hinder your actions. Your left fingers brush down my jaw line, tilting my chin up at you to meet your smothering mouth at a better angle, what with you perched on top of me.
Your hips are rocking in my lap, and you maneuver them to better rest on top of my crotch. You’re preparing to ride me that way, I realize. To have me take you, as is what usually happens when this much gentleness is achieved. This time though, you seem to have a goal in sight, one that differs from mine. You want to prove what I proved to you last night: that the other’s method of lovemaking can be reciprocated, even relished. We’ve spent eight months teaching each other, and now it’s time to put our knowledge to the test.
But this isn’t the way I want you to sit for this exam.
My hands circle to your shoulder blades, and I fall backward to the sheets. You’re a bit startled at the change to a more dominant position for you, the way you half-yelp into my mouth as our kiss continues unbroken. I arch my back into the curve of your own lithe body, our spines bending to the same shape, one folded inside the other before I crash you down on top of me in earnest.
It’s so good, so overpowering, that I’m losing my sense of place; my kisses are becoming more desperate now, my hands scrambling for purchase on your hair, your face, your back, your chest, anywhere that’s part of you. My hips jump up into yours out of instinct, and you moan at the spike of pressure, and I’m whimpering…
You pause, and break our kiss after one last brush of wet suction on my tongue. Your breathing is as loud as mine now, and I’m not sure who’s quivering more. You must have taken the delegated position of being on top of me to mean something, for it is you that aligns us with the bed properly, our heads at the pillows. Your lips leave a tiniest trace of red greasepaint on my neck, then trace to my ear, nipping just once before you whisper to me.
“Tell me what you want,” your voice says, and my heart is pounding so fast I’m going to burst. “Tell me what you want me to do.” My chin tilts up and I give a soft cry as you nuzzle my ear with your nose slowly, tracing its shape.
“Bruce…”
You’re going to make me die from this heat in my soul if you keep this up.
“My Bat…”
Yes, yours, only yours, all I want…
“My Bruce…”
“Fuck me.”
Your breath is hot and heavy in my ear as your licking and nuzzling, gentle grinding further south and caressing further up, stops at my words. I’m not even bothering to contemplate the words that are spilling from my mouth; they’re the surest words I’ve ever spoken to you.
“I want you to fuck me,” I whisper. A shiver shocks through us, whether originating from you or me is difficult to say. “I want you to fuck me so hard I scream your name and…” - I can barely catch my breath for the words - “…I lose myself…in you.”
You don’t move. I slide my eyes open, and looking sideways I meet yours, which are considering and judging the situation. You know though, I can tell; you can sense just how much I need this. Please give this to me, for once, when I need you charging inside me as I rise to meet your every thrust…
You stir in the candlelight, and plant the tenderest kiss on my cheek. I close my eyes, lost to every other aspect of the world but your lips on my face. You’ve learned your lessons of pleasure quite well. Another kiss to my temple, and I know it’s going to happen, and there’s no stoppi -
“No.”
I freeze at the single word you have just uttered.
…what…?
…what do you mean, no?
If you have proven yourself skilled at anything, it’s reading my needs and urges, my motives and reasons, with deadly accuracy. You’ve always said we’re two forces of nature, catering to each other’s whims and wills to oppose and, yes, complete each other. Denying this, denying me at my weakest, at my most vulnerable, is not completing me. What could you possibly mean by…NO?
Your breath stills my sudden upsurge in shaking, and your whisper…oh God…
“I’m going to make…the sweetest love to you.”
And once again, long fic is long, so this must be divvied up into two parts. Part 2 is here.