Batman Kink Meme
THE BATMAN KINK MEME
nanakibh here~! For those of you who don't know what these are, allow me to explain. It's a place where you can request fics anonymously and have your deepest, darkest desires be fulfilled. Anon A requests and Anon B writes for the prompt. Easy as that.
★ Request anonymously. Or not. It's really up to you, I suppose.
★ Clearly state ( Read more... )
nanakibh here~! For those of you who don't know what these are, allow me to explain. It's a place where you can request fics anonymously and have your deepest, darkest desires be fulfilled. Anon A requests and Anon B writes for the prompt. Easy as that.
★ Request anonymously. Or not. It's really up to you, I suppose.
★ Clearly state ( Read more... )
You promised to clean up Gotham Harvey, we promised, you promised me.
Of course there was no justice the way he knew, no, there was only chance. The man he was, who was burnt away under the flames and the loss believed in people. What remained though, it knew better. You know the thing about chaos?
It’s fair.
It was chaos, controlled, isolated chaos, balanced and neat. The Joker played his games, Harvey existed in his own inferno (it always smelt like burning flesh and leather of that suit), the Batman watched them both, one with eyes lit on fire and the other as though it caused a great wound in his chest to fester. Gotham teetered as it always did, blessing and mourning the courageous death of it’s hero while cursing the strange new being who terrorized the streets. It was as it should be, perhaps should have been, until Harvey turned his head one day, in an alley with the body of a dead mobster at his feet, and there was a knife at his throat.
“Hi~.”
His deadened eye couldn’t see the man but he could imagine the perpetual smile, red like congealed blood and a dash of gunpowder, gunpowder which he could smell on the gloves like an exotic fragrance sprayed in. He had the gun this very man had given him at his side, loosely in his fingers, his coin in the other. This wasn’t the game he knew, Joker only wanted to play with the Batman and Harvey had performed his role, just as planned. Part of him wanted to scream -Haven’t you had enough?! Aren’t there other’s you can bend and twist, isn’t the Batman all your diseased heart desires?! - while the other part of him, the sharp thing he had fought against for years until the Joker unleashed it, smirked and welcomed the creator.
“No skirt this time?” Harvey said, turning his head back toward the bloody mess in front of him (not so lucky tonight friend.) with a disinterested air. He could hear the smack of a tongue against lips.
“Oh, a disappointment Harv?” Joker asked in a voice that recalled playground taunts. Harvey snorted.
“White wasn’t your color.” He answered to a peel of laughter on his neck.
“The heels were killer. Maybe I should try blue next time.” The Joker said, the smile on his lips and in his voice. “Though… I could never pull it off like her.”
Joker seemed prepared for the angry spasm, grabbing Harvey’s wrist as he jerked the gun up and pressing in closer, chin practically on the former D.A.’s shoulder as he breathed into his ear.
“Now now, why so serious?” He asked in a purr and all Harvey could see was red slowly fading away. “You know Harv, holding onto the past like this is unhealthy.”
“So is being latched to explosives.” Harvey ground out, jerking his arm in Joker’s grip. “You didn’t seem too concerned then.”
“Still sore about that?” Joker asked, making a ‘tut tut’ sound as though he were a patient school teacher. “Now Harvey, haven’t we gone over this? Besides, look how interesting you’ve become.” Somehow he leaned closer, hot breath on Harvey’s good ear. “And really Harv, would she want to even look at you now?”
This time the Joker could not stop him (didn’t want to? No, all that mattered was crushing the clown’s face) as he spun around and smashed his fist into the Joker’s jaw, his own face the perfect carving of rage as he lifted the gun and the clown laughed and laughed and laughed from his place on the floor.
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That made Harvey hesitate (it’s fair it’s-) and the clown smile like the Chesire Cat, like a predator swooping down on its prey.
“Can you kill me now Harvey?” He asked again as he stood and again Harvey faltered. Fair “Hm?” The man took another step forward and Harvey’s eye narrowed.
“I can shoot you in the foot.” He warned, expecting laughter. He was not disappointed.
“Harvey Harvey Harvey.” The Joker was getting too close and Harvey raised his gun further, watching as the white faced man paused, studying the pistol a moment before narrowing his eyes and leaning forward, wiping some dried blood or grey matter left over from the filth Harvey had just purged Gotham from.
Joker glanced up. “Now Harvey, that’s just unprofessional. Gotta keep your tools clean.” He said, wearing Harvey’s patience even thinner as he stood straight and rested an elbow on top of Harvey’s arm, placing his chin in his hand and smiling.
“You know Harv, I’m a curious man. I love experiments.” Harvey cocked his gun as the Joker spoke, which simply made the painted lips stretch further, scars contorting under unnatural bright red. “So let’s try something, shall we? A game of-“ his eyes seemed to flash as his face grew more sinister. “chance.”
He shouldn’t listen, the former attorney in him was pacing the floor but the bloodsoaked side lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. He could trust chance, it was a cold and ruthless bitch, it was all he had left. “Alright.” He said finally, feeling like a trap was closing around him as the Joker smiled, all teeth.
“Then here’s how we go.” The knife was under Harvey’s jaw, lightly tracing the unblemished skin before the broadside pressed firmly on the dead nerve endings of the blackened mess Gordon’s foolish trust and the mob’s devil’s bargain had gifted him with. The gun didn’t move, Harvey couldn’t kill the beast but he wasn’t about to die just yet (clean it up Harvey, clean-) and he held the weapon between them as a promise of that. It was pointless really, If he wanted you dead you’d be dead, Harvey narrowed his eye. It’s just taking back the life he gave.
“Let me guess, a coin flip?” Harvey asked, unreadable at the Joker’s almost innocently marred smile.
“Would you rather pick a card?” He asked in a condescending kind of tone, eyes seemingly drawn to the burns twisting up Harvey’s skull, something sharp and acid in his gaze.
“Cards can lie.” Harvey answered, not at all surprised by the Joker’s hoot of laughter.
“And your coin didn’t?” He asked, tapping the side of Harvey’s chin where the bone of his jaw protruded. “Well it did have a bit of a facelift.”
“Enough.” Harvey growled, pressing the gun into the fine purple suit. “I’m not a player in your games.”
“Oh, but you are Harvey.” The clown’s smile was too close, the gashes mocking with a flash of white teeth, true delight. “This is my city and you are- well, were,” he drew out the word with a particular relish. “it’s White Knight. You belong to Gotham Harvey, White Knight, eh heh, tarnished or not. You belong to Gotham and Gotham belongs to me so-“
“I do not belong to anyone!” Harvey, it, snarled, grabbing the clown by the collar and throwing him against a nearby dumpster. The action made the knife it his jaw slice into the marred flesh, tricking blood down his suit and adding a sharper pain to the dull throb he had learned would never truly go away. The clown threw his head back and laughed, as if pain was contagious laughter, as if that red flow was a fine joke. He pushed right back, moving nimbly to bash Harvey’s wrist to the side, taking that gun out of the picture.
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Those black lined eyes widened, just a little (I saw you bastard, you’re not infallible, you’re not unshakable, you’re) when Harvey let out the laugh this time around, dry and cracked like charred wood.
“If my life’s your’s-“ He spat, grasping that purple collar even as the Joker’s knife tenderly touched the pulse at his neck. “-then would it even make a difference?”
The knife moved and Harvey’s eyes stayed set, he had been ready to die for weeks, months, maybe ever since the clown first put a hit on his head. Perhaps after he burned for every sin he committed he would get to see Rachel again, get to look into her eyes without shame or guilt. More and more this pleasant ending seemed to drift farther away, become harder and harder to reach. What am I? He would have thought, could have if the knife hadn’t moved unexpectedly, cutting open his tie and shirt halfway.
“What-“ Harvey began, eyes flying back to the Joker’s maniacal grin as the knife was pressed perfectly balanced on the scar that split his lips.
“I want to see how far they go.” The Joker answered as if it were the simplest request in the world, jerking Harvey’s shirt and jacket to the side with a resounding rip. Before Harvey could even respond (what the hell, what did you expect, sanity? He isn’t-) there was leather fingers brushing on the long since charred flesh, against the pink and black painfully, enough to draw blood where the skin was stretched weakest.
“Stop it.” Harvey hissed, regaining his wits enough to twist violently from that touch, even with the knife dangerously close to his pulse. He was answered with a cackle and a firmer grip on the weak skin of his shoulder, the smallest bit of red mixing on the dark purple.
“What’s wrong Harv, not having fun?” He asked, breath too close to Harvey’s neck, just like- Harvey, come to bed - no, no, he jerked again and the Joker laughed.
“Thinking of her?” The clown asked, nicking the skin on Harvey’s neck, between the burn and flesh before lapping up the blood. Harvey tried to move again, a shudder, because the clown was disgusting and far too close and part of him wanted to let the clown play and erase all those memories of brown hair ghosting down his chest just like he had erased that pesky morality Harvey Dent tried so hard to keep.
“You must be.” The Joker’s hand pressed against his crotch with a laugh and Harvey used the time to punch him again, more blood running down the clown’s red lips, pooling in those scars to make the smile all the more bright.
“Do you really think you can go back? Come on now Harv, you and me, we’re the same.” The Joker gestured with the knife as he spoke, ignoring, no, enjoying Harvey’s snarl. “The world doesn’t like people like us Harv, they don’t like seeing the scars you see. They hide them, want others to do the same, let ‘em fester. You and me, we’re damaged goods to them.”
“Since when do you care what people think?” Harvey asked, closing his hand around Lady Liberty as Joker pushed forward again.
“Oh I don’t Harvey, but it makes it hard for a decent guy like me to go out and enjoy the town, you know?” He said in a conspiratorial tone, knife over his heart, too fast. “Move and I’ll kill you.” There was no promise in the tone, only fact, a lecturer who wanted to finish their god damned speech thank you very much, and that leather clad hand pushed the suit jacket to the ground.
“People don’t like scars because it breaks the illusion, makes them remember we all bleed.” The knife cut across the boundary of clean skin and scar at Harvey’s collar bone and part of him agreed, those people never wanted to see what was wrong, like Gordon, never could see there was a defect until the wounds showed.
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“What do you want?” Harvey spat out just as that gloved hand, wet with blood, wrapped around his member and the knife made a deep cut down his jaw line.
“Fire.” The Joker answered, scars too close to Harvey’s lips, all the more vicious up close, like a stitched smile. “Mad crowds down the street, stampedes running, howling, in every direction. For everyone to look like you and me.” His own blood was on the Joker’s lips as the madman spoke, smiled, stroked Harvey, bringing up that breathless feeling he had not allowed himself since her death. “I want to watch them burn.”
Harvey gasped, another knife cut at his shoulder, no, yes, my coin, head or tails, the answer, I can’t choose, it has to be fair- that voice in his ear.
“Let’s make them burn Harvey. You and me, the freaks.” Said with manic delight. “Gordon, Batman, Gotham, let’s give them a few scars.”
Harvey gave a strangled shout as he came, yes? No? An answer of any sort, no, not while his coin indented his hand. He slid against the wall, knees weak, blood loss down his shoulder or-
A card fell into his lap, a cackling jester, the real clown’s smile just above him. “Here’s my card. We’re open on weekends.”
He wanted to snarl something back but the Joker was gone, skipping down the alley with a cheerful funeral dirge on his lips and a spring in his blood caked step. Harvey let his head loll back, pulling the coin in front of him. I’m sorry Rach- it was easy to flip it through the air and close his eyes as it landed on his palm. He could tell just from feeling the surface the answer, and after a long moment of silence he stood.
“So that’s how you want it to be?” He asked Miss Liberty, a crueler joker than even the clown. He shrugged his suit jacket on, fixed his clothes and mess as he could, and picked up the card.
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i really enjoyed this, not the OP, not my particular pairing but it was truly a great piece and I believe that you gave both characters justice.
Thank you!
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