Oedipus - Joker/Bruce Wayne - R
Title: Oedipus
Author: sparklywalls
Rating: R
Characters: The Joker and Bruce Wayne. Alfred and Gordon make brief appearances.
Pairing: Joker/Bruce
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them and this is just a product of my sick mind.
Summary: The Joker is whatever makes you feel uncomfortable. When he crashes the grand re-opening of Wayne Manor, he seizes the opportunity to thank Bruce for rescuing Coleman Reese. By tormenting him. (Nolanverse)
Warnings: M/M, cross-dressing, dubious consent and faux-incest.
Notes: Some of you may have seen this on fanfiction.net but I have given it another round of editing. It's nothing major, just a couple of sentences and minor details.
For a moment he thought he had been blinded. He was aware of a deep throbbing inside his head and a strange watery sensation underneath the skin of one hand. A small area of flesh had been pierced and lifted away from the bone. Something was being pumped into his blood stream.
Bruce tried to focus but his vision continued to fail him. It was getting lighter now yet still blurred enough to create an illusion of permanent gloom. His ears were ringing. The explosions were coming back to him now. There had been three in quick succession; some people had been hurt and then…gunfire.
He didn’t think anyone had been hit. He wasn’t even sure if the explosions had happened inside the manor. It was a way of getting attention and nothing more. This wasn’t the first time he had witnessed this tactic.
Shapes were swimming in front of his eyes, ambiguous shadows that swirled and reached out like claws to taunt him. High ceilings and decorated walls leapt out among the chaos only to be swallowed by ethereal jaws as Bruce’s brain struggled to remain fully conscious. He had seen enough. He was still in Wayne Manor.
Of all the thoughts that could’ve crossed his mind in that moment the one he did not expect was his distaste for parties.
He knew this was a bad idea. Alfred had encouraged him to celebrate the grand re-opening, saying it would return a sense of normality to Bruce’s life. He could be very persuasive Alfred. Bruce made a mental note to say I told you so later. If he survived…
Bruce shifted slightly. He was sitting down, one hand tied firmly behind his back and the other strapped to his thigh. His legs were bound so tightly together at the ankles that he was sure he couldn’t feel his toes. Whoever had done this didn’t want the young master Wayne to be going anywhere in the immediate future. Besides, even if he were free to run this damned cocktail infesting his system would’ve taken care of him before he was even out of the door. It was worse than being drunk. It was like waking up from a nightmare only to discover one was still paralysed.
A moment later, he blacked out again.
***
The next time Bruce came to he realised there was another person in the room. They were standing in the doorway opposite, silhouetted by the light from the landing. Bruce squinted as a feminine shape began to walk slowly towards him. Her heels clattered against the floorboards in monotonous rhythm and Bruce’s headache worsened. His eyes began to water, blurring the figure again. Yet the light behind her illuminated her long blonde hair and Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be?
“Bruce…” her voice was like an angels, so soft and sweet. “Bruce?” it was like velvet caressing his inner ear. It can’t be.
He could feel tears threatening to well up underneath his eyelids. He didn’t want to cry. Bruce Wayne doesn’t cry. He knew this couldn’t be real but in his delirious state the emotions coursing through his body overwhelmed him. He had wished for a day like this. “Mom?” he managed to splutter.
She came closer, so close that he could see her face. She was as beautiful as the day she died. She was a moment frozen in time, never ageing. She smiled at her son, perfect white teeth framed by an elegant red lipstick and Bruce almost choked. His face was mostly numb but he could feel tears wetting both of his cheeks.
Could this be heaven?
“Mom?”
But why would he be tied to a chair?
As his vision returned he gasped. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight before him.
Instead of staring into the eyes of his loving mother, he was looking right at the scarred and painted mouth of the Joker. In drag.
He was dressed in a black evening gown, split up to the mid-thigh on one side. The dress was clinched at the waist by a belt, also black, and he was wearing a heavy coat with a dark fur trim. The biggest insult of all was the pearl necklace around his neck. It immediately took Bruce back to the sight of his mother falling to the floor, the string of pearls falling with her and scattering about the floor as she lay dying in her own blood. Worse still Bruce knew that the angelic blonde hair that he had noticed first was in fact a wig worn by this maniac.
He knew it was futile but he attempted to launch himself at the Joker anyway. “You twisted son of a -“
“Ah-ah!” the Joker exclaimed, flicking one half of his skirt to one side, revealing a semi-automatic pistol holstered by a garter. He slipped it out, skimming the barrel over his thigh and pointed it directly at Bruce. “Is that any kind of language to use in front of your mother?”
Bruce simply glared, desperately trying to maintain a neutral expression.
“Not talkin’ huh?” said the Joker, inching forwards, the click of high heels more erratic now. “Mommy understands, she’s been dead for so long but you know, she’s missed her little Brucey,” he was close enough to press the gun between Bruce’s eyes. Bruce didn’t flinch. “So I’d strongly advise that you talk,”
“I have nothing to say to you,”
The Joker lowered his gun “yeah…” he drawled, returning the weapon to his garter “well that’s too bad,” he dropped to his knees, softly stroking his fingers over the top of Bruce’s hand. He played with the tube sticking out of the flesh and gave it a sharp tug. As part of the syringe left the vein, Bruce grimaced. He briefly wondered why the hell the Joker had managed to smuggle a PVC drip in here, then he remembered that he was dealing with the Joker. It didn’t need to make sense.
The Joker gave the line another tug. He hadn’t bothered to numb the area or even clean the equipment. The force of the needle leaving Bruce’s flesh nicked the skin, causing a spot of blood to ooze out of the open wound. This time Bruce’s pain was audible and the Joker looked up at him with a sinister smile.
“Oh Brucey, mommy’s sorry. But she really needed you to co-operate,” he said, caressing Bruce’s fingertips. “Would you like her to kiss it better?”
Bruce jerked against his restraints as he tried in vain to kick his captor.
The Joker chuckled and lowered his head, brushing his lips against Bruce’s hand. He flicked his tongue over the blood spot and Bruce flinched. He wasn’t sure if the stinging was physical or a phantom sensation brought on by revulsion. Either way there was little he could do. Eyes closed, the Joker was lapping up the blood until it ceased to flow. He swirled his tongue over the small incision and then rose to his feet.
He licked his lips, a little speck of red visible on the tip of his tongue.
“I never did thank you,” he mused, "saving Reese like that. You sure know how to ruin my fun. You even made me blow up a hospital -"
Bruce interrupted him “You would’ve done it anyway!” he snapped.
The Joker wagged one finger, moving it back and forth beside his head. “Good point,” he replied, quite pleased. “You really are a clever boy Brucey,” he purred.
“If you call me that one more time…”
“You’ll do what? Stare at me?” he paused to rake his grimy fingernails down the side of Bruce’s face. He turned his head in disgust. “You’re all tied up,” said the Joker “and I don’t think the Batman will save ya,”
“Gee, I guess not,” Bruce bit back.
“Uh-hu. You see, Brucey,” he gave a defiant wink “I’m not as dumb as you think,”
“I didn’t say you were,”
The Joker sighed and produced a small knife from his garter “Less interruptions young man or momma spank!” he reached for Bruce’s injured hand again, this time cutting through the material that bound the hand against Bruce’s trousers. He attempted to lash out but the clown was ready for him. He gripped Bruce’s wrist so hard that there was a faint crunch. Without the drugs in his system the young Wayne could’ve easily taken the Joker down. Right now any attempt on the guy was like punching through custard.
“I’d really not try that again…son,” the Joker hissed, throwing the knife to the floor and pulling something else from the cleavage of his dress.
It was a remote detonator.
“Your little friends downstairs are all wired and ready blow. Oh and by the way, they’ve been give a much more potent dose of my medicine…” he said, gesturing to the empty bag that had previously been plugged into Bruce’s veins.
“As I was saying. I’m not as dumb as you think. There are just some things that even I don’t wanna know. You see, what use is an act without the guy getting the pies in the face, hmm?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,”
The Joker grinned again “oh I think you do,” he shrugged the coat off his shoulders and stepped out of it as it pooled around his ankles. He was almost straddling Bruce now but Gotham’s most eligible bachelor wasn’t paying attention. He fixed his gaze to his left, focusing on the detonator. “You want this?” asked the Joker, bending at the waist. Bruce reluctantly made eye contact. “Come and get it,” his captor chuckled, dragging the detonator over the base of his throat and down to the plunging neckline of his dress. The material gaped just enough to reveal that the Joker was even wearing a bra, a prosthesis sewn into each cup.
“No sudden movements Brucey,” he giggled, pushing the detonator behind one of the cups and making sure that the key was poking over the top of the dress, teasing his hostage “we wouldn’t want any uh accidents,” he put his arms around Bruce’s neck and laughed as Bruce attempted to shuffle backwards, knocking the chair into the bed behind him.
“If you want to get off, just get off and get out,” Bruce snapped.
“Aren’t we eager!” the Joker laughed, lowering himself onto Bruce’s lap and sitting sideways, one leg crossed over the other. The only small mercy was that the slit in the skirt was too low to reveal anything above his thighs. Thank God thought Bruce, not wishing to dwell on whether or not the lace bra was part of a matching set. “What would daddy say?” asked the Joker, tightening his arms around Bruce’s neck.
Bruce stiffened his spine and swallowed hard. It was one thing to bring his mother into this; it was another to include his father. The rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach was as worse as the day he almost killed Joe Chill.
“I’m disappointed Brucey-kins. That was so…human of you! Does everything really have to be about sex? Really?” the Joker demanded, shifting a little in Bruce’s lap. It was enough to entice a rather surprising reaction in his hostage and as he felt it brush against his thigh, the Joker had to bite down on his lip to suppress howls of laughter. “My my Brucey, you certainly are all grown up now,”
“You sick bastard…”
This time the Joker didn’t resist the urge to laugh in his face.
“See, now you’re getting it,” he wheezed, threatening another uncontrollable laughing fit “you’re uncomfortable,” he leaned forward, rubbing their noses together “but you like it,”
“I would never enjoy anything that involves you!” Bruce growled, desperately trying to loosen the hand still tied behind his back. One hand free was not enough. The minute he attempted anything he risked the Joker turning that key and besides, that arm especially was like a deadweight dangling at the side of the chair. The outer edges of his field of vision were still spinning and Bruce almost fainted again. It was only the fear of what might happen to him that kept he awake.
If only he had gone to the new Batcave as soon as the Joker arrived. Screw arousing suspicion.
The Joker yanked Bruce’s free hand and pulled it around his waist, forcing the young billionaire to hold his captor in an intimate embrace. The Joker wriggled in Bruce’s lap, giggling at the persistence of his arousal. “I think you are…” he said, flicking his tongue out and licking one of Bruce’s cheeks.
“Get out…”
“Brucey I’m crushed!” the Joker whined “you sabotaged one of my games, you made me blow up a hospital and for months I’ve agonised over the perfect way to thank you,” he moved one of his hands around to cup Bruce’s chin “so I bring back mommy from the dead and this is how you repay me?”
Bruce sighed, scarcely able to believe the words about to leave his lips. “What do you want?”
“I think,” replied the Joker, rearranging his legs so that he now he was straddling Bruce “mommy wants a kiss,”
With some hesitation, Bruce gave the Joker a quick peck on the cheek. He wrinkled his nose as the awful taste of stale greasepaint curled up into his nostrils. He could feel a small amount of white smeared against his lips and wished that he could safely raise his hand to wipe it off. He settled back against the chair and almost lost his temper when the Joker gave him a disapproving scowl.
“Like you mean it,” said the clown, twisting a lock of Bruce’s hair around his fingers. “She’s a little frustrated Brucey, what with daddy still being dead and all…and you’re such a big strong man…”
“If I get free I’m going to break you in half,” Bruce hissed.
The Joker threw his head back, almost screaming as he laughed. “I’m sure you will,” he chuckled “but” he trailed one hand over his fake cleavage, the key rattling as he touched it “remember our little deal? I’d do as your mother says,”
Bruce gagged as a small amount of bile rose up in his throat. This was beyond twisted. This was inhuman. He thought of his mother’s disapproving face, he thought of failing his father and then he remembered the guests downstairs. True, some of them were hangers-on and he cared little for them. But they were his father’s friends. And Alfred was down there. There was a good chance that the Joker was bluffing but could Bruce really gamble the life of his oldest and dearest friend?
Bruce pursed his lips, fighting fresh tears and willing his body to stop betraying him. His mind, so hazy and flooded by conflicting emotions, was disconnected from that involuntary physical reaction. It had to be the drugs. He could never sully his mother’s memory like this.
Then there was another nagging doubt. Maybe a part of him was actually attracted to men. As the thought crossed his mind he bit down so hard on his bottom lip that it cracked and he tasted blood.
“Brucey…” whispered the Joker, running his hands along the lapels of Bruce’s dinner jacket and tilting his hips to emphasise his presence.
Admitting defeat, something that Batman would never do, Bruce closed his eyes and brushed his lips against the Joker’s. At that moment something within the young billionaire cracked. His heart had broken.
He tried to pretend he was kissing a woman, any woman but his mother. It made it so much easier to open his mouth, sealing his lips over the rough, painted lips of his captor. The illusion was ruined somewhat by the Joker’s breath. It was like swallowing rot, so pungent and foul. Bruce gagged again and tried to pull away but the Joker had his hands on the back of Bruce’s head now, forcing their lips to crush closer together.
The Joker slipped his tongue into Bruce’s mouth and quite unexpectedly, Bruce moaned.
Without breaking the kiss the Joker giggled against his hostage’s mouth. Bruce responded by deepening the kiss, if only to shut him up. More make-up smeared against his skin and he slowly slid his tongue over the Joker’s, gasping into his mouth.
Bruce ran his free hand along the Joker’s thigh and up to his waist. He was surprised to find no indication that the clown was turned on by this. It made his cheeks burn with shame that aching in his groin was intensifying. Without realising he’d even raised his hips, desperate for some friction in his pants. It was the drugs; it had to be the drugs.
He skimmed his hand over the Joker’s false breasts, squeezing and imagining that a pretty young woman was bouncing around on his lap. It made it easier. There was no other reason why he was getting into this. If only he could reach the detonator…
The Joker sucked on Bruce’s bottom lip. Bruce opened his eyes, the blur of black, white and red a painful reminder of what was happening. The Joker’s make-up was smudged now, speckles of the pale flesh underneath clearly visible. There was mischief in the Joker’s dark eyes as Bruce’s fingers almost reached the detonator key. As punishment, the clown slammed his hips down hard, causing Bruce to buck against him with a loud moan.
The Joker moved to kiss the corner of Bruce’s mouth “My, what a naughty boy you are Brucey,” he mumbled. He rocked his hips in a regular rhythm, coaxing more whimpers from Bruce, each one a little less reluctant. Until then, this had been doing nothing for the Joker but the thought of controlling Bruce Wayne like this created a fire in his belly. It had aroused him and Bruce moaned again as he felt it press against his stomach.
Misinterpreting the signals, the billionaire slid his free hand up the Joker’s thigh and underneath the dress. The clown immediately broke the kiss and leaned backwards, stopping Bruce’s fingers before they reached any further.
“Do you honestly think that’s what I want?”
Bruce blinked, confused.
“This isn’t about me Brucey,” said the Joker, resuming his rhythmic wriggling against Bruce’s groin “I’m not like other men,” he laughed as Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his head “you on the other hand…”
Bruce tried to push back onto the chair, minimising contact with the man in his lap. He knew he was close but he didn’t want to give the clown any satisfaction. He got it now. All the other man wanted was to humiliate Bruce, to challenge everything Bruce thought he knew about himself. There wasn’t even a point to this. It was just a game.
The Joker stilled his hips and without warning swooped down to crush his mouth against Bruce’s throat. He sucked hard on the skin, scraping his teeth along the pulse. Bruce simply stared off into the distance, refusing to fight anymore.
Then something caught his eye.
He knew he’d have to play along now. Just for another moment. “Mom,” he moaned, ignoring the nausea he brought upon himself.
“Ooh, decided you want to play now?” the Joker clucked, licking along Bruce’s jaw line before returning his attentions to his hostage’s lips. Bruce pushed his hips up into the Joker’s and stroked his hand down the clown’s spine, searching for the zipper
Bruce had just begun to pull the zip down when a loud clang signalled that his ploy had been successful. The Joker sat up straight, eyes wide and his lips twisting into a snarl. Then he crumbled, falling backwards and sliding off Bruce’s lap into a tangled heap on the floor. The impact was enough to knock the blonde wig from his head.
There stood Alfred, ever an impressive figure of reserved professionalism, with a silver tray in his hand, now dented in the middle. He threw the tray to one side and knelt down, pulling the Joker’s skirt so that it covered his legs completely. Master Wayne had probably had enough traumas for one evening.
Bruce shuffled against his restraints, hoping to hide anything unusual about his position “It’s about time,” he said with a relieved smile.
“I’m starting to wonder how you’d ever manage without me, Master Wayne,” Alfred replied, looking back down at the Joker and then facing Bruce with a smile of his own as he noticed the smears of face paint “though if it’s all the same to you sir, I’d rather not know what happened,”
“Don’t even ask!” laughed Bruce.
The Joker was out cold, one hand twisted above his head and his legs loosely crossed at the ankles. The detonator had fallen out of his dress and was the GCPD’s problem now.
“Commissioner Gordon is here sir. Just downstairs helping with the other hostages,” said Alfred, at last moving to untie his master. “A lot of them are about as lively as he is…” he gestured to the unconscious Joker.
“Well, he gave me a pretty strong dose. I’m still kinda fuzzy,” replied Bruce, “hey, how come you’re not down there with them?” he asked, arching a suspicious brow.
“Me?” Alfred had just finished removing the ankle restraints “I was getting more bubbly when it happened, thought it was best if I hid for a while,”
“You better not have been watching!”
“Master Wayne,” Alfred chuckled “if I had, I would’ve been handing in my bloody resignation and checking myself into Arkham, don’t you worry!”
***
When Commissioner Gordon arrived in the master bedroom and saw the Joker’s smiling, yet thankfully still body clad in women’s clothing he didn’t know what to think. Nothing really surprised him anymore but there were some sights he knew he never wanted to see.
Alfred gave Gordon a knowing look that said it all. Sometimes it was better not to ask.
End.
Author: sparklywalls
Rating: R
Characters: The Joker and Bruce Wayne. Alfred and Gordon make brief appearances.
Pairing: Joker/Bruce
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them and this is just a product of my sick mind.
Summary: The Joker is whatever makes you feel uncomfortable. When he crashes the grand re-opening of Wayne Manor, he seizes the opportunity to thank Bruce for rescuing Coleman Reese. By tormenting him. (Nolanverse)
Warnings: M/M, cross-dressing, dubious consent and faux-incest.
Notes: Some of you may have seen this on fanfiction.net but I have given it another round of editing. It's nothing major, just a couple of sentences and minor details.
For a moment he thought he had been blinded. He was aware of a deep throbbing inside his head and a strange watery sensation underneath the skin of one hand. A small area of flesh had been pierced and lifted away from the bone. Something was being pumped into his blood stream.
Bruce tried to focus but his vision continued to fail him. It was getting lighter now yet still blurred enough to create an illusion of permanent gloom. His ears were ringing. The explosions were coming back to him now. There had been three in quick succession; some people had been hurt and then…gunfire.
He didn’t think anyone had been hit. He wasn’t even sure if the explosions had happened inside the manor. It was a way of getting attention and nothing more. This wasn’t the first time he had witnessed this tactic.
Shapes were swimming in front of his eyes, ambiguous shadows that swirled and reached out like claws to taunt him. High ceilings and decorated walls leapt out among the chaos only to be swallowed by ethereal jaws as Bruce’s brain struggled to remain fully conscious. He had seen enough. He was still in Wayne Manor.
Of all the thoughts that could’ve crossed his mind in that moment the one he did not expect was his distaste for parties.
He knew this was a bad idea. Alfred had encouraged him to celebrate the grand re-opening, saying it would return a sense of normality to Bruce’s life. He could be very persuasive Alfred. Bruce made a mental note to say I told you so later. If he survived…
Bruce shifted slightly. He was sitting down, one hand tied firmly behind his back and the other strapped to his thigh. His legs were bound so tightly together at the ankles that he was sure he couldn’t feel his toes. Whoever had done this didn’t want the young master Wayne to be going anywhere in the immediate future. Besides, even if he were free to run this damned cocktail infesting his system would’ve taken care of him before he was even out of the door. It was worse than being drunk. It was like waking up from a nightmare only to discover one was still paralysed.
A moment later, he blacked out again.
***
The next time Bruce came to he realised there was another person in the room. They were standing in the doorway opposite, silhouetted by the light from the landing. Bruce squinted as a feminine shape began to walk slowly towards him. Her heels clattered against the floorboards in monotonous rhythm and Bruce’s headache worsened. His eyes began to water, blurring the figure again. Yet the light behind her illuminated her long blonde hair and Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be?
“Bruce…” her voice was like an angels, so soft and sweet. “Bruce?” it was like velvet caressing his inner ear. It can’t be.
He could feel tears threatening to well up underneath his eyelids. He didn’t want to cry. Bruce Wayne doesn’t cry. He knew this couldn’t be real but in his delirious state the emotions coursing through his body overwhelmed him. He had wished for a day like this. “Mom?” he managed to splutter.
She came closer, so close that he could see her face. She was as beautiful as the day she died. She was a moment frozen in time, never ageing. She smiled at her son, perfect white teeth framed by an elegant red lipstick and Bruce almost choked. His face was mostly numb but he could feel tears wetting both of his cheeks.
Could this be heaven?
“Mom?”
But why would he be tied to a chair?
As his vision returned he gasped. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight before him.
Instead of staring into the eyes of his loving mother, he was looking right at the scarred and painted mouth of the Joker. In drag.
He was dressed in a black evening gown, split up to the mid-thigh on one side. The dress was clinched at the waist by a belt, also black, and he was wearing a heavy coat with a dark fur trim. The biggest insult of all was the pearl necklace around his neck. It immediately took Bruce back to the sight of his mother falling to the floor, the string of pearls falling with her and scattering about the floor as she lay dying in her own blood. Worse still Bruce knew that the angelic blonde hair that he had noticed first was in fact a wig worn by this maniac.
He knew it was futile but he attempted to launch himself at the Joker anyway. “You twisted son of a -“
“Ah-ah!” the Joker exclaimed, flicking one half of his skirt to one side, revealing a semi-automatic pistol holstered by a garter. He slipped it out, skimming the barrel over his thigh and pointed it directly at Bruce. “Is that any kind of language to use in front of your mother?”
Bruce simply glared, desperately trying to maintain a neutral expression.
“Not talkin’ huh?” said the Joker, inching forwards, the click of high heels more erratic now. “Mommy understands, she’s been dead for so long but you know, she’s missed her little Brucey,” he was close enough to press the gun between Bruce’s eyes. Bruce didn’t flinch. “So I’d strongly advise that you talk,”
“I have nothing to say to you,”
The Joker lowered his gun “yeah…” he drawled, returning the weapon to his garter “well that’s too bad,” he dropped to his knees, softly stroking his fingers over the top of Bruce’s hand. He played with the tube sticking out of the flesh and gave it a sharp tug. As part of the syringe left the vein, Bruce grimaced. He briefly wondered why the hell the Joker had managed to smuggle a PVC drip in here, then he remembered that he was dealing with the Joker. It didn’t need to make sense.
The Joker gave the line another tug. He hadn’t bothered to numb the area or even clean the equipment. The force of the needle leaving Bruce’s flesh nicked the skin, causing a spot of blood to ooze out of the open wound. This time Bruce’s pain was audible and the Joker looked up at him with a sinister smile.
“Oh Brucey, mommy’s sorry. But she really needed you to co-operate,” he said, caressing Bruce’s fingertips. “Would you like her to kiss it better?”
Bruce jerked against his restraints as he tried in vain to kick his captor.
The Joker chuckled and lowered his head, brushing his lips against Bruce’s hand. He flicked his tongue over the blood spot and Bruce flinched. He wasn’t sure if the stinging was physical or a phantom sensation brought on by revulsion. Either way there was little he could do. Eyes closed, the Joker was lapping up the blood until it ceased to flow. He swirled his tongue over the small incision and then rose to his feet.
He licked his lips, a little speck of red visible on the tip of his tongue.
“I never did thank you,” he mused, "saving Reese like that. You sure know how to ruin my fun. You even made me blow up a hospital -"
Bruce interrupted him “You would’ve done it anyway!” he snapped.
The Joker wagged one finger, moving it back and forth beside his head. “Good point,” he replied, quite pleased. “You really are a clever boy Brucey,” he purred.
“If you call me that one more time…”
“You’ll do what? Stare at me?” he paused to rake his grimy fingernails down the side of Bruce’s face. He turned his head in disgust. “You’re all tied up,” said the Joker “and I don’t think the Batman will save ya,”
“Gee, I guess not,” Bruce bit back.
“Uh-hu. You see, Brucey,” he gave a defiant wink “I’m not as dumb as you think,”
“I didn’t say you were,”
The Joker sighed and produced a small knife from his garter “Less interruptions young man or momma spank!” he reached for Bruce’s injured hand again, this time cutting through the material that bound the hand against Bruce’s trousers. He attempted to lash out but the clown was ready for him. He gripped Bruce’s wrist so hard that there was a faint crunch. Without the drugs in his system the young Wayne could’ve easily taken the Joker down. Right now any attempt on the guy was like punching through custard.
“I’d really not try that again…son,” the Joker hissed, throwing the knife to the floor and pulling something else from the cleavage of his dress.
It was a remote detonator.
“Your little friends downstairs are all wired and ready blow. Oh and by the way, they’ve been give a much more potent dose of my medicine…” he said, gesturing to the empty bag that had previously been plugged into Bruce’s veins.
“As I was saying. I’m not as dumb as you think. There are just some things that even I don’t wanna know. You see, what use is an act without the guy getting the pies in the face, hmm?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,”
The Joker grinned again “oh I think you do,” he shrugged the coat off his shoulders and stepped out of it as it pooled around his ankles. He was almost straddling Bruce now but Gotham’s most eligible bachelor wasn’t paying attention. He fixed his gaze to his left, focusing on the detonator. “You want this?” asked the Joker, bending at the waist. Bruce reluctantly made eye contact. “Come and get it,” his captor chuckled, dragging the detonator over the base of his throat and down to the plunging neckline of his dress. The material gaped just enough to reveal that the Joker was even wearing a bra, a prosthesis sewn into each cup.
“No sudden movements Brucey,” he giggled, pushing the detonator behind one of the cups and making sure that the key was poking over the top of the dress, teasing his hostage “we wouldn’t want any uh accidents,” he put his arms around Bruce’s neck and laughed as Bruce attempted to shuffle backwards, knocking the chair into the bed behind him.
“If you want to get off, just get off and get out,” Bruce snapped.
“Aren’t we eager!” the Joker laughed, lowering himself onto Bruce’s lap and sitting sideways, one leg crossed over the other. The only small mercy was that the slit in the skirt was too low to reveal anything above his thighs. Thank God thought Bruce, not wishing to dwell on whether or not the lace bra was part of a matching set. “What would daddy say?” asked the Joker, tightening his arms around Bruce’s neck.
Bruce stiffened his spine and swallowed hard. It was one thing to bring his mother into this; it was another to include his father. The rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach was as worse as the day he almost killed Joe Chill.
“I’m disappointed Brucey-kins. That was so…human of you! Does everything really have to be about sex? Really?” the Joker demanded, shifting a little in Bruce’s lap. It was enough to entice a rather surprising reaction in his hostage and as he felt it brush against his thigh, the Joker had to bite down on his lip to suppress howls of laughter. “My my Brucey, you certainly are all grown up now,”
“You sick bastard…”
This time the Joker didn’t resist the urge to laugh in his face.
“See, now you’re getting it,” he wheezed, threatening another uncontrollable laughing fit “you’re uncomfortable,” he leaned forward, rubbing their noses together “but you like it,”
“I would never enjoy anything that involves you!” Bruce growled, desperately trying to loosen the hand still tied behind his back. One hand free was not enough. The minute he attempted anything he risked the Joker turning that key and besides, that arm especially was like a deadweight dangling at the side of the chair. The outer edges of his field of vision were still spinning and Bruce almost fainted again. It was only the fear of what might happen to him that kept he awake.
If only he had gone to the new Batcave as soon as the Joker arrived. Screw arousing suspicion.
The Joker yanked Bruce’s free hand and pulled it around his waist, forcing the young billionaire to hold his captor in an intimate embrace. The Joker wriggled in Bruce’s lap, giggling at the persistence of his arousal. “I think you are…” he said, flicking his tongue out and licking one of Bruce’s cheeks.
“Get out…”
“Brucey I’m crushed!” the Joker whined “you sabotaged one of my games, you made me blow up a hospital and for months I’ve agonised over the perfect way to thank you,” he moved one of his hands around to cup Bruce’s chin “so I bring back mommy from the dead and this is how you repay me?”
Bruce sighed, scarcely able to believe the words about to leave his lips. “What do you want?”
“I think,” replied the Joker, rearranging his legs so that he now he was straddling Bruce “mommy wants a kiss,”
With some hesitation, Bruce gave the Joker a quick peck on the cheek. He wrinkled his nose as the awful taste of stale greasepaint curled up into his nostrils. He could feel a small amount of white smeared against his lips and wished that he could safely raise his hand to wipe it off. He settled back against the chair and almost lost his temper when the Joker gave him a disapproving scowl.
“Like you mean it,” said the clown, twisting a lock of Bruce’s hair around his fingers. “She’s a little frustrated Brucey, what with daddy still being dead and all…and you’re such a big strong man…”
“If I get free I’m going to break you in half,” Bruce hissed.
The Joker threw his head back, almost screaming as he laughed. “I’m sure you will,” he chuckled “but” he trailed one hand over his fake cleavage, the key rattling as he touched it “remember our little deal? I’d do as your mother says,”
Bruce gagged as a small amount of bile rose up in his throat. This was beyond twisted. This was inhuman. He thought of his mother’s disapproving face, he thought of failing his father and then he remembered the guests downstairs. True, some of them were hangers-on and he cared little for them. But they were his father’s friends. And Alfred was down there. There was a good chance that the Joker was bluffing but could Bruce really gamble the life of his oldest and dearest friend?
Bruce pursed his lips, fighting fresh tears and willing his body to stop betraying him. His mind, so hazy and flooded by conflicting emotions, was disconnected from that involuntary physical reaction. It had to be the drugs. He could never sully his mother’s memory like this.
Then there was another nagging doubt. Maybe a part of him was actually attracted to men. As the thought crossed his mind he bit down so hard on his bottom lip that it cracked and he tasted blood.
“Brucey…” whispered the Joker, running his hands along the lapels of Bruce’s dinner jacket and tilting his hips to emphasise his presence.
Admitting defeat, something that Batman would never do, Bruce closed his eyes and brushed his lips against the Joker’s. At that moment something within the young billionaire cracked. His heart had broken.
He tried to pretend he was kissing a woman, any woman but his mother. It made it so much easier to open his mouth, sealing his lips over the rough, painted lips of his captor. The illusion was ruined somewhat by the Joker’s breath. It was like swallowing rot, so pungent and foul. Bruce gagged again and tried to pull away but the Joker had his hands on the back of Bruce’s head now, forcing their lips to crush closer together.
The Joker slipped his tongue into Bruce’s mouth and quite unexpectedly, Bruce moaned.
Without breaking the kiss the Joker giggled against his hostage’s mouth. Bruce responded by deepening the kiss, if only to shut him up. More make-up smeared against his skin and he slowly slid his tongue over the Joker’s, gasping into his mouth.
Bruce ran his free hand along the Joker’s thigh and up to his waist. He was surprised to find no indication that the clown was turned on by this. It made his cheeks burn with shame that aching in his groin was intensifying. Without realising he’d even raised his hips, desperate for some friction in his pants. It was the drugs; it had to be the drugs.
He skimmed his hand over the Joker’s false breasts, squeezing and imagining that a pretty young woman was bouncing around on his lap. It made it easier. There was no other reason why he was getting into this. If only he could reach the detonator…
The Joker sucked on Bruce’s bottom lip. Bruce opened his eyes, the blur of black, white and red a painful reminder of what was happening. The Joker’s make-up was smudged now, speckles of the pale flesh underneath clearly visible. There was mischief in the Joker’s dark eyes as Bruce’s fingers almost reached the detonator key. As punishment, the clown slammed his hips down hard, causing Bruce to buck against him with a loud moan.
The Joker moved to kiss the corner of Bruce’s mouth “My, what a naughty boy you are Brucey,” he mumbled. He rocked his hips in a regular rhythm, coaxing more whimpers from Bruce, each one a little less reluctant. Until then, this had been doing nothing for the Joker but the thought of controlling Bruce Wayne like this created a fire in his belly. It had aroused him and Bruce moaned again as he felt it press against his stomach.
Misinterpreting the signals, the billionaire slid his free hand up the Joker’s thigh and underneath the dress. The clown immediately broke the kiss and leaned backwards, stopping Bruce’s fingers before they reached any further.
“Do you honestly think that’s what I want?”
Bruce blinked, confused.
“This isn’t about me Brucey,” said the Joker, resuming his rhythmic wriggling against Bruce’s groin “I’m not like other men,” he laughed as Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his head “you on the other hand…”
Bruce tried to push back onto the chair, minimising contact with the man in his lap. He knew he was close but he didn’t want to give the clown any satisfaction. He got it now. All the other man wanted was to humiliate Bruce, to challenge everything Bruce thought he knew about himself. There wasn’t even a point to this. It was just a game.
The Joker stilled his hips and without warning swooped down to crush his mouth against Bruce’s throat. He sucked hard on the skin, scraping his teeth along the pulse. Bruce simply stared off into the distance, refusing to fight anymore.
Then something caught his eye.
He knew he’d have to play along now. Just for another moment. “Mom,” he moaned, ignoring the nausea he brought upon himself.
“Ooh, decided you want to play now?” the Joker clucked, licking along Bruce’s jaw line before returning his attentions to his hostage’s lips. Bruce pushed his hips up into the Joker’s and stroked his hand down the clown’s spine, searching for the zipper
Bruce had just begun to pull the zip down when a loud clang signalled that his ploy had been successful. The Joker sat up straight, eyes wide and his lips twisting into a snarl. Then he crumbled, falling backwards and sliding off Bruce’s lap into a tangled heap on the floor. The impact was enough to knock the blonde wig from his head.
There stood Alfred, ever an impressive figure of reserved professionalism, with a silver tray in his hand, now dented in the middle. He threw the tray to one side and knelt down, pulling the Joker’s skirt so that it covered his legs completely. Master Wayne had probably had enough traumas for one evening.
Bruce shuffled against his restraints, hoping to hide anything unusual about his position “It’s about time,” he said with a relieved smile.
“I’m starting to wonder how you’d ever manage without me, Master Wayne,” Alfred replied, looking back down at the Joker and then facing Bruce with a smile of his own as he noticed the smears of face paint “though if it’s all the same to you sir, I’d rather not know what happened,”
“Don’t even ask!” laughed Bruce.
The Joker was out cold, one hand twisted above his head and his legs loosely crossed at the ankles. The detonator had fallen out of his dress and was the GCPD’s problem now.
“Commissioner Gordon is here sir. Just downstairs helping with the other hostages,” said Alfred, at last moving to untie his master. “A lot of them are about as lively as he is…” he gestured to the unconscious Joker.
“Well, he gave me a pretty strong dose. I’m still kinda fuzzy,” replied Bruce, “hey, how come you’re not down there with them?” he asked, arching a suspicious brow.
“Me?” Alfred had just finished removing the ankle restraints “I was getting more bubbly when it happened, thought it was best if I hid for a while,”
“You better not have been watching!”
“Master Wayne,” Alfred chuckled “if I had, I would’ve been handing in my bloody resignation and checking myself into Arkham, don’t you worry!”
***
When Commissioner Gordon arrived in the master bedroom and saw the Joker’s smiling, yet thankfully still body clad in women’s clothing he didn’t know what to think. Nothing really surprised him anymore but there were some sights he knew he never wanted to see.
Alfred gave Gordon a knowing look that said it all. Sometimes it was better not to ask.
End.