The Dark Knight Fic: "Stalemate"
Title: Stalemate
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harvey(Two-Face)/Joker
Warnings: M/M sex, language
Word Count: 2,631
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: Written for the Batman Kink Meme: "Harvey ties the Joker's hands behind his back, puts a gun in his mouth, and fucks him. Threatens to shoot." I also was greatly inspired by mistressxd's smexy artwork. I was listening to "Possum Kingdom" by Toadies when I wrote most of this and it’s fair to say that it helped me write it as well. Parts of it really fit in that scary, sick, demented and violent way that is the Two-Face/Joker experience.
Summary: The two rendezvous at a special place in the city: it would be a romantic evening.
Crossposted like a son of a bitch.
...
I’m not gonna lie
I’ll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I’ll show you my dark secret
..
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
- "Possum Kingdom", Toadies
...
He didn’t mind following Dent’s lead. He had no qualms about skipping into his traps. Giving him that superficial power worked to further entangle him in his net. The more Dent pushed into that net, the harder he would struggle to free himself later. It was all tit for tat. He didn’t mind playing the game.
And he went where the game took him. Sometimes it was to abandoned warehouses, other times to dirty alleyways. Dent had even been known to lead him to glitzy restaurants, old stomping-grounds that the half-dead snob in him just couldn’t stay away from.
This time, it was somewhere completely different. New. Yet entirely familiar to Dent: his former office. In honor of their late hero, the silly sentimental citizens of Gotham had opted not to move the new District Attorney into it. At least not right away. Rather, they turned it into a kind of makeshift memorial, leaving all of his personal effects and furniture in place. He was sure the Commissioner visited it often enough, to pay his undoubtedly heartfelt tribute.
That Dent was able to secure a way in impressed the Joker. He didn’t know how he did it, but he didn’t care enough to ask. His little Dent was a quick learner, in every respect. And that thrilled him.
He strutted into the office, usual smirk stretched across that ghastly face. The room was dark, weakly lit by a small group of candles adorning a corner of Dent’s old desk. The clown nodded toward the flames that flickered in an undetectable breeze.
“You did mess around after hours, didn’t you?” Gloved hands clapped. “I knew it.”
Dent was cloaked almost entirely in shadow. Only when he turned toward the other man did his contradictory features become slightly more visible.
“They were brought here for me. But they’re not mine.” Stacks of case files caught his gaze. “We couldn’t have naked flames in the offices, not with so much flammable material here.”
“Now that’s irony.” The clown cocked an eyebrow. “So what, they’re offerings for your little shrine?”
“Something like that.”
“I never did get why anyone wasted candles this way. When you burn, burn with a purpose!” Eyes shifted to his partner. “What’s the occasion? Feeling especially romantic tonight?”
“You could say that.”
“Hmm?” Not quite the answer he expected, but it suited him all the same. He happily noticed some rope sitting idly on the desk’s edge. What are we planning to do with that, I wonder?
“Have a seat.” Dent nodded toward a steel chair currently tucked under another table. So many different people had sat in it - just yesterday, it seemed. Memories tried to flood back, but they were quickly suppressed.
The clown did as told, still smirking. Little Dent had something up his sleeve. He always did. And he never failed to get off on the excitement of it. When he saw the burned man stand, his pulse quickened. One hand was in a pocket: what would he pull out of it?
“As much as I hate to do it, I have to thank you.” Slow, determined steps brought him closer to the Joker’s chair. Mutual anticipation continued to mount.
“Thank me?” A sly grin.
“You, friend, made me what I am today. Without you and your less-than-divine intervention, I never would have known what real power tasted like. What rage sounded like. What madness felt like.” Hand emerged from the pocket with that coin. Thumb and forefinger rubbed either side of it until it disappeared again into his shirt pocket. “Things I never wanted for myself--”
“Oh, spare me. You and your ilk have always wanted those things. You were just too proud, too good to ever say it out loud. We’re all animals, Harv. It’s just that some of us can admit it.”
“You would think that.” Dent snapped.
“Hey, like I told you before, I just hold up the mirror, ‘kay? It’s not my fault when people hate what they see.”
That infamous flash-anger didn’t disappoint. Hell, it made life with him positively exhilarating. And the Joker loved it. In barely a second, a gun was pulled from his other pocket and pressed to the clown’s forehead. But the Joker couldn’t stifle his laughter. Not that he had any intention to.
“Ha, and I was just about to ask if that was a revolver in your pants, or if you were just happy to see me!”
“You always have something to say,” Dent hissed through clenched teeth. “You never know when to shut up.” He reached behind him to grab the rope off the desk. “But tonight…I’m gonna make you shut up.”
“Well, good luck with that. It’s no easy task.” This had better be worth my time.
“Hands out front. Now.” Dent gave a threatening thrust of the gun against the painted brow. “You make any sort of move beyond that and you die.”
“Question: why not behind my back?” The false innocence was not unfamiliar to him but all the same, he hated the Joker’s word games. Word games, mind games. Always games. So tiresome, so predictable.
“I wanna give you the illusion that you might be able to get yourself out of this.”
“Twisted little Dent, I taught you well.” He sighed dreamily. “Mmm, yeah, I’m game.”
Dent lowered the gun and placed it back down into his pocket. A gamble, perhaps. But what’s life without a little risk? Besides, but there wasn’t much the clown would dare do if he wanted to live to laugh another day. Nevertheless, as he proceeded to bind the Joker’s wrists together, Dent was becoming more and more irritated. He thinks this is going to be fun. He’s not worried at all!
Nothing would ever erase that smile, it seemed. Of course the smile that had been carved onto him wasn’t ever going to vanish. But the smile that lurked below the old gashes in tissue, the one that lived in those spiteful eyes of his: that was the one he longed to undo. Though, even if he couldn’t make that go away, he could at least stop the noise. Stop the maddening giggles and snorts of a lunatic.
“Open your mouth.”
“And close my eyes and wait for a surprise?”
“Open it!”
“Anything for you, Ha--”
The clown didn’t expect the gun’s barrel to so suddenly fill his mouth. He vigorously tried to hide his gagging on it, but watery eyes and a few spasms of the stomach overtly betrayed that attempt. He’d force his body to get used to it soon enough. But for the next few moments, he struggled with it.
These reactions were steadily reversing Dent’s annoyance. A cruel grin broke over his own face at the sight of the gagging, shuddering clown who was presently at his mercy. This is what it feels like, this is what they all talk about.
“How do you like that?! What’s it like for you not being able t-“
He stopped, frozen in mid-sentence. Noises that were all too common and enraging to Dent’s ears: muffled chuckles. Dent would wish then that this was the extent of the madman’s taunting. But that wish would go unfulfilled. The Joker was never finished tormenting the ones that amused him most.
Single good eye twitched angrily. What remained of lips drew back, baring teeth in a canine grimace. What is he doing?!
The clown’s tongue had snaked past the gun’s barrel and now tried to embrace it. Dent saw it peek out from beside the metal and slide about, leaving behind wet trails. It slipped along slowly, sensually. Teasingly. Even worse, he had begun to let sounds accompany the sight: he didn’t believe in half-assed attempts at anything. Give it all or nothing.
Periodically, the end of the gun’s barrel would brush the back of his throat and he’d gag a bit, interrupting his theatrical moaning and groaning. But he would swiftly recover, much to the chagrin of his frustrated partner. As he listened to himself carry on, he felt the effects. All of this was convincing his body of the pleasure. Making it believe the little white lies. He writhed in his chair. With every dart and roll of that tongue his eyes remained on Dent, searching for any sign of newly awakened vigor in that body.
Something was indeed stirring within Dent as well. As he stood there, the gun in his hands in the Joker’s mouth, he could almost feel the heat of that sticky throat and the flick of that eager tongue against his length. He wanted to shove the gun in deeper, deeper until it scraped the trachea. The thoughts were taking their toll on him. Yet again the Joker had, with minimal effort, pushed him to embrace the darker side of his desires. He did it so easily, so carelessly. It outraged and sickened him.
“Stop it. Stop it or I’ll blow your goddamned brains out!” The gun began to shake in his quaking grip. It didn’t seem to bother the man tasting it, savoring it. In fact, he seemed relaxed. The gagging had become less and less frequent by this time. He’d grown accustomed to his position.
“STOP IT!” Dent roared in the madman’s face, to no avail. He only continued that licking and groaning. And all the while, he could feel the result of this spectacle pushing from the inside of his pants. He was intoxicated. Drunk on the rush of fiendish desire. The very same kind of fiendishness that he’d locked up dozens of men for.
Dent didn’t recall letting go of the gun so he could throw the clown to the ground. But the Joker was more than happy to help out by tightening his mouth around it as he fell. Why should he try to spit it out? It was a new feeling, one he enjoyed.
Dent didn’t recall clawing at trousers, all cloth barriers, furiously tugging them down to ankles. Fighting to pull them off over shoes and oddly-colored socks. Someplace in the back of his mind, he reasoned that if he was going to be so disgraced tonight, he wouldn’t be the only one. After fucking him, he planned to leave the clown there, pants in a heap next to him. Pants he wouldn’t be able to put back on - not without help.
He did remember hearing the Joker’s muffled laughter as he strained over him, feverishly working his own buttons. A relieved sigh followed their undoing, by which warming flesh was allowed to spring free.
He did remember the low growl climb from his own chest. “Drop that gun and I’ll break your neck.”
Scheming eyes just looked on, taking the opportunity to look Dent up and down as he pulled him up from the floor. There was no disputing that he liked it rough. But couldn’t Dent have been a bit gentler when shoving him against that desk? The edge stuck into his stomach, forcing his lips to open a tad more; fortunately, he caught the gun with those same lips before it had time to slip.
He wanted to snicker when Dent’s hands grabbed hold of his hips. He wanted to cry out in pleasured pain when Dent breached him. That sliding burn of dry-fucking was also something he had grown to appreciate. He didn’t always enjoy it as much but when it suited the moment, he could appreciate it. This was one of those moments. As far as he was concerned, it showed that Dent truly cared.
The two men crashed against each other in a furious rhythm, Dent grunting and gnashing his teeth with every brutal plunge and the Joker clamping a bruised mouth ever-tighter around the deadly metal. Though his whines and groans were stifled by the weapon, they were no less enthusiastic than usual.
Dent earnestly increased his speed - not only for his physical benefit, but to also try and sabotage the experience for the Joker. If he could drive himself into him hard enough, fast enough, maybe he could make him lose hold of that gun and give him full and fair rights to end it all right then and there. The clown’s corpse sprawled across his desk would be an appropriate tribute to his legacy. Not even the Batman could deny it as the single greatest gift to Gotham since he first donned that mask of his.
Drop the gun, damn you. Drop the fucking gun!
But the Joker was keen on the game. Dent had concocted so many scenarios for killing him, arranged so many intimate meetings with the sole purpose of destroying him. But he was a survivor. And things had become way too much fun. He took every agonizing thrust in pleasurable stride. He did wish that he could work his own erection; tricky Dent sought to head that off well before he even walked in. Schemers…old habits die hard. There was always afterward. He’d have to free his hands if he won the game. After all, fair was fair.
Frenzied seconds turned to several minutes of frantic rocking and bucking. As much as he ordered his body to ignore the need to release, he could feel it disobeying him. That telltale tensing gripped him as he gripped hips and with a shuddering cry, he came. The Joker’s eyelids trembled as he felt the rush of liquid heat inside him.
Dent gave a muted sigh as he withdrew, sweat beads dotting his neck and forehead. Several seconds passed as he stood there after, motionless. Wordless. Realization could be a physically painful thing. In his case, it was a numbing agent.
He stepped forward and reached around to retrieve his gun from the Joker’s sore lips, still silent. The clown exhaled in relief and turned to watch the other man re-button his pants.
“You aren’t gonna freshen up first?”
“No need. I’m headed to a nice cold shower in a very nice hotel a long way from here. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“So uh, how about being a friend and cutting this rope for me, eh?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“But, it’s gonna be much harder for me to get the hell out of here. Not to mention, I’m covered in, well, you.” He pouted. What happened to fair?
“I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.” He shot the clown a sarcastic smirk. “Don’t let a little piece of rope ruin the rest of your evening.”
Just before he turned around, he caught the other man mouthing something at him. He thought it looked like “bastard”, and contented himself with that.
Dent left the candles to burn themselves out. If they somehow caught a scrap of paper and burned down the place with the Joker in it, he wouldn’t complain. His work here was done. As he neared the doorway to exit the office, the clown called out to him. A hint of desperation produced a higher voice.
“Hey, do you always come and go?” No response. Not even a gesture.
So he tried another approach. “Why so shy? What is it, you too ashamed to look at your handiwork anymore?!”
Dent stopped and gave the clown a strange over-the-shoulder look, one befitting a man of such paradoxical appearance. Though he said nothing, he didn’t need to. While to untrained eyes there didn’t tend to be much difference between his scowls and melancholic frowns these days, the Joker knew well the difference between them. And he saw both etched on that half-beautiful face.
Was a friendly reassurance between partners in order?
Hell no. Just cold plain fact.
The clown smiled, as lovingly as he could feign.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be ugly together."
...
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harvey(Two-Face)/Joker
Warnings: M/M sex, language
Word Count: 2,631
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: Written for the Batman Kink Meme: "Harvey ties the Joker's hands behind his back, puts a gun in his mouth, and fucks him. Threatens to shoot." I also was greatly inspired by mistressxd's smexy artwork. I was listening to "Possum Kingdom" by Toadies when I wrote most of this and it’s fair to say that it helped me write it as well. Parts of it really fit in that scary, sick, demented and violent way that is the Two-Face/Joker experience.
Summary: The two rendezvous at a special place in the city: it would be a romantic evening.
Crossposted like a son of a bitch.
...
I’m not gonna lie
I’ll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I’ll show you my dark secret
..
I will treat you well
My sweet angel
So help me, Jesus
- "Possum Kingdom", Toadies
...
He didn’t mind following Dent’s lead. He had no qualms about skipping into his traps. Giving him that superficial power worked to further entangle him in his net. The more Dent pushed into that net, the harder he would struggle to free himself later. It was all tit for tat. He didn’t mind playing the game.
And he went where the game took him. Sometimes it was to abandoned warehouses, other times to dirty alleyways. Dent had even been known to lead him to glitzy restaurants, old stomping-grounds that the half-dead snob in him just couldn’t stay away from.
This time, it was somewhere completely different. New. Yet entirely familiar to Dent: his former office. In honor of their late hero, the silly sentimental citizens of Gotham had opted not to move the new District Attorney into it. At least not right away. Rather, they turned it into a kind of makeshift memorial, leaving all of his personal effects and furniture in place. He was sure the Commissioner visited it often enough, to pay his undoubtedly heartfelt tribute.
That Dent was able to secure a way in impressed the Joker. He didn’t know how he did it, but he didn’t care enough to ask. His little Dent was a quick learner, in every respect. And that thrilled him.
He strutted into the office, usual smirk stretched across that ghastly face. The room was dark, weakly lit by a small group of candles adorning a corner of Dent’s old desk. The clown nodded toward the flames that flickered in an undetectable breeze.
“You did mess around after hours, didn’t you?” Gloved hands clapped. “I knew it.”
Dent was cloaked almost entirely in shadow. Only when he turned toward the other man did his contradictory features become slightly more visible.
“They were brought here for me. But they’re not mine.” Stacks of case files caught his gaze. “We couldn’t have naked flames in the offices, not with so much flammable material here.”
“Now that’s irony.” The clown cocked an eyebrow. “So what, they’re offerings for your little shrine?”
“Something like that.”
“I never did get why anyone wasted candles this way. When you burn, burn with a purpose!” Eyes shifted to his partner. “What’s the occasion? Feeling especially romantic tonight?”
“You could say that.”
“Hmm?” Not quite the answer he expected, but it suited him all the same. He happily noticed some rope sitting idly on the desk’s edge. What are we planning to do with that, I wonder?
“Have a seat.” Dent nodded toward a steel chair currently tucked under another table. So many different people had sat in it - just yesterday, it seemed. Memories tried to flood back, but they were quickly suppressed.
The clown did as told, still smirking. Little Dent had something up his sleeve. He always did. And he never failed to get off on the excitement of it. When he saw the burned man stand, his pulse quickened. One hand was in a pocket: what would he pull out of it?
“As much as I hate to do it, I have to thank you.” Slow, determined steps brought him closer to the Joker’s chair. Mutual anticipation continued to mount.
“Thank me?” A sly grin.
“You, friend, made me what I am today. Without you and your less-than-divine intervention, I never would have known what real power tasted like. What rage sounded like. What madness felt like.” Hand emerged from the pocket with that coin. Thumb and forefinger rubbed either side of it until it disappeared again into his shirt pocket. “Things I never wanted for myself--”
“Oh, spare me. You and your ilk have always wanted those things. You were just too proud, too good to ever say it out loud. We’re all animals, Harv. It’s just that some of us can admit it.”
“You would think that.” Dent snapped.
“Hey, like I told you before, I just hold up the mirror, ‘kay? It’s not my fault when people hate what they see.”
That infamous flash-anger didn’t disappoint. Hell, it made life with him positively exhilarating. And the Joker loved it. In barely a second, a gun was pulled from his other pocket and pressed to the clown’s forehead. But the Joker couldn’t stifle his laughter. Not that he had any intention to.
“Ha, and I was just about to ask if that was a revolver in your pants, or if you were just happy to see me!”
“You always have something to say,” Dent hissed through clenched teeth. “You never know when to shut up.” He reached behind him to grab the rope off the desk. “But tonight…I’m gonna make you shut up.”
“Well, good luck with that. It’s no easy task.” This had better be worth my time.
“Hands out front. Now.” Dent gave a threatening thrust of the gun against the painted brow. “You make any sort of move beyond that and you die.”
“Question: why not behind my back?” The false innocence was not unfamiliar to him but all the same, he hated the Joker’s word games. Word games, mind games. Always games. So tiresome, so predictable.
“I wanna give you the illusion that you might be able to get yourself out of this.”
“Twisted little Dent, I taught you well.” He sighed dreamily. “Mmm, yeah, I’m game.”
Dent lowered the gun and placed it back down into his pocket. A gamble, perhaps. But what’s life without a little risk? Besides, but there wasn’t much the clown would dare do if he wanted to live to laugh another day. Nevertheless, as he proceeded to bind the Joker’s wrists together, Dent was becoming more and more irritated. He thinks this is going to be fun. He’s not worried at all!
Nothing would ever erase that smile, it seemed. Of course the smile that had been carved onto him wasn’t ever going to vanish. But the smile that lurked below the old gashes in tissue, the one that lived in those spiteful eyes of his: that was the one he longed to undo. Though, even if he couldn’t make that go away, he could at least stop the noise. Stop the maddening giggles and snorts of a lunatic.
“Open your mouth.”
“And close my eyes and wait for a surprise?”
“Open it!”
“Anything for you, Ha--”
The clown didn’t expect the gun’s barrel to so suddenly fill his mouth. He vigorously tried to hide his gagging on it, but watery eyes and a few spasms of the stomach overtly betrayed that attempt. He’d force his body to get used to it soon enough. But for the next few moments, he struggled with it.
These reactions were steadily reversing Dent’s annoyance. A cruel grin broke over his own face at the sight of the gagging, shuddering clown who was presently at his mercy. This is what it feels like, this is what they all talk about.
“How do you like that?! What’s it like for you not being able t-“
He stopped, frozen in mid-sentence. Noises that were all too common and enraging to Dent’s ears: muffled chuckles. Dent would wish then that this was the extent of the madman’s taunting. But that wish would go unfulfilled. The Joker was never finished tormenting the ones that amused him most.
Single good eye twitched angrily. What remained of lips drew back, baring teeth in a canine grimace. What is he doing?!
The clown’s tongue had snaked past the gun’s barrel and now tried to embrace it. Dent saw it peek out from beside the metal and slide about, leaving behind wet trails. It slipped along slowly, sensually. Teasingly. Even worse, he had begun to let sounds accompany the sight: he didn’t believe in half-assed attempts at anything. Give it all or nothing.
Periodically, the end of the gun’s barrel would brush the back of his throat and he’d gag a bit, interrupting his theatrical moaning and groaning. But he would swiftly recover, much to the chagrin of his frustrated partner. As he listened to himself carry on, he felt the effects. All of this was convincing his body of the pleasure. Making it believe the little white lies. He writhed in his chair. With every dart and roll of that tongue his eyes remained on Dent, searching for any sign of newly awakened vigor in that body.
Something was indeed stirring within Dent as well. As he stood there, the gun in his hands in the Joker’s mouth, he could almost feel the heat of that sticky throat and the flick of that eager tongue against his length. He wanted to shove the gun in deeper, deeper until it scraped the trachea. The thoughts were taking their toll on him. Yet again the Joker had, with minimal effort, pushed him to embrace the darker side of his desires. He did it so easily, so carelessly. It outraged and sickened him.
“Stop it. Stop it or I’ll blow your goddamned brains out!” The gun began to shake in his quaking grip. It didn’t seem to bother the man tasting it, savoring it. In fact, he seemed relaxed. The gagging had become less and less frequent by this time. He’d grown accustomed to his position.
“STOP IT!” Dent roared in the madman’s face, to no avail. He only continued that licking and groaning. And all the while, he could feel the result of this spectacle pushing from the inside of his pants. He was intoxicated. Drunk on the rush of fiendish desire. The very same kind of fiendishness that he’d locked up dozens of men for.
Dent didn’t recall letting go of the gun so he could throw the clown to the ground. But the Joker was more than happy to help out by tightening his mouth around it as he fell. Why should he try to spit it out? It was a new feeling, one he enjoyed.
Dent didn’t recall clawing at trousers, all cloth barriers, furiously tugging them down to ankles. Fighting to pull them off over shoes and oddly-colored socks. Someplace in the back of his mind, he reasoned that if he was going to be so disgraced tonight, he wouldn’t be the only one. After fucking him, he planned to leave the clown there, pants in a heap next to him. Pants he wouldn’t be able to put back on - not without help.
He did remember hearing the Joker’s muffled laughter as he strained over him, feverishly working his own buttons. A relieved sigh followed their undoing, by which warming flesh was allowed to spring free.
He did remember the low growl climb from his own chest. “Drop that gun and I’ll break your neck.”
Scheming eyes just looked on, taking the opportunity to look Dent up and down as he pulled him up from the floor. There was no disputing that he liked it rough. But couldn’t Dent have been a bit gentler when shoving him against that desk? The edge stuck into his stomach, forcing his lips to open a tad more; fortunately, he caught the gun with those same lips before it had time to slip.
He wanted to snicker when Dent’s hands grabbed hold of his hips. He wanted to cry out in pleasured pain when Dent breached him. That sliding burn of dry-fucking was also something he had grown to appreciate. He didn’t always enjoy it as much but when it suited the moment, he could appreciate it. This was one of those moments. As far as he was concerned, it showed that Dent truly cared.
The two men crashed against each other in a furious rhythm, Dent grunting and gnashing his teeth with every brutal plunge and the Joker clamping a bruised mouth ever-tighter around the deadly metal. Though his whines and groans were stifled by the weapon, they were no less enthusiastic than usual.
Dent earnestly increased his speed - not only for his physical benefit, but to also try and sabotage the experience for the Joker. If he could drive himself into him hard enough, fast enough, maybe he could make him lose hold of that gun and give him full and fair rights to end it all right then and there. The clown’s corpse sprawled across his desk would be an appropriate tribute to his legacy. Not even the Batman could deny it as the single greatest gift to Gotham since he first donned that mask of his.
Drop the gun, damn you. Drop the fucking gun!
But the Joker was keen on the game. Dent had concocted so many scenarios for killing him, arranged so many intimate meetings with the sole purpose of destroying him. But he was a survivor. And things had become way too much fun. He took every agonizing thrust in pleasurable stride. He did wish that he could work his own erection; tricky Dent sought to head that off well before he even walked in. Schemers…old habits die hard. There was always afterward. He’d have to free his hands if he won the game. After all, fair was fair.
Frenzied seconds turned to several minutes of frantic rocking and bucking. As much as he ordered his body to ignore the need to release, he could feel it disobeying him. That telltale tensing gripped him as he gripped hips and with a shuddering cry, he came. The Joker’s eyelids trembled as he felt the rush of liquid heat inside him.
Dent gave a muted sigh as he withdrew, sweat beads dotting his neck and forehead. Several seconds passed as he stood there after, motionless. Wordless. Realization could be a physically painful thing. In his case, it was a numbing agent.
He stepped forward and reached around to retrieve his gun from the Joker’s sore lips, still silent. The clown exhaled in relief and turned to watch the other man re-button his pants.
“You aren’t gonna freshen up first?”
“No need. I’m headed to a nice cold shower in a very nice hotel a long way from here. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“So uh, how about being a friend and cutting this rope for me, eh?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“But, it’s gonna be much harder for me to get the hell out of here. Not to mention, I’m covered in, well, you.” He pouted. What happened to fair?
“I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do.” He shot the clown a sarcastic smirk. “Don’t let a little piece of rope ruin the rest of your evening.”
Just before he turned around, he caught the other man mouthing something at him. He thought it looked like “bastard”, and contented himself with that.
Dent left the candles to burn themselves out. If they somehow caught a scrap of paper and burned down the place with the Joker in it, he wouldn’t complain. His work here was done. As he neared the doorway to exit the office, the clown called out to him. A hint of desperation produced a higher voice.
“Hey, do you always come and go?” No response. Not even a gesture.
So he tried another approach. “Why so shy? What is it, you too ashamed to look at your handiwork anymore?!”
Dent stopped and gave the clown a strange over-the-shoulder look, one befitting a man of such paradoxical appearance. Though he said nothing, he didn’t need to. While to untrained eyes there didn’t tend to be much difference between his scowls and melancholic frowns these days, the Joker knew well the difference between them. And he saw both etched on that half-beautiful face.
Was a friendly reassurance between partners in order?
Hell no. Just cold plain fact.
The clown smiled, as lovingly as he could feign.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be ugly together."
...