The Man Who Laughs
Title: The Man Who Laughs
Author: andherewego
Rating: soft R for allusions to sexual situations and violence (though with Jokerfic, that's to be expected, I feel)
Word Count: 632
Summary: For Harvey, everything is about balance. For the Joker, life is just a joke.
Author's Notes: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. From the Joker that brought you the wacky escapades over at timeto_play, we have a new fic. New-old fic. It was started as a birthday present ages ago and just recently finished.
If you like what you see, visit us over at alonghalloween which will at some point host not only the logs that timeto_play posted, but also fic featuring Jonathan Crane, Harvey Dent, and The Joker. We like our villains, over at A Long Halloween :)
Just as a side note, this started off Jokercentric, with his views on Harvey. Then it flipflopped and ended up the other way around. As things tend to do around Harvey. Enjoy!
Cross-posted to knivesandlint and alonghalloween
xoxoxJ
It was an interesting sensation, kissing a man with only half a face. Fingers tried to tangle in hair that wasn't there or accidentally brushed against exposed teeth. Jack (because Harvey refused to call him 'Joker' if they were going to have any sort of relationship, dysfunctional thought it may be) loved to explore the intricate web of scar tissue on the ruined side of Harvey's face with his fingers and tongue, delving into the scraps of skin left still attached to his lips and jaw.
Harvey, in turn, almost obsessively ran his thumbs over the scars on Jack's cheek as they kissed. He liked to help Jack remove his makeup; he'd wet a washclotch and first wash off his mouth. Then he'd kiss him, almost achingly tender, while Jack held still like a good boy. He'd carefully run the cloth over his cheeks, under his eyes, across his forehead, brushing his lips against the freshly exposed skin.
They worked well together.
Jack would use his toys, his knives to play with their victims. Harvey would watch silently, hands folded in his lap. The way Jack could slowly chip away at someone's sanity was fascinating. The way he could wear someone down to a breaking point was next to genius.
So Harvey would watch, and admire. After Jack was finished, Harvey would stand and smile amiably at the victim. They'd get a choice: they die sooner or later.
Unmarked side, Jack would finish them off any way he liked, often times drawing the game out for hours on end.
Scarred side, Harvey would be merciful and shoot them in the back of the head.
After they finished, they'd dissolve the body in acid. Harvey's idea; Jack wanted to show off their work, but Harvey was more cautious. He liked his freedom. He liked staying out of Arkham.
And so it went.
Their little sessions excited Jack more than anything else could. He was always anxious to fuck, but Harvey played it fair. Unmarked side, they did it Jack's way; scarred side, Harvey's way.
Jacks way was all tongue and teeth and hot hands pushing hungrily at clothes. Harvey was always sore after, but he didn't mind. Jack appreciated him like no one else could. He treated Harvey like he was still someone beautiful, lavishing attention on his ruined face. He'd bite and kiss at the burn marks on his chest and arm, trace his fingers over the scars on his legs.
In return, Harvey would drag his teeth and tongue over the scars on Jack's face. Sometimes he'd imagine them reopening, splitting apart under his tongue. His meticulous fingers had memorized the veritable map of scars over Jack's arms, legs, and chest; all self inflicted. His favourite was a raised J on his left hip. He'd press his tongue to it and imagine the J burning itself into the soft flesh.
His mind went strange places, nowadays.
Jack liked Harvey for a lot of reasons. His stoic, black or white reasoning was a nice counterpoint to Jack's chaos. Harvey planned well. Jack would throw out crazy what if's and Harvey would carefully help craft them into more conceivable, executable plots.
There were things that were more tolerated than enjoyed. Harvey's idea of sex, for one. He liked it slow and tender, taking their time. That sort of thing was okay now and then, but Jack got sick of it pretty fast. It was boring and tedious, but Harvey's coin was law.
But what Jack liked best was that Harvey got it. He got the joke. That life was cruel and stupid and pointless and the only thing to do about it was to have a little fun. They could have a good laugh about it.
Jack liked a man who could laugh.
Author: andherewego
Rating: soft R for allusions to sexual situations and violence (though with Jokerfic, that's to be expected, I feel)
Word Count: 632
Summary: For Harvey, everything is about balance. For the Joker, life is just a joke.
Author's Notes: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. From the Joker that brought you the wacky escapades over at timeto_play, we have a new fic. New-old fic. It was started as a birthday present ages ago and just recently finished.
If you like what you see, visit us over at alonghalloween which will at some point host not only the logs that timeto_play posted, but also fic featuring Jonathan Crane, Harvey Dent, and The Joker. We like our villains, over at A Long Halloween :)
Just as a side note, this started off Jokercentric, with his views on Harvey. Then it flipflopped and ended up the other way around. As things tend to do around Harvey. Enjoy!
Cross-posted to knivesandlint and alonghalloween
xoxoxJ
It was an interesting sensation, kissing a man with only half a face. Fingers tried to tangle in hair that wasn't there or accidentally brushed against exposed teeth. Jack (because Harvey refused to call him 'Joker' if they were going to have any sort of relationship, dysfunctional thought it may be) loved to explore the intricate web of scar tissue on the ruined side of Harvey's face with his fingers and tongue, delving into the scraps of skin left still attached to his lips and jaw.
Harvey, in turn, almost obsessively ran his thumbs over the scars on Jack's cheek as they kissed. He liked to help Jack remove his makeup; he'd wet a washclotch and first wash off his mouth. Then he'd kiss him, almost achingly tender, while Jack held still like a good boy. He'd carefully run the cloth over his cheeks, under his eyes, across his forehead, brushing his lips against the freshly exposed skin.
They worked well together.
Jack would use his toys, his knives to play with their victims. Harvey would watch silently, hands folded in his lap. The way Jack could slowly chip away at someone's sanity was fascinating. The way he could wear someone down to a breaking point was next to genius.
So Harvey would watch, and admire. After Jack was finished, Harvey would stand and smile amiably at the victim. They'd get a choice: they die sooner or later.
Unmarked side, Jack would finish them off any way he liked, often times drawing the game out for hours on end.
Scarred side, Harvey would be merciful and shoot them in the back of the head.
After they finished, they'd dissolve the body in acid. Harvey's idea; Jack wanted to show off their work, but Harvey was more cautious. He liked his freedom. He liked staying out of Arkham.
And so it went.
Their little sessions excited Jack more than anything else could. He was always anxious to fuck, but Harvey played it fair. Unmarked side, they did it Jack's way; scarred side, Harvey's way.
Jacks way was all tongue and teeth and hot hands pushing hungrily at clothes. Harvey was always sore after, but he didn't mind. Jack appreciated him like no one else could. He treated Harvey like he was still someone beautiful, lavishing attention on his ruined face. He'd bite and kiss at the burn marks on his chest and arm, trace his fingers over the scars on his legs.
In return, Harvey would drag his teeth and tongue over the scars on Jack's face. Sometimes he'd imagine them reopening, splitting apart under his tongue. His meticulous fingers had memorized the veritable map of scars over Jack's arms, legs, and chest; all self inflicted. His favourite was a raised J on his left hip. He'd press his tongue to it and imagine the J burning itself into the soft flesh.
His mind went strange places, nowadays.
Jack liked Harvey for a lot of reasons. His stoic, black or white reasoning was a nice counterpoint to Jack's chaos. Harvey planned well. Jack would throw out crazy what if's and Harvey would carefully help craft them into more conceivable, executable plots.
There were things that were more tolerated than enjoyed. Harvey's idea of sex, for one. He liked it slow and tender, taking their time. That sort of thing was okay now and then, but Jack got sick of it pretty fast. It was boring and tedious, but Harvey's coin was law.
But what Jack liked best was that Harvey got it. He got the joke. That life was cruel and stupid and pointless and the only thing to do about it was to have a little fun. They could have a good laugh about it.
Jack liked a man who could laugh.