Voyeurism At It's Worst Part 4
Title: Voyeurism At It's Worst 4
Author: heatherhouse
Rating: PG-13 for now
Characters/Pairings: Joker/Batman, OC
Warnings: Unbate'd, crackfic
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Desarai, all else belongs to DC and Christopher Nolan.
Verse: Movieverse
Summary: I didn't want to see Batman and the Joker kiss, it just happened!
A/N: Okay, I'm gonna be honest here. Dezzy and the Joker are totally to blame for this. I let them have the booze but I didn't expect this to happen. I'll let you know if I let them live after they finish sobering up. Hope you guys enjoy their combined madness.
Two hours, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and my emergency bottle of Cuervo later, we were both nursing our respective belly aches and trying not to move too quickly. Nothing fucks up a nice buzz better then mixing the wrongs booze together.
“This is your fucking fault,” I accused the prostrate man on my floor while I curled up on the couch in a miserable ball. “Bringing cheap booze to my place and getting me sick.”
“It wasn’t cheap.” He grumbled viciously, obviously in no better of a place then I was.
I was shocked by that little announcement. “You actually bought it?”
I got a snort in answer. Right, stupid question. “It’s still not cheap.”
“Stealing from your boyfriends stock doesn’t count,” I insisted as I groaned and curled up into a tighter ball. He’d let a few things out in his drunken state. No names or anything, but if some of things these two did on their ‘days off’ were anything to go by, Batman was loaded.
“Crown Royale, Johnny Walker Blue. That’s good whiskey.” I’d been waiting all night to mime his vocal pattern back at him and by the Jokers sour look, I hadn’t done it very well. “If you weren’t going to buy it, you could have at least swiped the good stuff.”
“Like your cheap tequila?” he shot back as he tried to lay back and slapped both palms against the floorboards like he’d just stopped himself from falling. Funny thing, he hadn’t moved from the floor to begin with. “Whoa…that was weird.”
I was still incredibly insulted by the tequila comment. “You leave my tequila alone. I bought mine!”
The Joker clutched his head and whimpered piteously. “Nhh...no shouting.”
Served him right for taking potshots at my legally obtained booze. Truth be told we’d started out pretty pleasantly with the drinking, after a few glasses I wasn’t being forced to drink anymore and I ended up loose and giggling along with the idiot on my floor watching re-runs of Ren and Stimpy. It really wasn’t a mystery why either of us enjoyed it so much. Booze and gratuitous violence just go hand in hand.
It was when we ran out of whiskey that the trouble began. We’d both stumbled into the kitchen and raided it, choosing the hard liquor over the pansy drinks, as my homicidal drinking partner had called them. In other words, my large stock of cheap wine coolers. The only kind of alchohol I could afford in excess. Not too long afterwards we were both paying the price of excess and sheer idiocy.
On top of all that, I found out the Joker could hold his drink about as well as I could. Translation, he was tipsy halfway through the first glass. You just don’t expect Gotham’s number one crazy to be a lightweight. But there you go.
Back to the two idiots in the apartment.
“Your tequila tastes like ass.” The Joker mumbled when his world had finally stopped spinning. It was also apparent he was not done insulting the host.
“Your whiskey tastes like lighter fluid, we’re even.” I said before trying to sit up, which made my stomach roil. I was on my feet a second later, stepping over the Joker on my speedy way across the apartment.
“Where are you going?” He asked, sounding alarmed by the speed in which I was moving.
“To be sick.” I announced and made it to the bathroom, or would have, if I didn’t have a Joker wrap his arms around me and haul me back.
“No, no, no. No being sick, girly.” But by the way he was putting his weight on me to stand those quick as hell actions he’d used without thinking were effecting him too. “We need bubbles.”
I honestly thought he was crazy...you know, crazier then I had first thought.
“I need a bathroom, not bubbles.” I hissed. “But I’ll happily be sick on you if you don’t let me go, right now!”
He groaned at my volume, ammo I wasn’t about to let go to waste.
“Not bubbles, bubbles.” He growled and before I knew it I was being hauled off to the kitchen, kicking and scratching the whole way.
There was a sudden drunken purr in my ear that stopped what I was doing immediately.
“Keep that up, I might have to come over more often.”
Instant claw retraction.
“ Masochistic bastard!” I hissed.
He just chuckled and continued to lead me, more willingly this time, into the kitchen. Keeping a firm grasp on my wrist as he raided the fridge and gave a triumphant giggle as he pulled out a bottle of sprite.
Ohhhhh, bubbles. I stopped fighting.
He held up his prize with a smirk before twisting the cap off. I was just quick enough to snatch it before he drank straight from the bottle.
“Uh-uh, me first.” I said while he glared. I wiped off the bottle neck with my sleeve even though he hadn’t managed to wrap his lips around it yet. “Who knows where that mouths been.”
He leaned against the fridge with a smirk as I swigged back half the bottle in a few swallows and felt the carbonated goodness take effect, calming down the lovely world record of backflips my stomach was trying to achieve.
“Come on, come on, share!” He snapped.
Good thing I’d lowered the bottle already or I’d have been wearing it in his eagerness to get it. I watched him passively as he drained the last half of the bottle in one go. The end of my Sprite was punctuated by a lick and smack of lips.
“Where’d you learn that trick?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Bats.”
I was about to ask more when someone knocked on the door and the Joker grinned. “I’ll get it.” He chimed before pushing past me to reach the door first.
I almost grabbed his arm and told him it wasn’t safe to answer my door when someone knocked. But that was like telling the boogie man that closets were scary and he wouldn’t like them very much.
I still raced after him, the Joker was about to answer my door! That couldn’t be good for my social likability with the neighbors. I got there just as he opened the door and casually leaned against the doorframe, something he should not be capable of with the amount of liquor he’d consumed, blocking the figure in the doorway.
“Secret identity central.” He said cheerfully with a slight slur which wasn’t far off from how he usually talked. “We’re a bit booked up at the moment. But if you leave a number...”
“Where is she?!”
My eyes widened a might more then a fraction by the very toned down growl. A part of me really wanted to duck for cover as the Joker was forcibly pushed out of the way to admit...someone who had no business being in the Narrows, let alone my crap apartment.
It wasn’t one of those, ‘oh my god, it’s the the eyes’ kind of deal or even the chin. Hell, my mind hadn’t even registered the obvious clue that the Joker was mocking him that this was Batman. I figured it out rather simply. Bruce Wayne, the god damned Prince of Gotham was in my apartment and that just did not compute in any other way then, Batman was making a house calls now.
A little late to be honest. But I guess it was the thought that counts.
“Told you,” the Joker grumped as he shut the door and leaned against it, he looked as if he needed the physical support. “Not a hair out of place on her pretty little head.”
I found myself grinning at the ‘pretty’ comment, even though the context should have disturbed me.
Wayne, on the other hand, looked a little trapped behind the fact that he’d just jumped out of the superhero closet thinking I’d been talked into recreating the ending to Silence of the Lambs while he’d most definitely meant to play the role of average billionaire joe with me and was now caught in the middle of an identity crisis.
It possibly wasn’t helping that both Joker and I were grinning at him like a he had male stripper written across his chest. But, like I said, he’d been a little late for the party. And we were just tipsy enough to think about collecting a fine.
Author: heatherhouse
Rating: PG-13 for now
Characters/Pairings: Joker/Batman, OC
Warnings: Unbate'd, crackfic
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Desarai, all else belongs to DC and Christopher Nolan.
Verse: Movieverse
Summary: I didn't want to see Batman and the Joker kiss, it just happened!
A/N: Okay, I'm gonna be honest here. Dezzy and the Joker are totally to blame for this. I let them have the booze but I didn't expect this to happen. I'll let you know if I let them live after they finish sobering up. Hope you guys enjoy their combined madness.
Two hours, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels and my emergency bottle of Cuervo later, we were both nursing our respective belly aches and trying not to move too quickly. Nothing fucks up a nice buzz better then mixing the wrongs booze together.
“This is your fucking fault,” I accused the prostrate man on my floor while I curled up on the couch in a miserable ball. “Bringing cheap booze to my place and getting me sick.”
“It wasn’t cheap.” He grumbled viciously, obviously in no better of a place then I was.
I was shocked by that little announcement. “You actually bought it?”
I got a snort in answer. Right, stupid question. “It’s still not cheap.”
“Stealing from your boyfriends stock doesn’t count,” I insisted as I groaned and curled up into a tighter ball. He’d let a few things out in his drunken state. No names or anything, but if some of things these two did on their ‘days off’ were anything to go by, Batman was loaded.
“Crown Royale, Johnny Walker Blue. That’s good whiskey.” I’d been waiting all night to mime his vocal pattern back at him and by the Jokers sour look, I hadn’t done it very well. “If you weren’t going to buy it, you could have at least swiped the good stuff.”
“Like your cheap tequila?” he shot back as he tried to lay back and slapped both palms against the floorboards like he’d just stopped himself from falling. Funny thing, he hadn’t moved from the floor to begin with. “Whoa…that was weird.”
I was still incredibly insulted by the tequila comment. “You leave my tequila alone. I bought mine!”
The Joker clutched his head and whimpered piteously. “Nhh...no shouting.”
Served him right for taking potshots at my legally obtained booze. Truth be told we’d started out pretty pleasantly with the drinking, after a few glasses I wasn’t being forced to drink anymore and I ended up loose and giggling along with the idiot on my floor watching re-runs of Ren and Stimpy. It really wasn’t a mystery why either of us enjoyed it so much. Booze and gratuitous violence just go hand in hand.
It was when we ran out of whiskey that the trouble began. We’d both stumbled into the kitchen and raided it, choosing the hard liquor over the pansy drinks, as my homicidal drinking partner had called them. In other words, my large stock of cheap wine coolers. The only kind of alchohol I could afford in excess. Not too long afterwards we were both paying the price of excess and sheer idiocy.
On top of all that, I found out the Joker could hold his drink about as well as I could. Translation, he was tipsy halfway through the first glass. You just don’t expect Gotham’s number one crazy to be a lightweight. But there you go.
Back to the two idiots in the apartment.
“Your tequila tastes like ass.” The Joker mumbled when his world had finally stopped spinning. It was also apparent he was not done insulting the host.
“Your whiskey tastes like lighter fluid, we’re even.” I said before trying to sit up, which made my stomach roil. I was on my feet a second later, stepping over the Joker on my speedy way across the apartment.
“Where are you going?” He asked, sounding alarmed by the speed in which I was moving.
“To be sick.” I announced and made it to the bathroom, or would have, if I didn’t have a Joker wrap his arms around me and haul me back.
“No, no, no. No being sick, girly.” But by the way he was putting his weight on me to stand those quick as hell actions he’d used without thinking were effecting him too. “We need bubbles.”
I honestly thought he was crazy...you know, crazier then I had first thought.
“I need a bathroom, not bubbles.” I hissed. “But I’ll happily be sick on you if you don’t let me go, right now!”
He groaned at my volume, ammo I wasn’t about to let go to waste.
“Not bubbles, bubbles.” He growled and before I knew it I was being hauled off to the kitchen, kicking and scratching the whole way.
There was a sudden drunken purr in my ear that stopped what I was doing immediately.
“Keep that up, I might have to come over more often.”
Instant claw retraction.
“ Masochistic bastard!” I hissed.
He just chuckled and continued to lead me, more willingly this time, into the kitchen. Keeping a firm grasp on my wrist as he raided the fridge and gave a triumphant giggle as he pulled out a bottle of sprite.
Ohhhhh, bubbles. I stopped fighting.
He held up his prize with a smirk before twisting the cap off. I was just quick enough to snatch it before he drank straight from the bottle.
“Uh-uh, me first.” I said while he glared. I wiped off the bottle neck with my sleeve even though he hadn’t managed to wrap his lips around it yet. “Who knows where that mouths been.”
He leaned against the fridge with a smirk as I swigged back half the bottle in a few swallows and felt the carbonated goodness take effect, calming down the lovely world record of backflips my stomach was trying to achieve.
“Come on, come on, share!” He snapped.
Good thing I’d lowered the bottle already or I’d have been wearing it in his eagerness to get it. I watched him passively as he drained the last half of the bottle in one go. The end of my Sprite was punctuated by a lick and smack of lips.
“Where’d you learn that trick?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Bats.”
I was about to ask more when someone knocked on the door and the Joker grinned. “I’ll get it.” He chimed before pushing past me to reach the door first.
I almost grabbed his arm and told him it wasn’t safe to answer my door when someone knocked. But that was like telling the boogie man that closets were scary and he wouldn’t like them very much.
I still raced after him, the Joker was about to answer my door! That couldn’t be good for my social likability with the neighbors. I got there just as he opened the door and casually leaned against the doorframe, something he should not be capable of with the amount of liquor he’d consumed, blocking the figure in the doorway.
“Secret identity central.” He said cheerfully with a slight slur which wasn’t far off from how he usually talked. “We’re a bit booked up at the moment. But if you leave a number...”
“Where is she?!”
My eyes widened a might more then a fraction by the very toned down growl. A part of me really wanted to duck for cover as the Joker was forcibly pushed out of the way to admit...someone who had no business being in the Narrows, let alone my crap apartment.
It wasn’t one of those, ‘oh my god, it’s the the eyes’ kind of deal or even the chin. Hell, my mind hadn’t even registered the obvious clue that the Joker was mocking him that this was Batman. I figured it out rather simply. Bruce Wayne, the god damned Prince of Gotham was in my apartment and that just did not compute in any other way then, Batman was making a house calls now.
A little late to be honest. But I guess it was the thought that counts.
“Told you,” the Joker grumped as he shut the door and leaned against it, he looked as if he needed the physical support. “Not a hair out of place on her pretty little head.”
I found myself grinning at the ‘pretty’ comment, even though the context should have disturbed me.
Wayne, on the other hand, looked a little trapped behind the fact that he’d just jumped out of the superhero closet thinking I’d been talked into recreating the ending to Silence of the Lambs while he’d most definitely meant to play the role of average billionaire joe with me and was now caught in the middle of an identity crisis.
It possibly wasn’t helping that both Joker and I were grinning at him like a he had male stripper written across his chest. But, like I said, he’d been a little late for the party. And we were just tipsy enough to think about collecting a fine.