Fic: Chance in Hell, Part 6
Title: Chance in Hell, Part 6
Author: ehmaz
Characters: Patrick/Joker
Rated: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Warnings: Violence and murder, as always, hah.
Summary: Five days after their encounter in the Cadillac. Things didn't end so happily after all... can they still?
Notes: 4021 words. Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Chance in Hell Part 6
It had been a strange five days since the Joker had last seen Patrick Bateman. After that little tryst in the car after a busy day of errands, the Joker had basically kicked the investment banker out into the evening and taken the Cadillac back to his current base of operations, a small office near the docks. The curly-haired criminal could still remember the look on the rich man's face. Or rather, lack of a look - Pat had gone totally stony-faced when he realized that the Joker was leaving him there on the street.
Why did he keep thinking of that blank expression? There had been nothing there, nothing at all, nothing interesting or worthwhile, definitely nothing worth thinking about at odd times... like right now.
The Joker was standing in front of a meeting room full of mobsters, thugs, gang leaders, and everyone all had their whole attention riveted on him. That's right, look at me, just me. His scarred lips twisted into a snarl out of nowhere as he thought of that moment when Pat realized, how the confused brown eyes and slight pout on those finely formed lips had disappeared. He could still see perfectly the single, small step Patrick had taken backwards.
“Boss?”
“Shut up!” the Joker snarled. “Stop interrupting,” he said, though he realized he had been quiet for a good twenty or thirty seconds. “As I was saying, I know you're all ahhhh-upset by my little house-keeping spree there yesterday. I know some of you are even related to the Maronis and have that whole, whatever you wanna call it, family obligation or whatever.
“However, lemme just remind you of one thing: Maroni crossed me first. It may'ah been the Chechen who decided to hire me, but none of ya went against him, hmm? Complicit by non-action, right? So then, you'd have to agree that things are better now.”
The Joker turned his back and paced back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. Why hadn't Patrick sent another calling card yet? The Joker, as he had last time, had a lackey trailing the businessman night and day. Before, as soon as Patrick had gone berserk and killed that homeless old hag, his phone had rang. Nothing, nada. He had even checked in with his watchmen each day, something he never did, and still nothing at all. Maybe Patsy was taking a full week? Or maybe a full two weeks like last time?
“Boss?”
But the serial killer had seemed so desperate last time, so ready for the Joker to step back into his life. The Joker didn't understand it. He really thought that Patrick would have done something by now--
“Boss?”
“What?” the murderous clown snarled, spinning to face one of his lackeys.
“Uh... we done then or...?” the man asked.
“Fine, yes, everyone get out of here,” he grumbled, walking swiftly away from the group and through a back door. He leaned against the cold wall in the empty hallway, silently fuming. Patrick was getting to him. No, he wasn't getting to him - if he was, the Joker would have him, and he didn't, and the Joker always got what he wanted, he always won.
~ ~ ~
Patrick was quite through with Joker. Quite through. Currently he was enjoying a nice game of squash with Timothy Price, who was wearing shorts and a matching tank-top by either Burberry Prorsum or Cerruti. Patrick himself was wearing shorts and tee by Nike and felt very under dressed. It wasn't often that Price would join him at Xclusive for a game and Patrick hadn't been anticipating the game, otherwise he would have worn a more suitable exercise outfit or at least something with cotton in it. He consoled himself by noticing how much more in-shape he was than Price.
“Evelyn says hello,” Price called out over the sound of the hollow rubber ball hitting the wall.
“Hello back,” Pat called back, hitting the ball as hard as he could with his Prince 03 Tour Squash Racquet ($249). Price was using a Harrow Vapor Squash Racquet ($205).
“She says you never call her anymore,” said Price.
“What would I say? 'How does Tim fuck compared to me?'”
“No need to be flippant.”
“There's no fucking point. She never says anything anyway.”
“Does anyone ever say anything?”
The Joker does, Patrick thought, frowning. The ball sailed past him and hit the clear divider behind him, losing him a point. He cursed under his breath and threw his racquet across the room, leaving a black mark on the white wall.
“Whooa-hoo, little anger management issues there, Pat?” Price quipped with a smirk, walking over to pick up a cloth to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He picked up his bottle of water for a sip while he watched Pat, clearly amused.
“I just don't see the point of talking to her, there's nothing to say.”
“Don't be bitter,” Price scolded before he took a longer drink of water. “You must have known we'd been fucking for awhile. Everyone knew.”
“Yes, I knew, that has nothing to do with talking to her now. Just... drop it, okay?” Patrick walked over and picked up his racquet forcefully. He stood there and lined up the rows of nylon cords in the hoop, deeply agitated.
“Don't tell me you still love her.” Price laughed at that and swung his racquet a few times, practicing his swing.
“Are you joking?” Pat spit out spitefully, looking at the other man. He shook his head in disbelief. “I never did love her. That's why I broke up with her.”
Price actually looked surprised at that. “We thought you broke it off because of us, her and me.”
Pat growled with frustration and picked up the ball, squeezing it as hard as he could. “I told her the reason at the time, because I just don't really care about her, I never did. Believe it or not it had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“Okay, okay, calm down there little buddy.” Price took the ball from Patrick and set it on the bench.
“Would you stop telling me what to do?”
“What's your problem?” asked Price, taken aback by the rude rejoinder.
“Nothing, forget it,” Patrick forced himself to say. He also forced a smile and small laugh and shook his head. “Just stress over that Makersburg account, you know how it is.”
Price seemed to accept that and they were able to finish their game with no other discomfort, on Price's part at least. Patrick, on the other hand, was fuming inwardly the whole time. He kept his fake little smile and fake little laugh up until he was alone in the back of a taxi cab heading home. Price had invited him out to Harry's but he had no interest. He seemed to have no interest in anything but one thing, or a particular someone more precisely.
The itch was back, as strong as ever. He needed that special kind of attention he'd only gotten from the Joker. He needed it more than he'd ever needed a coke hit or woman bleeding underneath him.
No, he told himself. I don't need him, I'm through with him. He dumped me on the side of the fucking road!
“Pull over here,” he told the driver. “Wait for me, keep the meter running. I'll just be a minute.”
The investment banker exited the yellow cab and hurried down the alleyway they had stopped at. Patrick was somewhat familiar with the area and was fairly sure that on the street the alley dumped onto he would find what he was looking for. Just as he'd anticipated, there were a few hookers standing around under the street lamps. He took one back to the cab and then to his apartment.
After drugging her heavily, he stripped her clothes off and laid her out on a sheet of plastic that he'd taken to keeping. While he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt he moved over to his stereo system and selected a CD.
He chose the fourth album by Coldplay, Viva La Vida, and switched it to the song of the same title. Their first album, Parachutes, was mildly successful with their first Top 40 hit, Shivers although it was Yellow that really got the attention of the mainstream audience which helped it to reach No. 4 on the charts that same year. Patrick removed his shirt and stripped out of the rest of his clothes, setting everything aside on the couch. That day he had been wearing a slick Versace suit with Brooks Brothers shoes and a tie by Gucci.
Coldplay's second album, A Rush of Blood to the Head, was also fairly popular with three or for hits, including The Scientist and Politik. The last of which was, like many of the group's songs, politically charged and held little interest for Patrick. It was their more commercially successful hits that really drew him to their sound.
Chris Martin's lead vocals were strong and backed up artfully by the lead and bass guitarists Jon Buckland and Guy Berryman. The woman was still unconscious as Patrick took a knife to her stomach. He began cutting down from the center of her chest to her pubic bone, and about the time he reached her navel she awoke and started screaming. He kneeled on one of her hands and held the other one down as he finished the cut. Coldplay's drummer, Will Champion, rounded out the UK group and was the final ingredient to the successful sound of the relatively new band. With a lot of groups going to a beat box the addition of a talented drummer helped to cement their sound and bring them to the top of the charts.
Four years later, they released their third album, X&Y. They had received two Grammy Awards as well as Record of the Year a few years previous, which hyped up the release of this album. The hype helped it to debut at No.1 on the charts. The hooker was struggling too much and Patrick took a moment to use duct tape on her wrists, which he taped in turn to the leg of his Zantanto coffee table which was a heavy metal and glass piece of furniture that would suffice for her waning strength. He also duct taped her ankles together and moved so that his weight was holding down her thighs instead, his erection lying on the crevice between her thighs. Three years after X&Y, Viva La Vida was released to similar hype and air-time.
It was a beautifully crafted song. Chris Martin's vocals on the song are perhaps his best on any recording yet and showcase his range. The violins and heavy drums in the background add a depth to the song that is echoed in other songs on the album and give the entire project a magnitude that not only draws in commercial success but ensures it will be a song and album not to disappear on the charts. While the blond prostitute screamed louder, Patrick carefully removed her stomach and pulled out her intestines, making a neat pile of them beside her. She smelled pretty bad but Patrick's erection did not wane.
He thrust against her thighs. Suddenly he was falling backward and hitting his head on the couch, the knife yanked from his hand. Patrick looked up, startled, to see a furious Joker standing over him. He yelled something down at the naked serial killer, but the music was so loud he couldn't hear. He hadn't even heard the Joker enter the apartment. The Joker was yelling louder but Patrick just shook his head back and forth, he couldn't hear anything but the lyrics to the song.
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become
Finally the devilish clown got the hint and moved over, pounding the power button on the expensive stereo system and the room was drowned in silence. Patrick swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman. She was dead. When he looked back up, Joker had crossed the room and back-handed him across the face hard enough to make him slump to the carpet. Pat's thighs were smeared with blood, as were his hands and forearms.
“Did you fuck her? Pat, did you fuck her? Huh? Answer me!”
“I was going to!” he yelled right back, sitting up again. He was immediately backhanded again, even harder this time. He felt his lower lip cut open on his teeth and he groaned.
“Enough of your fucking back-talk, boy. Get up, go wash tha--”
Patrick kicked out hard, right into the Joker's shin, causing the other man to stumble backward and almost lose his balance. Green eyes flashed dangerously before the demented criminal mastermind was tackling him to the floor. The two men rolled off the plastic together, smearing blood all over Pat's white carpet.
The psychopath punched as hard as he could, grappling at the Joker's purple coat for purchase to punch him harder. At first, the Joker was grunting and groaning, punching and kicking right back, but soon enough he started laughing. Joker managed to get a punishing punch into Pat's stomach, making him howl in pain. As a feeling of nausea welled up in him he brought his knee up as hard as he could, right between Joker's legs.
There was a moment of silence before Joker laughed even harder than before. The struggle began anew until it ended up with both men lying on their sides, arms wrapped around the other tightly, squirming desperately and both out of breath. Neither one could get purchase on the other and they were locked together with neither able to win. The Joker was still laughing like a loon. It was contagious. Patrick started laughing too.
They laughed and laughed, but Patrick's slowly turned sour, sad, choked with tears. He gripped the thick trench coat hard and pulled his naked body closer to the Joker's as tears caught in his eyelashes. Joker shushed him and brought one purple glove up to stroke back his gelled hair.
“It's okay, Patsy.”
“You kicked me out. You left me.”
“You didn't invite me back.”
“I thought you didn't want me.”
“Don't be stupid.” Joker moved his other hand down Pat's side then up his chest, and up to cup his cheek. “Of course I want you.”
“Then don't push me away.” Patrick blinked slowly, his dark brown eyes looking over the familiar scars and red-smeared lips. “You can't do that again, okay?”
“Only if you don't fuck any more cheap whores.”
“Only the expensive ones?”
The Joker glared briefly before he barked out a laugh. “You made a joke...” he said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah.” Patrick leaned forward and pressed their lips together.
“Now go shower so I can fuck you, I don't want that nasty whore's blood on you when I fuck you.”
“I want a turn,” Patrick said as he untangled himself from the other man and stood. Joker hopped sprightly to his feet and followed his beautiful psycho into the large bathroom.
“Want a turn what?” The Joker asked as he slid up onto the counter and sat there, looking content to watch the other man.
“I want a turn fucking you. I want to fuck you.” Patrick turned on the taps and adjusted the heat. Before he stepped into the stream he asked, “Are you joining me?”
“No, it'd make my make-up run.”
Pat rolled his eyes and stepped into the hot spray of water. Joker watched intently the entire time, not saying anything else, just sitting there. He did toss a towel at Pat's head when he stepped back out.
“What makes you think I'd let you fuck me again?”
“Uhm...” Pat toweled off quickly, though he was careful with his hair and gently patted it dry. “Because... you didn't want me fucking her. You let me do that blonde bitch at that house but not this one so I figure you want to take her place.”
The Joker narrowed his eyes as he slid off the counter. He took Patrick's hand and lead him out, past the corpse, and into the bedroom. While Patrick crawled onto the bed, the Joker sat on the edge and began undressing slowly. He didn't answer.
“And because you liked it more than I did,” Pat said, a little smugly. He stretched out, showing off his body, knowing he looked good. He'd gotten a tan and manicure yesterday. While he waited for the Joker to respond he trailed his hand down his body to his cock, which was hardening again as the Joker's body was exposed piece by colorful piece.
“Take her place? No, I like my intestines where they are,” the clown joked, but didn't sound very amused.
“Oh come on, you liked it when I fucked you before, right? Let me do it again...”
The Joker seemed to be having some kind of inner struggle as he finished undressing and moved more fully onto the bed with the rich boy. “Let me bottom from the top. Let me be in control, and you can fuck me.” His green eyes stared intently at Patrick.
Pat raised both eyebrows slowly, but a smile stretched his finely shaped lips. “All right.” With his fingers laced behind his head on the pillow, Patrick stretched out in the middle of the bed looking quite expectant. Joker made a little spiteful smirk as he grabbed up one of the many lotions the murderous banker kept on his night table.
After a very perfunctory preparation of himself, Joker moved up and straddled Patrick's muscular thighs. His fingers, smeared with grease paint and lotion, slid up the defined muscles of Pat's torso massagingly, feeling at the fine definition and evidence of hours of obsessive exercise. Patrick watched the other man's face intently, not blinking, not wanting to miss a second of this.
The Joker kept glancing up at him until finally he made a silly face with his eyes crossed and tongue poking out that made Patrick laugh and relax a little. The green-blond chuckled darkly as he reached back and slid his hand along Pat's erection, then guided it to his entrance and began working it into himself. Joker had his eyes closed during this, his head tilted to the side, looking uncharacteristically sombre. Patrick tried to keep his eyes open, but as the head of his cock slid past Joker's guardian muscles he couldn't any longer.
His eyes slipped closed and he brought his hands down to grasp Joker's hips. “Ahhh, fuck, Joker...” Pat opened his eyes just enough to look down where they were now connected. He never gave the clown time to adjust before he thrust upward powerfully, causing the Joker to gasp and slump over with the pain of it.
“Should have prepared yourself better,” Patrick murmured as he slowly slid his length out, only to thrust hard back in.
“I told you... to let me... be in... control,” Joker grumbled between heavy breaths. He rested one hand on Patrick's chest and then brought his other one up and slapped Patrick across the face just hard enough to sting.
Pat hissed and gripped Joker's hips harder. “Then fuck me... Jack.” That caught the Joker's attention. He narrowed his eyes and looked Patrick over thoughtfully. “You told me, remember?” Patrick asked as he loosened his grip, then slid his hands down the scarred clown's thighs.
“I remember,” Jack said quietly before he reached for the bottle of lotion. He got a little more out on his hand then reached back again and slicked up Pat's erection some more. With that done he spread both hands on Patrick's chest and began to move, sliding himself up and down the other man's length.
“Faster,” Patrick gasped, gripping Jack's thighs.
“No.”
“Harder,” Patrick begged.
“No.”
“Oh fuck, Jack, oh fuck...”
Jack smirked and laid down on top of Patrick, staring at him for a moment before kissing him. It was a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss occasionally interrupted by Jack's continuously rolling hips. Pat reached up and slid his fingers through the Joker's greasy tangle of curls, gently cupping the back of his head and tilting his own to make the kiss deeper, more passionate.
Still the pace was slow and methodical. Patrick needed more. He was squirming underneath the Joker, using every ounce of self control he had to stop himself from taking over. Every time he would ask for more Jack would say simply 'no.' That was when Patrick remembered what the Joker had told him nearly a month before.
It's not about having control. It's about losing control.
Wondering if Joker was simply waiting for him to take control, to demand control, Patrick decided to take a chance. He slid both arms around Jack and held tightly as he flipped them both over so that Pat was on top. The serial killer gripped Jack's thighs close to the knees and pushed them back toward the clown's torso before he started moving faster and deeper.
Jack stretched out, looking smug, his arms reaching up and hands planting themselves on the wall above his head. Patrick gave a short laugh and shook his head. He continued moving his hips, pistoning in and out of the strange trickster below him. Pat glanced down to see if Jack was hard, which he was. Quite hard. With renewed confidence in his decision to take control of things, Patrick let go of one of Jack's thighs and instead gripped the Joker's throat. He used the grip to not only support his weight as he rocked back and forth but also to mildly constrict the other man's breathing.
This seemed to catch Jack's attention and he let out a soft moan, and soon enough his eyes closed as he got lost in the sensations Patrick was giving him. He squirmed underneath Pat, one hand lightly clawed at the hand around his throat and his other hand holding back the leg that Pat had let go of.
As badly as Patrick wanted this to last, he was far too aroused and soon enough was coming inside the Joker's body. His grip on the other man's neck increased as he groaned loudly with his orgasm, and Jack's thrashing body only made it better.
He'd hardly finished when the Joker was rolling them back over, taking control again. He moved off of Patrick and crawled up the toned, tanned body to straddle Patrick's chest. The Joker leaned heavily against the wall and gripped his own erection, tugging and jerking on himself roughly. Joker's mouth hung open as he jerked himself, his green eyes trained on Patrick's pretty face.
Pat was leaning just slightly against the wall, mostly lying down. He slid his hand down to work on his own waning erection, which was sticky with lotion and ejaculate, but it still felt good. When Jack came he made just a small grunt, but his face was awash in the pleasure of it as he trailed strands of white all over Patrick's chest and neck.
When the Joker caught his breath and flopped over onto his back, lying next to Patrick, Pat settled a little closer. “Stay here tonight,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Okay,” Jack whispered, his hand groping around until he found Patrick's stomach. He gave a little rub there and cracked a smile. “I like when you make jokes, Patsy.”
Author: ehmaz
Characters: Patrick/Joker
Rated: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Warnings: Violence and murder, as always, hah.
Summary: Five days after their encounter in the Cadillac. Things didn't end so happily after all... can they still?
Notes: 4021 words. Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Chance in Hell Part 6
It had been a strange five days since the Joker had last seen Patrick Bateman. After that little tryst in the car after a busy day of errands, the Joker had basically kicked the investment banker out into the evening and taken the Cadillac back to his current base of operations, a small office near the docks. The curly-haired criminal could still remember the look on the rich man's face. Or rather, lack of a look - Pat had gone totally stony-faced when he realized that the Joker was leaving him there on the street.
Why did he keep thinking of that blank expression? There had been nothing there, nothing at all, nothing interesting or worthwhile, definitely nothing worth thinking about at odd times... like right now.
The Joker was standing in front of a meeting room full of mobsters, thugs, gang leaders, and everyone all had their whole attention riveted on him. That's right, look at me, just me. His scarred lips twisted into a snarl out of nowhere as he thought of that moment when Pat realized, how the confused brown eyes and slight pout on those finely formed lips had disappeared. He could still see perfectly the single, small step Patrick had taken backwards.
“Boss?”
“Shut up!” the Joker snarled. “Stop interrupting,” he said, though he realized he had been quiet for a good twenty or thirty seconds. “As I was saying, I know you're all ahhhh-upset by my little house-keeping spree there yesterday. I know some of you are even related to the Maronis and have that whole, whatever you wanna call it, family obligation or whatever.
“However, lemme just remind you of one thing: Maroni crossed me first. It may'ah been the Chechen who decided to hire me, but none of ya went against him, hmm? Complicit by non-action, right? So then, you'd have to agree that things are better now.”
The Joker turned his back and paced back and forth, trying to collect his thoughts. Why hadn't Patrick sent another calling card yet? The Joker, as he had last time, had a lackey trailing the businessman night and day. Before, as soon as Patrick had gone berserk and killed that homeless old hag, his phone had rang. Nothing, nada. He had even checked in with his watchmen each day, something he never did, and still nothing at all. Maybe Patsy was taking a full week? Or maybe a full two weeks like last time?
“Boss?”
But the serial killer had seemed so desperate last time, so ready for the Joker to step back into his life. The Joker didn't understand it. He really thought that Patrick would have done something by now--
“Boss?”
“What?” the murderous clown snarled, spinning to face one of his lackeys.
“Uh... we done then or...?” the man asked.
“Fine, yes, everyone get out of here,” he grumbled, walking swiftly away from the group and through a back door. He leaned against the cold wall in the empty hallway, silently fuming. Patrick was getting to him. No, he wasn't getting to him - if he was, the Joker would have him, and he didn't, and the Joker always got what he wanted, he always won.
~ ~ ~
Patrick was quite through with Joker. Quite through. Currently he was enjoying a nice game of squash with Timothy Price, who was wearing shorts and a matching tank-top by either Burberry Prorsum or Cerruti. Patrick himself was wearing shorts and tee by Nike and felt very under dressed. It wasn't often that Price would join him at Xclusive for a game and Patrick hadn't been anticipating the game, otherwise he would have worn a more suitable exercise outfit or at least something with cotton in it. He consoled himself by noticing how much more in-shape he was than Price.
“Evelyn says hello,” Price called out over the sound of the hollow rubber ball hitting the wall.
“Hello back,” Pat called back, hitting the ball as hard as he could with his Prince 03 Tour Squash Racquet ($249). Price was using a Harrow Vapor Squash Racquet ($205).
“She says you never call her anymore,” said Price.
“What would I say? 'How does Tim fuck compared to me?'”
“No need to be flippant.”
“There's no fucking point. She never says anything anyway.”
“Does anyone ever say anything?”
The Joker does, Patrick thought, frowning. The ball sailed past him and hit the clear divider behind him, losing him a point. He cursed under his breath and threw his racquet across the room, leaving a black mark on the white wall.
“Whooa-hoo, little anger management issues there, Pat?” Price quipped with a smirk, walking over to pick up a cloth to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He picked up his bottle of water for a sip while he watched Pat, clearly amused.
“I just don't see the point of talking to her, there's nothing to say.”
“Don't be bitter,” Price scolded before he took a longer drink of water. “You must have known we'd been fucking for awhile. Everyone knew.”
“Yes, I knew, that has nothing to do with talking to her now. Just... drop it, okay?” Patrick walked over and picked up his racquet forcefully. He stood there and lined up the rows of nylon cords in the hoop, deeply agitated.
“Don't tell me you still love her.” Price laughed at that and swung his racquet a few times, practicing his swing.
“Are you joking?” Pat spit out spitefully, looking at the other man. He shook his head in disbelief. “I never did love her. That's why I broke up with her.”
Price actually looked surprised at that. “We thought you broke it off because of us, her and me.”
Pat growled with frustration and picked up the ball, squeezing it as hard as he could. “I told her the reason at the time, because I just don't really care about her, I never did. Believe it or not it had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“Okay, okay, calm down there little buddy.” Price took the ball from Patrick and set it on the bench.
“Would you stop telling me what to do?”
“What's your problem?” asked Price, taken aback by the rude rejoinder.
“Nothing, forget it,” Patrick forced himself to say. He also forced a smile and small laugh and shook his head. “Just stress over that Makersburg account, you know how it is.”
Price seemed to accept that and they were able to finish their game with no other discomfort, on Price's part at least. Patrick, on the other hand, was fuming inwardly the whole time. He kept his fake little smile and fake little laugh up until he was alone in the back of a taxi cab heading home. Price had invited him out to Harry's but he had no interest. He seemed to have no interest in anything but one thing, or a particular someone more precisely.
The itch was back, as strong as ever. He needed that special kind of attention he'd only gotten from the Joker. He needed it more than he'd ever needed a coke hit or woman bleeding underneath him.
No, he told himself. I don't need him, I'm through with him. He dumped me on the side of the fucking road!
“Pull over here,” he told the driver. “Wait for me, keep the meter running. I'll just be a minute.”
The investment banker exited the yellow cab and hurried down the alleyway they had stopped at. Patrick was somewhat familiar with the area and was fairly sure that on the street the alley dumped onto he would find what he was looking for. Just as he'd anticipated, there were a few hookers standing around under the street lamps. He took one back to the cab and then to his apartment.
After drugging her heavily, he stripped her clothes off and laid her out on a sheet of plastic that he'd taken to keeping. While he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt he moved over to his stereo system and selected a CD.
He chose the fourth album by Coldplay, Viva La Vida, and switched it to the song of the same title. Their first album, Parachutes, was mildly successful with their first Top 40 hit, Shivers although it was Yellow that really got the attention of the mainstream audience which helped it to reach No. 4 on the charts that same year. Patrick removed his shirt and stripped out of the rest of his clothes, setting everything aside on the couch. That day he had been wearing a slick Versace suit with Brooks Brothers shoes and a tie by Gucci.
Coldplay's second album, A Rush of Blood to the Head, was also fairly popular with three or for hits, including The Scientist and Politik. The last of which was, like many of the group's songs, politically charged and held little interest for Patrick. It was their more commercially successful hits that really drew him to their sound.
Chris Martin's lead vocals were strong and backed up artfully by the lead and bass guitarists Jon Buckland and Guy Berryman. The woman was still unconscious as Patrick took a knife to her stomach. He began cutting down from the center of her chest to her pubic bone, and about the time he reached her navel she awoke and started screaming. He kneeled on one of her hands and held the other one down as he finished the cut. Coldplay's drummer, Will Champion, rounded out the UK group and was the final ingredient to the successful sound of the relatively new band. With a lot of groups going to a beat box the addition of a talented drummer helped to cement their sound and bring them to the top of the charts.
Four years later, they released their third album, X&Y. They had received two Grammy Awards as well as Record of the Year a few years previous, which hyped up the release of this album. The hype helped it to debut at No.1 on the charts. The hooker was struggling too much and Patrick took a moment to use duct tape on her wrists, which he taped in turn to the leg of his Zantanto coffee table which was a heavy metal and glass piece of furniture that would suffice for her waning strength. He also duct taped her ankles together and moved so that his weight was holding down her thighs instead, his erection lying on the crevice between her thighs. Three years after X&Y, Viva La Vida was released to similar hype and air-time.
It was a beautifully crafted song. Chris Martin's vocals on the song are perhaps his best on any recording yet and showcase his range. The violins and heavy drums in the background add a depth to the song that is echoed in other songs on the album and give the entire project a magnitude that not only draws in commercial success but ensures it will be a song and album not to disappear on the charts. While the blond prostitute screamed louder, Patrick carefully removed her stomach and pulled out her intestines, making a neat pile of them beside her. She smelled pretty bad but Patrick's erection did not wane.
He thrust against her thighs. Suddenly he was falling backward and hitting his head on the couch, the knife yanked from his hand. Patrick looked up, startled, to see a furious Joker standing over him. He yelled something down at the naked serial killer, but the music was so loud he couldn't hear. He hadn't even heard the Joker enter the apartment. The Joker was yelling louder but Patrick just shook his head back and forth, he couldn't hear anything but the lyrics to the song.
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become
Finally the devilish clown got the hint and moved over, pounding the power button on the expensive stereo system and the room was drowned in silence. Patrick swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman. She was dead. When he looked back up, Joker had crossed the room and back-handed him across the face hard enough to make him slump to the carpet. Pat's thighs were smeared with blood, as were his hands and forearms.
“Did you fuck her? Pat, did you fuck her? Huh? Answer me!”
“I was going to!” he yelled right back, sitting up again. He was immediately backhanded again, even harder this time. He felt his lower lip cut open on his teeth and he groaned.
“Enough of your fucking back-talk, boy. Get up, go wash tha--”
Patrick kicked out hard, right into the Joker's shin, causing the other man to stumble backward and almost lose his balance. Green eyes flashed dangerously before the demented criminal mastermind was tackling him to the floor. The two men rolled off the plastic together, smearing blood all over Pat's white carpet.
The psychopath punched as hard as he could, grappling at the Joker's purple coat for purchase to punch him harder. At first, the Joker was grunting and groaning, punching and kicking right back, but soon enough he started laughing. Joker managed to get a punishing punch into Pat's stomach, making him howl in pain. As a feeling of nausea welled up in him he brought his knee up as hard as he could, right between Joker's legs.
There was a moment of silence before Joker laughed even harder than before. The struggle began anew until it ended up with both men lying on their sides, arms wrapped around the other tightly, squirming desperately and both out of breath. Neither one could get purchase on the other and they were locked together with neither able to win. The Joker was still laughing like a loon. It was contagious. Patrick started laughing too.
They laughed and laughed, but Patrick's slowly turned sour, sad, choked with tears. He gripped the thick trench coat hard and pulled his naked body closer to the Joker's as tears caught in his eyelashes. Joker shushed him and brought one purple glove up to stroke back his gelled hair.
“It's okay, Patsy.”
“You kicked me out. You left me.”
“You didn't invite me back.”
“I thought you didn't want me.”
“Don't be stupid.” Joker moved his other hand down Pat's side then up his chest, and up to cup his cheek. “Of course I want you.”
“Then don't push me away.” Patrick blinked slowly, his dark brown eyes looking over the familiar scars and red-smeared lips. “You can't do that again, okay?”
“Only if you don't fuck any more cheap whores.”
“Only the expensive ones?”
The Joker glared briefly before he barked out a laugh. “You made a joke...” he said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah.” Patrick leaned forward and pressed their lips together.
“Now go shower so I can fuck you, I don't want that nasty whore's blood on you when I fuck you.”
“I want a turn,” Patrick said as he untangled himself from the other man and stood. Joker hopped sprightly to his feet and followed his beautiful psycho into the large bathroom.
“Want a turn what?” The Joker asked as he slid up onto the counter and sat there, looking content to watch the other man.
“I want a turn fucking you. I want to fuck you.” Patrick turned on the taps and adjusted the heat. Before he stepped into the stream he asked, “Are you joining me?”
“No, it'd make my make-up run.”
Pat rolled his eyes and stepped into the hot spray of water. Joker watched intently the entire time, not saying anything else, just sitting there. He did toss a towel at Pat's head when he stepped back out.
“What makes you think I'd let you fuck me again?”
“Uhm...” Pat toweled off quickly, though he was careful with his hair and gently patted it dry. “Because... you didn't want me fucking her. You let me do that blonde bitch at that house but not this one so I figure you want to take her place.”
The Joker narrowed his eyes as he slid off the counter. He took Patrick's hand and lead him out, past the corpse, and into the bedroom. While Patrick crawled onto the bed, the Joker sat on the edge and began undressing slowly. He didn't answer.
“And because you liked it more than I did,” Pat said, a little smugly. He stretched out, showing off his body, knowing he looked good. He'd gotten a tan and manicure yesterday. While he waited for the Joker to respond he trailed his hand down his body to his cock, which was hardening again as the Joker's body was exposed piece by colorful piece.
“Take her place? No, I like my intestines where they are,” the clown joked, but didn't sound very amused.
“Oh come on, you liked it when I fucked you before, right? Let me do it again...”
The Joker seemed to be having some kind of inner struggle as he finished undressing and moved more fully onto the bed with the rich boy. “Let me bottom from the top. Let me be in control, and you can fuck me.” His green eyes stared intently at Patrick.
Pat raised both eyebrows slowly, but a smile stretched his finely shaped lips. “All right.” With his fingers laced behind his head on the pillow, Patrick stretched out in the middle of the bed looking quite expectant. Joker made a little spiteful smirk as he grabbed up one of the many lotions the murderous banker kept on his night table.
After a very perfunctory preparation of himself, Joker moved up and straddled Patrick's muscular thighs. His fingers, smeared with grease paint and lotion, slid up the defined muscles of Pat's torso massagingly, feeling at the fine definition and evidence of hours of obsessive exercise. Patrick watched the other man's face intently, not blinking, not wanting to miss a second of this.
The Joker kept glancing up at him until finally he made a silly face with his eyes crossed and tongue poking out that made Patrick laugh and relax a little. The green-blond chuckled darkly as he reached back and slid his hand along Pat's erection, then guided it to his entrance and began working it into himself. Joker had his eyes closed during this, his head tilted to the side, looking uncharacteristically sombre. Patrick tried to keep his eyes open, but as the head of his cock slid past Joker's guardian muscles he couldn't any longer.
His eyes slipped closed and he brought his hands down to grasp Joker's hips. “Ahhh, fuck, Joker...” Pat opened his eyes just enough to look down where they were now connected. He never gave the clown time to adjust before he thrust upward powerfully, causing the Joker to gasp and slump over with the pain of it.
“Should have prepared yourself better,” Patrick murmured as he slowly slid his length out, only to thrust hard back in.
“I told you... to let me... be in... control,” Joker grumbled between heavy breaths. He rested one hand on Patrick's chest and then brought his other one up and slapped Patrick across the face just hard enough to sting.
Pat hissed and gripped Joker's hips harder. “Then fuck me... Jack.” That caught the Joker's attention. He narrowed his eyes and looked Patrick over thoughtfully. “You told me, remember?” Patrick asked as he loosened his grip, then slid his hands down the scarred clown's thighs.
“I remember,” Jack said quietly before he reached for the bottle of lotion. He got a little more out on his hand then reached back again and slicked up Pat's erection some more. With that done he spread both hands on Patrick's chest and began to move, sliding himself up and down the other man's length.
“Faster,” Patrick gasped, gripping Jack's thighs.
“No.”
“Harder,” Patrick begged.
“No.”
“Oh fuck, Jack, oh fuck...”
Jack smirked and laid down on top of Patrick, staring at him for a moment before kissing him. It was a slow, wet, open-mouthed kiss occasionally interrupted by Jack's continuously rolling hips. Pat reached up and slid his fingers through the Joker's greasy tangle of curls, gently cupping the back of his head and tilting his own to make the kiss deeper, more passionate.
Still the pace was slow and methodical. Patrick needed more. He was squirming underneath the Joker, using every ounce of self control he had to stop himself from taking over. Every time he would ask for more Jack would say simply 'no.' That was when Patrick remembered what the Joker had told him nearly a month before.
It's not about having control. It's about losing control.
Wondering if Joker was simply waiting for him to take control, to demand control, Patrick decided to take a chance. He slid both arms around Jack and held tightly as he flipped them both over so that Pat was on top. The serial killer gripped Jack's thighs close to the knees and pushed them back toward the clown's torso before he started moving faster and deeper.
Jack stretched out, looking smug, his arms reaching up and hands planting themselves on the wall above his head. Patrick gave a short laugh and shook his head. He continued moving his hips, pistoning in and out of the strange trickster below him. Pat glanced down to see if Jack was hard, which he was. Quite hard. With renewed confidence in his decision to take control of things, Patrick let go of one of Jack's thighs and instead gripped the Joker's throat. He used the grip to not only support his weight as he rocked back and forth but also to mildly constrict the other man's breathing.
This seemed to catch Jack's attention and he let out a soft moan, and soon enough his eyes closed as he got lost in the sensations Patrick was giving him. He squirmed underneath Pat, one hand lightly clawed at the hand around his throat and his other hand holding back the leg that Pat had let go of.
As badly as Patrick wanted this to last, he was far too aroused and soon enough was coming inside the Joker's body. His grip on the other man's neck increased as he groaned loudly with his orgasm, and Jack's thrashing body only made it better.
He'd hardly finished when the Joker was rolling them back over, taking control again. He moved off of Patrick and crawled up the toned, tanned body to straddle Patrick's chest. The Joker leaned heavily against the wall and gripped his own erection, tugging and jerking on himself roughly. Joker's mouth hung open as he jerked himself, his green eyes trained on Patrick's pretty face.
Pat was leaning just slightly against the wall, mostly lying down. He slid his hand down to work on his own waning erection, which was sticky with lotion and ejaculate, but it still felt good. When Jack came he made just a small grunt, but his face was awash in the pleasure of it as he trailed strands of white all over Patrick's chest and neck.
When the Joker caught his breath and flopped over onto his back, lying next to Patrick, Pat settled a little closer. “Stay here tonight,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Okay,” Jack whispered, his hand groping around until he found Patrick's stomach. He gave a little rub there and cracked a smile. “I like when you make jokes, Patsy.”