Fic: Performance Anxiety
Title: Performance Anxiety
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Notes: A short piece just for the lulz. The Joker doesn't make a physical appearance in this one but he's never far from Batman's mind!
Summary: Bruce Wayne is having some trouble....performing.
Unbeknownst to even the Joker, Batman actually had two rules. The first was common knowledge, don't kill anybody. The second was a little more private.
Never sleep with any of the Merriweather sisters.
So it was with no small amount of confusion did he curse himself as he watched Helen Merriweather on her knees in front of him. She was intent on the task at hand, running her fingers along his thighs as she sucked him with an almost frightening fervor. Unfortunately, despite her enthusiasm, nothing was...happening.
Fuck. Not again. This was becoming more commonplace.
Bruce continued to silently berate himself. Why had he gone home with her after the fundraiser in the first place? Normally he granted her no more than a polite smile and some wry acknowledgment. Yet for some reason, tonight he had been drawn to her. Sure, he'd had a few drinks and felt a little lonely. And she'd seemed so fetching in the bright purple dress she wore.
If this were any other woman it wouldn't have been that big a deal. A little embarrassing, but it happened to everyone. Not with Helen. She and her three sisters were the most vicious gossips in Gotham. Not a secret, suspicion, or conjecture ever came their way without the rest of the city's elite eventually being told. Hence rule number two.
She'd tell everyone if he couldn't perform. Bruce Wayne would be the laughing stock of Gotham City.
Something needed to happen. Fast. He decided to help his libido along with the hottest images he could muster.
Natasha the Russian ballerina with her lithe body....beautiful Heidi and Madison kissing each other on my bed....lovely Rachel straddling me and........
He snapped his eyes open. Thinking about Rachel was definitely not going to help. Nothing was working and he was officially starting to get concerned. Helen continued to work on him with the same mouth that would be responsible for ruining his reputation if he couldn't get things started. He tried to summon more erotic thoughts.
Italian supermodels....my 7th grade teacher bending over to pick up the chalk....that bikini photo shoot I attended last summer.
Nothing. He felt panicked. A rational part of his psyche tried to step in and calm him down. So what if he couldn't get an erection tonight? It's not like THAT would let people know he was the Batman.
Bruce cringed. He couldn't let himself off the hook that easily. Helen would certainly make sure every socialite in town knew he was having problems. And THAT would put a chip in his "shallow playboy" armor. The armor, the reputation, the subterfuge that kept people from realizing he was one of the only people in Gotham who could be the Batman.
Bruce was now plumbing the dregs of his masturbatory fantasies. Bo Derek....siamese twins....Tony Stark......
Still as limp as an old fish. He was desperate, his mind rapidly flicking pictures before him like a slide projector. He was down to memories of old Playboy covers and random, boring stereotypes. Stick shifts...boobs....um...cologne.
He slumped his shoulders in abject defeat. Maybe he could convince her he was high on something? Was a drug problem less socially damning for a playboy than an erectile problem?
Helen seemed to be giving up as well. She stopped her ministrations and whined to him in a high pitched voice, "Brucey.....I thought we were gonna have some fun."
He looked shamefully down on her. She was a drunken mess. Her hair, which began the night as a well-coiffed updo, was plastered to her face in ringlets. Her excessive eyeliner and shadow were smudged into gummy circles and her lipstick was smeared across her face. It tilted upwards at the edges almost like an exaggerated...smile.
Bruce felt his body twitch. He had an idea.
"We're gonna have some fun alright," he growled, not realizing he had slipped into his Batman voice.
He promptly threw her on her bed and proceeded to start tickling. She fought him at first but soon succumbed to the throes of helpless laughter. He was relentless, poking and wriggling his fingers over any part of her he could reach. She laughed until tears ran down her face.
Bruce stepped back and inspected his work. Gaudy purple dress, black rings around her eyes, huge lipstick smile, screeching with laughter. Her curly hair was the wrong color but it would have to do. He could feel his body responding.
He stood triumphant, relief palpable as his anatomy stirred more and more. Things were definitely on the right track now. He was going to be able to do this. Self-loathing would have to wait.
Thank God. Now let's get this over with so I can get the hell out of here.
----
Morning found Bruce back in his own bed. He hadn't slept all night, instead spending it trying to rationalize why he needed to think of the Joker to become aroused. His ruminations continued long after the alarm went off...
It's just stress, a normal reaction to a series of tense situations. Kind of like...Stockholm Syndrome for vigilantes. It means nothing. It's not like this has happened before. Well....not a lot, definitely not more than three times.
He shuddered, swallowing bile as he faced the unpleasant realization.
Definitely not more than three times this week!
FIN
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Notes: A short piece just for the lulz. The Joker doesn't make a physical appearance in this one but he's never far from Batman's mind!
Summary: Bruce Wayne is having some trouble....performing.
Unbeknownst to even the Joker, Batman actually had two rules. The first was common knowledge, don't kill anybody. The second was a little more private.
Never sleep with any of the Merriweather sisters.
So it was with no small amount of confusion did he curse himself as he watched Helen Merriweather on her knees in front of him. She was intent on the task at hand, running her fingers along his thighs as she sucked him with an almost frightening fervor. Unfortunately, despite her enthusiasm, nothing was...happening.
Fuck. Not again. This was becoming more commonplace.
Bruce continued to silently berate himself. Why had he gone home with her after the fundraiser in the first place? Normally he granted her no more than a polite smile and some wry acknowledgment. Yet for some reason, tonight he had been drawn to her. Sure, he'd had a few drinks and felt a little lonely. And she'd seemed so fetching in the bright purple dress she wore.
If this were any other woman it wouldn't have been that big a deal. A little embarrassing, but it happened to everyone. Not with Helen. She and her three sisters were the most vicious gossips in Gotham. Not a secret, suspicion, or conjecture ever came their way without the rest of the city's elite eventually being told. Hence rule number two.
She'd tell everyone if he couldn't perform. Bruce Wayne would be the laughing stock of Gotham City.
Something needed to happen. Fast. He decided to help his libido along with the hottest images he could muster.
Natasha the Russian ballerina with her lithe body....beautiful Heidi and Madison kissing each other on my bed....lovely Rachel straddling me and........
He snapped his eyes open. Thinking about Rachel was definitely not going to help. Nothing was working and he was officially starting to get concerned. Helen continued to work on him with the same mouth that would be responsible for ruining his reputation if he couldn't get things started. He tried to summon more erotic thoughts.
Italian supermodels....my 7th grade teacher bending over to pick up the chalk....that bikini photo shoot I attended last summer.
Nothing. He felt panicked. A rational part of his psyche tried to step in and calm him down. So what if he couldn't get an erection tonight? It's not like THAT would let people know he was the Batman.
Bruce cringed. He couldn't let himself off the hook that easily. Helen would certainly make sure every socialite in town knew he was having problems. And THAT would put a chip in his "shallow playboy" armor. The armor, the reputation, the subterfuge that kept people from realizing he was one of the only people in Gotham who could be the Batman.
Bruce was now plumbing the dregs of his masturbatory fantasies. Bo Derek....siamese twins....Tony Stark......
Still as limp as an old fish. He was desperate, his mind rapidly flicking pictures before him like a slide projector. He was down to memories of old Playboy covers and random, boring stereotypes. Stick shifts...boobs....um...cologne.
He slumped his shoulders in abject defeat. Maybe he could convince her he was high on something? Was a drug problem less socially damning for a playboy than an erectile problem?
Helen seemed to be giving up as well. She stopped her ministrations and whined to him in a high pitched voice, "Brucey.....I thought we were gonna have some fun."
He looked shamefully down on her. She was a drunken mess. Her hair, which began the night as a well-coiffed updo, was plastered to her face in ringlets. Her excessive eyeliner and shadow were smudged into gummy circles and her lipstick was smeared across her face. It tilted upwards at the edges almost like an exaggerated...smile.
Bruce felt his body twitch. He had an idea.
"We're gonna have some fun alright," he growled, not realizing he had slipped into his Batman voice.
He promptly threw her on her bed and proceeded to start tickling. She fought him at first but soon succumbed to the throes of helpless laughter. He was relentless, poking and wriggling his fingers over any part of her he could reach. She laughed until tears ran down her face.
Bruce stepped back and inspected his work. Gaudy purple dress, black rings around her eyes, huge lipstick smile, screeching with laughter. Her curly hair was the wrong color but it would have to do. He could feel his body responding.
He stood triumphant, relief palpable as his anatomy stirred more and more. Things were definitely on the right track now. He was going to be able to do this. Self-loathing would have to wait.
Thank God. Now let's get this over with so I can get the hell out of here.
----
Morning found Bruce back in his own bed. He hadn't slept all night, instead spending it trying to rationalize why he needed to think of the Joker to become aroused. His ruminations continued long after the alarm went off...
It's just stress, a normal reaction to a series of tense situations. Kind of like...Stockholm Syndrome for vigilantes. It means nothing. It's not like this has happened before. Well....not a lot, definitely not more than three times.
He shuddered, swallowing bile as he faced the unpleasant realization.
Definitely not more than three times this week!
FIN