Not Quite the Bat...Part 5
Title: Not Quite the Bat...
Disclaimer: If I owned them they would have less clothing while together
Rating: PG13-R
Warnings: Gore, language
Characters/Pairings: Batman/Joker
Summary: A last stand by a band of Gotham's worst nearly kill The Batman and The Joker is less than pleased. No one stands between Joker and his Bat and he aims to make sure it never happens again...
This was stupid. Very stupid. Batman looked over at the masked man sitting beside him, his eyes wide with awe, his hands trailing delicately over flashing panels, carefully not pressing down. He never should have taken the man with him, but then again did he really have a choice? He could take him to the commissioner, throw him in jail or Arkham but… could he really do that? The thought made his chest ache and he wondered for the first time if maybe Batman had a heart after all. This man, this almost Batman, only wanted to save him and they were already so much alike. Throwing him away, breaking this strange connection between them could be the final straw of sanity for them both. Bruce did not know if he could survive watching his first real connection with another person become twisted as betrayal warped the man’s mind. Batman did not know if he could survive watching The Knight become a villain.
The streets of Gotham were desolate, walked only by the brave, the foolish and the desperate. Bruce was grateful. He was so weak he could barely keep his hands on the wheel; he flicked the car into autopilot, searching quickly for the never-used blindfold tucked beside his seat.
“Put this on.” That eager face turned to him, ignoring the cloth in favor of flicking lazily between the wheel and Batman.
“Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know…driving?”
“You don’t trust me?” He meant it as a joke, he waited for a wiry smile, but when the blindfold was silently taken from him and tied on Batman’s heart skipped a beat. This was already going way too far.
He quickly sent a message to Alfred warning him not to come down into the Batcave and to lock the entrance into the manor. He received a curt reply about bringing dates home after only the second date. Somehow Alfred’s easy dry humor made the situation somehow less sinister.
The Knight sat the rest of the ride with his fingers still carefully tracing the dials and buttons of the car. Batman spent the time watching the other in restful silence, the way that his long graceful fingers reminded him of a pianists trained hands and wondered idly if he could play. He tried to stay away from the bright red of his lips, the only color that remained on his blacked out body. Lips that smirked slightly as if aware of Batman’s scrutiny.
“We are here.” Batman released the doors and the Knight pulled off the blindfold. His mouth gapped as he stepped out of the car, spinning as if not knowing what to take in first. He ended up at the edge of the Batmobiles platform, staring off into the main section of the Batcave, the monstrous computer screens lighting the darkness.
“We all have our own sense of artful irony don’t we?” He laughed and the sound echoed joyously through the cave that had rarely had the chance to hear such a noise. “The Batman really has a cave. Why am I surprised? Bats it is so you!” He turned and found Batman still sitting in the car, his legs hanging out the door, eyes watching him carefully.
“Bats?” The joy disappeared from his face in an instant; he was back at Batman’s side, crouching to eye level.
“Just- I just need a minute.” So tired, the lethargy in his body only served to frustrate him and make his blood heat, speeding his heart and making his head feel all the more faint.
“I have already seen you at your worst Bats.” Gloved hands cupped his face “Stop trying to hide from me, it won’t work.” His head was a fog of sleep, he knew he was falling into those eyes, and he could not help but wonder what lay beneath the makeup and the careful mask. Would he still hold this power over him if they were nothing but their fragile human selves? Would he still be this beautiful?
“Where can you rest here?” Batman looked briefly into the cave, focusing on where he knew a bed lay in a cubby of medical supplies. The man in front of him nodded, his arm wrapping around Batman’s back, pulling him up and supporting most of his weight.
“Come on Big Guy.” They made their way slowly to the bed, Bruce crashing down on it. He could not just leave The Knight alone and unwatched in the Batcave, he needed to stay awake, needed to secure everything but soothing hands were pushing him back down onto the bed.
“I am fine.” The growl was deep and almost convincing but he could not muster the energy to sit back up again and a patronizing finger covered his lips.
“Shh. Stop being stupid.” Deft hands began to work at the heavy armor and Bruce’s eye flashed open, batting the hands forcefully away.
“No!” He could not be revealed, not let pieces of Batman fall away from him leaving a pale sick Bruce in its wake. He needed his armor to keep the Knight away, to have something solid to hold onto. He could not keep relinquishing power; he needed Alfred to come care for him but with the Knight watching….
“Batman!” The Knight was on the bed, straddling him, his hands pinning Bruce’s hands above his head, stopping the feeble thrashing he had not registered he was doing. Their faces were only inches apart, those ruby lips inches away sending a breath ghosting over him. He looked up from those lips and fell into forceful green eyes that demanded his attention.
“I know you want to pretend you are not human! I understand more than you know. But you need to let me take care of you, you need to let someone in or you are going to end up killing yourself!” The breath pumping against him was hot and ragged, he wanted to deny him but he had no strength to do it, he knew the man was right.
“When you let me save you you began to trust me. I need you to do that again.”
“No.” His voice was weak with fatigue and denial, a battle he was not going to win and…one he did not want to.
“You do trust me don’t you? You do not want to but you do.” Ruby lips smiled but in his muddled mind Batman could only think that they looked…pained. “You never wanted to believe in me but you cannot help it. Do you want to know how I know?” He did not wait for a response, he was leaning impossibly closer, their cheeks brushing as he whispered the words that followed d Batman into sleep. “I never wanted to believe in you either.”
~*~
Bruce was warm and nothing hurt and he wanted to stay like this forever. The world could stay out of his brilliant cocoon, he had finally found somewhere where death and pain could not follow. An unexplained happiness filled him and a wise man would not question this rare gift. But Bruce had never considered himself wise. He could feel the soft mattress beneath him, the warm blankets covering his bare flesh, the rasp of them as he moved. He was still weak, he could feel it in his limbs but it could not touch him until he let the world in and surrendered his foolish joy. He turned his head on the pillow and felt it conform to the mask he still wore. He was still Batman? He froze, giving the illusion of sleep he felt the world more carefully. A computer buzzed softly not far away, the woosh of many fans keeping the machinery cool, there was a breathing that did not match his own and pressed against his side was a constant pressure through the blankets that pulsed warm and alive. There was a soft moan and something settled on his stomach.
Bruce opened his eyes almost laughed at what the strange world in which he lived had given to him. He lay in the Batcave in his bed, stripped bare save his mask and the underwear he wore under his suit, his armor in a messy pile by the bed and curled carefully into his side lay the Knight. The Knights body lay facing him, one arm curled beneath his head as a pillow, the other tossed possessively across Bruce’s waist. He was fully dressed, and the Batcave lay unmolested. It looked as though exhaustion had pulled him under where he laid, his legs tucked close so that he did not dangle from the bed.
Bruce let out a breath that felt like a laugh. He had been forced to trust another person and his world had not fallen apart. In fact it was beginning to look like the world of Batman was beginning to grow to incorporate more than his broken family. Logically he knew it was foolish to open himself up to such heartbreak. He had no need to trust or feel but when he thought about how life had been without the strange addition laying beside him now he could taste the stagnancy and the way the world seemed to be against him. Illogically he wanted to pull The Knight up and to fall back into sleep with someone who cared about him held tight in his arms.
“Batman?” Sleepy green eyes blinked up at him, his face unusually open, his walls not yet in place and Batman felt another surge of desire. “You okay now? I didn’t mean to sleep but I hadn’t in days.” A yawn broke his face. “Too worried you would go die on me.”
Bruce did not answer save for an uncharacteristic cryptic smile. He watched as the almost sleeping man tried to move his arm and realized where it was wrapped around him, he looked at it shocked for a second and then reached to touch the exposed skin of Bruce’s chest, his face relaxing further when it was warmed with sleep, not the cold stickiness he associated with illness.
“Just worn out.” Bruce finally answered. “I was on strict bed rest when I went to the bat signal.” Straight white teeth bit delicately at red lips in distress.
“Sleep.” He mumbled, curling back into Batman’s side, not willing to get up no matter what qualms the Bat had about it. “No more dying.”
He purposefully left his hand against Batman’s bared chest, hoping that if he was still then it would be allowed to stay and measure the beating of his heart. He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder, fingertips brushing up and down his arm he stayed still, afraid even to think of what was happening. The gentle touch stopped and Joker wanted to scratch his arm, to take away the strange tingling Batman had left. But it was pressing against him now, urging him up until he let it move him. He wriggled up the bed and found himself warm and tucked against too much bare flesh, the blanket rode down and the cool air brushed over Batman’s chest. The arm pulled gently again and he lay with his head laying on shoulder and chest, his hand finding no place to go but directly over the Batman’s heart.
He lay frozen until the Bat’s breathing evened out with sleep and his heart slowed. Finally he allowed his stiff body to relax and to look carefully into his sleeping face. It would have been funny- a sleeping Batman wearing nothing but his mask, some horrendous joke, but it was not in him to laugh. What was happening to him?
So maybe he had thought about it a million times, about the Bat finally understanding what they should be, but to happen like this… To be himself but not himself, he was the Joker but he was not, he was…a different version of himself. No more or less truly him than any other face he had put on. But he had adopted qualities of humans. Worry, trust, that weird fuzzy feeling in his chest like he had somehow ingested a mountain of cotton candy and all of the world’s cutest, happiest, bunnies. Joker had worries of course…when would the Bat show? What if he was already out at play with another? He had trusted, trusted the Bat to play, to live, to be there for him. He had even had glimpses of the weird fuzzies and thumping in his chest when his blade had slipped into particularly gruesome murderers, watching the life and horror in their faces as they realized what had happened to their own victims was finally happening to them…But this was different.
Same obsession, same people, only this way with this face those people, or rather the Bat, could actually see the soul that lay beneath and that soul had a twin. Batman groaned pitifully in his sleep, his muscles tensing, turning his soft fleshy pillow into a rock beneath him. Instinctually Joker threw a leg over Batman’s, his arm wrapping around him in a half embrace and the struggling stopped, his rock becoming welcoming once more, the arm tightened protectively around him. He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to the tan chest. No he was not loosing himself, he was finally part of a joke that would not end with himself in pain.
~*~
Joker woke slowly, aware that several hours had passed. Usually he woke repeatedly, the sleep of the restless and the paranoid. Having spent so many hours unconscious he had a feeling that he must have missed something. Batman was still sleeping like the dead Joker imagined he had more color now, that what could be seen of his face did not look so grim. He was warm and comfortable and Batman’s heartbeat was in his ear, he was tempted to ignore his mind which already tore him from his peace, but there was black paint on the Bats chest, old and smudging. He extracted his legs, saved only by the blankets that had separated them but he was hopelessly lost as the possessive arms curled around him tighter, engulfing him. A shock of panic scorched through him. What if Batman woke and his makeup was too old and his scars peered through the putty and black? It was too early to lay down his cards, he was not done playing this game! Maybe he would never stop playing…
He had never before wished to have spent more of his life with other people but he wished he knew now how to escape Batman’s arms so they would be there when he wanted them again. It was cheap and he knew it but he let his hand trace the outline of his collar bone, hoping of all things that Batman was ticklish. A hint of breath was all the warning he got before strong arms pulled him until he lay flush on top of the other man. He should have figured any kind of attack would result in anyone Bats was protecting to be drawn closer.
Fuck. He did not breath, he did not move. All the wrong things were in all the right places and it would be a lot of fun if Bats was awake but that was exactly what could not happen. He slipped his arms down, trying fruitlessly to reach behind his own back and free himself but the motion caused his body to wriggle against Batman. There was a low rumble in the chest he laid on and the arms that held him in place moved finally of their own accord. He let out a sigh of relief when they uncrossed, he could finally free himself. But the arms continued to move, hand s tracing delicately over his back to rest finally on his ass, waiting for him to writhe on top of him once again.
How could this be happening? A giggle was forcing its way up his throat and his cheeks were hot with blood. His identity would not be revealed by the Bats molesting hands! But he could feel Batman’s rising arousal hot against his own and couldn’t help just one shallow thrust. A beautiful throaty groan filled his ears as he tumbled quickly off the man- off the bed to fall finally free to the cold stone floor gasping for breath. He picked himself off the floor quickly, hand coming to his face, wary of wandering eyes and fading makeup but Batman did not wake. He only reached out in his sleep, a soft barely audible whimper escaping his throat. Punch him, stab him, shoot him and you scarcely drew a breath from him, now he whimpered piteously just to make Jokers legs feel weak.
He turned his back on the sleeping man and took in the Batcave as a whole. The cave was monstrously huge and every nook glinted with toys that called to him but the need for a mirror trumped it all. There was a small bathroom close by, Joker wondered how many nights Batman spent here, maybe too weak to go anywhere else. He banished the though as he closed the door behind him.
A little smudged but serviceable, the makeup putty on his face had stayed well, smoothing his characteristic scars into smooth cheeks once again. It only took a minute to make it perfect. Not his tried and true Joker face but at least he still got to wear the black makeup, the clash of white and black always had made him smile. Assured his face was in place he ventured out into the Batcave. A spy in enemy territory, or perhaps it was a fan on a pilgrimage to see what they had always dreamed of, an archeologist waking up one day to find their night cup had turned into the Holy Grail.
Old suits lined the walls in glass chambers, frozen in time. His fingers trailed over the glass of the very first Bat suit, a tear ran through the fabric along the side of the torso, long and ragged. The first time they had met face to face, it made him glad to see that they had not sewn it shut after all this time. But his attention was drawn deeper into the cave, past computers and contraptions, suits and vehicles, it was its own section of the cave, illuminated by screens and individual lights that set off the contents of this almost museum.
Faces of those he had killed just recently gleamed at him, their smiles sinister as if promising retribution. As if that was going to happen. Artifacts littered the area, set tactfully against the walls, curving around him as he stepped forward. Umbrellas, Knives, guns, coins, suits, masks, a million trinkets collected from as many villains. They were in sections, Firefly, Killer Crock, Bane, they all had their photos set amongst the toys they once possessed but under each profile a new word had been added, harsh bold red. DECEASED.
Penguin glared up at him through the plastic sheen. Not long now, he thought as he glared in turn. He had not forgotten what the witless bird had done to his Bat. He would not be allowed to escape the fate of his gang, but he would be savored, safe only until Batman was able once more to survive them all.
His glare lingered but slipped away, now was not the time, no use in dwelling over the life of the soon to be dead. He walked slowly to the center of the room, the largest pictures and the most trinkets, toys of many colors that had once flashed and buzzed with life and now sat as if frozen in time, stopped mid-laugh, not dead, immortalized. He stared up at the photo, it laughed at him, taunted him.
“I am glad you are not going after him.” The voice startled him, either Batman was very good or he was losing his paranoid edge.
He did not stop walking until their shoulders brushed and they both stood staring into the eyes of The Joker.
“Why?” He was uncomfortable, this was too close to the truth but he could not stop, how could he when the Bat might reveal more about them without even knowing? The memories of only a few minutes before painted over the scene now, hot lust and possession coursing unwanted through him. He was ridiculously thankful for the long black shirt and black pants the man had donned with his mask, hiding still.
“He is the most dangerous person I have ever faced.” They both turned from the picture, not wanting now to see it. Bruce’s hand wandered unconsciously to his own side, tracing old scars. “Sometimes I think of how all this will end and I can’t help but think that it will be the two of us. Batman and the Joker destroying each other so completely that Gotham will forget we ever existed.”
“Does it hurt?” He pointed to the arms wrapped tight around old wounds and in return he got a surprised look, understandable, he did not know why he asked or in fact why he cared.
“Not Really. Not anymore.” Bats raised his shirt. It was not as if he had not seen him in less clothing but as the black fabric revealed perfect muscled abs his heart beat faster in his chest. A scar appeared long and jagged that he had not noticed in the darkness before, the skin white, marring the perfect flesh. Other scars began and ended, crisscrossing the skin. His hand was out before he could stop it, running along the bumps, so much like himself.
“He gave me my first scar as Batman.” There was a small dark chuckle that Joker could feel through his fingers as he leapt to the next scar, unable to stop himself. “He gave me most of my scars.”
His hands had traced over all the scars visible, he remembered them, each blow, each twin on his own body, he wanted more. It only took a glance, and when blue eyes locked with his he knew Bats understood. Batman lifted the black shirt and let it fall to the ground. His hands were everywhere; scars littered the skin, youthful flesh a mangled battle zone. But there were some that held no beauty, no history. Large garish holes marred his chest, another on his back, the scars felt cruel under his fingertips. Some wounds pulsed red and angry under their bandages, not yet given the chance to heal.
Batman’s hands reached out to him, settling on his hips, holding him, his voice was dark and intimate, like they were the only two people alive. “Sometimes I wonder if any of us any really had a chance to live a normal life. It was the Joker that once told me all it takes is one bad day. One day separates the masses of Gotham from its night terrors.” His hands trailed slowly over the dark leather, moving over ribs to hold his arms gently, not stopping their progress of warm bare flesh. “And then you spend your whole life trying to make up for that day and it does not matter what side you are on. All this life has to offer any of us is the fear that whatever you stand for, whatever that day has done to you will fail.”
Their hearts were speeding and the voice fell heavy in the air, hot against both their lips, a mix of the darkness of Batman and something deeply human. “Do you still have a chance?”
“No.”
Under the watchful eyes of their painted peers, caught in the illumination from the Jokers oversized photograph Batman caught the Knight in a kiss.
Disclaimer: If I owned them they would have less clothing while together
Rating: PG13-R
Warnings: Gore, language
Characters/Pairings: Batman/Joker
Summary: A last stand by a band of Gotham's worst nearly kill The Batman and The Joker is less than pleased. No one stands between Joker and his Bat and he aims to make sure it never happens again...
This was stupid. Very stupid. Batman looked over at the masked man sitting beside him, his eyes wide with awe, his hands trailing delicately over flashing panels, carefully not pressing down. He never should have taken the man with him, but then again did he really have a choice? He could take him to the commissioner, throw him in jail or Arkham but… could he really do that? The thought made his chest ache and he wondered for the first time if maybe Batman had a heart after all. This man, this almost Batman, only wanted to save him and they were already so much alike. Throwing him away, breaking this strange connection between them could be the final straw of sanity for them both. Bruce did not know if he could survive watching his first real connection with another person become twisted as betrayal warped the man’s mind. Batman did not know if he could survive watching The Knight become a villain.
The streets of Gotham were desolate, walked only by the brave, the foolish and the desperate. Bruce was grateful. He was so weak he could barely keep his hands on the wheel; he flicked the car into autopilot, searching quickly for the never-used blindfold tucked beside his seat.
“Put this on.” That eager face turned to him, ignoring the cloth in favor of flicking lazily between the wheel and Batman.
“Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know…driving?”
“You don’t trust me?” He meant it as a joke, he waited for a wiry smile, but when the blindfold was silently taken from him and tied on Batman’s heart skipped a beat. This was already going way too far.
He quickly sent a message to Alfred warning him not to come down into the Batcave and to lock the entrance into the manor. He received a curt reply about bringing dates home after only the second date. Somehow Alfred’s easy dry humor made the situation somehow less sinister.
The Knight sat the rest of the ride with his fingers still carefully tracing the dials and buttons of the car. Batman spent the time watching the other in restful silence, the way that his long graceful fingers reminded him of a pianists trained hands and wondered idly if he could play. He tried to stay away from the bright red of his lips, the only color that remained on his blacked out body. Lips that smirked slightly as if aware of Batman’s scrutiny.
“We are here.” Batman released the doors and the Knight pulled off the blindfold. His mouth gapped as he stepped out of the car, spinning as if not knowing what to take in first. He ended up at the edge of the Batmobiles platform, staring off into the main section of the Batcave, the monstrous computer screens lighting the darkness.
“We all have our own sense of artful irony don’t we?” He laughed and the sound echoed joyously through the cave that had rarely had the chance to hear such a noise. “The Batman really has a cave. Why am I surprised? Bats it is so you!” He turned and found Batman still sitting in the car, his legs hanging out the door, eyes watching him carefully.
“Bats?” The joy disappeared from his face in an instant; he was back at Batman’s side, crouching to eye level.
“Just- I just need a minute.” So tired, the lethargy in his body only served to frustrate him and make his blood heat, speeding his heart and making his head feel all the more faint.
“I have already seen you at your worst Bats.” Gloved hands cupped his face “Stop trying to hide from me, it won’t work.” His head was a fog of sleep, he knew he was falling into those eyes, and he could not help but wonder what lay beneath the makeup and the careful mask. Would he still hold this power over him if they were nothing but their fragile human selves? Would he still be this beautiful?
“Where can you rest here?” Batman looked briefly into the cave, focusing on where he knew a bed lay in a cubby of medical supplies. The man in front of him nodded, his arm wrapping around Batman’s back, pulling him up and supporting most of his weight.
“Come on Big Guy.” They made their way slowly to the bed, Bruce crashing down on it. He could not just leave The Knight alone and unwatched in the Batcave, he needed to stay awake, needed to secure everything but soothing hands were pushing him back down onto the bed.
“I am fine.” The growl was deep and almost convincing but he could not muster the energy to sit back up again and a patronizing finger covered his lips.
“Shh. Stop being stupid.” Deft hands began to work at the heavy armor and Bruce’s eye flashed open, batting the hands forcefully away.
“No!” He could not be revealed, not let pieces of Batman fall away from him leaving a pale sick Bruce in its wake. He needed his armor to keep the Knight away, to have something solid to hold onto. He could not keep relinquishing power; he needed Alfred to come care for him but with the Knight watching….
“Batman!” The Knight was on the bed, straddling him, his hands pinning Bruce’s hands above his head, stopping the feeble thrashing he had not registered he was doing. Their faces were only inches apart, those ruby lips inches away sending a breath ghosting over him. He looked up from those lips and fell into forceful green eyes that demanded his attention.
“I know you want to pretend you are not human! I understand more than you know. But you need to let me take care of you, you need to let someone in or you are going to end up killing yourself!” The breath pumping against him was hot and ragged, he wanted to deny him but he had no strength to do it, he knew the man was right.
“When you let me save you you began to trust me. I need you to do that again.”
“No.” His voice was weak with fatigue and denial, a battle he was not going to win and…one he did not want to.
“You do trust me don’t you? You do not want to but you do.” Ruby lips smiled but in his muddled mind Batman could only think that they looked…pained. “You never wanted to believe in me but you cannot help it. Do you want to know how I know?” He did not wait for a response, he was leaning impossibly closer, their cheeks brushing as he whispered the words that followed d Batman into sleep. “I never wanted to believe in you either.”
~*~
Bruce was warm and nothing hurt and he wanted to stay like this forever. The world could stay out of his brilliant cocoon, he had finally found somewhere where death and pain could not follow. An unexplained happiness filled him and a wise man would not question this rare gift. But Bruce had never considered himself wise. He could feel the soft mattress beneath him, the warm blankets covering his bare flesh, the rasp of them as he moved. He was still weak, he could feel it in his limbs but it could not touch him until he let the world in and surrendered his foolish joy. He turned his head on the pillow and felt it conform to the mask he still wore. He was still Batman? He froze, giving the illusion of sleep he felt the world more carefully. A computer buzzed softly not far away, the woosh of many fans keeping the machinery cool, there was a breathing that did not match his own and pressed against his side was a constant pressure through the blankets that pulsed warm and alive. There was a soft moan and something settled on his stomach.
Bruce opened his eyes almost laughed at what the strange world in which he lived had given to him. He lay in the Batcave in his bed, stripped bare save his mask and the underwear he wore under his suit, his armor in a messy pile by the bed and curled carefully into his side lay the Knight. The Knights body lay facing him, one arm curled beneath his head as a pillow, the other tossed possessively across Bruce’s waist. He was fully dressed, and the Batcave lay unmolested. It looked as though exhaustion had pulled him under where he laid, his legs tucked close so that he did not dangle from the bed.
Bruce let out a breath that felt like a laugh. He had been forced to trust another person and his world had not fallen apart. In fact it was beginning to look like the world of Batman was beginning to grow to incorporate more than his broken family. Logically he knew it was foolish to open himself up to such heartbreak. He had no need to trust or feel but when he thought about how life had been without the strange addition laying beside him now he could taste the stagnancy and the way the world seemed to be against him. Illogically he wanted to pull The Knight up and to fall back into sleep with someone who cared about him held tight in his arms.
“Batman?” Sleepy green eyes blinked up at him, his face unusually open, his walls not yet in place and Batman felt another surge of desire. “You okay now? I didn’t mean to sleep but I hadn’t in days.” A yawn broke his face. “Too worried you would go die on me.”
Bruce did not answer save for an uncharacteristic cryptic smile. He watched as the almost sleeping man tried to move his arm and realized where it was wrapped around him, he looked at it shocked for a second and then reached to touch the exposed skin of Bruce’s chest, his face relaxing further when it was warmed with sleep, not the cold stickiness he associated with illness.
“Just worn out.” Bruce finally answered. “I was on strict bed rest when I went to the bat signal.” Straight white teeth bit delicately at red lips in distress.
“Sleep.” He mumbled, curling back into Batman’s side, not willing to get up no matter what qualms the Bat had about it. “No more dying.”
He purposefully left his hand against Batman’s bared chest, hoping that if he was still then it would be allowed to stay and measure the beating of his heart. He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder, fingertips brushing up and down his arm he stayed still, afraid even to think of what was happening. The gentle touch stopped and Joker wanted to scratch his arm, to take away the strange tingling Batman had left. But it was pressing against him now, urging him up until he let it move him. He wriggled up the bed and found himself warm and tucked against too much bare flesh, the blanket rode down and the cool air brushed over Batman’s chest. The arm pulled gently again and he lay with his head laying on shoulder and chest, his hand finding no place to go but directly over the Batman’s heart.
He lay frozen until the Bat’s breathing evened out with sleep and his heart slowed. Finally he allowed his stiff body to relax and to look carefully into his sleeping face. It would have been funny- a sleeping Batman wearing nothing but his mask, some horrendous joke, but it was not in him to laugh. What was happening to him?
So maybe he had thought about it a million times, about the Bat finally understanding what they should be, but to happen like this… To be himself but not himself, he was the Joker but he was not, he was…a different version of himself. No more or less truly him than any other face he had put on. But he had adopted qualities of humans. Worry, trust, that weird fuzzy feeling in his chest like he had somehow ingested a mountain of cotton candy and all of the world’s cutest, happiest, bunnies. Joker had worries of course…when would the Bat show? What if he was already out at play with another? He had trusted, trusted the Bat to play, to live, to be there for him. He had even had glimpses of the weird fuzzies and thumping in his chest when his blade had slipped into particularly gruesome murderers, watching the life and horror in their faces as they realized what had happened to their own victims was finally happening to them…But this was different.
Same obsession, same people, only this way with this face those people, or rather the Bat, could actually see the soul that lay beneath and that soul had a twin. Batman groaned pitifully in his sleep, his muscles tensing, turning his soft fleshy pillow into a rock beneath him. Instinctually Joker threw a leg over Batman’s, his arm wrapping around him in a half embrace and the struggling stopped, his rock becoming welcoming once more, the arm tightened protectively around him. He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to the tan chest. No he was not loosing himself, he was finally part of a joke that would not end with himself in pain.
~*~
Joker woke slowly, aware that several hours had passed. Usually he woke repeatedly, the sleep of the restless and the paranoid. Having spent so many hours unconscious he had a feeling that he must have missed something. Batman was still sleeping like the dead Joker imagined he had more color now, that what could be seen of his face did not look so grim. He was warm and comfortable and Batman’s heartbeat was in his ear, he was tempted to ignore his mind which already tore him from his peace, but there was black paint on the Bats chest, old and smudging. He extracted his legs, saved only by the blankets that had separated them but he was hopelessly lost as the possessive arms curled around him tighter, engulfing him. A shock of panic scorched through him. What if Batman woke and his makeup was too old and his scars peered through the putty and black? It was too early to lay down his cards, he was not done playing this game! Maybe he would never stop playing…
He had never before wished to have spent more of his life with other people but he wished he knew now how to escape Batman’s arms so they would be there when he wanted them again. It was cheap and he knew it but he let his hand trace the outline of his collar bone, hoping of all things that Batman was ticklish. A hint of breath was all the warning he got before strong arms pulled him until he lay flush on top of the other man. He should have figured any kind of attack would result in anyone Bats was protecting to be drawn closer.
Fuck. He did not breath, he did not move. All the wrong things were in all the right places and it would be a lot of fun if Bats was awake but that was exactly what could not happen. He slipped his arms down, trying fruitlessly to reach behind his own back and free himself but the motion caused his body to wriggle against Batman. There was a low rumble in the chest he laid on and the arms that held him in place moved finally of their own accord. He let out a sigh of relief when they uncrossed, he could finally free himself. But the arms continued to move, hand s tracing delicately over his back to rest finally on his ass, waiting for him to writhe on top of him once again.
How could this be happening? A giggle was forcing its way up his throat and his cheeks were hot with blood. His identity would not be revealed by the Bats molesting hands! But he could feel Batman’s rising arousal hot against his own and couldn’t help just one shallow thrust. A beautiful throaty groan filled his ears as he tumbled quickly off the man- off the bed to fall finally free to the cold stone floor gasping for breath. He picked himself off the floor quickly, hand coming to his face, wary of wandering eyes and fading makeup but Batman did not wake. He only reached out in his sleep, a soft barely audible whimper escaping his throat. Punch him, stab him, shoot him and you scarcely drew a breath from him, now he whimpered piteously just to make Jokers legs feel weak.
He turned his back on the sleeping man and took in the Batcave as a whole. The cave was monstrously huge and every nook glinted with toys that called to him but the need for a mirror trumped it all. There was a small bathroom close by, Joker wondered how many nights Batman spent here, maybe too weak to go anywhere else. He banished the though as he closed the door behind him.
A little smudged but serviceable, the makeup putty on his face had stayed well, smoothing his characteristic scars into smooth cheeks once again. It only took a minute to make it perfect. Not his tried and true Joker face but at least he still got to wear the black makeup, the clash of white and black always had made him smile. Assured his face was in place he ventured out into the Batcave. A spy in enemy territory, or perhaps it was a fan on a pilgrimage to see what they had always dreamed of, an archeologist waking up one day to find their night cup had turned into the Holy Grail.
Old suits lined the walls in glass chambers, frozen in time. His fingers trailed over the glass of the very first Bat suit, a tear ran through the fabric along the side of the torso, long and ragged. The first time they had met face to face, it made him glad to see that they had not sewn it shut after all this time. But his attention was drawn deeper into the cave, past computers and contraptions, suits and vehicles, it was its own section of the cave, illuminated by screens and individual lights that set off the contents of this almost museum.
Faces of those he had killed just recently gleamed at him, their smiles sinister as if promising retribution. As if that was going to happen. Artifacts littered the area, set tactfully against the walls, curving around him as he stepped forward. Umbrellas, Knives, guns, coins, suits, masks, a million trinkets collected from as many villains. They were in sections, Firefly, Killer Crock, Bane, they all had their photos set amongst the toys they once possessed but under each profile a new word had been added, harsh bold red. DECEASED.
Penguin glared up at him through the plastic sheen. Not long now, he thought as he glared in turn. He had not forgotten what the witless bird had done to his Bat. He would not be allowed to escape the fate of his gang, but he would be savored, safe only until Batman was able once more to survive them all.
His glare lingered but slipped away, now was not the time, no use in dwelling over the life of the soon to be dead. He walked slowly to the center of the room, the largest pictures and the most trinkets, toys of many colors that had once flashed and buzzed with life and now sat as if frozen in time, stopped mid-laugh, not dead, immortalized. He stared up at the photo, it laughed at him, taunted him.
“I am glad you are not going after him.” The voice startled him, either Batman was very good or he was losing his paranoid edge.
He did not stop walking until their shoulders brushed and they both stood staring into the eyes of The Joker.
“Why?” He was uncomfortable, this was too close to the truth but he could not stop, how could he when the Bat might reveal more about them without even knowing? The memories of only a few minutes before painted over the scene now, hot lust and possession coursing unwanted through him. He was ridiculously thankful for the long black shirt and black pants the man had donned with his mask, hiding still.
“He is the most dangerous person I have ever faced.” They both turned from the picture, not wanting now to see it. Bruce’s hand wandered unconsciously to his own side, tracing old scars. “Sometimes I think of how all this will end and I can’t help but think that it will be the two of us. Batman and the Joker destroying each other so completely that Gotham will forget we ever existed.”
“Does it hurt?” He pointed to the arms wrapped tight around old wounds and in return he got a surprised look, understandable, he did not know why he asked or in fact why he cared.
“Not Really. Not anymore.” Bats raised his shirt. It was not as if he had not seen him in less clothing but as the black fabric revealed perfect muscled abs his heart beat faster in his chest. A scar appeared long and jagged that he had not noticed in the darkness before, the skin white, marring the perfect flesh. Other scars began and ended, crisscrossing the skin. His hand was out before he could stop it, running along the bumps, so much like himself.
“He gave me my first scar as Batman.” There was a small dark chuckle that Joker could feel through his fingers as he leapt to the next scar, unable to stop himself. “He gave me most of my scars.”
His hands had traced over all the scars visible, he remembered them, each blow, each twin on his own body, he wanted more. It only took a glance, and when blue eyes locked with his he knew Bats understood. Batman lifted the black shirt and let it fall to the ground. His hands were everywhere; scars littered the skin, youthful flesh a mangled battle zone. But there were some that held no beauty, no history. Large garish holes marred his chest, another on his back, the scars felt cruel under his fingertips. Some wounds pulsed red and angry under their bandages, not yet given the chance to heal.
Batman’s hands reached out to him, settling on his hips, holding him, his voice was dark and intimate, like they were the only two people alive. “Sometimes I wonder if any of us any really had a chance to live a normal life. It was the Joker that once told me all it takes is one bad day. One day separates the masses of Gotham from its night terrors.” His hands trailed slowly over the dark leather, moving over ribs to hold his arms gently, not stopping their progress of warm bare flesh. “And then you spend your whole life trying to make up for that day and it does not matter what side you are on. All this life has to offer any of us is the fear that whatever you stand for, whatever that day has done to you will fail.”
Their hearts were speeding and the voice fell heavy in the air, hot against both their lips, a mix of the darkness of Batman and something deeply human. “Do you still have a chance?”
“No.”
Under the watchful eyes of their painted peers, caught in the illumination from the Jokers oversized photograph Batman caught the Knight in a kiss.