A New Variable to The Equation- Part I, Down the Rabbit Hole- Chapter Three: Take the Punchline (I)
Authors: Paigery (obi_luvr ) and Amadeus (regularbean ).
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
It all happened so quickly. Before Bruce even had time to blink--he was shoved roughly to the ground and overwhelmed by the multicolored menace. The Dark Knight of Gotham blinked away the residual bewilderment as soon as a dark, mauve-colored shadow complete with a ruby-red grin filled his vision and the cold twinge of a blade was wedged between his lips. There had been no precursor--no warning. And he would never have expected anything less from a man like the Joker. But that didn't mean that he shouldn't have known better. Batman had let his guard down once more and this was the price he paid for his ignorance.
The black-clad superhero fought against the overbearing weight of his adversary; left hand curled around the knife-wielding fist and his right hand pushing experimentally against the front of his attacker's chest. He didn't dare make any sudden movements. The last thing he needed was a matching 'smile' to boot.
He wanted to retort with something along the lines of, "Weird? This is coming from the guy who dresses up like a clown." but talking would have been a very grave decision for a man in his situation. Instead, he slowly clamped his teeth down on the flat of the blade; hoping that it would keep the sharp implement stationary for the time being.
~*!*~
The Joker quirked an eyebrow when the other man bit down on the knife, to keep him form slitting his mouth into a wide, jeering smile of irony. “Clever,” he remarked lightly, then using his other and, the one that was being held by Batman, quickly to whip out yet another knife, “But you didn’t take into account the fact that I have, what, fifty of these things? Ha, ha…” he laughed, cackled, and threw his head back for a moment before he allowed his eyes to return to Batman’s.
He had the famed (or rather infamous, really) vigilante pinned down, and he was over top of him…it was an amazing feeling. He felt like he was in control, and the Joker just adored that feeling. Of course the fact that the Batman was still slightly erect and under him was a thought the Clown Prince of Crime tried not to mull over too much, for he wouldn’t want to slip into the same sort of predicament himself (and yes, surely thinking too much over it would get him aroused, seeing as this was his ultimate obsession, the Batman). On that thought, he gulped and shifted awkwardly against the pressure the other was applying to his chest.
He let Batman bite down on that one knife, bringing the other to his lips. “I wonder if you’re pretty under that mask of yours…after all, wouldn’t it be a shame if I soiled beauty by carving your mouth, hmm? Right, right?” His voice gradually became more and more threatening, eyes narrowing, glimmering with the sheen of danger and control. “And I’m sure you’re very, very lovely under your Bat-mask,” the villain began to purr, licking his lips as if he were tasting something savory.
A pause came, and the Joker dropped the knife he was holding with his free hand, settling for pinning the hero’s shoulder down. Now this moment, could certainly be deemed as strange, one man overtop another, trying to hold him down, looking truly like he was capable of anything at that moment, looking voracious and…hungry. The Joker was just staring down in those pools of blue, his own face wavering close to the knight’s. He could /smell/ him, the intoxicating scent of leather….and maybe some expensive cologne concealed under that? Strange. It was a good scent. Dipping his head downwards to the other’s armor-protected neck, the Joker took in the scent again, some of his green locks splaying out against the black of the armor.
‘Stop it! Is this the ‘better class of criminal’ you had in mind?’ he thought to himself, sharply drawing away from the close a proximity.
“Well, why don’t you say something?” the Joker suddenly snapped, quite moody, acting very angry actually. He was trying to roll off the Batman, get away from him, but seeing as the vigilante had a good grip on him, he was just as trapped as Batman was. So, the Joker sat there, trying to tug away from the other’s hold, but also taking the knife up in his free hand again and holding it to Batman’s cheek- making it all one odd stalemate.
~*!*~
“But you didn’t take into account the fact that I have, what, fifty of these things?"
The masked vigilante frowned noticeably. He really didn't think about that, did he? Then again, having another human being, warm and writhing above him, was a little more than distracting. Also considering that he was already semi-hard and a little fuzzy from guzzling down half a beer in less than fifteen seconds flat...Bruce instinctively tightened his grip on the Joker; the gloved hand on his chest now fisting the lapels of his jacket. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was pulling the maniac clown closer rather than keeping him at bay. From unbridled rage to perverse amusement, things were slowly becoming a little more awkward between the two.
Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when the green-haired man dropped suddenly, his hot breath seeping between the small crevices between all the armor-plates around his neck. The first thought to race through his mind was, 'How fitting. He's going to tear my throat out with his teeth...like the mad dog he really is.' It was all the more a surprise when he heard the other man inhale slowly. Was he...sniffing him?! The usually-brooding superhero actually squirmed beneath his opponent's weight.
He swallowed, sapphire eyes taking on an almost perplexed tinge as the criminally-insane jester dragged his precious blade over Bruce's cheek. The Joker was acting so strange! Stranger than usual, of course. He opened his mouth to reply but no words seemed to spill out. It was as if the great well of deadpan retorts had dried up. The bat-impersonating vigilante clamped his jaw shut with an almost painful 'click' rather than leave himself floundering to form a legitimate sentence. Reality was slowly coming back to his faintly-hazed mind--the reality that he had his worst enemy practically straddling his semi-erect penis and rather than pushing him away this time, his hands were like iron talons locked around the fabric of that custom-made suit; holding him in place. Batman would have never let it escalate to this point...this was all of Bruce Wayne's fault.
"Why'd you do that?" he rasped--the first coherent thought plucked from the tangle of confused, disjointed logic flinging itself from his throat in the form of a meek inquiry. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut...
~*!*~
The Joker made another bout of writhing, although trying to get away from Batman’s enormously strong hold was surely impossible. He could sense the confusion simmering in the other man’s mind, and the clown knew exactly just what was perplexing the protector of Gotham city. But he didn’t exactly want to explain it to him….for a number of reasons, one of them being that he didn’t completely understand it himself.
He didn’t understand why he felt almost glad when Batman held him back from making his escape, despite how angry he was acting about it.
He stared back at the caped crusader, his expression assuming a more stiff quality when the other clamped his mouth shut. Fine, he’d cut him until he talked, cut the damned Bat’s face to bloody shreds until he said something that he liked….but luckily, Batman spoke before the Joker began to actually do such a thing. But the thing was that now the Joker was posed with a question he didn’t want (and didn’t know quite how) to answer. That wasn’t something the harlequin liked at all!
“I…well ermm…Hey wait, what is this, Jeopardy? Twenty questions? I don’t have to answer anything you ask of me! So just let me go and leave me alone!” At first his tone was threatening, but slowly it was breaking down into a childish whine of desperation, as if Batman holding onto him any longer would be the equivalent of poison to him. He made another attempt at a tug away, then making an aggravated sigh that was uncomfortably close to a growl.
“I don’t have to gratify your silly questions with answers,” the green-eyed man continued to say, as if the more he said it the more true it would become (which wasn’t especially the case, because the question wasn’t actually ‘silly’ at all).
‘But what if I can never get this close to him again?’ the thought came up to the surface of the madman’s over-crowded and chaotic mind. Shouldn’t he take advantage of this now? But…how?
Blinking a bit with blatant curiosity, his eyes went to that bit of the vigilante’s face that was exposed. Experimentally he drew his fingers to that portion, touching softly the chin and lips there. It was troubling just how much more he wanted to do to this knight, just for the sake of doing it…or was it more? Again the Joker’s head dipped downwards to breath that scent in again, and oddly enough a moment later his forehead was relaxed against Batman’s upper chest, just letting his head rest there. The silence that came with that action was unique. It wasn’t quite the awkward silences of before, but rather respite from turmoil, and actually all reasons considered, it was…peaceful.
“I hate you! Shut the fuck up!” suddenly the Joker snarled completely irrationally, lifting his head from the other man’s chest, eyes looking completely enraged and his struggle to get away from the Batman was even more vigorous now. “If you don’t want me to cut your teeth out from your gums let me the fuck go!” he almost roared.
~*!*~
Batman regarded the man above him with a sort of morbid curiosity. Back to the whole analogy, the maniac clown was nothing but a bloody train wreck. Bruce was enraptured by the little fragments of emotion that had suddenly begun pouring from those bottle glass green eyes like a busted dam. What was all this? Was the Joker actually more than the mad dog he claimed to be?
His breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat as the painted jester (though he should probably stop referring to him as such with most of his ‘mask’ running down the curve of his jaw in splotchy rivulets) began to explore the bare part of his face. Surprisingly warm fingers traced the hard lines of his pursed lips and chin. And then he swooped down to catch his scent once again. Bruce had tensed, expecting it to be a quick exchange but instead, the green-haired man remained nuzzled into the crook of hic neck, relaxing. For a moment, Bruce Wayne was sure that he had broken through to the other man. However, it had all ended as quickly as it began. The Joker reared back; thrashing anew and far more violently than the first few times.
The Ace of Knaves continued to threaten and scoff at Bruce’s inquiry as if he’d asked for a favorite color. And the masked vigilante let him. This was still a mentally unstable psychopath he had on his hands, not just some normal guy with a fetish for carnival theatrics and explosions. But when the words ‘I hate you’ spewed from that scarred mouth, something within Batman felt incredibly unsettling. Before he had time to even register his own actions, the dark knight tightened his grip on the jester’s clothes and shook. He literally shook the other man as if he naught but a rag doll.
“Stop it!” he ground out; surprised at the indignation swelling in his tone. “Stop it right now! You don’t hate me. Listen to yourself!” After a few moments, the violent trouncing seized and he yanked the clown forward until their noses were practically brushing. “What the hell has gotten into you?!” Bruce hissed, scrutinizing those eerie, green depths that were the Joker’s eyes. Something just didn’t settle right with the criminal’s behavior. Wasn’t he the one who went out of his way with a false bomb-threat just to lure the Caped Crusader into this very bar? He was acting so peculiar, more peculiar than usual. And that was saying a lot.
~*!*~
The criminal’s eyes narrowed dangerously like an upset feline as his body was throttled into a tremulous grip, and yet at the same time his expression retained (along with that rather apparent madness) that indication of surprise at the sudden display of umbrage Batman was releasing. Sure, he had gotten the dark knight annoyed and infuriated with him before. (Hell, apparently, he had managed to get him erect too!) But this was entirely different than anything he had witness before, this was a whole new level of outrage that the other man had never displayed in so passionate a manner, not before the Joker, that is.
“You don’t know what I think about you! You don’t know the first fucking thing about me!” the clown spat with vigorous venom, shaking his head fervently. He was quickly shut up, however, when the breath was nearly knocked out of him by how the vigilante seized him forward directly before his face.
“You don’t know /shit/ about me. I hate you, I loathe you, I despise you and everything about you, I could spit on just the very air you breath, /dearest/.” He emphasized that last word with as much hurtful sarcasm he could muster, facing the Bat’s blazing cobalt eyes unflinchingly. He took in his breath, recovering a bit form being shaken around as he had been by the other just moments before, and slowly the pair of shamrock oculars fell downwards. He was just absolutely burning, from the inside out, he felt like the shambles of shards of what could have been past sanity were fading, fading….because of this new stress, this new variable added to the equation of how he saw the world: Batman. And still yet there was more to come to complicate the Joker’s outlook other than just the Batman.
He strived so hard to seek the hero’s attention, and yet now all he could do was scream that he hated him and insist on being left alone.
“Fine, you want to know the answer to my question, huh? Fine, I’ll give it to you, you bastard,” the Joker snarled ferociously, making another brief struggle before giving up again. “The answer about what’s gotten into me is…it is…” he seemed to be struggling to find the words, his disjointed mind, full of surpassing intelligence twisted by the cacophony of insanity. “It’s…you!” he exclaimed. “It’s you…” he added, a little more quiet now, eyes still averted.
‘Why is it I can’t do him? Just kill him, kill…’ the Joker wondered. But even he knew the answer to that. It was because he didn’t want to kill Batman! They completed each other. He could never kill him, even he said so himself…
…But since was he incapable of killing? Hurting? It made no sense, to his warped mind, and it made him beyond angry. Swiping up the knife again he stabbed it down hard, very hard, right into the wood floor next to Batman’s head. Just everything about the Joker now was seething uncontrollable rage. Something about him just wanted to explode.
Harshly and suddenly his arms grappled to wrap around the masked male’s shoulders, in a strange sort of embrace. It was almost as if the Joker was, at this point, struggling with his rampant incapability of even managing that, like he was waging a war. With his arms wrapped tight around the Bat, it seemed truly like he was never going to let go. He still kept his face before the other’s, but yet his eyes were still averted, boiling with an emotionally charged fury. “Damn you…” he muttered tensely. He could feel those strong fisted still curled tightly around the front of his suit, against his chest, keeping them close together, and he became aware all over again the presence of that elusive figure’s body directly beneath him. The forceful hold slackened just slightly as the madman took a shuddering breath. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…”
~*!*~
“You’re right, I don’t know a thing about you. Nobody knows anything about you.” Bruce swallowed, the cold steel of the blade now embedded into the floor not more than inches from his face paying a less-than-subtle reminder of who he was dealing with. He was a little caught off guard when, in spite of the madman’s blatant behavior, he felt a pair of lanky arms grip around his shoulders; more like clutching at the armored plates as if he was going to vanish between his fingers.
The ‘I hate you’s kept rambling on as the Joker’s eyes, still engulfed in an animalistic fury, diverted elsewhere and Bruce let his head drop against the floor with a dull ‘thud’.
“Feeling’s mutual.” he swallowed, carefully shifting beneath the other man. He had to be very cautious with how he moved. One wrong flex and he could either have a potato peeler wedged between his teeth or worse. Batman tried to pivot his face to the side; his nose bumping against the Joker’s chin somewhere in the mists of his brief shuffling. It dawned upon him that, were he to lift his head up about an inch and a half, his lips would be firmly pressed into one corner of the jester’s scarred mouth.
Bruce slackened his iron grip on the other man’s jacket, fingers aching from the sheer force of his grip. Great. Now where to move his hands? At the moment, they were pressed, palm-down against his upper chest. With the way his elbows were bent, the only way to pull them free from under the Joker would be to worm them all the way down towards their stomachs, which were now flush together. He tested his range of motion without bumping into the Clown Prince’s belt buckle. Gravely, he only had a good five inches to maneuver in.
‘Well, I could just push him off,’ Batman reasoned to himself. One glance towards that smoldering glare in the twisted Clown’s eyes and he immediately discarded the idea. Bruce continued to think, thoughts rambling together in the back of his mind while his eyes found themselves re-evaluating the details of his adversary’s visage, now completely devoid of make-up.
~*!*~
“Good! Great! I’m /glad/ you hate me, if you didn’t, I think I would have to turn away and puke my stomach out,” the Joker responded callously. Although the Joker had been before making threats and demanding that he be released, he was still holding to the Bat’s shoulders. He made no moves to distance himself from the other man, although, when he sensed just the tip of the vigilante’s nose graze against his face the Joker’s head made a twitching jerk away, as if he hadn’t been ready for that. He hadn’t been prepared for the positional change of their faces, how he could feel the warm light gust’s of Batman’s breathing, how it tickled and played against the skin of his own face, even the scarred portions.
As if he feared (that would be strange, the Joker fearing something) that the Batman was going to slip away, the harlequins hold on the knight tightened instantly when the Bat’s slackened. So much for ‘wanting to be left alone’, eh?
His expression shifted yet again as he felt the other man begin to move about under him just slightly. He was wondering if Batman was planning to pull something, kick him off, punch him off, throw him off…something like that. But nothing like that happened. Instead, all that happened was a glance of those curious blue eyes to the burning green ones, and afterwards, and long rather blatant stare.
“What?” the Joker asked, not quite understanding what it was about him that was being examined. Then he realized how exposed his face felt, and realized that Batman was getting a first look at him without the clown face-paint on. “It’s impolite to stare,” the villain scolded sourly, becoming more aware than ever of the disfigured extension of either side of his mouth. He pressed down harder on the other man’s shoulders, again reveling in the feeling of being on top of Batman himself, their two bodies pressed together at the middle. His pace of breathing grew rapidly.
His eyes gave a glance to the side, meeting with Batman’s briefly. Again he found himself wondering what exactly was going on in the hero’s mind, wondering what his face looked like. Slowly one of his arms shifted to slide underneath the back of the other’s head, trying to be sure that he could keep Batman right there. His gaze still staid locked with Batman’s during all of the changes in position. Then, after some time actually and curious, blinking, staring silence, the Joker’s gaze when to the knife embedded into the floor, shifting so that he could look at the knife closely, the side of his face beside the Bat’s so that they were cheek-to-cheek.
Then he smirked…something he hadn’t done for a whole ten minutes now!
“Why haven’t you moved and run away from me yet? What, do you like being pinned to the ground with somebody above you? Hmmm…I never thought of you as the ‘I like being someone’s bitch’ type, but come to think of it, it really suits you. You should change your namesake from Batman to Bitchman,” the jester stated in as biting a way possible, whipping out yet another insult for the Batman to handle because he just thrived out of getting reactions out of this other man.
~*!*~
Bruce felt an spindly, long arm curl around to the back of his head as well as the Harlequin of Hate's initial grip only tighten when his vice-like hold was relinquished. His azure eyes never ventured far from those emerald depths; dropping every now and again to scrutinize the sharp curves of the other man's face. He looked so much younger without all of that greasepaint; far younger than Batman had originally suspected.
Another scowl threatened to contort the masked vigilante's face; one big enough to rival the expression sculpted into his own cowl. His brow knit into a brief study of deep contemplation before all of those hard lines settled; face placid enough that one could have easily mistaken his expression for smug.
"Well, if you haven't noticed: I'm not keeping you here--like this." he inclined his head in a gesticulation towards their current positions. And, really, it was probably the most indisputable evidence he'd presented to the madman since they'd first crossed paths in this seedy bar. His hands were no longer clutching at those plum-colored folds of expensive yet tarnished fabric. If anything: the Joker was the one clinging to him. Batman let his head drop against the arm that held it in place as well as letting his generally rigid posture slacken; a gesture designed to only emphasize that he was, in no way, forcing the Joker into this situation.
A pair of brilliant, sapphire eyes lined in a thick layer of kohl lifted to meet the lunatic's overbearing gaze; a challenge. Would he get up off the other man or would he stay?
Secretly, Bruce found himself wishing that the green-haired clown would never move. Something about the surprising warmth that radiated through those thick layers and onto his chest and abdomen was highly magnetic. He was...comfortable in such a position. And should he push his hands against those narrow, jutting hips--they would be aligned perfectly; shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. It seemed that the dark vigilante had somehow lost his breath; not daring to move a hair underneath the lanky bulk of the mauve-clad jester.
~*!*~
The Joker of course only looked even more angry (and yes, that was possible, the clown was capable of nearly unfathomable levels of rage) when it was pointed out (that rather truthfully) it wasn’t Batman keeping them in this position. What also made him furious was that the vigilante hadn’t seemed insulted at the least by his words. He just wanted to snap and stab the hero a few hundred times in the chest, just so that he could prove (as he had insisted most fervently several times) that he hated his bat-assuming adversary to the ends of the earth. He wanted to cut and slice that smug expression straight off Batman’s face. And, more than that, he wanted to just press his entire body against the other man and /enjoy/ it, the warmth, the contact, the heat. Okay, so that didn’t so much match with his other fleeting thoughts of anger, for that was a strange yearning of desire, one that the Joker himself hadn’t seen coming at all.
“You could still push me off at any time you want but you’re not. If you haven’t noticed,” the jester pointed out mockingly, almost desperately, one could add as description. And then came that aggressive look of challenging. The Joker was never one to back down from a challenge.
But part of him wanted to shove off the Batman and go to the other end of the room just to prove that he wasn’t meaning anything but pure loathing by this. The other part of the harlequin wanted to stay right where he was. The two halves conflicted, and those enigmatic eyes of his, oozing with erratic and emotional energy, glanced from side to side, probably calculating all of what he could do, debating it.
He did like the feeling of Batman letting his head back, leaning on his arm, relaxing underneath him. That feeling put a halt to his shifty glances and he gravitated toward gazing at the other man’s face, a mixed expression on display upon his face. Still keeping his one arm as support behind the bat’s head, the clown used his other hand to slip downwards and tightly grasp Batman’s hand, squeezing tightly there almost experimentally. For the first time in a while now, the Joker’s gaze left his opposite's, glancing downwards to looked at their hands, fingers forcefully laced between one another.
Still, despite how he had fell quiet and was no longer speaking, it was easy to tell the Joker was still partially fuming.
Slowly he brought Batman’s black-gloved hand to his mouth, studying it curiously, glancing to those sapphire eyes every once in a while. To any spectator, it would look like the Joker was actually considering kissing, of all things he could do, the other man’s hand. Suddenly the Joker grasped the hand of the Bat’s and slammed it hard straight against the hero’s face,
“I /hate/ you, don’t you ever forget that!” he snarled as a warning, not even pausing before he snatched the hand back that even though was Batman’s own had been used to injure the dark knight. With it in his grasp again he just outright, out of the blue, as if it was done on a strange lingering thought before he really had change to think through his actions, kissed quickly and lightly the back of it before roughly detangling himself from the other man, standing up, and storming away. He gathered his things, like his gloves and what not, and began to head straight for the door that was the exit of the bar.
Venture onwards for more!
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
It all happened so quickly. Before Bruce even had time to blink--he was shoved roughly to the ground and overwhelmed by the multicolored menace. The Dark Knight of Gotham blinked away the residual bewilderment as soon as a dark, mauve-colored shadow complete with a ruby-red grin filled his vision and the cold twinge of a blade was wedged between his lips. There had been no precursor--no warning. And he would never have expected anything less from a man like the Joker. But that didn't mean that he shouldn't have known better. Batman had let his guard down once more and this was the price he paid for his ignorance.
The black-clad superhero fought against the overbearing weight of his adversary; left hand curled around the knife-wielding fist and his right hand pushing experimentally against the front of his attacker's chest. He didn't dare make any sudden movements. The last thing he needed was a matching 'smile' to boot.
He wanted to retort with something along the lines of, "Weird? This is coming from the guy who dresses up like a clown." but talking would have been a very grave decision for a man in his situation. Instead, he slowly clamped his teeth down on the flat of the blade; hoping that it would keep the sharp implement stationary for the time being.
~*!*~
The Joker quirked an eyebrow when the other man bit down on the knife, to keep him form slitting his mouth into a wide, jeering smile of irony. “Clever,” he remarked lightly, then using his other and, the one that was being held by Batman, quickly to whip out yet another knife, “But you didn’t take into account the fact that I have, what, fifty of these things? Ha, ha…” he laughed, cackled, and threw his head back for a moment before he allowed his eyes to return to Batman’s.
He had the famed (or rather infamous, really) vigilante pinned down, and he was over top of him…it was an amazing feeling. He felt like he was in control, and the Joker just adored that feeling. Of course the fact that the Batman was still slightly erect and under him was a thought the Clown Prince of Crime tried not to mull over too much, for he wouldn’t want to slip into the same sort of predicament himself (and yes, surely thinking too much over it would get him aroused, seeing as this was his ultimate obsession, the Batman). On that thought, he gulped and shifted awkwardly against the pressure the other was applying to his chest.
He let Batman bite down on that one knife, bringing the other to his lips. “I wonder if you’re pretty under that mask of yours…after all, wouldn’t it be a shame if I soiled beauty by carving your mouth, hmm? Right, right?” His voice gradually became more and more threatening, eyes narrowing, glimmering with the sheen of danger and control. “And I’m sure you’re very, very lovely under your Bat-mask,” the villain began to purr, licking his lips as if he were tasting something savory.
A pause came, and the Joker dropped the knife he was holding with his free hand, settling for pinning the hero’s shoulder down. Now this moment, could certainly be deemed as strange, one man overtop another, trying to hold him down, looking truly like he was capable of anything at that moment, looking voracious and…hungry. The Joker was just staring down in those pools of blue, his own face wavering close to the knight’s. He could /smell/ him, the intoxicating scent of leather….and maybe some expensive cologne concealed under that? Strange. It was a good scent. Dipping his head downwards to the other’s armor-protected neck, the Joker took in the scent again, some of his green locks splaying out against the black of the armor.
‘Stop it! Is this the ‘better class of criminal’ you had in mind?’ he thought to himself, sharply drawing away from the close a proximity.
“Well, why don’t you say something?” the Joker suddenly snapped, quite moody, acting very angry actually. He was trying to roll off the Batman, get away from him, but seeing as the vigilante had a good grip on him, he was just as trapped as Batman was. So, the Joker sat there, trying to tug away from the other’s hold, but also taking the knife up in his free hand again and holding it to Batman’s cheek- making it all one odd stalemate.
~*!*~
“But you didn’t take into account the fact that I have, what, fifty of these things?"
The masked vigilante frowned noticeably. He really didn't think about that, did he? Then again, having another human being, warm and writhing above him, was a little more than distracting. Also considering that he was already semi-hard and a little fuzzy from guzzling down half a beer in less than fifteen seconds flat...Bruce instinctively tightened his grip on the Joker; the gloved hand on his chest now fisting the lapels of his jacket. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was pulling the maniac clown closer rather than keeping him at bay. From unbridled rage to perverse amusement, things were slowly becoming a little more awkward between the two.
Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when the green-haired man dropped suddenly, his hot breath seeping between the small crevices between all the armor-plates around his neck. The first thought to race through his mind was, 'How fitting. He's going to tear my throat out with his teeth...like the mad dog he really is.' It was all the more a surprise when he heard the other man inhale slowly. Was he...sniffing him?! The usually-brooding superhero actually squirmed beneath his opponent's weight.
He swallowed, sapphire eyes taking on an almost perplexed tinge as the criminally-insane jester dragged his precious blade over Bruce's cheek. The Joker was acting so strange! Stranger than usual, of course. He opened his mouth to reply but no words seemed to spill out. It was as if the great well of deadpan retorts had dried up. The bat-impersonating vigilante clamped his jaw shut with an almost painful 'click' rather than leave himself floundering to form a legitimate sentence. Reality was slowly coming back to his faintly-hazed mind--the reality that he had his worst enemy practically straddling his semi-erect penis and rather than pushing him away this time, his hands were like iron talons locked around the fabric of that custom-made suit; holding him in place. Batman would have never let it escalate to this point...this was all of Bruce Wayne's fault.
"Why'd you do that?" he rasped--the first coherent thought plucked from the tangle of confused, disjointed logic flinging itself from his throat in the form of a meek inquiry. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut...
~*!*~
The Joker made another bout of writhing, although trying to get away from Batman’s enormously strong hold was surely impossible. He could sense the confusion simmering in the other man’s mind, and the clown knew exactly just what was perplexing the protector of Gotham city. But he didn’t exactly want to explain it to him….for a number of reasons, one of them being that he didn’t completely understand it himself.
He didn’t understand why he felt almost glad when Batman held him back from making his escape, despite how angry he was acting about it.
He stared back at the caped crusader, his expression assuming a more stiff quality when the other clamped his mouth shut. Fine, he’d cut him until he talked, cut the damned Bat’s face to bloody shreds until he said something that he liked….but luckily, Batman spoke before the Joker began to actually do such a thing. But the thing was that now the Joker was posed with a question he didn’t want (and didn’t know quite how) to answer. That wasn’t something the harlequin liked at all!
“I…well ermm…Hey wait, what is this, Jeopardy? Twenty questions? I don’t have to answer anything you ask of me! So just let me go and leave me alone!” At first his tone was threatening, but slowly it was breaking down into a childish whine of desperation, as if Batman holding onto him any longer would be the equivalent of poison to him. He made another attempt at a tug away, then making an aggravated sigh that was uncomfortably close to a growl.
“I don’t have to gratify your silly questions with answers,” the green-eyed man continued to say, as if the more he said it the more true it would become (which wasn’t especially the case, because the question wasn’t actually ‘silly’ at all).
‘But what if I can never get this close to him again?’ the thought came up to the surface of the madman’s over-crowded and chaotic mind. Shouldn’t he take advantage of this now? But…how?
Blinking a bit with blatant curiosity, his eyes went to that bit of the vigilante’s face that was exposed. Experimentally he drew his fingers to that portion, touching softly the chin and lips there. It was troubling just how much more he wanted to do to this knight, just for the sake of doing it…or was it more? Again the Joker’s head dipped downwards to breath that scent in again, and oddly enough a moment later his forehead was relaxed against Batman’s upper chest, just letting his head rest there. The silence that came with that action was unique. It wasn’t quite the awkward silences of before, but rather respite from turmoil, and actually all reasons considered, it was…peaceful.
“I hate you! Shut the fuck up!” suddenly the Joker snarled completely irrationally, lifting his head from the other man’s chest, eyes looking completely enraged and his struggle to get away from the Batman was even more vigorous now. “If you don’t want me to cut your teeth out from your gums let me the fuck go!” he almost roared.
~*!*~
Batman regarded the man above him with a sort of morbid curiosity. Back to the whole analogy, the maniac clown was nothing but a bloody train wreck. Bruce was enraptured by the little fragments of emotion that had suddenly begun pouring from those bottle glass green eyes like a busted dam. What was all this? Was the Joker actually more than the mad dog he claimed to be?
His breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat as the painted jester (though he should probably stop referring to him as such with most of his ‘mask’ running down the curve of his jaw in splotchy rivulets) began to explore the bare part of his face. Surprisingly warm fingers traced the hard lines of his pursed lips and chin. And then he swooped down to catch his scent once again. Bruce had tensed, expecting it to be a quick exchange but instead, the green-haired man remained nuzzled into the crook of hic neck, relaxing. For a moment, Bruce Wayne was sure that he had broken through to the other man. However, it had all ended as quickly as it began. The Joker reared back; thrashing anew and far more violently than the first few times.
The Ace of Knaves continued to threaten and scoff at Bruce’s inquiry as if he’d asked for a favorite color. And the masked vigilante let him. This was still a mentally unstable psychopath he had on his hands, not just some normal guy with a fetish for carnival theatrics and explosions. But when the words ‘I hate you’ spewed from that scarred mouth, something within Batman felt incredibly unsettling. Before he had time to even register his own actions, the dark knight tightened his grip on the jester’s clothes and shook. He literally shook the other man as if he naught but a rag doll.
“Stop it!” he ground out; surprised at the indignation swelling in his tone. “Stop it right now! You don’t hate me. Listen to yourself!” After a few moments, the violent trouncing seized and he yanked the clown forward until their noses were practically brushing. “What the hell has gotten into you?!” Bruce hissed, scrutinizing those eerie, green depths that were the Joker’s eyes. Something just didn’t settle right with the criminal’s behavior. Wasn’t he the one who went out of his way with a false bomb-threat just to lure the Caped Crusader into this very bar? He was acting so peculiar, more peculiar than usual. And that was saying a lot.
~*!*~
The criminal’s eyes narrowed dangerously like an upset feline as his body was throttled into a tremulous grip, and yet at the same time his expression retained (along with that rather apparent madness) that indication of surprise at the sudden display of umbrage Batman was releasing. Sure, he had gotten the dark knight annoyed and infuriated with him before. (Hell, apparently, he had managed to get him erect too!) But this was entirely different than anything he had witness before, this was a whole new level of outrage that the other man had never displayed in so passionate a manner, not before the Joker, that is.
“You don’t know what I think about you! You don’t know the first fucking thing about me!” the clown spat with vigorous venom, shaking his head fervently. He was quickly shut up, however, when the breath was nearly knocked out of him by how the vigilante seized him forward directly before his face.
“You don’t know /shit/ about me. I hate you, I loathe you, I despise you and everything about you, I could spit on just the very air you breath, /dearest/.” He emphasized that last word with as much hurtful sarcasm he could muster, facing the Bat’s blazing cobalt eyes unflinchingly. He took in his breath, recovering a bit form being shaken around as he had been by the other just moments before, and slowly the pair of shamrock oculars fell downwards. He was just absolutely burning, from the inside out, he felt like the shambles of shards of what could have been past sanity were fading, fading….because of this new stress, this new variable added to the equation of how he saw the world: Batman. And still yet there was more to come to complicate the Joker’s outlook other than just the Batman.
He strived so hard to seek the hero’s attention, and yet now all he could do was scream that he hated him and insist on being left alone.
“Fine, you want to know the answer to my question, huh? Fine, I’ll give it to you, you bastard,” the Joker snarled ferociously, making another brief struggle before giving up again. “The answer about what’s gotten into me is…it is…” he seemed to be struggling to find the words, his disjointed mind, full of surpassing intelligence twisted by the cacophony of insanity. “It’s…you!” he exclaimed. “It’s you…” he added, a little more quiet now, eyes still averted.
‘Why is it I can’t do him? Just kill him, kill…’ the Joker wondered. But even he knew the answer to that. It was because he didn’t want to kill Batman! They completed each other. He could never kill him, even he said so himself…
…But since was he incapable of killing? Hurting? It made no sense, to his warped mind, and it made him beyond angry. Swiping up the knife again he stabbed it down hard, very hard, right into the wood floor next to Batman’s head. Just everything about the Joker now was seething uncontrollable rage. Something about him just wanted to explode.
Harshly and suddenly his arms grappled to wrap around the masked male’s shoulders, in a strange sort of embrace. It was almost as if the Joker was, at this point, struggling with his rampant incapability of even managing that, like he was waging a war. With his arms wrapped tight around the Bat, it seemed truly like he was never going to let go. He still kept his face before the other’s, but yet his eyes were still averted, boiling with an emotionally charged fury. “Damn you…” he muttered tensely. He could feel those strong fisted still curled tightly around the front of his suit, against his chest, keeping them close together, and he became aware all over again the presence of that elusive figure’s body directly beneath him. The forceful hold slackened just slightly as the madman took a shuddering breath. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…”
~*!*~
“You’re right, I don’t know a thing about you. Nobody knows anything about you.” Bruce swallowed, the cold steel of the blade now embedded into the floor not more than inches from his face paying a less-than-subtle reminder of who he was dealing with. He was a little caught off guard when, in spite of the madman’s blatant behavior, he felt a pair of lanky arms grip around his shoulders; more like clutching at the armored plates as if he was going to vanish between his fingers.
The ‘I hate you’s kept rambling on as the Joker’s eyes, still engulfed in an animalistic fury, diverted elsewhere and Bruce let his head drop against the floor with a dull ‘thud’.
“Feeling’s mutual.” he swallowed, carefully shifting beneath the other man. He had to be very cautious with how he moved. One wrong flex and he could either have a potato peeler wedged between his teeth or worse. Batman tried to pivot his face to the side; his nose bumping against the Joker’s chin somewhere in the mists of his brief shuffling. It dawned upon him that, were he to lift his head up about an inch and a half, his lips would be firmly pressed into one corner of the jester’s scarred mouth.
Bruce slackened his iron grip on the other man’s jacket, fingers aching from the sheer force of his grip. Great. Now where to move his hands? At the moment, they were pressed, palm-down against his upper chest. With the way his elbows were bent, the only way to pull them free from under the Joker would be to worm them all the way down towards their stomachs, which were now flush together. He tested his range of motion without bumping into the Clown Prince’s belt buckle. Gravely, he only had a good five inches to maneuver in.
‘Well, I could just push him off,’ Batman reasoned to himself. One glance towards that smoldering glare in the twisted Clown’s eyes and he immediately discarded the idea. Bruce continued to think, thoughts rambling together in the back of his mind while his eyes found themselves re-evaluating the details of his adversary’s visage, now completely devoid of make-up.
~*!*~
“Good! Great! I’m /glad/ you hate me, if you didn’t, I think I would have to turn away and puke my stomach out,” the Joker responded callously. Although the Joker had been before making threats and demanding that he be released, he was still holding to the Bat’s shoulders. He made no moves to distance himself from the other man, although, when he sensed just the tip of the vigilante’s nose graze against his face the Joker’s head made a twitching jerk away, as if he hadn’t been ready for that. He hadn’t been prepared for the positional change of their faces, how he could feel the warm light gust’s of Batman’s breathing, how it tickled and played against the skin of his own face, even the scarred portions.
As if he feared (that would be strange, the Joker fearing something) that the Batman was going to slip away, the harlequins hold on the knight tightened instantly when the Bat’s slackened. So much for ‘wanting to be left alone’, eh?
His expression shifted yet again as he felt the other man begin to move about under him just slightly. He was wondering if Batman was planning to pull something, kick him off, punch him off, throw him off…something like that. But nothing like that happened. Instead, all that happened was a glance of those curious blue eyes to the burning green ones, and afterwards, and long rather blatant stare.
“What?” the Joker asked, not quite understanding what it was about him that was being examined. Then he realized how exposed his face felt, and realized that Batman was getting a first look at him without the clown face-paint on. “It’s impolite to stare,” the villain scolded sourly, becoming more aware than ever of the disfigured extension of either side of his mouth. He pressed down harder on the other man’s shoulders, again reveling in the feeling of being on top of Batman himself, their two bodies pressed together at the middle. His pace of breathing grew rapidly.
His eyes gave a glance to the side, meeting with Batman’s briefly. Again he found himself wondering what exactly was going on in the hero’s mind, wondering what his face looked like. Slowly one of his arms shifted to slide underneath the back of the other’s head, trying to be sure that he could keep Batman right there. His gaze still staid locked with Batman’s during all of the changes in position. Then, after some time actually and curious, blinking, staring silence, the Joker’s gaze when to the knife embedded into the floor, shifting so that he could look at the knife closely, the side of his face beside the Bat’s so that they were cheek-to-cheek.
Then he smirked…something he hadn’t done for a whole ten minutes now!
“Why haven’t you moved and run away from me yet? What, do you like being pinned to the ground with somebody above you? Hmmm…I never thought of you as the ‘I like being someone’s bitch’ type, but come to think of it, it really suits you. You should change your namesake from Batman to Bitchman,” the jester stated in as biting a way possible, whipping out yet another insult for the Batman to handle because he just thrived out of getting reactions out of this other man.
~*!*~
Bruce felt an spindly, long arm curl around to the back of his head as well as the Harlequin of Hate's initial grip only tighten when his vice-like hold was relinquished. His azure eyes never ventured far from those emerald depths; dropping every now and again to scrutinize the sharp curves of the other man's face. He looked so much younger without all of that greasepaint; far younger than Batman had originally suspected.
Another scowl threatened to contort the masked vigilante's face; one big enough to rival the expression sculpted into his own cowl. His brow knit into a brief study of deep contemplation before all of those hard lines settled; face placid enough that one could have easily mistaken his expression for smug.
"Well, if you haven't noticed: I'm not keeping you here--like this." he inclined his head in a gesticulation towards their current positions. And, really, it was probably the most indisputable evidence he'd presented to the madman since they'd first crossed paths in this seedy bar. His hands were no longer clutching at those plum-colored folds of expensive yet tarnished fabric. If anything: the Joker was the one clinging to him. Batman let his head drop against the arm that held it in place as well as letting his generally rigid posture slacken; a gesture designed to only emphasize that he was, in no way, forcing the Joker into this situation.
A pair of brilliant, sapphire eyes lined in a thick layer of kohl lifted to meet the lunatic's overbearing gaze; a challenge. Would he get up off the other man or would he stay?
Secretly, Bruce found himself wishing that the green-haired clown would never move. Something about the surprising warmth that radiated through those thick layers and onto his chest and abdomen was highly magnetic. He was...comfortable in such a position. And should he push his hands against those narrow, jutting hips--they would be aligned perfectly; shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. It seemed that the dark vigilante had somehow lost his breath; not daring to move a hair underneath the lanky bulk of the mauve-clad jester.
~*!*~
The Joker of course only looked even more angry (and yes, that was possible, the clown was capable of nearly unfathomable levels of rage) when it was pointed out (that rather truthfully) it wasn’t Batman keeping them in this position. What also made him furious was that the vigilante hadn’t seemed insulted at the least by his words. He just wanted to snap and stab the hero a few hundred times in the chest, just so that he could prove (as he had insisted most fervently several times) that he hated his bat-assuming adversary to the ends of the earth. He wanted to cut and slice that smug expression straight off Batman’s face. And, more than that, he wanted to just press his entire body against the other man and /enjoy/ it, the warmth, the contact, the heat. Okay, so that didn’t so much match with his other fleeting thoughts of anger, for that was a strange yearning of desire, one that the Joker himself hadn’t seen coming at all.
“You could still push me off at any time you want but you’re not. If you haven’t noticed,” the jester pointed out mockingly, almost desperately, one could add as description. And then came that aggressive look of challenging. The Joker was never one to back down from a challenge.
But part of him wanted to shove off the Batman and go to the other end of the room just to prove that he wasn’t meaning anything but pure loathing by this. The other part of the harlequin wanted to stay right where he was. The two halves conflicted, and those enigmatic eyes of his, oozing with erratic and emotional energy, glanced from side to side, probably calculating all of what he could do, debating it.
He did like the feeling of Batman letting his head back, leaning on his arm, relaxing underneath him. That feeling put a halt to his shifty glances and he gravitated toward gazing at the other man’s face, a mixed expression on display upon his face. Still keeping his one arm as support behind the bat’s head, the clown used his other hand to slip downwards and tightly grasp Batman’s hand, squeezing tightly there almost experimentally. For the first time in a while now, the Joker’s gaze left his opposite's, glancing downwards to looked at their hands, fingers forcefully laced between one another.
Still, despite how he had fell quiet and was no longer speaking, it was easy to tell the Joker was still partially fuming.
Slowly he brought Batman’s black-gloved hand to his mouth, studying it curiously, glancing to those sapphire eyes every once in a while. To any spectator, it would look like the Joker was actually considering kissing, of all things he could do, the other man’s hand. Suddenly the Joker grasped the hand of the Bat’s and slammed it hard straight against the hero’s face,
“I /hate/ you, don’t you ever forget that!” he snarled as a warning, not even pausing before he snatched the hand back that even though was Batman’s own had been used to injure the dark knight. With it in his grasp again he just outright, out of the blue, as if it was done on a strange lingering thought before he really had change to think through his actions, kissed quickly and lightly the back of it before roughly detangling himself from the other man, standing up, and storming away. He gathered his things, like his gloves and what not, and began to head straight for the door that was the exit of the bar.
Venture onwards for more!