A New Variable to The Equation- Part I, Down the Rabbit Hole- Chapter Two: Build the Story (I)
Authors: Paigery (obi_luvr ) and Amadeus (regularbean ).
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
Swallowing quietly, the Joker (im)patiently waited for his antithesis’s response. After glancing down at Batman’s awkwardly shuffling feet, the jester’s eyes returned upwards in an attempt to analyze the hero’s features…which proved hard, seeing as not so many features of the other man’s face were exposed at all. The psychopath made a quaint little squint, blinking vacantly for a moment. Now if he were Batman at the moment (imagine that!) he would probably tell the clown staring him down something like ‘weren’t you ever taught how to be civilized?’; some sort of quip like that. Luckily for him (and everybody else of Gotham) he was not Batman.
When the real and actual Batman ended up swiping his arm away in a sudden flurry of motion, the Joker’s expression burst into a sprawling and accusatory grin. It was if he had just caught on to something, or rather, had just thought of something truly insulting, some sort of grain of sand to force under the Bat’s skin in order to aggravate him further.
“That was interesting…” he muttered lowly, shrugging his one shoulder that had made that light little ‘pop’ noise.
But this was exactly what the murderous jokester wanted! He was completely enthralled whenever Batman an outburst of shouting, or shoved him against a wall (or especially a counter, seeing all the comments and running jokes resulted from that incident). It all just made his day to provoke such emotional responses from the usually stoic and impenetrable (the Joker would have laughed at that word when taken out of context) Dark Knight. But why did he like that? Well, that meant that he was able to get to the Batman, at least somewhat. But where, or what, would that get the Joker? The precious Bat’s attention. The Joker /really/ liked that.
“Of course you dance. By ‘I don’t dance’ you probably mean ‘I won’t dance’. Why? Maybe you have confidence issues, anybody who dresses up like a bat would! I mean, you probably put padding in your armor in a certain -ha- key place to make up for your severe lack of manhood,” the Ace of Knaves proceeded to taunt mercilessly, his hand still undergoing to residual sensation that resulted from the crusader’s earlier tight clutch.
~*!*~
Bruce snarled; letting his indignation flare once more like a relentless forest fire. An armor-plated forearm collided with the crook of the Clown's neck--a vital nerve-point, with a dull 'crack'. The perverse Harlequin crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes; an automatic response in the body. No, that wasn't solving anything. By lashing out, that only spurred the theatrical mastermind onward. It only assured that every mocking word and shrill bout of laughter was pulling at the seams of his tightly-knit control. The Joker loved to corrupt. And Batman was a symbol of the incorruptible. This was nothing more than a violent metaphor to a moth to a blazing fire.
And then that grin was back...forever plastered to his marred countenance and burned into the back of Bruce's mind. Batman bent over long enough to pluck the Joker up off the debris-littered floor by the collar of his waistcoat. In the time it took to stand back up, he hauled the other man back up onto his feet and threw him back into the previously discarded chair. Bruce stepped back, fisted hands disappearing within the folds of his cloak before he could strangled the life out of the infamous 'agent of anarchy'. He didn't expect the other male would be moving around too much for a few minutes--body probably still racked with pain from the calculate blow to his central nervous system. But then again, he could be wrong. He'd never stumbled across any criminal who actually enjoyed being throttled like this, before. And, in the Joker's case, he was sure that 'enjoy' was a mild understatement.
This had gone on long enough and Bruce had to at least attempt to put an end to it. Even if it meant slipping into the Jester's psychotic state of mind.
"You're right--I won't dance with you. Who would want to dance with a psychotic fuck like you?" the masked Vigilante barked, glowering down at his opponent with those smoldering sapphire eyes. "And as for a severe lack of self-confidence? This is coming from a man who paints over his own scars every morning." Bruce dropped down to eye-level with the green-eyed clown; not even realizing that with every word his voice began slipping out of the raw, infuriated tone of the Batman and into his 'own'. "Is that why you dress like a clown? Did you just get tired of all those disgusted and horrified glances. Or was it because you wanted people to actually see you--not your scars?"
~*!*~
Still snickering at his latest hard-hitting volley of an insult, the Joker hadn’t been quite ready (in fact, he hadn’t been prepared at all) when a sudden blow was dealt. His eyes bulged for a moment out of surprise, this sort of pain being the kind that persisted incessantly (much like how the Joker insisted on annoying the hell out of Batman) within the crook of his neck, and the hurtful impulse shot down the connecting nerves down his limbs like lightning. The harlequin made a short pant once he hit the ground, looking up at the Batman and muttering, “Thanks, I appreciate the gesture.”
Licking his lips, the villain gazed upwards expectantly, as if he were just waiting for Batman to finish whatever he was doing with a kick to the face, or a punch to the stomach. Of course neither of those actions would compare, in terms of pain, to the strike to that sensitive cluster of nerves. His body was temporarily incapacitated, but his mind was still a hub of chaotic thought. Once he caught his breath, a few spare laughs spilled out of him.
“Ooo, a psychotic fuck? Harsh words, Bats. Better look and make sure there are no little kiddies around that’ll here Big Batman cursing like a sailor,” the Joker mocked, feigning a hurt little wince of an expression. Once the pain died down somewhat, the criminal glanced downwards to see that he was just seated, by force of course, into the very chair he had refused to use earlier. That caused him a momentary grimace.
When Batman brought up the face-paint, the Joker leaned away in his seat and made a disapproving look as if to say ‘Make-up, me? No, you must be talking of somebody else!’ Of course, that all was just to annoy the Batman. As for the harlequin’s state, he had been rather enjoying himself with this little ‘game’, until suddenly Batman’s voice began to shift into this different tone, and the words he were saying were things nobody had ever dared say to him ever before.
His grin lessened and his eyes narrowed considerably when the hero stooped down to eye level. At this proximity, the Joker was really getting a good close look at the Batman’s cowl. The slick, high quality black material that made it up, those pointed Bat ears. However it all paled in comparison to the flesh behind that mask those brilliant azure eyes surrounded by kohl, piercing out like a light of salvation in the darkness. ‘Hey, I wonder if he uses the same brand as I do!’ the Joker thought curiously, this causing him to perk up in his seat slightly like a chipper little child.
What Batman said next though lessened that brief lapse.
“Hmmm…you speak as if there’s a little scared and hurt boy cowering behind all the scars and make-up. The thing is: there isn’t.” He paused, blinking somewhat, swallowing, “That, and by emphasizing the joke that is life I’m trying to scare people. And I’m succeeding with flyyyying colors!” he leaned forward, “You on the other hand are trying to save people, but all you succeed doing is scaring them. What a shame, right?” He let that one sink in, and slowly stood up, going over to the counter to grab a drink, his eyes watching Batman the whole way.
“You know,” he began, completely without self control, “What do you use in that part of your suit?” he asked, gesturing towards the Bat’s crotch area, “Do you inflate it with air or just stuff it with toilet paper?”
~*!*~
Bruce sort of missed that expression of surprise and pain that had contorted the deranged jester's countenance. It was an incredibly satisfying imagery that would have him grinning inwardly for weeks. And who was to say it was wrong--least of all the Joker himself? Wasn't his whole mock-philosophy on life to always smile? With that in mind, the Dark Knight tried not to let the other man's words bother him any further. He could always just ignore those curious, scrutinizing glances and face-splitting grins. Hell, if he tried hard enough, he could make that over-inflected voice nothing more than a dull drone in the back of his mind. That was, as long as he could keep his train of thought on that utterly shocked expression he'd seen not a few moments ago.
Batman let the Joker stand and saunter back over to the bar for a drink. 'Good luck finding a bottle that isn't broken,' he thought to himself. And even if he did, why not just break it over that psychologically-impaired head of his?
Meanwhile, he stood--brooding (big surprise there) about the Ace of Knave's words. No, there wasn't a scared little boy in there. How he found that so believable was beyond explanation. But it couldn't be as simple as that...Nothing was that simple, was it? How could something so complex really be that simplistic and plain--like two plus two will always equal four. And indisputable fact of knowledge. Funny now the once-adamant superhero always found himself questioning his own logic now. Particularly when it came to the green-haired man standing at the other end of the bar.
‘Do you inflate it with air or just stuff it with toilet paper?’
Bruce sighed, taking out his frustrations by slamming one foot down on the once-occupied chair. The thin, cracked wood splintered a little too easily beneath the sole of his boot; pieces scattering across the glass-littered floor. 'Are we seriously back to the whole crotch thing?' the masked vigilante resented inwardly. The worst thing was that he knew the perverse Joker was actually expecting an answer.
"Why don't you just stop asking ridiculous questions and find out for yourself?" the masked man muttered to himself. What he didn't realize was that he had actually 'thought' it out loud. In fact, a little too loud.
~*!*~
“Heheheee~!” the Joker giggled, hopping up and down when Batman really let the chair have it over his latest offhand remark. Then again, they were /all/ offhand gibes: all completely crude, caustic, and most likely completely annoying as well. The psychopath continued laughing at Batman’s expense over the whole incident, but no matter how loudly he was showcasing his seemingly endless humor, he still managed to catch that comment the vigilante had uttered not-so-quietly. At that, the mastermind stopped his childish bouncing and burst into his widest most limitless grin yet, running his hand back through the twisted green strands of his hair.
“Oh Batman, I really don’t think you want me to actually do that!” he chimed melodically, his eyes glinting with sick mischief as he went behind the counter, ducking under there to retrieve an unbroken bottle. The Joker was still smirking, as if he had some sort of awfully brilliant idea, some scathing bit of genius to share with his gloomy obsession.
Then, as energetically before (although a little slower, his body being somewhat dulled now by the beating it had received-not that the Joker was complaining, he /loved/ it) he rounded the counter and approached the Batman, sauntering straight up to him. The way he walked and wavered before the imposing figure, his body language, would send off cues to even the most socially inept person that he had something possibly inappropriate in mind.
It was all a trick. The Joker was good at that.
“Oh, you want me to see?” he asked, tilting his chin upwards as his tongue darted out quickly like a lizard, “You really want me to check, right? Fine, you asked for it! So, air or toilet paper? The question of the century! Then lets have a looksy!” He reached downwards, quickly and aggressively, as if to grab the area to ‘have a looksy’, and then suddenly he swung back his other arm to gain momentum and then slammed the glass bottle right between the Bat’s legs with a surprising amount of strength, the glass shattering into shards. The harlequin laughed hysterically, tilting his head back, almost left breathless he was laughing so hard.
“Ahaha! Either are activities have gotten you VERY excited with the boner of the century, Batsy-boy, or you stuff your pants with straight-up rocks! The bottle broke into two million pieces! Oh you should be glad I used a bottle, I was considering using a knife there for a little bit!” he shrieked, stumbling back for he was still laughing like there was no tomorrow. “Oh hahaha! Heeehahaaha, wheeee~! Oh, haha, tell me,
which is it?” he began to ask, simpering, leaning back against the counter yet again.
~*!*~
Bruce had nearly felt his heart jump up in his chest when the other man replied with an almost coy, mischievous warning. Taken aback, the bat-like crime fighter only closed in on himself further. That must have meant that he had actually said that. Mr. Wayne felt his face flush a bright scarlet red that possibly rivaled the jester's own vermilion smile. But, thankfully, he had the covert of his sleek cowl to hide his obvious embarrassment. He watched, curiously as the green-haired man disappeared behind the counter--half-expecting him to return with some souped-up piece of weaponry. Hell, even an oversized sledgehammer to match his little clown theme gone wrong.
The Joker only sauntered back over to him with a half-empty bottle of some amber liquid. The all too-sensual way he moved made an uncomfortably cold shiver snake up his spine. It shouldn't be humanly possible for someone to move like that--particularly a someone with such a shattered, disconnected mind. Had he been able to study the painted devil's face for a few more seconds, he probably would have caught that twinkling treachery as it passed over those emerald green optics.
The bottle exploded into a thousand tiny pieces; alcohol soaking through the compression suit beneath his armor and running down his thighs. In an instant, the Joker was back at the mercy of his relentless hands. It was any wonder how a man practically the same size and build as the clown could easily pluck his counterpart up off the floor by his neck and throw him backwards onto a nearby table; just like that time in the interrogation room. But this time, the polished wooden table collapsed with a far more delightful 'snap'. Curious enough, the two of them were back into the same position this had all started with--Batman pressed up close to his clown-like adversary with one hand curled around the Joker's throat and the other pinning both of his hands over his head.
"Over fifty pounds of armor and you think I'm not wearing a cup?" Bruce smirked. Yes, he actually smirked--one side of his mouth pulled up into disturbingly amused grin. "I'm...disappointed, Joker." He leaned forward, settling his weight onto his knees for comfort--which were coincidentally positioned on either side of the Harlequin's thighs.
"Maybe I should break a few more things over your head. That way we can see if its made of 'air or toilet paper'." he huffed, pulling the green-haired man's cranium up by the front of his throat and slamming it back into the broken table to emphasize his point.
~*!*~
And just as he had in the interrogation room-the Joker responded to the stimulus of harsh and extreme pain by laughing with a wheeze, his black-painted eyelids squeezing shut in a twisted sort of delight when the table was chopped nearly in have under the force of his fall. Laying amongst the rubble, the clown made a squirm, about to recover to his feet, until the Batman stopped him from doing this by lording over him and restraining his hands down above his head.
Full circle, back to their starting point, a brief sense of déjà-vu overcame the movement-restricted man. This caused him to make an all-new spout of giggles, although there was a sharp bit of wood under him uncomfortably jabbing him in the side. He made a little tilt of his head, managing to laugh again despite the stern grip around his throat, when Batman shot him down with a biting remark of his own. He opened his red outlined lips to make a rejoinder, but was interrupted when his head was slapped back again.
The Joker hissed, “Hahaaa! Batman, ooo damn you, you must /like/ hitting me, considering you do it so much. Do you get off on it?” He had been about to add ‘I know I do’ but he kept that to himself, for once he kept something to himself. Not to mention, he couldn’t wait for the day when he got Batman vulnerable enough to kick the guy around for a little too. “Oh do it, I fucking dare you! Hit me over the head with anything you can find! Hell, if you hit me over the head with your crotch it’d probably be so hard it’d knock me right out!”
“And, you do realize we’re back at Point A, right?” he began to ask, glancing downwards at their position, the back of his head pounding from the abuse (a feeling the Joker did, but definitely shouldn’t have for his body’s sake, reveled in). Then another thought crossed his mind. A gleaming glance met with Batman’s eyes, watching that strange little smirk there. It seemed so different seeing that expression on the hero’s mouth, when usually the only thing there was that thin, grim, determined line of a stoic natured scowl.
“How do you take a piss?” the Joker asked suddenly, grinning again. “Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky all the time, so doom-and-glooooom,” he observed in s sprightly manner,, over-emphasizing his words as usual, “Because, maybe, all you really need to take is a leak. There’s a bathroom in the back…and of course if you need it I could help you back there too,” he began to purr, trying his hardest (that was clear) to grate the knight’s no-doubt already frayed nerves by making these ridiculous and insinuating comments.
~*!*~
Bruce growled, lurching forward to meet the clown's face; nose to nose. What he hadn't considered a moment before was that by moving in any which way over the other male he was, inevitably, brushing himself against a hip or thigh. The vigilante just wanted to pull his hair out--frustrated to no end. Would he ever win at this little game? Would he ever succeed in silencing that mockery of a laugh as well as its forever-smiling counterpart? 'Not without killing him,' a darker corner of his subconscious muttered. No, he would never give the Joker that kind of satisfaction. The man probably got off to corrupting the small but innate good of human nature as much as he did to the pain inflicted upon his lithe body.
The bat-impersonator let his head hang low, hot and heavy breaths reflected off the side of the Joker's paint-smothered face. He screwed his eyes shut for a minute; blindly groping around for his lost composure. But all that he discovered was a pile of broken pieces somewhere in the back of his mind. He didn't want to see that smile anymore. He didn't want to ever see the man it belonged to again either. All he wanted to do was scream 'why me' but Batman did not search for pity. Nor did he need any. He was a symbol of unwavering justice and, to all of those who dared to defy it, a supreme punisher.
"What do I have to do to wipe that stupid fucking grin off your face?" he breathed--more to himself, against the Joker's skin. He had long since let his position slacken until both elbows were digging into the splintered wooden tabletop and his chest was flush against the man below him. Gunpowder and gasoline: those were the two smells he would forever associate with the Joker. For every time he had ever crossed paths with the man, the smell of death and fire was laden heavy in the air. But when he took a long, calming breath in through his nose, all he could smell was the zesty twinge of good brandy and a fainter, musky scent--something that was entirely him.
The pissing comment only made Batman groan inwardly. He readjusted his grip on the other man's wrists while carefully extracting his other hand from the Joker's throat. A pleasantly dark and angry-looking bruise had already began to form. In a couple days, perhaps, it would have turned a lovely shade of mauve to compliment his unconventional attire.
"What is it with your obsession with my penis? Did yours fall off a couple years back and now you just want to obsess about mine? Or do you do this to all of your other fixations?" Bruce scoffed.
~*!*~
“Hmmm, what do you have to do?…I suggest you rephrase that question of yours before I twist it into something that’ll make you blush,” answered the Joker speedily, despite the fact that the question really hadn’t been posed for him to give response to. He smirked quickly, but then soon dissipated into a sort of quiet as he could feel the Bat impending closer in on him, to the point where he could feel his chest rising and falling with each intake of breath and each exhale of air afterwards. His eyes darted over to look at his side as Batman’s arms loosened enough for the knight’s face to be at the side of his own. It was…interesting, to be so close. He wasn’t quite used to being close to Batman like this (well, he was used to the sort of proximity of receiving a punch in the jaw, or being thrown into a table, but this was different) and thus it had rendered him, temporarily, silent.
It was interesting (and ‘fun’ as well) to push and push the vigilante, to see how much he could get away with. With the Joker’s high threshold, and enjoyment, of pain, he ended up being able to get away with quite a lot. But more interesting than pushing the limits, was Batman’s response to being prodded in this way. The raw unadulterated emotions that leaked out ever once in a while…the Joker could just lap it all up.
The comeback from the man above him managed to squeeze yet more of the Joker’s laughter out, he finding the image of his penis simply falling off just as funny as it was disturbing. “If you need to know so badly: my penis is all right and fine and has yet to simply drop off. That’d be damn strange…like me! Haha!” He instinctively craned his neck a little when the harsh hold there had been released, wondering briefly how much /that/ would hurt in the morning.
“Plus….I’m not obsessed with your penis. How can I be obsessed with something that just simply isn’t there?!” he dared rebuke the completely infuriated Caped Crusader. Following this with a side of his glee-filled laugh, the Joker looked to his opponent’s face again. “Well…” he began, expectantly now, “If you’re not going to begin with your canine dry-humping ritual…can I get up now? I don’t see the use in being pinned to the ground unless you’re going to use this position to your advantage. Ha, Batsy, stupid, stupid, you could have just had a simple drink with me instead of getting yourself all in a knot about this!” he declared, that awfully permanent rictus still displayed on his face, emphasized by the smeared red paint there.
Venture onwards for more!
Disclaimer: We own NOTHING.
Swallowing quietly, the Joker (im)patiently waited for his antithesis’s response. After glancing down at Batman’s awkwardly shuffling feet, the jester’s eyes returned upwards in an attempt to analyze the hero’s features…which proved hard, seeing as not so many features of the other man’s face were exposed at all. The psychopath made a quaint little squint, blinking vacantly for a moment. Now if he were Batman at the moment (imagine that!) he would probably tell the clown staring him down something like ‘weren’t you ever taught how to be civilized?’; some sort of quip like that. Luckily for him (and everybody else of Gotham) he was not Batman.
When the real and actual Batman ended up swiping his arm away in a sudden flurry of motion, the Joker’s expression burst into a sprawling and accusatory grin. It was if he had just caught on to something, or rather, had just thought of something truly insulting, some sort of grain of sand to force under the Bat’s skin in order to aggravate him further.
“That was interesting…” he muttered lowly, shrugging his one shoulder that had made that light little ‘pop’ noise.
But this was exactly what the murderous jokester wanted! He was completely enthralled whenever Batman an outburst of shouting, or shoved him against a wall (or especially a counter, seeing all the comments and running jokes resulted from that incident). It all just made his day to provoke such emotional responses from the usually stoic and impenetrable (the Joker would have laughed at that word when taken out of context) Dark Knight. But why did he like that? Well, that meant that he was able to get to the Batman, at least somewhat. But where, or what, would that get the Joker? The precious Bat’s attention. The Joker /really/ liked that.
“Of course you dance. By ‘I don’t dance’ you probably mean ‘I won’t dance’. Why? Maybe you have confidence issues, anybody who dresses up like a bat would! I mean, you probably put padding in your armor in a certain -ha- key place to make up for your severe lack of manhood,” the Ace of Knaves proceeded to taunt mercilessly, his hand still undergoing to residual sensation that resulted from the crusader’s earlier tight clutch.
~*!*~
Bruce snarled; letting his indignation flare once more like a relentless forest fire. An armor-plated forearm collided with the crook of the Clown's neck--a vital nerve-point, with a dull 'crack'. The perverse Harlequin crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes; an automatic response in the body. No, that wasn't solving anything. By lashing out, that only spurred the theatrical mastermind onward. It only assured that every mocking word and shrill bout of laughter was pulling at the seams of his tightly-knit control. The Joker loved to corrupt. And Batman was a symbol of the incorruptible. This was nothing more than a violent metaphor to a moth to a blazing fire.
And then that grin was back...forever plastered to his marred countenance and burned into the back of Bruce's mind. Batman bent over long enough to pluck the Joker up off the debris-littered floor by the collar of his waistcoat. In the time it took to stand back up, he hauled the other man back up onto his feet and threw him back into the previously discarded chair. Bruce stepped back, fisted hands disappearing within the folds of his cloak before he could strangled the life out of the infamous 'agent of anarchy'. He didn't expect the other male would be moving around too much for a few minutes--body probably still racked with pain from the calculate blow to his central nervous system. But then again, he could be wrong. He'd never stumbled across any criminal who actually enjoyed being throttled like this, before. And, in the Joker's case, he was sure that 'enjoy' was a mild understatement.
This had gone on long enough and Bruce had to at least attempt to put an end to it. Even if it meant slipping into the Jester's psychotic state of mind.
"You're right--I won't dance with you. Who would want to dance with a psychotic fuck like you?" the masked Vigilante barked, glowering down at his opponent with those smoldering sapphire eyes. "And as for a severe lack of self-confidence? This is coming from a man who paints over his own scars every morning." Bruce dropped down to eye-level with the green-eyed clown; not even realizing that with every word his voice began slipping out of the raw, infuriated tone of the Batman and into his 'own'. "Is that why you dress like a clown? Did you just get tired of all those disgusted and horrified glances. Or was it because you wanted people to actually see you--not your scars?"
~*!*~
Still snickering at his latest hard-hitting volley of an insult, the Joker hadn’t been quite ready (in fact, he hadn’t been prepared at all) when a sudden blow was dealt. His eyes bulged for a moment out of surprise, this sort of pain being the kind that persisted incessantly (much like how the Joker insisted on annoying the hell out of Batman) within the crook of his neck, and the hurtful impulse shot down the connecting nerves down his limbs like lightning. The harlequin made a short pant once he hit the ground, looking up at the Batman and muttering, “Thanks, I appreciate the gesture.”
Licking his lips, the villain gazed upwards expectantly, as if he were just waiting for Batman to finish whatever he was doing with a kick to the face, or a punch to the stomach. Of course neither of those actions would compare, in terms of pain, to the strike to that sensitive cluster of nerves. His body was temporarily incapacitated, but his mind was still a hub of chaotic thought. Once he caught his breath, a few spare laughs spilled out of him.
“Ooo, a psychotic fuck? Harsh words, Bats. Better look and make sure there are no little kiddies around that’ll here Big Batman cursing like a sailor,” the Joker mocked, feigning a hurt little wince of an expression. Once the pain died down somewhat, the criminal glanced downwards to see that he was just seated, by force of course, into the very chair he had refused to use earlier. That caused him a momentary grimace.
When Batman brought up the face-paint, the Joker leaned away in his seat and made a disapproving look as if to say ‘Make-up, me? No, you must be talking of somebody else!’ Of course, that all was just to annoy the Batman. As for the harlequin’s state, he had been rather enjoying himself with this little ‘game’, until suddenly Batman’s voice began to shift into this different tone, and the words he were saying were things nobody had ever dared say to him ever before.
His grin lessened and his eyes narrowed considerably when the hero stooped down to eye level. At this proximity, the Joker was really getting a good close look at the Batman’s cowl. The slick, high quality black material that made it up, those pointed Bat ears. However it all paled in comparison to the flesh behind that mask those brilliant azure eyes surrounded by kohl, piercing out like a light of salvation in the darkness. ‘Hey, I wonder if he uses the same brand as I do!’ the Joker thought curiously, this causing him to perk up in his seat slightly like a chipper little child.
What Batman said next though lessened that brief lapse.
“Hmmm…you speak as if there’s a little scared and hurt boy cowering behind all the scars and make-up. The thing is: there isn’t.” He paused, blinking somewhat, swallowing, “That, and by emphasizing the joke that is life I’m trying to scare people. And I’m succeeding with flyyyying colors!” he leaned forward, “You on the other hand are trying to save people, but all you succeed doing is scaring them. What a shame, right?” He let that one sink in, and slowly stood up, going over to the counter to grab a drink, his eyes watching Batman the whole way.
“You know,” he began, completely without self control, “What do you use in that part of your suit?” he asked, gesturing towards the Bat’s crotch area, “Do you inflate it with air or just stuff it with toilet paper?”
~*!*~
Bruce sort of missed that expression of surprise and pain that had contorted the deranged jester's countenance. It was an incredibly satisfying imagery that would have him grinning inwardly for weeks. And who was to say it was wrong--least of all the Joker himself? Wasn't his whole mock-philosophy on life to always smile? With that in mind, the Dark Knight tried not to let the other man's words bother him any further. He could always just ignore those curious, scrutinizing glances and face-splitting grins. Hell, if he tried hard enough, he could make that over-inflected voice nothing more than a dull drone in the back of his mind. That was, as long as he could keep his train of thought on that utterly shocked expression he'd seen not a few moments ago.
Batman let the Joker stand and saunter back over to the bar for a drink. 'Good luck finding a bottle that isn't broken,' he thought to himself. And even if he did, why not just break it over that psychologically-impaired head of his?
Meanwhile, he stood--brooding (big surprise there) about the Ace of Knave's words. No, there wasn't a scared little boy in there. How he found that so believable was beyond explanation. But it couldn't be as simple as that...Nothing was that simple, was it? How could something so complex really be that simplistic and plain--like two plus two will always equal four. And indisputable fact of knowledge. Funny now the once-adamant superhero always found himself questioning his own logic now. Particularly when it came to the green-haired man standing at the other end of the bar.
‘Do you inflate it with air or just stuff it with toilet paper?’
Bruce sighed, taking out his frustrations by slamming one foot down on the once-occupied chair. The thin, cracked wood splintered a little too easily beneath the sole of his boot; pieces scattering across the glass-littered floor. 'Are we seriously back to the whole crotch thing?' the masked vigilante resented inwardly. The worst thing was that he knew the perverse Joker was actually expecting an answer.
"Why don't you just stop asking ridiculous questions and find out for yourself?" the masked man muttered to himself. What he didn't realize was that he had actually 'thought' it out loud. In fact, a little too loud.
~*!*~
“Heheheee~!” the Joker giggled, hopping up and down when Batman really let the chair have it over his latest offhand remark. Then again, they were /all/ offhand gibes: all completely crude, caustic, and most likely completely annoying as well. The psychopath continued laughing at Batman’s expense over the whole incident, but no matter how loudly he was showcasing his seemingly endless humor, he still managed to catch that comment the vigilante had uttered not-so-quietly. At that, the mastermind stopped his childish bouncing and burst into his widest most limitless grin yet, running his hand back through the twisted green strands of his hair.
“Oh Batman, I really don’t think you want me to actually do that!” he chimed melodically, his eyes glinting with sick mischief as he went behind the counter, ducking under there to retrieve an unbroken bottle. The Joker was still smirking, as if he had some sort of awfully brilliant idea, some scathing bit of genius to share with his gloomy obsession.
Then, as energetically before (although a little slower, his body being somewhat dulled now by the beating it had received-not that the Joker was complaining, he /loved/ it) he rounded the counter and approached the Batman, sauntering straight up to him. The way he walked and wavered before the imposing figure, his body language, would send off cues to even the most socially inept person that he had something possibly inappropriate in mind.
It was all a trick. The Joker was good at that.
“Oh, you want me to see?” he asked, tilting his chin upwards as his tongue darted out quickly like a lizard, “You really want me to check, right? Fine, you asked for it! So, air or toilet paper? The question of the century! Then lets have a looksy!” He reached downwards, quickly and aggressively, as if to grab the area to ‘have a looksy’, and then suddenly he swung back his other arm to gain momentum and then slammed the glass bottle right between the Bat’s legs with a surprising amount of strength, the glass shattering into shards. The harlequin laughed hysterically, tilting his head back, almost left breathless he was laughing so hard.
“Ahaha! Either are activities have gotten you VERY excited with the boner of the century, Batsy-boy, or you stuff your pants with straight-up rocks! The bottle broke into two million pieces! Oh you should be glad I used a bottle, I was considering using a knife there for a little bit!” he shrieked, stumbling back for he was still laughing like there was no tomorrow. “Oh hahaha! Heeehahaaha, wheeee~! Oh, haha, tell me,
which is it?” he began to ask, simpering, leaning back against the counter yet again.
~*!*~
Bruce had nearly felt his heart jump up in his chest when the other man replied with an almost coy, mischievous warning. Taken aback, the bat-like crime fighter only closed in on himself further. That must have meant that he had actually said that. Mr. Wayne felt his face flush a bright scarlet red that possibly rivaled the jester's own vermilion smile. But, thankfully, he had the covert of his sleek cowl to hide his obvious embarrassment. He watched, curiously as the green-haired man disappeared behind the counter--half-expecting him to return with some souped-up piece of weaponry. Hell, even an oversized sledgehammer to match his little clown theme gone wrong.
The Joker only sauntered back over to him with a half-empty bottle of some amber liquid. The all too-sensual way he moved made an uncomfortably cold shiver snake up his spine. It shouldn't be humanly possible for someone to move like that--particularly a someone with such a shattered, disconnected mind. Had he been able to study the painted devil's face for a few more seconds, he probably would have caught that twinkling treachery as it passed over those emerald green optics.
The bottle exploded into a thousand tiny pieces; alcohol soaking through the compression suit beneath his armor and running down his thighs. In an instant, the Joker was back at the mercy of his relentless hands. It was any wonder how a man practically the same size and build as the clown could easily pluck his counterpart up off the floor by his neck and throw him backwards onto a nearby table; just like that time in the interrogation room. But this time, the polished wooden table collapsed with a far more delightful 'snap'. Curious enough, the two of them were back into the same position this had all started with--Batman pressed up close to his clown-like adversary with one hand curled around the Joker's throat and the other pinning both of his hands over his head.
"Over fifty pounds of armor and you think I'm not wearing a cup?" Bruce smirked. Yes, he actually smirked--one side of his mouth pulled up into disturbingly amused grin. "I'm...disappointed, Joker." He leaned forward, settling his weight onto his knees for comfort--which were coincidentally positioned on either side of the Harlequin's thighs.
"Maybe I should break a few more things over your head. That way we can see if its made of 'air or toilet paper'." he huffed, pulling the green-haired man's cranium up by the front of his throat and slamming it back into the broken table to emphasize his point.
~*!*~
And just as he had in the interrogation room-the Joker responded to the stimulus of harsh and extreme pain by laughing with a wheeze, his black-painted eyelids squeezing shut in a twisted sort of delight when the table was chopped nearly in have under the force of his fall. Laying amongst the rubble, the clown made a squirm, about to recover to his feet, until the Batman stopped him from doing this by lording over him and restraining his hands down above his head.
Full circle, back to their starting point, a brief sense of déjà-vu overcame the movement-restricted man. This caused him to make an all-new spout of giggles, although there was a sharp bit of wood under him uncomfortably jabbing him in the side. He made a little tilt of his head, managing to laugh again despite the stern grip around his throat, when Batman shot him down with a biting remark of his own. He opened his red outlined lips to make a rejoinder, but was interrupted when his head was slapped back again.
The Joker hissed, “Hahaaa! Batman, ooo damn you, you must /like/ hitting me, considering you do it so much. Do you get off on it?” He had been about to add ‘I know I do’ but he kept that to himself, for once he kept something to himself. Not to mention, he couldn’t wait for the day when he got Batman vulnerable enough to kick the guy around for a little too. “Oh do it, I fucking dare you! Hit me over the head with anything you can find! Hell, if you hit me over the head with your crotch it’d probably be so hard it’d knock me right out!”
“And, you do realize we’re back at Point A, right?” he began to ask, glancing downwards at their position, the back of his head pounding from the abuse (a feeling the Joker did, but definitely shouldn’t have for his body’s sake, reveled in). Then another thought crossed his mind. A gleaming glance met with Batman’s eyes, watching that strange little smirk there. It seemed so different seeing that expression on the hero’s mouth, when usually the only thing there was that thin, grim, determined line of a stoic natured scowl.
“How do you take a piss?” the Joker asked suddenly, grinning again. “Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky all the time, so doom-and-glooooom,” he observed in s sprightly manner,, over-emphasizing his words as usual, “Because, maybe, all you really need to take is a leak. There’s a bathroom in the back…and of course if you need it I could help you back there too,” he began to purr, trying his hardest (that was clear) to grate the knight’s no-doubt already frayed nerves by making these ridiculous and insinuating comments.
~*!*~
Bruce growled, lurching forward to meet the clown's face; nose to nose. What he hadn't considered a moment before was that by moving in any which way over the other male he was, inevitably, brushing himself against a hip or thigh. The vigilante just wanted to pull his hair out--frustrated to no end. Would he ever win at this little game? Would he ever succeed in silencing that mockery of a laugh as well as its forever-smiling counterpart? 'Not without killing him,' a darker corner of his subconscious muttered. No, he would never give the Joker that kind of satisfaction. The man probably got off to corrupting the small but innate good of human nature as much as he did to the pain inflicted upon his lithe body.
The bat-impersonator let his head hang low, hot and heavy breaths reflected off the side of the Joker's paint-smothered face. He screwed his eyes shut for a minute; blindly groping around for his lost composure. But all that he discovered was a pile of broken pieces somewhere in the back of his mind. He didn't want to see that smile anymore. He didn't want to ever see the man it belonged to again either. All he wanted to do was scream 'why me' but Batman did not search for pity. Nor did he need any. He was a symbol of unwavering justice and, to all of those who dared to defy it, a supreme punisher.
"What do I have to do to wipe that stupid fucking grin off your face?" he breathed--more to himself, against the Joker's skin. He had long since let his position slacken until both elbows were digging into the splintered wooden tabletop and his chest was flush against the man below him. Gunpowder and gasoline: those were the two smells he would forever associate with the Joker. For every time he had ever crossed paths with the man, the smell of death and fire was laden heavy in the air. But when he took a long, calming breath in through his nose, all he could smell was the zesty twinge of good brandy and a fainter, musky scent--something that was entirely him.
The pissing comment only made Batman groan inwardly. He readjusted his grip on the other man's wrists while carefully extracting his other hand from the Joker's throat. A pleasantly dark and angry-looking bruise had already began to form. In a couple days, perhaps, it would have turned a lovely shade of mauve to compliment his unconventional attire.
"What is it with your obsession with my penis? Did yours fall off a couple years back and now you just want to obsess about mine? Or do you do this to all of your other fixations?" Bruce scoffed.
~*!*~
“Hmmm, what do you have to do?…I suggest you rephrase that question of yours before I twist it into something that’ll make you blush,” answered the Joker speedily, despite the fact that the question really hadn’t been posed for him to give response to. He smirked quickly, but then soon dissipated into a sort of quiet as he could feel the Bat impending closer in on him, to the point where he could feel his chest rising and falling with each intake of breath and each exhale of air afterwards. His eyes darted over to look at his side as Batman’s arms loosened enough for the knight’s face to be at the side of his own. It was…interesting, to be so close. He wasn’t quite used to being close to Batman like this (well, he was used to the sort of proximity of receiving a punch in the jaw, or being thrown into a table, but this was different) and thus it had rendered him, temporarily, silent.
It was interesting (and ‘fun’ as well) to push and push the vigilante, to see how much he could get away with. With the Joker’s high threshold, and enjoyment, of pain, he ended up being able to get away with quite a lot. But more interesting than pushing the limits, was Batman’s response to being prodded in this way. The raw unadulterated emotions that leaked out ever once in a while…the Joker could just lap it all up.
The comeback from the man above him managed to squeeze yet more of the Joker’s laughter out, he finding the image of his penis simply falling off just as funny as it was disturbing. “If you need to know so badly: my penis is all right and fine and has yet to simply drop off. That’d be damn strange…like me! Haha!” He instinctively craned his neck a little when the harsh hold there had been released, wondering briefly how much /that/ would hurt in the morning.
“Plus….I’m not obsessed with your penis. How can I be obsessed with something that just simply isn’t there?!” he dared rebuke the completely infuriated Caped Crusader. Following this with a side of his glee-filled laugh, the Joker looked to his opponent’s face again. “Well…” he began, expectantly now, “If you’re not going to begin with your canine dry-humping ritual…can I get up now? I don’t see the use in being pinned to the ground unless you’re going to use this position to your advantage. Ha, Batsy, stupid, stupid, you could have just had a simple drink with me instead of getting yourself all in a knot about this!” he declared, that awfully permanent rictus still displayed on his face, emphasized by the smeared red paint there.
Venture onwards for more!