The Dark Knight Fic: "Off the Clock"
Title: Off the Clock
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Genre: Slash, possibly AU, since it's set post-TDK
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Harvey/Joker, Batman
Warnings: M/M sex, masturbation, some violence
Word Count: 3,399
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: Written for the Harvey/Joker Kink Meme: "Mid-job sex". I love ya, mundaneone! <3 I also found inspiration in the song "The World Is Not Enough" by Garbage. Don't ask how that happened, because I'm not sure either.
Summary: After being hit with Crane's latest brand of fear toxin, the pair decides to get their hands on a sample of it with which to create an updated antidote. (Note: This is set a couple of weeks after my previous fic, "Down and Out".)
...
People like us
Know how to survive
There's no point in living
If you can't feel the life
We know when to kiss
And we know when to kill
If we can't have it all
Then nobody will
- "The World Is Not Enough", Garbage
..
Their bloody exploits dominated the headlines. For the seventh week in a row, they'd been front page news. Still, for them the thrill had begun to lessen somewhat in the past year. Not that what they did failed to provide rewards, constant incentives to keep to their routine. Like twin kings they ruled the crime league, iron-fisted and steel-hearted. But delight in ever-growing wealth and power had a shelf-life. With the Batman making fewer appearances these days, it was all about finding ways to liven up the game. Up the ante, as the Joker was fond of saying. In their line of work, it wouldn't take much for catastrophe to find them. But that wasn't a source of worry; no, it was quite the contrary. It heated the blood in cold veins.
After a recent visit to their favorite doctor, they discovered a need for an updated antidote. He had gone about experimenting with a fresh batch of fear toxin, one with a surprising addition. Although it didn't turn out quite as Crane had intended, they had received word that the two weeks following their rendezvous had proven successful for him. They now needed insurance against his newest toy. With a gun (and knife) show, they planned to seize the samples of the latest toxin batch. And if Crane foolishly decided to show up, it would surely be the last thing he ever did.
Informants relayed that the toxin had been stashed away in an abandoned factory on the Narrow's edge. It seemed that the doctor desired to make things a bit more difficult for those interested in his work. Keeping his headquarters and the weapon in separate sites was a good idea, even though as Dent pointed out, it smacked of a setup. As usual, the Joker just scoffed at the concern, saying that he was up for whatever Crane could throw at him.
Their men were already inside, clearing a route to the supervisor's office in the building's belly and dropping flare sticks along the way. Intelligence declared this to be their targets' location and once they reached it, they would signal to come on through and finish the job - as the Joker had insisted. The samples were sure to be under the heaviest guard, protected by the most proficient mercenaries the doctor possessed. And he demanded a crack at them.
The pair waited just outside for their go-ahead, impatience growing with every passing second. The black sky was something of a comfort to Dent, who still hadn't broken his habit of counting the stars. The Joker often mocked him for it, asking what he found so intriguing about them. Not once did he receive a reply. He, on the other hand, much preferred to grin up at the bat-shaped light resting on the clouds. It was his personal wishing star; its consequent disappearance disappointed him.
After lingering for nearly a half hour, the vibration of a small phone in Dent's coat brought renewed excitement. The clown popped his neck and smiled.
"Good?"
Dent offered his own in return, subdued though it was.
"Great."
"Wonderful."
"Peachy."
"Perfect."
"Certainly."
"Not!" The Joker abruptly grabbed hold of Dent's arm. "Why so underwhelmed? Haven't you been having any fun tonight?"
"About as much fun as one can have breaking into a decrepit old deathtrap in the middle of the night."
"Oh, c'mon. Gimme a little credit, will ya? My ideas may not be good, but they're exciting, right?"
"Sometimes."
"Hmpf. You're cheap." Dent just cocked an eyebrow. So his partner continued. "Alright, fine. How about this then: the fun part of tonight? It's all you."
"You're giving me the honor of walking into a heavily manned and quite possibly booby-trapped room first - I can hardly contain myself."
"Typical Harv, with his half-empty glass. No, I'm giving you the pleasure of offing Crane's best. From here on in, I'm just backing you up."
"You're being unusually generous. I know you were looking forward to that. I'm not so sure I should rob you of it."
Tongue flicked over lips. "I know you. So don't try to tell me that bragging rights don't interest you--"
"Just what I always wanted..."
"You're welcome."
Guns ready, they made their way into the building. The back door scraped the ground as it was pushed open, causing teeth to gnash in unison. The interior was musty and black, save for modest glows from flare sticks on the ground. The ensuing pair of hallways was especially unsettling: wind stole through broken windows in storage rooms, murmuring and sighing. They were glad to reach the end.
The cavernous work room once alive with clanging and steaming machinery now stood dead and devoid of any industrial fixtures. Hard times found Narrows residents scrambling for metal anywhere they could find it. Indeed, the entire line of machines had long since been stripped and carried out.
Presently, it was little more than a warehouse of drugs and death. The acrid smell of gunpowder clung to the air and corpses lay strewn about the floor, all face-down. The bodies themselves were partially illuminated by the flare sticks dropped around this room. The overall effect was not unlike a morbid funhouse.
Bats fluttered and squeaked overhead, prompting chuckles and loud whispers from the painted man.
"You think Daddy Bat's gonna show up tonight?"
"You're dealing with him if he does. He seems to like you."
"Aww, I think I'm blushing!" The Joker laughed, clapping his free hand to his cheek. "Am I blushing?"
"I don't know where he gets the self-control. The fact that he flat out refuses to kill you makes me wonder."
"Is that the sound of jealousy? C'mon, you know I'd never cheat. Believe in me, Harv. I believe in you--"
"Let's just get this over with already."
A final hallway brought them to another rusted door, one with a tiny window at the top of it. As described. On the hushed count of three they kicked it in. But they were met with no resistance - only a desk, an old lit lantern next to it, a defunct heating unit, shelves and drawers. No live agents. Not even any dead ones. The Joker exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his sweat-sticky hair.
"Well, damn."
"Did you forget to tell the kids that this part was ours? Because this is a little disappointing."
"I did tell them. In fact, I told them what would happen to them if they got too trigger happy. Just can't rely on anyone..."
"Well," Dent sighed, "let's just find the vials and get the hell out of here. I'm beat anyway." After shutting the door he stood by it, keeping watch while the Joker rummaged.
"Bah. You're no fun." Pulling open and thrusting shut the metal cabinets and dusty drawers forced thick dust to rise. Dust that brushed the back of his throat and forced coughs.
"But you already knew that." Dent frostily replied. "So then why are you still working with me?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Oh...just because."
"Nice answer."
An uncommon silence passed between them now, their mutual frustration wearing on nerves and paring down capacity for wit. Such silence was nearly always short-lived, but both of them hoped that it would be broken by a fruitful discovery. More and more slams of cabinets and drawers failed to yield anything. Until, the quiet was interrupted by a baffled hum from the clown.
"Soooo uh, did they say precisely where these things would be...precisely?"
"No, they just said they'd be in this room."
"Hmm. Funny, 'cause they're not here."
"Where else could they be?! They swore to us they'd be here!"
"Well, they're not. So unless you can make 'em appear, Houdini, we're S.O.L."
"Damnit. Maybe they're in one of those side rooms somewhere. We must have walked right by them."
Dent wasted no time to throw the door open again and sprint back into the larger room, nearly tripping over the corpses. The Joker followed closely behind, grumbling about how dearly the double-crossers would pay. But they had little time to begin a new search. For the weak light effectively shrouded treacherous movement. A few of the "dead men" fingered guns in the dark and sprang from the ground with not even so much as a battle cry. Trained ears and marvelous reflexes compelled them to charge back toward the office just before the shots rang out. Once temporarily safe inside it, a flustered Dent turned to his companion.
"So much for a room full of dead guys! Looks like someone stole a page right out of your book!"
"So this is somehow my fault?!"
"What, guilty conscience?"
"Guilty, yes. Conscience, absolutely not." Before moving forward, the clown drew a thumb down the remaining flesh of Dent's chin. Something, of course, that he knew Dent hated. But that was the point.
The Joker appeared from around the edge, catching the mercenaries in a storm of slugs. The room flickered with light of the firing guns, casting shadows on the walls. After pulling back into position, the telltale thuds told him he had hit his marks. Dent looked to the man beside him, noticing the blood streaming from his upper arm. Apparently, the madman was a quiet sufferer when he wanted to be.
"They got you, eh?" Dent quietly asked. He pulled a tourniquet from one of his coat pockets and tied it around the wound. In typical fashion, the clown leered as he looked on.
"They grazed me. It's nothing. Nothing I wouldn't give for you, Harv."
"I'm touched."
"You should be." He gave Dent a playful elbow in the rib. "At the end of the day, this is why I have the MP5 and you have the 9 millimeter."
"Naturally, because you hate having to aim when you shoot."
"Pfft, classiness versus efficiency. I'd like to see you use that pretty squirt gun in the dark."
Not waiting for a witty retort, he darted out of the room again to finish the job. Several more of his rounds tore through the air, until all others on their feet crumpled to the floor. And stayed there.
"Anyone else wanna play?! I've still got plenty more treats to go 'round." His eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other, hoping to spot more moving shadows. "Hey, doc, you here too? We'd love to chat if you are..."
No answer. No noise, except for his partner's footsteps as he re-emerged from the office. Too bad.
He watched Dent walk around the large room, firing a bullet into the brain of each man on the ground. So cold, the Joker mused. With every shot, flecks of blood hit that half-marred face and hand. It was the kind of beauty that the Joker sincerely appreciated. The kind that excited him.
"Where's your coin? Don't you have to consult that thing before you blow people away?"
"I already did." He finished his task and with not even an upward glance, he moved back toward the office. The splatter on his forehead and cheek glistened in the dim light.
"Look, forget about the samples for now. We need to get back and fix up that arm before it goes rotten...like the rest of you."
"Oh, let's not be rash on my account," He absently poked at the tied-up wound, provoking a painful spasm; however, he seemed refreshed by it. "I'm fine and dandy here. I'm just happy they didn't scratch that pretty face of yours."
"You mean the one you ruined?"
"Here we go again with this. Sometimes you really are like a song with one note." He cocked his head to the side, happily eying the exposed muscle and teeth. "Hey, you should be thanking me anyway. It was a considerable improvement-"
The familiar strangle-hold couldn't have come soon enough. He just grinned at the pressure, letting a few shallow chuckles slip through his lips. His own hand wrapped around Dent's throat, deliberately agitating the bare muscle. Stricken with pangs of terrific pain, Dent cried out and shoved his partner against a rotting wall. Bits of it crumbled and fell from the impact. More soft laughter.
The clown released his grip only to land a blow on Dent's intact cheek, leaving it red and sure to darken into a healthy bruise. Dent angrily returned in kind, his fist smudging makeup. For several seconds they stood there, exchanging glares. Silent. But then a painted face cracked into smile again, and the gun the clown held dropped to the floor with a series of resounding clacks. Unwilling to surrender his weapon so easily, Dent tightened his grip on it. But his companion knocked it to the ground.
Hands now free, he grabbed Dent by the collar. After pulling him close, he bit down on the other man's lip until it bled. But Dent swiftly broke away, blood oozing from the puncture. Heavier breaths betrayed any desire he had of feigning disinterest. He could think of a billion better times and places for this. But then again, he'd become averse to turning down quick pleasure. Especially after the tedious week they had chasing leads. So he was game. And he didn't protest when his partner hooked a finger around a belt loop and led him back into the supervisor's office.
They dashed each other against the shelves, walls and desk. Morning light would showcase legendary cuts and contusions. Legendary, even by their standards. But neither cared.
Finally, they stopped hurling one another about and settled with the Joker's back flat against a wall, narrowly missing a rusted nail. One set of dirty nails dug into shoulder blades, breaking skin as they went. The other set hungrily fumbled with pant buttons.
Dark eyes flashed as pants were undone and a cold hand teased warm flesh. Red lips parted with an airy moan. Quivering body arched upward to Dent’s stroking, sinking nails deeper into his back. Knowing that the slow, torturous pace wouldn't stretch on for too long. When he cut him off, though it was, well, a little frustrating, he wasn't too distressed. As ostensibly charitable as he could be, Dent wasn't the type to give freely and go without some kind of return. Rather, he took what he deemed to be his fair due. And that was perfectly okay with the Joker. He didn't mind being plundered and pillaged.
Tongue flicked as he watched Dent pick at his own buttons. Mouth watered. He readily acknowledged the merits of lengthy anticipation. It only served to heighten the sensation to come. Up the ante.
He couldn't help licking his lips again once Dent managed to free his own erection. Though his arm burned, he let him flip him around and shove him against the desk. Let him yank his pants down to the floor. Manhandling always equaled spectacular foreplay - for both parties.
Dent smirked and wet his fingers; as he prepared himself, the Joker just chuckled.
"You’re so easy, I dunno whether to pity you or pay you."
Hot breath of a raspy growl in his ear wrought shivers down his back.
"How's this for easy?!"
The brutal thrust forced the clown to cry out and re-brace himself against the desk. Callously - how Dent did it best. As they rocked together both men groaned, the Joker drawing his out and ending it with a whimper. It was a sound that Dent had grown to love, to desire. A sound that spurred him to bite into the neck below him, drawing blood.
They increased their shared speed, a perfect harmony of thrusts and bucks. Pleasure building rapidly, the Joker desperately sought to take one hand off of the desk and work himself. But he wouldn't have to: he purred as Dent reached around to stroke and fondle his erection.
"Mmm, yeah, you take such good care of me..."
Neither heard the footsteps just outside the office. Neither noticed the figure in black approach the threshold. Following his own leads, the Batman had come to send them back to Arkham. But he now found himself unable to set one foot forward.
Appalled by the lascivious spectacle, all he could do was back away from their little room. Hand flew to cover a gagging mouth. He had heard the noises from the outside. Unfortunately for his sensibilities, it was nothing unfamiliar to his ears - he recalled the obscene "show" the clown had given him in the interrogation room. And suddenly, all of the anger, frustration and disgust raced back into his consciousness. He wanted to run in there and drag them both to the MCU, pants around their ankles. But at the same time, he couldn't stomach the idea of touching them. All of his lucky stars were thanked for their failure to notice him then.
Incredibly, the sarcastic mutterings of Crane were true. All too vividly, they had proven much more than standard slander. And he wanted no part of it. He needn't worry about another chance to deliver them into Gordon's waiting hands. It just...couldn't be tonight. Not now. Not after this.
The Batman backed out of the factory, dissolving into the shadow and cursing himself for his inaction. Turning his energy now to certain hapless others, like Crane, he hoped for better dreams this night. Something told him that he wouldn't be so lucky.
For the men locked in their own rhythm, the night certainly wasn't a complete loss. Their original mission had vacated their minds as soon as they thrashed against the decaying shelves. As they rocked and bucked against each other, it was impossible to focus on any single thing. These were their moments - revenge would wait its turn or be damned.
After several minutes, they found themselves nearing their limits. Between plunges into tight heat and the Joker pulsing in his hand, Dent was beginning to tense with impending release. His partner, likewise, was approaching ecstasy born from the well-angled thrusts and skillful caresses of his shaft. Shouts and grunts heralded the endpoint and they struggled to regain breath just after releasing in warm, shuddering waves.
Dent let a final groan escape as he pulled out, whereas the Joker gave a final pleased cackle. He offered his painted companion a wad of dry tissues from his back pocket, while he left the soft handkerchief for use on himself. The other man snatched the tissues from his hand, smirking as he did so.
"It's kind of amusing how ridiculously prepared you are all the time."
"I don't ever hear you complaining."
He elbowed Dent again, this time in the back. "Who said it was a bad thing?"
After tidying up somewhat, pulling pants back up and retrieving weapons, the focus returned to the job. It was time to clock back in, though neither of them much felt like doing so. They spent a few minutes sweeping the big machine room, using flare sticks to examine crevices in the walls and cracks in the floor. That is, until the Joker suddenly stopped his search and threw down his light.
"What...what's the time?"
Dent hesitated but then took out the small phone, the light of its screen exceedingly bright amid the gloom.
"It's 1:55. Why? Got somewhere to be this early in the morning?"
"Well uh, ya know, if we're still here a bit past 2...we may get caught up in the fireworks."
"Fireworks?! What the hell did you do?!"
"Ha, well, I figured that if we didn't find the things," He winked, "blowing the place up would be the next best thing."
As they rushed back out of the building, Dent turned to give his partner an exasperated grimace in reply. But the Joker just offered his typical impish, vaguely contemptuous smile.
Explosions gutted the structure from the inside, and a rain of shattered glass and twisted metal crashed to the ground. They watched from a safe distance, waiting on their getaway car to round the lonely block. Hoping their driver wasn't one of the bloody messes on the cement floor.
"Why do I put up with you?" Dent gritted.
"Because you like a little spice in your life."
"You know, there'll come a day when that won't be a good enough reason anymore."
"And when that day comes, I'll have a better one."
...
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Genre: Slash, possibly AU, since it's set post-TDK
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Harvey/Joker, Batman
Warnings: M/M sex, masturbation, some violence
Word Count: 3,399
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: Written for the Harvey/Joker Kink Meme: "Mid-job sex". I love ya, mundaneone! <3 I also found inspiration in the song "The World Is Not Enough" by Garbage. Don't ask how that happened, because I'm not sure either.
Summary: After being hit with Crane's latest brand of fear toxin, the pair decides to get their hands on a sample of it with which to create an updated antidote. (Note: This is set a couple of weeks after my previous fic, "Down and Out".)
...
People like us
Know how to survive
There's no point in living
If you can't feel the life
We know when to kiss
And we know when to kill
If we can't have it all
Then nobody will
- "The World Is Not Enough", Garbage
..
Their bloody exploits dominated the headlines. For the seventh week in a row, they'd been front page news. Still, for them the thrill had begun to lessen somewhat in the past year. Not that what they did failed to provide rewards, constant incentives to keep to their routine. Like twin kings they ruled the crime league, iron-fisted and steel-hearted. But delight in ever-growing wealth and power had a shelf-life. With the Batman making fewer appearances these days, it was all about finding ways to liven up the game. Up the ante, as the Joker was fond of saying. In their line of work, it wouldn't take much for catastrophe to find them. But that wasn't a source of worry; no, it was quite the contrary. It heated the blood in cold veins.
After a recent visit to their favorite doctor, they discovered a need for an updated antidote. He had gone about experimenting with a fresh batch of fear toxin, one with a surprising addition. Although it didn't turn out quite as Crane had intended, they had received word that the two weeks following their rendezvous had proven successful for him. They now needed insurance against his newest toy. With a gun (and knife) show, they planned to seize the samples of the latest toxin batch. And if Crane foolishly decided to show up, it would surely be the last thing he ever did.
Informants relayed that the toxin had been stashed away in an abandoned factory on the Narrow's edge. It seemed that the doctor desired to make things a bit more difficult for those interested in his work. Keeping his headquarters and the weapon in separate sites was a good idea, even though as Dent pointed out, it smacked of a setup. As usual, the Joker just scoffed at the concern, saying that he was up for whatever Crane could throw at him.
Their men were already inside, clearing a route to the supervisor's office in the building's belly and dropping flare sticks along the way. Intelligence declared this to be their targets' location and once they reached it, they would signal to come on through and finish the job - as the Joker had insisted. The samples were sure to be under the heaviest guard, protected by the most proficient mercenaries the doctor possessed. And he demanded a crack at them.
The pair waited just outside for their go-ahead, impatience growing with every passing second. The black sky was something of a comfort to Dent, who still hadn't broken his habit of counting the stars. The Joker often mocked him for it, asking what he found so intriguing about them. Not once did he receive a reply. He, on the other hand, much preferred to grin up at the bat-shaped light resting on the clouds. It was his personal wishing star; its consequent disappearance disappointed him.
After lingering for nearly a half hour, the vibration of a small phone in Dent's coat brought renewed excitement. The clown popped his neck and smiled.
"Good?"
Dent offered his own in return, subdued though it was.
"Great."
"Wonderful."
"Peachy."
"Perfect."
"Certainly."
"Not!" The Joker abruptly grabbed hold of Dent's arm. "Why so underwhelmed? Haven't you been having any fun tonight?"
"About as much fun as one can have breaking into a decrepit old deathtrap in the middle of the night."
"Oh, c'mon. Gimme a little credit, will ya? My ideas may not be good, but they're exciting, right?"
"Sometimes."
"Hmpf. You're cheap." Dent just cocked an eyebrow. So his partner continued. "Alright, fine. How about this then: the fun part of tonight? It's all you."
"You're giving me the honor of walking into a heavily manned and quite possibly booby-trapped room first - I can hardly contain myself."
"Typical Harv, with his half-empty glass. No, I'm giving you the pleasure of offing Crane's best. From here on in, I'm just backing you up."
"You're being unusually generous. I know you were looking forward to that. I'm not so sure I should rob you of it."
Tongue flicked over lips. "I know you. So don't try to tell me that bragging rights don't interest you--"
"Just what I always wanted..."
"You're welcome."
Guns ready, they made their way into the building. The back door scraped the ground as it was pushed open, causing teeth to gnash in unison. The interior was musty and black, save for modest glows from flare sticks on the ground. The ensuing pair of hallways was especially unsettling: wind stole through broken windows in storage rooms, murmuring and sighing. They were glad to reach the end.
The cavernous work room once alive with clanging and steaming machinery now stood dead and devoid of any industrial fixtures. Hard times found Narrows residents scrambling for metal anywhere they could find it. Indeed, the entire line of machines had long since been stripped and carried out.
Presently, it was little more than a warehouse of drugs and death. The acrid smell of gunpowder clung to the air and corpses lay strewn about the floor, all face-down. The bodies themselves were partially illuminated by the flare sticks dropped around this room. The overall effect was not unlike a morbid funhouse.
Bats fluttered and squeaked overhead, prompting chuckles and loud whispers from the painted man.
"You think Daddy Bat's gonna show up tonight?"
"You're dealing with him if he does. He seems to like you."
"Aww, I think I'm blushing!" The Joker laughed, clapping his free hand to his cheek. "Am I blushing?"
"I don't know where he gets the self-control. The fact that he flat out refuses to kill you makes me wonder."
"Is that the sound of jealousy? C'mon, you know I'd never cheat. Believe in me, Harv. I believe in you--"
"Let's just get this over with already."
A final hallway brought them to another rusted door, one with a tiny window at the top of it. As described. On the hushed count of three they kicked it in. But they were met with no resistance - only a desk, an old lit lantern next to it, a defunct heating unit, shelves and drawers. No live agents. Not even any dead ones. The Joker exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his sweat-sticky hair.
"Well, damn."
"Did you forget to tell the kids that this part was ours? Because this is a little disappointing."
"I did tell them. In fact, I told them what would happen to them if they got too trigger happy. Just can't rely on anyone..."
"Well," Dent sighed, "let's just find the vials and get the hell out of here. I'm beat anyway." After shutting the door he stood by it, keeping watch while the Joker rummaged.
"Bah. You're no fun." Pulling open and thrusting shut the metal cabinets and dusty drawers forced thick dust to rise. Dust that brushed the back of his throat and forced coughs.
"But you already knew that." Dent frostily replied. "So then why are you still working with me?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Oh...just because."
"Nice answer."
An uncommon silence passed between them now, their mutual frustration wearing on nerves and paring down capacity for wit. Such silence was nearly always short-lived, but both of them hoped that it would be broken by a fruitful discovery. More and more slams of cabinets and drawers failed to yield anything. Until, the quiet was interrupted by a baffled hum from the clown.
"Soooo uh, did they say precisely where these things would be...precisely?"
"No, they just said they'd be in this room."
"Hmm. Funny, 'cause they're not here."
"Where else could they be?! They swore to us they'd be here!"
"Well, they're not. So unless you can make 'em appear, Houdini, we're S.O.L."
"Damnit. Maybe they're in one of those side rooms somewhere. We must have walked right by them."
Dent wasted no time to throw the door open again and sprint back into the larger room, nearly tripping over the corpses. The Joker followed closely behind, grumbling about how dearly the double-crossers would pay. But they had little time to begin a new search. For the weak light effectively shrouded treacherous movement. A few of the "dead men" fingered guns in the dark and sprang from the ground with not even so much as a battle cry. Trained ears and marvelous reflexes compelled them to charge back toward the office just before the shots rang out. Once temporarily safe inside it, a flustered Dent turned to his companion.
"So much for a room full of dead guys! Looks like someone stole a page right out of your book!"
"So this is somehow my fault?!"
"What, guilty conscience?"
"Guilty, yes. Conscience, absolutely not." Before moving forward, the clown drew a thumb down the remaining flesh of Dent's chin. Something, of course, that he knew Dent hated. But that was the point.
The Joker appeared from around the edge, catching the mercenaries in a storm of slugs. The room flickered with light of the firing guns, casting shadows on the walls. After pulling back into position, the telltale thuds told him he had hit his marks. Dent looked to the man beside him, noticing the blood streaming from his upper arm. Apparently, the madman was a quiet sufferer when he wanted to be.
"They got you, eh?" Dent quietly asked. He pulled a tourniquet from one of his coat pockets and tied it around the wound. In typical fashion, the clown leered as he looked on.
"They grazed me. It's nothing. Nothing I wouldn't give for you, Harv."
"I'm touched."
"You should be." He gave Dent a playful elbow in the rib. "At the end of the day, this is why I have the MP5 and you have the 9 millimeter."
"Naturally, because you hate having to aim when you shoot."
"Pfft, classiness versus efficiency. I'd like to see you use that pretty squirt gun in the dark."
Not waiting for a witty retort, he darted out of the room again to finish the job. Several more of his rounds tore through the air, until all others on their feet crumpled to the floor. And stayed there.
"Anyone else wanna play?! I've still got plenty more treats to go 'round." His eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other, hoping to spot more moving shadows. "Hey, doc, you here too? We'd love to chat if you are..."
No answer. No noise, except for his partner's footsteps as he re-emerged from the office. Too bad.
He watched Dent walk around the large room, firing a bullet into the brain of each man on the ground. So cold, the Joker mused. With every shot, flecks of blood hit that half-marred face and hand. It was the kind of beauty that the Joker sincerely appreciated. The kind that excited him.
"Where's your coin? Don't you have to consult that thing before you blow people away?"
"I already did." He finished his task and with not even an upward glance, he moved back toward the office. The splatter on his forehead and cheek glistened in the dim light.
"Look, forget about the samples for now. We need to get back and fix up that arm before it goes rotten...like the rest of you."
"Oh, let's not be rash on my account," He absently poked at the tied-up wound, provoking a painful spasm; however, he seemed refreshed by it. "I'm fine and dandy here. I'm just happy they didn't scratch that pretty face of yours."
"You mean the one you ruined?"
"Here we go again with this. Sometimes you really are like a song with one note." He cocked his head to the side, happily eying the exposed muscle and teeth. "Hey, you should be thanking me anyway. It was a considerable improvement-"
The familiar strangle-hold couldn't have come soon enough. He just grinned at the pressure, letting a few shallow chuckles slip through his lips. His own hand wrapped around Dent's throat, deliberately agitating the bare muscle. Stricken with pangs of terrific pain, Dent cried out and shoved his partner against a rotting wall. Bits of it crumbled and fell from the impact. More soft laughter.
The clown released his grip only to land a blow on Dent's intact cheek, leaving it red and sure to darken into a healthy bruise. Dent angrily returned in kind, his fist smudging makeup. For several seconds they stood there, exchanging glares. Silent. But then a painted face cracked into smile again, and the gun the clown held dropped to the floor with a series of resounding clacks. Unwilling to surrender his weapon so easily, Dent tightened his grip on it. But his companion knocked it to the ground.
Hands now free, he grabbed Dent by the collar. After pulling him close, he bit down on the other man's lip until it bled. But Dent swiftly broke away, blood oozing from the puncture. Heavier breaths betrayed any desire he had of feigning disinterest. He could think of a billion better times and places for this. But then again, he'd become averse to turning down quick pleasure. Especially after the tedious week they had chasing leads. So he was game. And he didn't protest when his partner hooked a finger around a belt loop and led him back into the supervisor's office.
They dashed each other against the shelves, walls and desk. Morning light would showcase legendary cuts and contusions. Legendary, even by their standards. But neither cared.
Finally, they stopped hurling one another about and settled with the Joker's back flat against a wall, narrowly missing a rusted nail. One set of dirty nails dug into shoulder blades, breaking skin as they went. The other set hungrily fumbled with pant buttons.
Dark eyes flashed as pants were undone and a cold hand teased warm flesh. Red lips parted with an airy moan. Quivering body arched upward to Dent’s stroking, sinking nails deeper into his back. Knowing that the slow, torturous pace wouldn't stretch on for too long. When he cut him off, though it was, well, a little frustrating, he wasn't too distressed. As ostensibly charitable as he could be, Dent wasn't the type to give freely and go without some kind of return. Rather, he took what he deemed to be his fair due. And that was perfectly okay with the Joker. He didn't mind being plundered and pillaged.
Tongue flicked as he watched Dent pick at his own buttons. Mouth watered. He readily acknowledged the merits of lengthy anticipation. It only served to heighten the sensation to come. Up the ante.
He couldn't help licking his lips again once Dent managed to free his own erection. Though his arm burned, he let him flip him around and shove him against the desk. Let him yank his pants down to the floor. Manhandling always equaled spectacular foreplay - for both parties.
Dent smirked and wet his fingers; as he prepared himself, the Joker just chuckled.
"You’re so easy, I dunno whether to pity you or pay you."
Hot breath of a raspy growl in his ear wrought shivers down his back.
"How's this for easy?!"
The brutal thrust forced the clown to cry out and re-brace himself against the desk. Callously - how Dent did it best. As they rocked together both men groaned, the Joker drawing his out and ending it with a whimper. It was a sound that Dent had grown to love, to desire. A sound that spurred him to bite into the neck below him, drawing blood.
They increased their shared speed, a perfect harmony of thrusts and bucks. Pleasure building rapidly, the Joker desperately sought to take one hand off of the desk and work himself. But he wouldn't have to: he purred as Dent reached around to stroke and fondle his erection.
"Mmm, yeah, you take such good care of me..."
Neither heard the footsteps just outside the office. Neither noticed the figure in black approach the threshold. Following his own leads, the Batman had come to send them back to Arkham. But he now found himself unable to set one foot forward.
Appalled by the lascivious spectacle, all he could do was back away from their little room. Hand flew to cover a gagging mouth. He had heard the noises from the outside. Unfortunately for his sensibilities, it was nothing unfamiliar to his ears - he recalled the obscene "show" the clown had given him in the interrogation room. And suddenly, all of the anger, frustration and disgust raced back into his consciousness. He wanted to run in there and drag them both to the MCU, pants around their ankles. But at the same time, he couldn't stomach the idea of touching them. All of his lucky stars were thanked for their failure to notice him then.
Incredibly, the sarcastic mutterings of Crane were true. All too vividly, they had proven much more than standard slander. And he wanted no part of it. He needn't worry about another chance to deliver them into Gordon's waiting hands. It just...couldn't be tonight. Not now. Not after this.
The Batman backed out of the factory, dissolving into the shadow and cursing himself for his inaction. Turning his energy now to certain hapless others, like Crane, he hoped for better dreams this night. Something told him that he wouldn't be so lucky.
For the men locked in their own rhythm, the night certainly wasn't a complete loss. Their original mission had vacated their minds as soon as they thrashed against the decaying shelves. As they rocked and bucked against each other, it was impossible to focus on any single thing. These were their moments - revenge would wait its turn or be damned.
After several minutes, they found themselves nearing their limits. Between plunges into tight heat and the Joker pulsing in his hand, Dent was beginning to tense with impending release. His partner, likewise, was approaching ecstasy born from the well-angled thrusts and skillful caresses of his shaft. Shouts and grunts heralded the endpoint and they struggled to regain breath just after releasing in warm, shuddering waves.
Dent let a final groan escape as he pulled out, whereas the Joker gave a final pleased cackle. He offered his painted companion a wad of dry tissues from his back pocket, while he left the soft handkerchief for use on himself. The other man snatched the tissues from his hand, smirking as he did so.
"It's kind of amusing how ridiculously prepared you are all the time."
"I don't ever hear you complaining."
He elbowed Dent again, this time in the back. "Who said it was a bad thing?"
After tidying up somewhat, pulling pants back up and retrieving weapons, the focus returned to the job. It was time to clock back in, though neither of them much felt like doing so. They spent a few minutes sweeping the big machine room, using flare sticks to examine crevices in the walls and cracks in the floor. That is, until the Joker suddenly stopped his search and threw down his light.
"What...what's the time?"
Dent hesitated but then took out the small phone, the light of its screen exceedingly bright amid the gloom.
"It's 1:55. Why? Got somewhere to be this early in the morning?"
"Well uh, ya know, if we're still here a bit past 2...we may get caught up in the fireworks."
"Fireworks?! What the hell did you do?!"
"Ha, well, I figured that if we didn't find the things," He winked, "blowing the place up would be the next best thing."
As they rushed back out of the building, Dent turned to give his partner an exasperated grimace in reply. But the Joker just offered his typical impish, vaguely contemptuous smile.
Explosions gutted the structure from the inside, and a rain of shattered glass and twisted metal crashed to the ground. They watched from a safe distance, waiting on their getaway car to round the lonely block. Hoping their driver wasn't one of the bloody messes on the cement floor.
"Why do I put up with you?" Dent gritted.
"Because you like a little spice in your life."
"You know, there'll come a day when that won't be a good enough reason anymore."
"And when that day comes, I'll have a better one."
...