Slipping Into Entropy - Part 13
As exhausted as the man had to be to be knocked out cold, he certainly didn't stay so for long. Only a handful of hours passed before Joker started twitching violently, his features curled into a snarl. Striking out blindly in his sleep, he ended up kicking his companion on the bed, one arm smacking into Bruce's face before Joker rolled over and hit the floor face-first. As soon as he reached consciousness his heart and breathing sped back up to their manic rate, his eyes darting around the pitch-black room as he tried to make sense of where he was. Fuck, no, nono no no no fuck no...
Waking the moment the Joker's limbs had connected with his body, Bruce watched as the other man threw himself over the side of the bed. He had not been expecting that before he'd gone to sleep. When the Joker didn't resurface from the floor, Bruce got suspicious. He doubted even the Joker could sleep through a fall like that. Warily, he moved to look over the side.
Joker was plastered to the floor, shaking almost imperceptibly, raw terror writ across his face as he saw only blackness, felt only cool stone and damp, subterranean air. Hearing movement as Batman leaned over the side of the cot, fearful eyes turned blindly upwards, the man's entire body tensing up as if expecting a blow. Rage slowly bled into his expression. ...I killed you, you bastard. Be good and stay dead... he can't come back...
Batman recognized a look like that immediately; the Joker was ready for a fight. He looked deranged. His whole body was tense and coiling in on itself like a spring ready to fly. Batman tensed himself, a defensive reaction. He had no idea what the other man was thinking.
He just stood there, frozen in place while his disjointed mind raced, trying to make sense of how he'd gotten back to the place he thought he'd escaped forever. Unable to put the pieces together, he decided it didn't matter. What did matter was jumping the bastard before he got the chance for revenge. Eyes flickering back and forth, trying vainly to figure out the position the sound had come from, whether his unseen opponent was armed or weaponless, he flung himself up and forward, for once completely silent.
Bruce didn't hear it coming. One moment the Joker was on the floor, the next he was in Bruce's face. More than once Bruce had seen men intent on killing, desperate for it. The look on Joker's face held that expression. His hands, nails, teeth told Bruce that as well and it took everything he had to roll away from the Joker.
He stumbled over the edge of the cot and fell, crashing into the wall. Recoiling just as quickly, the madman shuffled backwards and onto the floor again, trying to get away from the space he'd just inhabited. Crouching on the stone again, he went still, heartbeat faster than ever as he listened for a sound.
Batman crouched on the bed, ready to use the height for leverage should the Joker rush him again. He waited, understanding that the other man wanted to injure him, but unsure why. More than anything the Joker looked......terrified. Like a man waiting for execution. Frenetic and searching for a way out, or through Batman. He could only think that the man had forgotten he was currently being held in the lair of Gotham's vigilante. Moving slowly, Batman crept from the bed, welcoming the hard concrete footing should he need to spring. Joker had pulled himself into a shadow ridden corner of the room. "Lights," Batman announced, and the room responded, washing both figures of their shadows.
As the blackness vanished, Joker blinked once... and the terror vanished from his features, leaving a blank expression. Another blink, and a half-smile curled at the corner of his mouth, his eyes drifting to Batman as if nothing had happened. "...decided to play Guardian Angel during the night, Batsy? Sorry to tell you this, but I don't think you qualify for the part."
"What the hell was that about?" Batman demanded. Joker's question was disjointed at best. He didn't usually play stupid for the sake of getting on Batman's nerves, he had found much better ways of doing that. Still, he kept the distance between himself and the man on the floor.
Glancing down at his messy, stained state of undress, Joker raised an eyebrow at Batman, smirking. "...you're asking me? Heh. Perhaps you need another go to jog your memory?" The shorter man rose to his feet, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, not bothered in the slightest that he was nude and defenseless in the same room with a man who seemed to love any excuse to beat him up.
Bruce was utterly bewildered. His pulse beat a little faster at the Joker's sudden mood swing, catching him off guard. He was really going to have to get the bastard some clothes. He stared, scrutinizing, at the other man for a long time. It still rattled him how completely stripped down Joker was now, never mind being literally naked, though it did add to the lack of grease and the bleached hair. Finally, he sad back against the metal headboard, deciding that the Joker wasn't about to attack him again and didn't look like he was going to make a run for freedom either. After all his staring, he disregarded the man's offer. If this was some sort of game, he didn't feel like playing. "Fine. You're welcome to sleep on the floor."
"Sleep? Who needs sleep?" he tsked, walking slowly back towards the bed... then darting out the open door, running for where he estimated the main room was. Let's find that little elevator shaft, shall we? He grinned as he heard the Bat curse and jump to his feet behind him.
Bruce raced down the hall on the Joker's heels. Fuck. He had been trying to distract Bruce. There was little doubt in his mind now; first the Joker woke and freaked at where he was, being Batman's captive, then he deliberately played stupid, splaying himself out for Bruce and using suggestion to grab his attention.
Bruce grabbed a long chord of wire from one of the equipment stands they passed, looped it, and swung it over his head to create a lasso.
So many turns. This way, that way, upside down... Weaving his way through the maze of tunnels and rooms, he finally made it to the main cave, eyes searching for switches or controls as he sprinted. His focus was set towards one thing: finding that little lift that Batsy had come down from, going up it, and having a bit of fun.
For a man with no shoes, Joker was still incredibly fast. He slid a couple times that Bruce visibly saw, but he always managed his footing a moment later. Moving too fast and rounding so many corners, he didn't dare throw the wire until they reached the wide open space. He saw Joker's head go left and right, obviously searching for an escape. They were running flat out now, and when he was close enough, Bruce let the chord fly at the man's heels.
One foot snagged by the lasso, Joker kept going, snatching at a control pedestal and pulling himself forward. There was a hum as a little elevator descended, barely more than a platform in a flimsy steel cage. Trying to think of a way to stall the taller man, Joker grabbed whatever was closest and threw it at Batman, trying to stop him from coming closer.
Ducking and yanking on the wire at the same time, Bruce kept the line taut, hoping that he could trip the man with a well placed tug. He'd planted his feet when the Joker's leg snagged, but after he stumbled into the control panel instead of going down, Bruce was going to have a tough time of this. He moved forward in between throws. Some of the objects were incredibly sharp, and still missing a good portion of his armor, Bruce didn't try to bat them away. The elevator was coming down fast, in a moment he would have to make a run for the Joker whether he liked it or not.
Snarling and jerking forward as soon as the lift came within reach, the muscles in his back rippled beneath the scarred skin as he pulled forward, dragging Batman along behind him on the line. As soon as he was on the platform he slammed the grate shut, punching buttons frantically to get the lift to move upwards.
Bruce dove for the lift, but he was too late, the doors shut in his face. He flipped the switch to call it back down but it was no use, the steel box was already rising. There was only one thing he could do at this point, taking in what slack was left, he held tight to the chord trailing underneath the ascending lift and climbed.
Hissing as the rope drew tighter around his ankle, pulling his foot flat against the grating as a full-grown Bat dangled from it, Joker clawed at the loop. As the lift finished rising, depositing the crazed man in Bruce Wayne's penthouse, he scrambled out of the elevator. Picking at the lasso, his fingers fumbled as the rope jerked again, the lift trying to descend once more to the cave. Joker barely got the knot untied before he would have been bodily pulled back against the cage. Ignoring the bruise that was starting to develop, encircling his entire ankle, his green eyes curiously scanned the room. He was getting hungry, and as much as he didn't mind being without clothing, the air was colder than he cared for.
Bruce felt the rope go slack and a second before it was too late he reached out and took hold of the lift's underside. The chord slipped through and fell to the ground below him. Unwilling to wait for the lift to reach the ground and come back up again, he swung himself up its side, carefully avoiding the gears. He reached the top of the box and leapt for the ledge in the wall, hidden on its other side. It was difficult with the elevator descending, but he made it, pulling himself up and working open the door by force.
Meanwhile, farther inside the penthouse, Alfred was just about to check if either of the men had killed the other yet. Not liking the current situation at all, he'd taken to carrying a shotgun very much like the one he'd left with Batman around the house with him. Just in case.
Sneaking and poking around the nearest rooms, oblivious to the other presence in the millionaire's home, he finally found a bedroom. Jackpot. Eheh... Opening the door to the walk-in closet, Joker whistled lowly to himself. "Talk about a clothes-cow. Unfortunately..." he sneered, picking through the racks of shirts and pants and suits. "...it looks like someone has no sense of taste or style. Nothing a little paint won't fix, though..." Pulling a pair of pants and a collared shirt that clashed in both color and pattern from their hangers, he slipped them on, not paying any attention to the fact that the clothing was too long and too big. The pants barely resisting slipping down his hips, the hems of both legs dragging on the floor, Joker began shoving his arms through sleeves meant for someone with more muscle.
Alfred was checking the security monitors downstairs, where things were looking awfully still, before calling the lift when he heard a clatter from Bruce's room. That was certainly odd, he was sure Bruce hadn't come up at any point today, and he'd seen no activity from the men down in the hideout. He left in search of the disturbance just as Bruce finally wedged himself through the hidden door.
Leaving the shirt messy and unbuttoned, Joker wandered into the little bathroom that was attached to the bedroom, a half-formed thought floating in his mind. His appearance had been bugging him, even though he couldn't see what he looked like; he knew, and that was enough to be grating. Digging in the cabinet beneath the marble sink, he glanced over the cleaning equipment inside before grinning as he found a particular jug. ...chlorine. I know it's in this. Uncapping the plastic container, he put his head over the sink and poured the chemical mixture over his head. Slicking his hair away from his face, he washed the cleaner off his face, shaking his head and sending drops of water and cleaning agent everywhere, spattering the walls and bathroom mirror.
The disarray of clothes strewn out of the closet set off warning bells in Alfred's mind. Someone was definitely using the bathroom. He swallowed hard and cocked the shotgun, moving warily toward the sound of running water. What he discovered made him stop in his tracks. There stood the Joker, in what were obviously Bruce's clothes, washing his head in the sink. His hair was rapidly regaining its sickly green color. His back was to the door, but Alfred caught his eyes in the mirror. The old butler's lips thinned in a frown and his head tilted upward as he leveled the shotgun. "You might want to put some tomato juice on that before it sets." There was a slight strain in his voice.
Giving the stern man a cheeky look, he pivoted smoothly on his heels. "Ah, it's Bat Boy's manservent. Ever keen to please, I see. Are you Jeeves, or is it Wooster? Or maybe I'm barking up the wrong Python." Tsking, he strode closer without even flinching, eying the barrel with an intrigued look. "I don't think I'll be taking any lumps today, much less two. Be a good chap and show me to the kitchen?"
"Watch it, I'm not as forgiving as Master Wayne is when it comes to men like you." In his mind, the present slipped away and Alfred was watching a burning forest. What remorse he had for the Joker's life wasn't standing up to the horrors he'd seen the man commit nor to the devastation he had brought upon his charge's life within the few months he'd fought the madman. It was only at that man's voice resounding behind him that he loosened his hold on the trigger.
"Alfred!" Bruce had found the standoff in the bathroom. He saw the gun in the old man's hands, and though it looked like the Joker wasn't armed, he couldn't see the man fully with Alfred standing between the them.
Still trying to pull the elderly man's leg, Joker leaned closer, licking his lips and pressing his forehead against the twin barrels. "What's to forgive? Don't tell me you can't take a joke. How... English of you." Taking advantage of the butler's distraction, he suddenly dropped, ducking under the weapon and past Alfred, rushing for the door. "Guess I'll be finding the fridge on my own, then..."
Bruce barreled into him on his way out, catching him around the shoulders and using the momentum as they swung into the hallway to take them both to the floor. He scrabbled after the man, hands catching at ill fitting clothes. Alfred stayed behind, either out of nerves or simply aware that shot at that range would hit Bruce as well as the Joker.
Face twisting in irritation as the blond strands of hair turned ever greener, Joker frowned and shed the shirt when Batman's hands caught it. "Fine, keep it. Some hospitality," he grumbled, scrambling to his feet and taking off down the hallway. "Now I know why you don't get more guests. What a guy's gotta go through to get some grub... I tell you..." Eyes catching a glance of pots hanging from the ceiling as he dashed past doorways, he slid to a halt, stepping backwards and darting inside. I wonder what knives he has...
Ignoring the Joker's irritating banter was harder than he would have thought. Bruce shot down the hall after him as he escaped to the kitchen, wondering all the while why he didn't seem more intent on simply escaping. A loud clatter came from inside the room before Bruce entered, ready for a fight.
Nothing was immediately visible. When Bruce edged cautiously around the kitchen island he found Joker crouched in front of the open fridge, rummaging. He appeared to be extraordinarily pleased upon locating a full plastic container of grape tomatoes, smiling and humming to himself. His head turning rapidly as Bruce came into view, the green-haired man bunched up, preparing to run off again should the hero get any closer.
(( He eats a ton of those things when he crashes Bruce's party for Harvey. Completely ignores everything else on the munchy sticks but the tomatoes. ))
Bruce was.....a little wary. Every time he moved forward the Joker would jump back, but when he kept his ground, the man was content to continue eating. Which was fine with him as long as he kept himself between the Joker and the doorway. Realizing this, he forced himself to lat least pretend to relax. They were both short on breath, but sensing a small stalemate, Bruce decided to continue studying his "guest". Apparently, the man was hungry. He was too, if he had stopped to think about it, but with the Joker in his kitchen, he didn't pay the impulse much attention. "You can have the shirt back if all you wanted was a few tomatoes." He tossed the thing toward the escape artist. He wasn't sure he wanted to eye the scars that ran along the Joker's torso any longer. They caught his attention a little too easily.
Pausing, holding a tomato in his teeth as the shirt came flying at him, Joker snatched it out of the air and watched Bruce with just as much suspicion as he was receiving. When he made no move to come closer, the criminal shrugged into it again before turning his attention back to the little crate of red orbs. Settling uneasily on the balls of his feet, ready to run at any given moment, Joker spared a moment to glance into the fridge again, grabbing a small bag of carrots for good measure.
"I'll have Alfred make you breakfast if you'd like," Bruce said, still wary. He felt incredibly out of his element here, but it was his job to learn what the Joker needed. So far, he'd been getting nothing besides manic and unpredictable behavior. Rationally, he understood that was partially his fault, being unable to put his own biases aside enough to look at the Joker objectively, but.....his stomach clenched, asking him to forget what the man had done to him was asking the impossible. He could wait until later to eat.
That brought a wry smile. "Arsenic in the apple juice and mercury in the milk, no doubt. Freddie doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor to him this morning," Joker chuckled, finishing off the entire container of tomatoes, turning the empty plastic over in his hands like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Shrugging and dropping it on the floor, he decided to play along with Bruce's game, staring back as intently as the hero was staring at him. A piece of his mind was ticking away, trying to figure out exactly what Batman's relationship with his butler was... and how it could be used.
Finally Bruce decided that this was enough of the kitchen escapade. "Finished, I take it?" he said eying the tupperware on the floor. He felt wired because the criminal was near, but he knew that it still being the early morning that it was, he should be dead tired. He moved up to the Joker, at a steady, non-threatening pace, doing his best to remain calm and civil in spite of everything. Joker had brought them up here with every intention of escaping it had seemed. He placed a large hand on the man's upper arm, not exactly tightly, but firm enough to imply that the Joker shouldn't make a run for it again.
The muscles in the man's frame instantly wound tighter, the arm in Bruce's grasp quivering slightly. Joker mused quietly, wondering which would irritate the Bat more; refusing to acknowledge the action and remaining sitting on the floor, or trying to push some of that "Alpha Male" attitude back at the hero. "Why? Did you schedule some pressing matter for the two of us, Batsy? Or are you worried I'll frighten poor Jeeves into the next life?" Leaning back against the cold marble, Joker let his eyes trail up, pausing significantly at a strategic point. "...I'm never finished."
"Well I am." Bruce heaved the Joker up and bodily dragged him from the room. He passed Alfred on the way out, still holding his shotgun. Bruce felt sorry about that; his butler feeling the need to take that thing around with him wherever he went. Obviously it wasn't the first time Alfred held a gun, but, he hadn't done so in a very long time. And now Bruce had brought the reason for it into their very house, locked in the basement more precisely. He hauled the Joker back toward the hidden lift in the hall, intent on bringing him back down to the cave where he could finally secure the man into something more stable, and Batman could catch up on the outside world.
Joker clawed and clung to everything that was in reach, resisting being dragged every step of the way. It would have been funny to watch had it been anyone else but that madman; an adult attempting to manhandle a particularly stubborn (and large) toddler. "I'm not going back down yet!"
"Then what? What is it you want? Because if it's more carrots then that's really too bad." Bruce got an arm around Joker's waist and lifted him into the air as they went. This was ridiculous. The Joker had almost broken free, for nothing more than a go through Bruce's clothes and a bit to eat. Bruce was going to go crazy if he had to watch the man twenty four hours a day in order to keep him off the streets. He wasn't ready to think about how much his rationale was already shaken upon taking up this plan.
"Something. I'm bored. And I'm not being locked back up," he hissed, turning a particularly vicious look towards the man who was still carrying him like a child, despite all his struggling. "I've had quite enough of that."
Bruce was dumbfounded. He was tired, and sore, and severely mentally shaken, and very much still in shock because he was damn sure the previous night hadn't fully sunken into his skull yet, and the Joker was bored?
He dumped the man on the floor, and finally pealed off his mask, throwing it aside. Maybe he was a little too irate about the current situation to care, or maybe he ultimately wanted the Joker to really look at him for once. "What the hell do you think this is?" he raged. Wasn't anything, ever, going to sink in for this clown? "You're not in a hotel here," he bent down to the Joker's level, "we're not a couple of buddies. If you want to play dumb, that's fine, but don't forget why you're here." He spat the last bit.
Joker's grin widened. "I've never forgotten why I'm here. I'm here, Batsy, because I left you very few choices, and you didn't want to consider some of them. I'm here because you chose it. I'm here to push you along the footpath to the other side of insanity, since you can't seem to find your way by yourself." He leaned back on his palms, infuriatingly calm, a smug grin still plastered across his face. "Don't make a mistake in thinking I'm your prisoner, no. I told you before; you need to give me a reason to stay put. If you don't, make no mistake: I will get out, and we'll push the game to the next level."
A stony glare set itself across Bruce's face. "ALFRED," he called loudly. The butler stepped into the hall a short moment later, but said nothing. Bruce didn't take his eyes off the Joker. "Get me Fox's latest package." The old man's feet carried him away swiftly. Now addressing the arrogant man before him, Bruce lowered his tone a notch. "You will be my prisoner wherever you go."
That caught his attention. A disdainful sneer was what Bruce got on the surface, but a nervous tension coiled inside the Joker, wondering if such a device might exist. ...Batman has a lot of toys...
Bruce pulled the Joker to his feet again, not waiting for Alfred to return, and continued down the hall. He punched the hidden button for the lift and waited, enjoying the Joker's unease. If his plan worked, it would at least become much more difficult for the Joker to elude him in the future, even if he did escape. Bruce had gone through a million options once he'd learned that he had to keep the Joker hidden for now, but he hadn't been able to plan for this situation well. At least not well enough for his taste and it was becoming increasingly obvious to him as time progressed.
Unable to bear the tension, not wanting to find out what it was that Batman had devised for him, Joker's left hand whipped out in a stiff L-shape into his captor's now-unprotected throat, twisting to run away, back towards the kitchen. He didn't know where anything else in this flat was, but he'd seen that room. If he could just get to the knives...
Gasping, Bruce lost his hold on the Joker, but followed quickly. Hand over his throat, he finally got a rush of air into his lungs. Joker was diving into the kitchen again when Alfred caught Bruce's attention from the other end of the hall.
"Master Bruce!" he called upon seeing the commotion, and tossed a small gun his way. Bruce caught it, spared a moment to look it over, then went after the Joker.
The lunatic scurried over to the wooden rack storing the kitchen's range of cutlery. Grabbing a variety of the sharpened steel, he kept on running, moving through the other entrance to the room. Joker found himself in a dining room, no closer to an escape route than the kitchen had been. Eyes scanning his surroundings quickly as he fled, his fingers itched, almost eager to send the daggers whipping through the air.
Seeing the Joker's heels exiting through the opposite door, Bruce pocketed the little gun and swiped whatever was nearest, which happened to be a frying pan, off the counter. He tore out after the Joker, determined not to lose sight of him. They were in a big building and though Bruce knew the rooms in and out, there were many places he could easily lose the man in. Fortunately most of the time Alfred kept unused rooms locked.
The gears in Joker's head were clicking like mad as he tried to think a way out. Each tried room only brought more frustration; a locked door here, a dead-end study or gallery or lounge there. Useless, both in terms of escape or a hiding place. The only route he was certain of was blocked, as well; sneaking back down into the cave and escaping from there would be difficult with his would-be captor standing between them. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he backed into a corner in the next room, determined to fight and find a way around the Bat.
When Bruce found him, he certainly didn't look happy. Bruce kept the pan at his side, but had a good, tight grip on it. He advanced slowly. There never ceased to be a field of tension around the Joker and Bruce felt like he was stepping inside of that force. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to it. He could feel the slight added weight at his hip, but made no move to bring the gun out. There had been a time when he had second thoughts about doing this. Hell, before last night he had second thoughts about it, but being in Joker's presence was solidifying his beliefs that the man could not be allowed to run free at any cost. If that cost was high, then that was the way it had to be.
Tension gathering in his legs, Bruce pulled back for a moment, then sprang.
His lips curling back in a feral snarl as Bruce advanced, trying to trap him, he flung his gathered knives one after the other as the man ran towards him, saving only two for close combat as he fled around a sofa, trying to flank his assailant and escape the room.
Pivoting and throwing himself off balance to avoid the knives, Bruce batted them down with the pan. He was only barely able to snag his slippery rival by diving over the piece of furniture, tipping it over in the process and taking them both to the floor. He landed half on top of the sofa, half on top of the Joker who was wiggling like mad. He still had the pan in one hand and swung without hesitation.
Yelping as hard iron smacked into him at full force, he swung the knives blindly behind him, trying to get Bruce to recoil, even for just a moment, so he could scramble away. One glancing blow to his head had already made the world start to spin and go fuzzy.
The knife sliced the top of Bruce's forearm, but his other hand caught the Joker's wrist. Scrambling to get further onto the other man in order to hinder his movements, Bruce was forced to dig the device at his hip out with his now injured hand. Luckily, he managed. Still struggling with the Joker's knives, he brought the gun up to the thrashing man's throat, pointed upward, just under the base of his skull.
Breathing heavily, hyperventilating as his escape plan fell apart and the Bat trapped him and weighted down his chest, Joker froze as cold metal touched his skin. He could just barely make out the shape of a gun from the corner of his eye. He shivered beneath Bruce, but made no further move. It wasn't that he was afraid to die, no; killing him by accident wouldn't be the same to this man. He'd justify it to himself somehow, claim it wasn't intended and purposeful. That wouldn't do.
A small wave of triumph washed over Bruce when the Joker stilled. He held him firmly nonetheless. Sometimes, he felt like he was living for moments like this. That was almost enough for him not to do it. Almost. He flipped a switch on the gun, then held a button and pulled it away from the Joker's neck slightly. A tiny needle shot out the tip of the device and he reasserted it to its original position, finding the right spot on the man's neck and pushing it through.
Feeling something puncture the back of his neck, the gears in his head clicked into place, sending him into someplace between a panic and a rage. Joker clawed to get out from underneath Bruce, one hand trying to stab him while the other tried to use the carpet to drag himself forward.
Finished with the gun, Bruce threw it to the side and tried again to hold the Joker down using his arms, legs, anything he could. His arm hurt, but his mind was in other places. "I'll follow you anywhere you run now," he snarled, "just try it."
Part of him was livid with rage; another part actually felt one of the first twinges of fear he could remember in such a long, long time. Another piece of his mind was trying to think about how to go about getting rid of whatever had been stuck in his neck, and the fourth... The fourth was paying acute attention to the body laying on top of him, forcing him to cooperate. "You bastard, you cheat," Joker snarled, jerking his head back in an attempt to brain the other man. "You try it, and you'll regret it dearly. No, you're already going to regret it dearly..."
"Wrong, Joker," Bruce twisted the knife away from the man finally, getting that hand above his head and holding it to the floor. He tried not to think of being in this same position the night before, the thought came unexpectedly. It was easier when the Joker was truly infuriated with him though, not inspiring urges to twist and pervert his form of justice.
He refused to feel any kind of empathy for the man. Injecting him with a nano sized transmitter that would keep him within Batman's reach was an exception because the Joker, being as ruthless as he was, was fast becoming an exception to a lot of things Batman did. He was an absolute escape artist, better than perhaps any Bruce had seen before. The reasons to keep him locked away stacked upon themselves further and further in Bruce's mind.
Screaming in frustration, Joker's frame tensed, trying to level himself up and throw the hero off of him. Instead of succeeding, he merely managed to arc up into Bruce, stroking the corner of his mind that was distracted and only deepening his fury. Every attempt just frustrated him more, his movements becoming increasingly twitchy and desperate. I can dig it out, I can dig it out, can't I? ...-feels good-GET HIM OFF.
Bruce did his very best to ignore the Joker's wiggling in just the right place against his groin. That tiny triumphant streak was edging into his mind, but he shoved that away better than he could his body's reaction to the Joker's movements. In hindsight, he would think about this and he would hear the man's voice in his head. The shouting, that anger induced by something he considered himself helpless against, the very sound that made Batman come running to people in need in the dead of night, was like a siren's song in his ears. Only this time, it was made for the right reasons. It was made in the name of justice.
Finally going still, shivers still running through the smaller man every so often, his breath still rapid as his muscles twitched, Joker knew there was nothing to be done but wait. He couldn't overpower the man on top of him at the moment, couldn't hurt him right now... but there was always a later. There was always a later. He'd make the Bat pay, teach him what it felt like to be utterly helpless and defenseless. The goal of the lessons was now not only enlightenment, but fear.
A/N:Sorry it's taken so long again. I only like to post a chapter when it feels like there's a natural stopping point, and this one took a few sessions (ie, nights) to complete.
On an unrelated note, since our writing is limited by Loony's schedule, I find myself with a bit of extra freetime. Anyone know of an active Nolanverse RPG? I'd be willing to consider either a group or one-on-one RPing.