Slipping Into Entropy - Part 18 - NSFW
The man was curled up on the bare cot like he was cold, apparently sleeping. There was nothing in the room for him to rip apart, nothing to pick at; without anything to do, no way out, and no stimulus to keep the sedatives at bay, the drugs had worked their magic. The form on the bed twitched every so often, reacting to something that only existed in dreams.
Batman sighed in relief and took off his mask. Finally, the Joker was down. He removed the rest of his armored costume and slumped down into his chair. He felt woozy. It was a matter of time before he realized that he had not eaten in a long time, and resignedly asked Alfred to bring down some food. In doing so, he learned that the butler had been contacted earlier that night by Commissioner Gordon, informing the Wayne heir of the destruction of his family's plot of land. He'd conveyed his dismay on Bruce's behalf, and informed the police that he knew of no grudges the Batman held against the Waynes. Nevertheless, the Commissioner once again wanted to schedule Bruce to come in for questioning.
Bruce let the news soak through him. He was exhausted. Mentally, physically....emotionally overwhelmed. Alfred finally seemed to take a bit of pity on him, his voice held no tone of accusation as he conveyed the message. Nevertheless, Bruce quickly nodded off in his chair.
Even with his bloodstream saturated with depressive drugs, the dream jolted Joker awake, a headache pounding behind his eyes as the light hit them. Pressing a hand over his face and hissing, he looked around the cell from beneath its shade. Nothing had changed, but as the amount of sedatives in his system were slowly decreasing, thinking seemed to come a bit easier. He hadn't had any luck with the door, and none of the pipes in the attached bathroom were big enough to slip through; neither had he been able to detect any weak, hollow points in the walls. Now, a few hours later, Joker looked with new eyes, turning them towards the ceiling. ...well, it's worth a shot. Gaze locked on the ventilation panel in the ceiling of the room, he stood on the cot, jumping and striking at it. The clangs of metal taking a beating echoed through the caves.
Roused by the sound not long after it started, Bruce had to catch himself before he tilted too far off the chair. In the short while he'd been asleep, Alfred had left, and he could clearly hear the Joker's clanging ring down the echoing caves. He felt the exhaustion come over him when he rose, falling across his shoulders like a bag of sand. He'd dreamed something disturbing, but he couldn't remember what. When he tried, all he remembered was the graveyard, his mother's mangled corpse, and he was jarred back to reality having forgotten the past few hours while asleep. It tore at him to remember it all suddenly, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. He checked the monitor. The Joker was grabbing for an extremely small vent in the ceiling of his cell. Bruce stalked down the hall in a cold, restrained fury, following the sound.
His fingers catching hold of the cold metal, Joker scrambled awkwardly in midair, tugging on the panel that blocked the vent with all of his body weight. The metal screeched and bent slightly but didn't fall apart, screwed as tightly together as the vent was. His breathing sped up as he placed his feet against the ceiling of the cell and pulled desperately. He didn't, he couldn't think about- ...no way out. There has to be, has to...
There was simply too much opportunity to be had at the sight that greeted Bruce as he unlocked the door. Without a word to announce his presence, he threw a batarang that struck the Joker's knuckles and watched with satisfaction as the villain fell from the ceiling. He rushed forward.
"You....you, you, you....." he couldn't think of a properly vile enough word for the Joker, but if one thing was certain, the shock Bruce had been carrying with him was wearing thin. Everything was beginning to sink in.
Dropping to the floor as his grip gave way, the other man was on top of him before he could think clearly. Only two things registered through the still half-drugged haze: his captor was pissed and coming for him, and he'd left the door open. He launched himself towards the portal desperately.
Seeing the Joker's move, Bruce forced him back down to the concrete floor, wrestling until he gained the upper hand. He looked between the door and the Joker and snarled malevolently. "Oh, that's what you want, is it?" he asked as if his prisoner hadn't been trying to escape for as long as he'd had the man. "Well you can go to hell before you go through that door."
Joker's breathing hitched, his eyes darting nervously between Bruce and freedom. His tongue darted out as he tried desperately to think of a plan now that his ideas had run out. He really hadn't expected to fail at his goal after that last masterpiece, didn't understand why it hadn't worked, and now he was stuck as the prisoner of his equal who was getting wiser. "...well, pick one." Death had never frightened him, but seamless cages?
"Oh, no. No," Bruce seethed. "You're staying here." He tried to say it as firmly and level headed as he could, but it came out with far too much conviction and enthusiasm. When he looked into the Joker's darting eyes, Crane and even Jeremiah's words came back to him. He got down real close to the Joker, searching out those eyes and raising his eyebrows in a parody of concern. "And if you don't behave...." the words were soft, intimate, "I might just leave you down here. It's a big cave, and it's long way up to the surface."
Those green eyes went flat, a sparkle of fear hidden behind a dull sheen. He licked his lips again, mouth suddenly dry. "...good. It won't be interesting, but at least I'd die free." A hint of that ever-present, spiteful rebellion rose up in his gaze again, setting his jaw. "...are you afraid of the Last Dance? Or just of pain?" There was a defeated confusion in his expression; he had thought he had the other man all figured out, but his trump card had failed.
"What are you afraid of?" Bruce whispered. He genuinely wanted to know..... For instance, he'd gathered the Joker was more than obviously afraid of being locked up and tied down, but then there was the first night he'd kept the man in his bed, and there were the doctors' theories. Bruce wasn't sure how much stock he should put into them. He knew how "attached" to his patients Jeremiah could become, and Crane, Crane had ample reason to give him skewed information in hopes the Joker might catch him off guard.
Joker softly chuckled on reflex, fidgeting and trying to squirm out from under Bruce. He affected an uneasy look, swallowing nervously and gazing at the other man intently. "...do you really wanna know?" he whispered back.
Bruce stared at him hard, recognizing that kind of composure from somewhere in the back of his mind. Suddenly he couldn't hold credence in anything that came out of the Joker's mouth. He didn't trust the Joker as far as he could throw him, though granted, that was probably a good distance. The moment he showed interest, he was sure this man would lie to him, and just like the doctors at Arkham, he would be given nothing but a piece of fiction. "Go ahead and lie to me," his voice rose.
A grin broke out at Bruce's response, and the madman fairly cackled. He struggled against the arms pinning him down, only this time it was to lean closer, doing his best to unnerve the hero. "Oh, dear boy, I'm afraid of clowns and chains and songs sung in the dark. But most of all?" He nuzzled the other man cheekily, scars and stubble rough against clean-shaven skin. "...I'm afraid of being possessed by bats.... eheheheh!" Even if he couldn't figure the other man out, he could still take pleasure in getting a rise out of the other man, and how he reacted might tell him more for the future.
Bruce struck him once for the lie, but the eerie thing was that a little part of him wanted to laugh along, too. Like black humour it was, that this man of all people should confess to those frights after ripping Bruce apart from the inside out. What pity could he possibly garner from his captor ever again? It was all a joke. For once, Bruce got the punchline. He laughed, quietly, under his breath as he held the giggling man down.
His grin actually softening as Bruce laughed along with him, Joker gave him an approving look. "You finally get the tune. Go on and hit me if it makes you feel better, Bats. You know I don't mind," he purred back, breaking into laughter again when he couldn't keep a straight face. So, he isn't entirely a humorless stiff...
Mind a little foggy, Bruce wanted nothing more than to slump down where he was. Perhaps it was the physical exhaustion, although he suspected the mental more than anything, but this was maybe the first time he'd felt real defeat at the Joker's hands. He got the joke.
His soft laughter faded out. He hadn't been able to kill this man, after everything he'd done. He'd let Ducard die, and he'd come nowhere even close to how personal the Joker had gotten. No one, no one, had ever gotten this close with Bruce Wayne. Why?
He didn't want to hit the Joker......no, he did, but......he wanted to take something more from those mad eyes. He wanted to see those lips painted red again. Roughly, he took hold of the Joker's hair and held his head in place and gnashed his teeth into the Joker's bottom lip, seeking the groove of his previous scar and running his tongue over it.
Joker stiffened suddenly as Bruce tangled fingers in his hair and dove forward, his laughter cutting off into a shocked silence. As soon as he felt the sharp rip of teeth into flesh the stifled laughter escaped in a moan, his eyes rolling back for a moment. His hands were finally free, but his mind was now thoroughly distracted. ...why should Bat have all the fun? Mirroring Bruce, he slid his hands behind the man's head, pulling him closer while he pushed and bit back with a growl.
Surprising himself a little more than he had thought he would, Bruce ground down into the Joker's hips. All he could think was that this man had wormed himself into Bruce's persona so thoroughly that he had to take something back, anything. He didn't understand why his impulses told him this was a good idea, urged him in this direction, but he fell into it with enthusiasm.
Joker didn't have such internal complexities; an opportunity presented itself, and his fascination drew him like a moth to a flame. He let out another growl of frustration when Bruce refused to let him roll them over, pinning him back down and tormenting him with delicious friction each time he tried. Still, he was nothing if not persistent, melting for a few moments until the man dropped his guard, then tensing and trying to pivot them again.
Every time he did, Bruce bit him roughly. He was having none of it. Hiking up the Joker's shirt was easy, the man below gave him enough access, but once it snagged around his elbows, Bruce twisted it around and under his arms to hold them in place. He did so without taking his eyes away from the Joker's mouth, giving little indication that he'd been planning the act. The makeshift bonds held well enough to allow Bruce to hold the Joker's hands above his head with one of his own while the other quickly undid the man's pants.
The jolt of mixed pain and pleasure that arced through him every time he was bitten was enough to thwart his every attempt to turn the tables. When the fabric around his arms twisted Joker opened his mouth to voice his displeasure, wanting to scratch and claw every inch of skin he could reach and pull the man closer - but Bruce claimed his mouth again, forcibly silencing him while fingers worked at his waistband. Instead of arguing, all he could get out was a weak, questioning hum, his arms straining in vain against their impromptu ties.
Managing to get the Joker's pants down with one hand and a lot of maneuvering, Bruce took a moment to survey his work. What a captive was this, he thought. His mind had detached itself from the situation, wondering at his actions from outside himself, while his body and instinct were in the thick of it. What have I become that I want to be close to this man? The Joker's mouth was bleeding, but this time Bruce let it be; no more painted smile for now. His eyes fixed to the Joker's scars anyway while he undid his pants and spit into his hand.
Running his tongue over his lips, Joker began to wonder if he hadn't made some progress. ...doesn't shatter all at once, but splinters quietly afterwards? It was something to consider, later. He watched the other man with an air of curious anticipation, his pulse hammering in his chest even more than usual. Bruce had barely hit him, hurt him yet... and was reacting in a totally new, unexpected way. It sent a thrill up his spine.
One of Bruce's fingers wedged itself inside the Joker, a second following soon after. Bruce kept his eyes stapled to the other man's face, watching with distant curiosity what expressions he made when Bruce moved those fingers. It wasn't particularly gentle, just enough to loosen the muscles. He spit into his hand again, spread the Joker's legs apart, and guided himself in, hips snapping roughly once inside. A shiver ran through the length of his body.
His green eyes rolled back as his breathing stopped for a moment, finally biting his lower lip and moaning when they were completely locked together. The pain only made it more intense, so much better. His eyes finally refocusing, Joker's gaze filtered back to Bruce's own watchful gaze; never one for a single, simple emotion, his features were awash in lust and anger, victory and defeat, pride and desperate pleading. The man was a living paradox, but for the moment he was content to be beneath the taller man. His breathing quickened, he watched Bruce carefully and slowly, deliberately tensed his muscles, watching the hero's face as everything tightened around him.
Breath hitching, Bruce's eyes shut tightly for a moment. The feeling was overwhelming, and taken out of context, his expression could have been mistaken for pain. He fell forward over the Joker, but caught himself with the arm still holding the Joker's tangled hands in place. His hips moved of their own accord. When he watched the Joker, he couldn't discern whether he was doing this because he hated the man, or if he was doing it because of some dawning masochistic side of him that....found the Joker riveting. He was a cold blooded psychopath, of that there was no doubt whatsoever. He'd torn apart and laughed at Batman so much. In his obsession he had dug himself into to his rival's personal life more than anyone had. But closeness did not equate to knowing nor understanding Bruce like he seemed to strive for. And Bruce hated him for all of it, the sick way he went about it. On the other hand, he felt himself clinging back without consent.
As always, Joker never held back; he had no sense of shame or innate desire to hide what he was feeling other than when it gained him something else. He had no desire to pretend to resist or quiet the sounds of pleasure that were being pulled from him forcefully. Despite losing the battle for dominance, he was inwardly thrilled; it was sudden, it was unexpected and without warning, and it felt glorious. It only proved to him even more that they were the same breed at the core; he only needed to tug the other man along ever so slowly until his senses sharpened and he saw it himself.
He arched against Bruce, sometimes deliberately mismatching the rhythm to throw a little chaos and unpredictability to the mix. When the taller man finally looked up their gazes locked for a moment. Joker's gained a sharp, hungry edge and he leaned up, trying to capture his partner's mouth.
Every time the rhythm was thrown, an unexpected jolt of pleasure rose from the bottom of Bruce's spine on outward. The Joker was made of wanton sounds; high wails, guttural moans, panting.... Bruce's voice came in mostly groans and harsh breathing. Their lips met and he tried to devour the scarred mouth. He pulled the Joker's arms down behind him, inadvertently so hard that the he had to either twist his shoulders at an odd angle quickly or risk dislocating one. Bruce was then able to pull their bodies flush together.
Instead of fighting and clawing at him, Joker dug his fingers in and clung, his heartbeat pounding so fast and hard that Bruce could faintly feel it vibrate through their bones. The scarred man ate at the mouth covering his, content for once to completely give in. His legs kicked off the pants lingering at his ankles and came up to wind around his lover, changing the angle and urging him on.
The pace quickened steadily. Bruce's hips drove forward, taking an extra moment every time to grind as deep as possible between the Joker's splayed thighs. He felt the other man's hardness pressed between them, warm and wet as his flesh was all over now. He tore his mouth from the Joker's to lick at the salty perspiration down his neck, biting at old wounds as he did so. His mind became feverish, focused on only this moment.
Joker's eyes slid shut as the other man bit and pulled at the healing flesh, sending delicious little jolts down his spine and tightening the coil that was winding up at his core. It was all he could do to writhe beneath the other man's touches and moan; it was everything he'd hoped for and then some. Suddenly impatient, his hands ripped at the cloth that was still wrapped around them, one hand burying itself in dark locks while the other ran down Bruce's spine.
Fingers in his hair roused Bruce from the pleasure laden fever. His hands reached for the Joker's hips, pulling them into him with each thrust. He toppled them down onto the floor again, but never broke contact. Instead he crushed the other man into the floor. With renewed vigor he sought the Joker's mouth, biting, pulling, lapping up the dripping blood, but more interested in exploring while the Joker's heat and fervent thrusts drove him wild.
He felt like he was being ripped apart and devoured, and the idea sent him careening over the edge. Every muscle tightening at once, Joker wrapped himself around Bruce and screamed into him until there was no air left in his lungs. Waves of pleasure washed through him, his muscles rippling as his nervous system absorbed the euphoria. Slowly going limp, sticky warmth settled into the space between them as blackness ate at the edges of his vision.
Bruce dissolved the moment that the Joker enveloped him with arms, legs, and the rest of his body. A high shout escaped his lips and his body trembled with the shock that lasted much longer than he had remembered this was supposed to last. Every nerve in his body felt it, overwhelming. When the torrent receded, he found his heart racing and couldn't move a muscle for a good minute. Beads of sweat traveled down his forehead, and fell upon the Joker's. Bruce's arms trembled with the effort it took to hold him suspended above the other, and finally he pulled out.
Joker remained where he was, limp and spent, his eyes still closed and lips slightly parted as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't wanted the other man to move, but he was in no position to be able to stop him. When his eyes finally opened, he turned to catch Bruce's eye, a lazy, sated grin touching his bloody lips. ...see how wonderful it feels to give in?
The Joker seemed so......sedate, just a moment before the smile tainted his lips. Bruce stared, mind completely blank, trying to understand it, but gradually his expression sobered, and he rose steadily to his feet. A single thought flashed across his mind, squashed down the moment it had passed. He'd wanted vengeance on the Joker, and this is what he'd done?
Joker watched him silently, not wanting to move just yet. It seemed like there was something he should be remembering... ...door. The thought washed the pleased look from his face, leaving him looking solemn and distraught for a brief moment as he eyed the open portal behind his captor. He twitched, trying to get up, but his frame didn't want to move after so much exquisite exercise.
Bruce caught the glance. Gathering his clothes back together, re-zipping his pants, he bent over the Joker for a moment. "Don't even think about it," he whispered. He stood once more, blood rushing to his head, making him slightly dizzy in the body's attempt to recover, but ignoring it. He stepped over the Joker, and walked out the door, closing and locking it securely behind him. Once it was done, he had to stop and close his eyes, slumping against the door.
A sigh hissed through his teeth, and he let his head drop back down to the floor in a painful thump. At least he was making progress, if it could be called that; as much as he was pulling at the tender threads that held the Bat's soul and sanity together, the man was finally answering the call, at least in part. Instead of heated denials and rage-filled avoidance, he was feeling the magnetism that drew him to the hero at last. The Bat's mind was finally beginning to catch up with what his body, his instinct, already knew.
After he caught his breath and re-centered his focus, Bruce left the cell. He shed his clothes and retreated to his own makeshift bedroom in the lair. The moment he hit the bed, exhaustion enveloped him. His mind threatened to keep him awake with questions from every direction, but he made a conscious decision to push them back, just until he woke again...... Once it was done, sleep welcomed him almost immediately.
Slowly getting his nerves to work again, Joker finally rolled over, snatching up his fallen clothing and pulling it on. Too tired to work up the energy to attack his confinement at the moment, he crawled back over to the cot, pulling himself up over the edge. The pallet was only slightly softer than the floor, but unconsciousness consumed him as soon as he'd settled onto the platform.