oneshot: afterthought
Title: Afterthought
Fandom: TDK
Pairing/Characters: Joker/Harvey Dent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,373
Disclaimer: Nope.
Summary: Good thing there's hand sanitizer.
A/N: I just really wanted an explanation for the hand sanitizer since I found it so funny. Crossposted, hopefully you won't see this too many times.
He's staring up at me, and it's fascinating. Well, it's more of a glare, really. Or a murderous scowl. But really, I have almost as much fun looking at his scars as I do when I look at my own. The way smooth, fair and unblemished skin suddenly jars and gives way to burnt, blackened, exposed, twisted. And look, it even curves up a bit. In the corner. A smile. I grin and laugh aloud. Push the gun away from my forehead, but don't move to get off the bed.
"Again," he growls, turning his glare to the coin in his palm, but I reach out and curl his fingers into a fist around it.
"Now now, Harvey, you've had your chance," I chide. My smile stretches wider and he tries to draw away, his face contorted in disgust and a little disappointment. The disgust I ignore, but the disappointment just thrills me, and I shift closer on the bed. His eyes flick from the mattress to me, and I can't imagine why.
"Listen, I don't know if anyone's bothered to tell you, but I'm going to have to blow this place up. Yep," I say at his widened eyes. (Eye, rather. One of them is suspended in perpetual surprise. Maybe fear. I like it.) "This one. Sorry."
"You'll kill me." A statement. I laugh, and the echo sounds harsh in the empty room.
"Why is everyone convinced I want them dead?" I shake my head, still giggling. "And after all the work I went through to perfect you? Noooo, nonono. That was a lot of planning, and I've already told you how much I hate that. You were worth it, though."
I finally let my hand drop from his; he seems surprised, like he'd forgotten I was holding it. I reach out to brush my fingers against his beautifully ruined cheek, lightly, and he flinches. I click my tongue, lick my lips.
"Don't pretend it hurts. You can't feel anything there, can you?"
Silence.
"Bummer." So I lean forward and kiss him, just a peck, in the same place I'd touched him, before he can react and pull away as far as his chest strap allows. His skin feels rough and uneven, and I'm grinning when I pull away, but he still looks repulsed and a little nervous too.
"I'll let you out before I bring the place down," I say. "Scout's honor. But," I purse my lips apologetically, "you're gonna have to do something for me first."
Silence again. I wait a good ten seconds for him to ask me what it is, but he doesn't, and it's a bit upsetting that he wont' just play along, so I sigh and sit up to throw one leg on the other side of his body in a straddle. His face changes, it's nearly all fear now, and I have to take him by the shoulders to keep him from shoving me off.
I pause for a moment, waiting for any kind of reaction apart from his coarse breathing (must be tough with half your nose gone), but he's just being difficult, and frankly it's pretty annoying. "Look," I sigh. "I've been hard as a rock ever since you flipped that coin, so…." I gesture vaguely, and finally he decides it's time to start struggling, but he doesn't make much progress with me sitting on his hips and my hands on his shoulders. I snuggle closer. "Shshshshhhh," I hush him, and I feel myself grin at his expression. All anger and apprehension and fear and loathing and disgust and I don't know which I like best and how can anyone feel that much at once anyway?
"Just help me out, wontcha?" I take his wrist and pull his hand to my crotch; there's less resistance than I expect. "From one friend to another?"
"We're not friends," he snarls, and the laughter it shakes from me juts my hips into his hand. He tries to recoil but I hold him fast.
"Come on," I encourage him, lifting my other hand from his shoulder to hike up the nurse's skirt and place his hand between my bare legs. He's got his hand balled into a fist, but I warn him, "Ah, ah, ahh, if you want to get out of here you're going to have to be coooooperative." I feel his hand relax and finally his fingers brush my cock and wow, going commando had seemed like a good idea even before this one had occurred to me, and it had been so delightfully airy, but this is no comparison.
Dent averts his eyes but I don't particularly care, he's dragging his fingers up the shaft slowly and I lean my head back. Our hips are touching, I can tell he's completely limp against me, but it only makes me appreciate his compliance more as he curls his fingers around my cock and swipes his thumb over the head.
"That's it," I breathe, wriggling against him, trailing a hand down his chest, then smiling as I tap his nose with my finger affectionately, on the good side. "See? Not so bad." He looks close to biting my hand off, and I shiver. "Ohh, I love that look on you."
He snarls and twists his hand up my cock viciously; I arch my back and moan, thrusting into his hand. I'm not sure that graze of fingernails was intentional, but fuck I hope it was, but not two seconds after I've groaned again and let my eyes flutter closed, the heat and friction of his hand is gone and his the wind is knocked out of me and I'm suddenly and inexplicably lying on my back on the cold linoleum. A thrill jolts through me and I begin laughing hysterically before I realize no, he didn't do it so he could fuck me on the floor, and that I probably shouldn't have let both his hands loose. I sit up to see the chest strap dangling unclipped from the side of the bed and Dent on his feet, gun trained on me. My laughter subsides, and I roll my eyes dramatically as I pull the detonator from my pocket.
"Was that absolutely necessary?" I ask, massaging the back of my head where it had cracked against the floor. "You were doing a first rate job, you know. You must have had practice."
He begins backing towards the door; I waggle the detonator between my fingers and pout up at him. "I'd start running if I were you," I say. "You didn't hold up your end of the deal, and who knows if I-"
But he's already bolted out the door. And now I'm sitting here, alone, in a nurse's outfit, with a raging hard-on. …Well, the outfit's not so bad, but the rest is pretty disappointing, and I sigh as I get to my feet to finish the job Dent said he would complete. Imagining myself in Dent's mouth (his half burn-chapped lips stretched around my cock; I can see his tongue work around me through his cheek; his wounds aren't fully healed yet and he winces as he begins to bleed and fuck the blood is too much for me, I'm overexcited and out of control, I can't stop myself from running my fingers through it, mapping his burns, painting a smile on the boringly complete half of his face; I come in his mouth, then pull him close to lick away the blood and whatever else doesn't make it down his throat), is enough to bring me release despite my minor aggravation at his escape. I shudder and lean against the hospital bed, panting, until the room stops spinning and I open my eyes. Straighten up. Smooth the skirt back down.
I wipe my hands clean on some paper towels near the doctors' sink but spot a hand sanitizer dispenser in the hall on my way out-since nothing kills germs like Purell, I pump a generous amount into my hands and chafe them together; nice and clean, but the sharp scent makes my nose itch.
And then I fish around in my pocket for the detonator, and I blow the hospital up.
Fandom: TDK
Pairing/Characters: Joker/Harvey Dent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,373
Disclaimer: Nope.
Summary: Good thing there's hand sanitizer.
A/N: I just really wanted an explanation for the hand sanitizer since I found it so funny. Crossposted, hopefully you won't see this too many times.
He's staring up at me, and it's fascinating. Well, it's more of a glare, really. Or a murderous scowl. But really, I have almost as much fun looking at his scars as I do when I look at my own. The way smooth, fair and unblemished skin suddenly jars and gives way to burnt, blackened, exposed, twisted. And look, it even curves up a bit. In the corner. A smile. I grin and laugh aloud. Push the gun away from my forehead, but don't move to get off the bed.
"Again," he growls, turning his glare to the coin in his palm, but I reach out and curl his fingers into a fist around it.
"Now now, Harvey, you've had your chance," I chide. My smile stretches wider and he tries to draw away, his face contorted in disgust and a little disappointment. The disgust I ignore, but the disappointment just thrills me, and I shift closer on the bed. His eyes flick from the mattress to me, and I can't imagine why.
"Listen, I don't know if anyone's bothered to tell you, but I'm going to have to blow this place up. Yep," I say at his widened eyes. (Eye, rather. One of them is suspended in perpetual surprise. Maybe fear. I like it.) "This one. Sorry."
"You'll kill me." A statement. I laugh, and the echo sounds harsh in the empty room.
"Why is everyone convinced I want them dead?" I shake my head, still giggling. "And after all the work I went through to perfect you? Noooo, nonono. That was a lot of planning, and I've already told you how much I hate that. You were worth it, though."
I finally let my hand drop from his; he seems surprised, like he'd forgotten I was holding it. I reach out to brush my fingers against his beautifully ruined cheek, lightly, and he flinches. I click my tongue, lick my lips.
"Don't pretend it hurts. You can't feel anything there, can you?"
Silence.
"Bummer." So I lean forward and kiss him, just a peck, in the same place I'd touched him, before he can react and pull away as far as his chest strap allows. His skin feels rough and uneven, and I'm grinning when I pull away, but he still looks repulsed and a little nervous too.
"I'll let you out before I bring the place down," I say. "Scout's honor. But," I purse my lips apologetically, "you're gonna have to do something for me first."
Silence again. I wait a good ten seconds for him to ask me what it is, but he doesn't, and it's a bit upsetting that he wont' just play along, so I sigh and sit up to throw one leg on the other side of his body in a straddle. His face changes, it's nearly all fear now, and I have to take him by the shoulders to keep him from shoving me off.
I pause for a moment, waiting for any kind of reaction apart from his coarse breathing (must be tough with half your nose gone), but he's just being difficult, and frankly it's pretty annoying. "Look," I sigh. "I've been hard as a rock ever since you flipped that coin, so…." I gesture vaguely, and finally he decides it's time to start struggling, but he doesn't make much progress with me sitting on his hips and my hands on his shoulders. I snuggle closer. "Shshshshhhh," I hush him, and I feel myself grin at his expression. All anger and apprehension and fear and loathing and disgust and I don't know which I like best and how can anyone feel that much at once anyway?
"Just help me out, wontcha?" I take his wrist and pull his hand to my crotch; there's less resistance than I expect. "From one friend to another?"
"We're not friends," he snarls, and the laughter it shakes from me juts my hips into his hand. He tries to recoil but I hold him fast.
"Come on," I encourage him, lifting my other hand from his shoulder to hike up the nurse's skirt and place his hand between my bare legs. He's got his hand balled into a fist, but I warn him, "Ah, ah, ahh, if you want to get out of here you're going to have to be coooooperative." I feel his hand relax and finally his fingers brush my cock and wow, going commando had seemed like a good idea even before this one had occurred to me, and it had been so delightfully airy, but this is no comparison.
Dent averts his eyes but I don't particularly care, he's dragging his fingers up the shaft slowly and I lean my head back. Our hips are touching, I can tell he's completely limp against me, but it only makes me appreciate his compliance more as he curls his fingers around my cock and swipes his thumb over the head.
"That's it," I breathe, wriggling against him, trailing a hand down his chest, then smiling as I tap his nose with my finger affectionately, on the good side. "See? Not so bad." He looks close to biting my hand off, and I shiver. "Ohh, I love that look on you."
He snarls and twists his hand up my cock viciously; I arch my back and moan, thrusting into his hand. I'm not sure that graze of fingernails was intentional, but fuck I hope it was, but not two seconds after I've groaned again and let my eyes flutter closed, the heat and friction of his hand is gone and his the wind is knocked out of me and I'm suddenly and inexplicably lying on my back on the cold linoleum. A thrill jolts through me and I begin laughing hysterically before I realize no, he didn't do it so he could fuck me on the floor, and that I probably shouldn't have let both his hands loose. I sit up to see the chest strap dangling unclipped from the side of the bed and Dent on his feet, gun trained on me. My laughter subsides, and I roll my eyes dramatically as I pull the detonator from my pocket.
"Was that absolutely necessary?" I ask, massaging the back of my head where it had cracked against the floor. "You were doing a first rate job, you know. You must have had practice."
He begins backing towards the door; I waggle the detonator between my fingers and pout up at him. "I'd start running if I were you," I say. "You didn't hold up your end of the deal, and who knows if I-"
But he's already bolted out the door. And now I'm sitting here, alone, in a nurse's outfit, with a raging hard-on. …Well, the outfit's not so bad, but the rest is pretty disappointing, and I sigh as I get to my feet to finish the job Dent said he would complete. Imagining myself in Dent's mouth (his half burn-chapped lips stretched around my cock; I can see his tongue work around me through his cheek; his wounds aren't fully healed yet and he winces as he begins to bleed and fuck the blood is too much for me, I'm overexcited and out of control, I can't stop myself from running my fingers through it, mapping his burns, painting a smile on the boringly complete half of his face; I come in his mouth, then pull him close to lick away the blood and whatever else doesn't make it down his throat), is enough to bring me release despite my minor aggravation at his escape. I shudder and lean against the hospital bed, panting, until the room stops spinning and I open my eyes. Straighten up. Smooth the skirt back down.
I wipe my hands clean on some paper towels near the doctors' sink but spot a hand sanitizer dispenser in the hall on my way out-since nothing kills germs like Purell, I pump a generous amount into my hands and chafe them together; nice and clean, but the sharp scent makes my nose itch.
And then I fish around in my pocket for the detonator, and I blow the hospital up.