Fic: Chance in Hell, Part 3
Title: Chance in Hell, Part 3
Author: ehmaz
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Patrick/Joker
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me.
Warnings: [ violence, rape, torture, bondage, murder ]
Summary: After spending the night together, the Joker has some errands that need to be handled. He takes Patrick along for a ride he'll not soon forget!
Notes: ~6200 words. Sorry this took so long in coming, folks. As always, un-betaed. Enjoy :D
Part 1 | Part 2
Patrick awoke with a comforting haze of pain settling down his back and around his neck. The bed next to him was empty, which did not surprise him, but he did feel a sense of mild disappointment. He wasn't disappointed he got to sleep alone, he rather enjoyed that, but he would have liked some kind of reassurance that he would not have to wait so long or become so desperate for another meeting with the Joker.
Sliding his legs out from under the warm sheets, Patrick moved across the bedroom naked to his large closet and groped for his paisley ancient madder robe. It was missing. Wondering if he had misplaced it somewhere, the businessman rubbed his face tiredly and blinked blearily around the closet. He frowned when he did not see the familiar fabric amongst any of his other things. Misplacing things, especially articles of clothing, was highly unlike him. With a shrug, he got some Ralph Lauren boxers from one of the dresser drawers, and walked nude to the bathroom. The sound of running water didn't register in his sleep-hazed mind until he was actually staring at the source of the noise.
He stalled in the doorway to the restroom; the Joker stared back at a stunned Patrick. The Joker was wearing nothing but his purple pin-striped pants and multi-colored socks. His bare chest looked sort of pale in the harsh bathroom lighting. Neither was he wearing any make-up. His dyed hair was still very green, but Patrick could see dirty-blond roots underneath. The most amazing thing, though, was that the Joker was shaving... shaving with Patrick's razor and moisturizing shave gel. Patrick's mouth hung open and he furrowed his brows. He really had no clue whatsoever what to think about this odd scene. The Joker didn't say anything either, he just stared: he had one hand on the razor halfway through a wide swipe down his scarred cheek, and the other hand's fingers were lightly tilting his own jaw to make the action easier.
After a pregnant few seconds, the Joker raised one eyebrow questioningly at Patrick, who made a little odd clicking sound as he swallowed because he didn't know what to say. Patrick watched as the Joker looked back to the mirror and slowly, carefully, finished the interrupted swathe down his cheek. He rinsed the razor in the running water and his eyes flicked back up to stare hard at Patrick, almost challengingly. Pat had no idea what he could be challenging him over.
"Would you like some Herbal tea?" Patrick asked.
The Joker looked at him incredulously before going back to shaving, eyes on the mirror. Patrick watched as his fellow murderer deftly maneuvered the razor across his furrowed cheeks.
"I'll make two cups just in case. I usually have two anyway," he said, as his eyes noticed something in the mirror. Patrick stuck his head further in the bathroom and looked: his robe was hanging on the back of the door. Patrick moved into the room and plucked it from the hook and put it on. It smelled like the Joker. The Joker had worn his robe. When Patrick looked back up, the Joker was smirking and looking over the man still completely nude underneath the robe, who was still holding his boxers.
Feeling even more out of sorts, Patrick moved towards the kitchen while he tied the robe closed. Once he was in the kitchen he slipped his underwear up his legs and looked towards the bathroom. He shook his head and began the familiar routine of preparing his mint herbal tea. As the water was heating, he took out two bran muffins and sliced up two mangoes. Patrick never thought much about his breakfast. The only things that ever changed about it were the flavor of tea and the type of fruit. Looking at it now, though, it looked rather dull and uninteresting. Patrick frowned at it as his house guest came out of the bathroom slipping on his patterned blue shirt and buttoning it up.
Both men stared at the breakfast on the kitchen counter.
"Well don't bend yourself out of shape on my account," the harlequin said sarcastically, looking at the breakfast as if a gastronomically-challenged dog had just laid a pile in front of him rather than Pat putting out his normal breakfast.
"It's healthy," Patrick said defensively. "The muffin only has one-hundred calories and the fruit is full of antioxidants. The tea is decaffeinated and also full of minerals."
The scarred man stared intently at Patrick for several seconds after listening to his little speech. "Do I really look like a man who's worried how many calories his breakfast muffin has?" The Joker, who looked very odd to Patrick without his make-up, looked pointedly at the dry looking muffin.
Patrick frowned down at the muffin. "Sorry," he said and reached out to take the offending food away. Faster than Pat could blink, the other man's hand shot out and grabbed Patrick painfully by the wrist.
"Forget it," the Joker growled and plucked the muffin from Pat's fingers. He gave a little glare before sitting grumpily on one of the stools by the kitchen island. He ate the muffin messily in about three bites while Patrick watched.
The serial killer carefully pulled his muffin into two halves and put half in the Dacor PCOR30 over-the-range 1.1 cubic foot microwave. As that heated, he carefully poured two cups of tea and placed one in front of the Joker and blew on his own before taking a sip. When the first half of his small muffin was warmed up sufficiently, he ate it while cleaning up the few spots of mango juice and a few crumbs that had been left on the counter from the Joker, and then warmed up the second half of his muffin. By the time that half was warmed, he had finished the first and began eating the second half, while sipping his tea. The Joker watched him the entire time.
Patrick cleared his throat. The Joker grinned. Patrick became unnerved.
"Do you want to come to work with me today, Pat?"
"What?" the brunet asked, choking on a slice of mango.
"It's the official Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day down at the local criminal and mobster lair. Come on, it'll be fun." The Joker was grinning from ear to ear, almost literally, for his heavily scarred cheeks were stretched wide and making deep valleys in his face and cheeks they were so crinkled trying to contain the Joker's smile.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what--"
"Oh loosen up, tight ass! I just want to bring you along for a few errands I have to run. You oooobviously need to get out more. Look at you!" The Joker motioned towards Patrick with one hand, the other hand hooked around his knee, as he balanced strangely on the stool, looking as if he was almost about to topple over any second.
"What about me?" asked Patrick, again sounding defensive. He frowned before he took another bite of mango.
"You're wound up so tight you make Batman look like one cool cat." The Joker laughed at his own joke before hopping off the stool and picking up his cup of herbal tea. He sniffed it, took one sip, made an exaggerated gag, and tossed the cup into the sink. "Let's get dressed, Pats, we have lots to doooo!" With that, the Joker sauntered back into the bathroom.
~ ~ ~
"An hour, Pat, serrriously!"
"It was not an hour, it was forty-three minutes. I know: I have timed myself before!"
"You would."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Allllll I'm saying..." said the Joker, who was driving them somewhere in the most god awful, beat-up truck Patrick had ever seen. "...is that there is something really wrong with a man who takes an hour to do his hair and uh... whatever the fuck you were doing with your face."
Patrick glowered at the driver before looking out the window. "I already explained it all to you! I have moisturizers for--"
"Someone shoot me, please! If I have to sit through another fifteen minutes of all your beauty products I will have to shoot myself, so someone, please, save me the trouble!"
The businessman, who had not been allowed to wear one of his usual suits but had been forced into some loose jeans and a polo shirt, was not having fun yet. Patrick had no idea where the Joker had come up with these clothes, but Pat hated them, he hated everything about them. He was also wearing tennis shoes and a baseball hat. A baseball hat! The Joker himself, who said he was to be referred to as 'Bob' for the day, was wearing what looked to Patrick like plumber's coveralls. They were filthy, smelled weird, and didn't fit the Joker very well at all. Whoever had previously owned them had been of a much bigger build than the currently de-masked clown.
"Ah-HA! We're almost there, Patty-Pat." The man now known as 'Bob' was practically bouncing in his seat as they rattled along a lengthy driveway. They had been driving for over half an hour and were outside the city limits, nearing what looked to Patrick like some sort of private estate. The massive lawns leading up to the main house were very well kept, and the house itself looked like something that had once been a grand old farm house that had been stylishly renovated into a house befitting the title of Manor. There was a stable barely visible in the far distance, with a white-picket-fenced riding area, and on the other side of the large house was a fruit orchard of some sort. Patrick looked askance at his fellow baseball cap wearer.
"Just follow my lead," said 'Bob' with a smirk at Patrick's grumpy expression. "I promise -- it'll be a riot!"
The horrible truck made a grating, metallic squelching sound as the Joker shut off the engine. The sprightly man hopped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door shut with a flourish. The coveralls were a dull grayish-blue. His usual brown shoes were barely visible beneath the floppy pant legs. The bright red baseball cap the Joker wore had all of his green curls tucked up carefully inside and out of immediate view.
Patrick's own shirt was a dull yellow, which clashed horribly with his perfect tan, and his jeans had a hole in the left knee. His own baseball cap was hunter-orange and made Patrick feel like he was wearing a beacon of some sort on his head. He also felt like his hair was being suffocated and he could almost feel the oils collecting on his itchy scalp. Sticking his hands in his baggy jeans pockets petulantly, Patrick walked around the truck and nodded towards the house. "What are we doing here... Bob?"
The Joker laughed happily at the sound of his new name and made a strange bumbling skip up to the front door, ignoring the actual question presented to him by Patrick. "Ding dong, the witch is dead!" the Joker sang merrily as he pressed the doorbell three times in rapid succession. While the two men waited for someone to answer their summons, the Joker was smacking his lips and looking out around the grounds visible from the front steps. In the bright midday sunlight, his eyes looked pale green, and his complexion smoother somehow. Pat didn't realize he'd been staring until those eyes turned to him, and the Joker stuck his tongue out childishly at having been stared at.
Just then, the door opened and a pretty young woman came into view. She was wearing an Anne Klein summer skirt with a blouse from Bonwit's and some expensive looking earrings whose name brand Patrick couldn't detect. Her hair was blond and done up in a bun so tight it looked painful. The businessman was immediately reminded of Evelyn and a sense of unease overcame him. He looked nervously at the Joker, who was smiling a somewhat normal looking smile, for the Joker anyway, at the woman.
"Hello?" she asked of them pleasantly. She was, by Patrick's guess, about twenty-three.
"Good afternoon, miss. The name's Smithson but you can call me Bob. We're from Smithson Plumbing -- your dad should've mentioned we were comin'?" The Joker was standing on the balls of his feet, almost bouncing, and had both hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coveralls.
"I'm afraid he didn't mention it. Is the plumbing out in the upstairs washroom again?" Without waiting for an answer, the blonde opened the door further and let the two killers inside. She motioned airly with one hand towards the main staircase, a rather ostentatious thing made of maple. "I swear those last people didn't do it right. I kept telling Daddy it was broken, but does he listen to me? Of course not."
"Not to worry ma'am, we'll take care of it. Where did you say it was?" asked the Joker, his eyes wandering around the grand entry room they found themselves in. The decor was tasteful if not a bit too 'homey' for Patrick's tastes. The textiles were mainly plaid, done in reds and greens, and looked like something out of a Christmas card rather than the Manor the house had the potential to be. Patrick detested poor taste, whether it was in clothing or home decor, and he immediately did not like this woman at all. Again he had to wonder just what they were doing here, and who this woman was. He didn't have to wait long to find out.
"Up the stairs, third door on the left... say, shouldn't you have some tools or something?" she asked. Patrick got the feeling that the woman wasn't asking out of some sense that something may be amiss, but rather to be further condescending. Patrick didn't mind, he would've done the same thing. He hated service people. They were always dirty and generally in the way.
"Oh, not to worry ma'am! I have all I need... riiiight here," the Joker practically chirped. With that, he made a jerky motion with one hand towards Patrick. The blonde woman looked at him for the first time, an Patrick merely rose his eyebrows. He hadn't an inkling what the Joker was on about.
"Him?" she asked, looking Patrick over with disdainful curiosity.
"You have noooo idea," the Joker said in a gravelly voice, "how well you'll know what I'm talking about in a few minutes. You see," said the Joker, pulling a knife from the pocket of his coveralls, "we're all going to get verrry well acquainted."
Both Patrick and the woman's eyes widened at the nonchalantly branded weapon. "Wh-what do you want?" the woman asked, taking a step back, her eyes glued to the knife. The Joker, keeping the weapon trained on the woman, reached up and took off his hat and shook out his green hair. The motion caught the woman's attention and she let out a shriek as she realized who this was standing in her living room. There was no way one could mistake the greasy green hair when accompanied by the thick, furrowed cheek scars.
"I see we're beginning to understand one another," quipped the Joker, taking two long strides forward that brought him flush to the woman's quivering frame. He gripped her by the shoulder and shoved her towards Patrick, who automatically reached out and caught the frightened girl. "That includes you, Patrick -- are you starting to see why I brought you along, hmm?" the Joker asked, head turning to the side but his eyes staying trained on the businessman.
"What do you want me to do with her?" Pat asked with a frown. His fingers clenched on the woman's shoulders painfully, the feel of the blouse beneath his hands made him inexplicably angry. He looked down at her too-tight bun and had the sudden urge to burn it, while it was still attached to her scalp. When he looked back up, the Joker was grinning maniacally at him.
"I think you understand perfectly, Patsy. You see, it's all about sending a mess-age! Your dear old Daddy, Mr. Bologna-Maroni, crossed me," the Joker explained to the woman. He strode over to the nearby picture window overlooking the front lawns. "It was just rude, to turn me over to the authorities like that. Rude, rude, rude. I can't stand rudeness! So I thought I'd send him a little message. You, being the apple of his little mobster eye, darrrrling..." The Joker turned and walked over, grasping the girl's chin between forefinger and thumb. "You're the per-fect medium. You see there are... bad things," the killer let out a depraved little giggle, "that can happen to such a pretty little girl. Things that my partner here excels at. I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? I don't particularly enjoy that uh," the Joker cleared his throat and made a flourish with his hand, "particular thing, but Pat does."
The Joker took a few steps back and locked eyes with Patrick, who was probably looking rather stunned by all of this. "Wait, you want me to... hurt her?" Patrick asked, trying to wrap his brain around this bizarre turn of events. The woman in his grasp had been sniveling but docile up until that, her eyes locked on the verbose agent of chaos, but when she heard Patrick speak behind her she shrieked again and started writhing in his grasp.
"Let me go, let me go! I had nothing to do with it! I don't have anything to do with any of Daddy's business! Please!"
Patrick struggled to get a grip on her, which was hard given the silky blouse, and finally he grabbed her by her stupid blonde hair and punched her right in the face. The woman cried out in pain and tried to cower away, but Patrick held her close by the hair. "Shut up," he hissed in her face, and she looked up with tears running down her cheeks.
"That's it Pat, keep going, keep goooing," the Joker cooed excitedly, hopping up and down in place, his green eyes wide and bright as he watched.
Looking at her anew, Patrick felt the familiar adrenaline start pumping through his veins. His cock started hardening as soon as he realized the extent of what the Joker had planned, for both him and Miss Maroni. The Joker's words echoed in his mind: bad things that can happen to such a pretty little girl. Pat was intimately familiar with those bad things. He licked his lips and grabbed the front of the girl's blouse in a tight grip, his hand trembling slightly with the sudden intensity of the excitement that washed over the serial killer.
"Nooo," she wailed piteously. "No, no no... wait! We have money, lots of m-money," she stuttered, obviously grasping at straws at this point.
Patrick laughed, genuinely amused by the thought that he could want for money. The Joker joined in with his laughter, and when Pat looked back up, his partner in crime looked just as amused as he was. The two men laughed together, and the woman slowly grew quiet and still. Her brown eyes were wide as panic set in. Patrick zeroed in on that expression like a predator spots the weakness in his prey.
When Pat started man-handling her over to the couch, she fought anew, but was no match for the heavily-muscled psychotic. Patrick ripped off her clothing with no preamble nor flourish. She screamed and kicked and fought back, all to no avail. Within a matter of minutes, Patrick had her nude, face down on the sofa. He proceeded to break both of her arms at the shoulders, causing such loud screaming from the girl that his ears were ringing.
"Oh!" said the Joker, clapping his hands together, one of them still holding his knife. "Why did you do that, Pat?"
Patrick looked up, his eyes hazed with adrenaline-fueled lust, as if he'd forgotten the Joker was even there. "I... I don't know. I guess, this way she can't push away while I take a second to..." he trailed off, suddenly feeling weird. He had most definitely never had an audience to one of his rapes before and it felt strange. He licked his lips, and Patrick's dark eyes flicked to the Joker's mouth, where the other man was similarly licking his own. "While I undo my pants," Pat finally finished, feeling emboldened by the obvious interest the green-haired man was showing.
"Let meee," the Joker said excitedly and made a few little hops around the end of the couch and reached down where Patrick was kneeling on hands and knees over the naked, crying woman. The Joker quickly undid Patrick's jeans and slid down the zipper. He stood back, made a weird little twitch, and snatched up the hideous orange hat Patrick had been wearing. "Oh, take off your shirt, Pat, take it ooooff. I want to see your chest."
Patrick started taking off his shirt, as commanded, but the Joker insisted on helping and it got tangled on his head. He threw it off with a little snarl, and the Joker laughed happily at the awkward motion. "Come on, do it, Pat, I want to watch you. Oh, look!" Suddenly the Joker's warm, broad hands were sliding inside the opened jeans and grasping Patrick's half-erect penis.
As he gave a loud, pleasure-filled groan, the woman beneath him started pleading for mercy again. Both men ignored her. The Joker slid Patrick's jeans and boxers down his hips and gave Patrick's ass a rather hard slap suddenly.
"Hey!" said Patrick indignantly.
"Go, go, go," said the Joker, squeezing hard where he'd just slapped.
The woman was trying to get her useless arms to work, and was wriggling like mad underneath him. Patrick grinned. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved hard into the couch cushion. With his free hand, Patrick positioned himself. He was completely hard after the Joker's deft ministrations, but was having a hard time getting it in because of the woman's writhing hips. Just as he was about to give up and find a different position, the Joker's hands came into view and he gripped her thighs painfully hard, spreading them for Patrick. Pat looked over to see the Joker kneeling by the couch, looking up at him with wide green eyes.
"Thanks," he murmured before he slid into her tight heat. Once inside, the Joker was able to let go, as Pat's heavy frame was more than enough to keep her pushed hard enough into the couch to keep her from fighting him off. As the killer began to thrust slowly, he had the rather bizarre and sudden thought that she didn't feel nearly as tight as 'Jack' had last night. With that thought, and a falter in his rhythm, he looked up again.
The Joker wasn't watching the woman at all, his eyes were trained on Patrick's body. Experimentally, Pat spread his thighs a little more and flexed his muscular ass as he thrust in hard to the woman. The Joker bit his scarred bottom lip and his eyes widened a fraction more. Patrick grinned. "Take my pants off, take it all off," he instructed his partner. With an exuberant little smile, the Joker quickly complied. He pulled off Patrick's tennis shoes, jeans, boxers and even his socks. That done, Patrick was able to further straddle the woman's hips and began fucking her in earnest. The Joker remained at the foot of the sofa, behind Patrick, and Pat could only assume he was enjoying the show.
Over the course of the next few minutes, Patrick had managed to press Miss Maroni's face so hard into the couch that she suffocated. He hadn't noticed at first, but when he did, decided he really didn't care. He had no idea if she was actually dead or just unconscious, but it didn't matter. Patrick knew this wasn't about her at all, it was about him and the Joker. Pat's pace was frantic, and he was so close to orgasm he could feel it building in his tight sac. Being as experienced of a killer as he was though, he knew better than to come inside of her in this situation. He didn't want to leave behind any more evidence than was necessary. When he knew it was imminent, he pulled out gave a series of groans as he came all over her lower back in thick, sticky streams.
After ten surreal minutes in which the Joker helped Patrick wipe the body clean of all evidence (and they had determined that the woman was indeed dead), Pat was in a post-coital haze of disbelief. Immediately after he'd finished, the Joker's warm hands had been back, rubbing Pat's ass and back, caressing his shoulders, neck and upper chest, feeling his well-defined biceps. All of his muscles felt expended and tired as the adrenaline of the crime wore off, but he felt happy if not confused. The Joker looked wound up even tighter than usual, all of his movements twitchy.
"No!" the Joker commanded as soon as Patrick reached for his boxers. The rapist raised his eyebrows in question, and the Joker merely grinned. "Stay here a second, don't get dressed!"
Pat flopped down onto the couch next to the corpse, more than content to relax after his strenuous exertions. He watched as the green-haired man stalked out of the room with that strange, eternal half-hunched gait he had. Just when Patrick started to get chilled from being in the large room completely nude, he heard his partner in crime return. There was mud on his brown shoes and a wicked look on his face that had Pat feeling apprehensive, especially when the Joker revealed what he had behind his back. From his childhood horseback riding lessons, Pat recognized it as bit, head harness, and reigns.
The killer was up off the couch and halfway across the room in a split second. "What--"
"Shh, shh," cooed the Joker, switching all the items to one hand and making a calming motion with the other. Patrick noticed that the man had his purple leather gloves on -- had he brought them along? Pat hadn't noticed them in the truck. "Calm down there, little buckaroo. This won't hurt... at least not unless you're a buckin' bronco!" The Joker giggled and took a few steps towards Patrick, who stepped back.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asked. He could feel a sweat break out on his forehead and that made him angry. He smoothed his hair back and glared hard at the slowly approaching clown.
"Go for a ride, duh! Now... c'mere... Lightning, ha, that sounds like a winning stud's name, doesn't it? Lightning! C'mere, Lightning, nice and easy..." The Joker was licking his lips, soft laughter escaping involuntarily as he circled around an end table towards Patrick. The businessman was really wishing he had some clothes on right about then. Suddenly the Joker jumped clear over the end table and tackled the more muscled of the two men to the floor. Patrick fell hard on his hip and cried out in pain. Luckily he had not hit his head, though, and was able to put up a fight immediately. He did not want some horrible contraption meant for a beast on him, let alone one that was almost assuredly real and had been in a horse's mouth at some point.
The Joker was relentless. He wrestled all of Patrick's flailing limbs like a professional bouncer, and before Pat knew it, he had a horse's bit deep in his mouth, attached to a leather harness, with the reigns trailing down his back. As the final injustice, the Joker had pulled out a handkerchief from nowhere and tied Pat's wrists tightly behind his back so he couldn't get the wretched thing off.
"Ge' o'!" Patrick screamed, thrashing on the carpet. The bit was stretching the corners of his mouth so far back he couldn't talk properly and he let out a high-pitched keen of frustration and humiliation. The bit tasted absolutely awful, like moldy grass, cold metal and something else that Pat hoped to god wasn't dried horse saliva. "'ou mo'e' 'u'in' 'o'su', 'eh 'is 'u'in o' o' eh o'w!"
Blond eyebrows raising, the Joker listened to this litany of gagged sounds patiently. When Patrick was finally done, exhausted from his useless struggling, the agent of chaos merely let out a happy and amused laugh. "That was interesting. Now then... where do I begin? Oh, I know!" Looking more excited than Patrick appreciated, the Joker got a good grip on the bound man and dragged him over to a squishy ottoman. He flopped Patrick across it, stomach down, so his knees barely touched the floor. The businessman closed his eyes and pushed his face into the soft material of the ottoman. He couldn't believe he was in this position. The first time he'd had relations, or whatever you wanted to call them, with the Joker it had been pretty even. They'd both gotten off using each other and it had been good. The second time, after a brief struggle for power, Patrick had been able to fuck the other man, and that had been really good.
As Patrick listened to the sounds of the Joker getting out of at least some of his clothing out of Pat's line of sight, he knew the tables had turned. His entrance clenched in protest at just the thought of it and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. The Joker had taken off the coveralls and was now in his regular blue hexagon-patterned shirt, purple pants, and suspenders which were now hanging off the man's shoulders. He also still had his gloves on.
"Well aren't you just the cutest little thing," the Joker said in a high-pitched voice, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The scarred man brought his hand back and brought it down with a resounding smack on Patrick's ass, causing him to lurch forward, but he refused to cry out again. He could only imagine the vivid red hand print blooming on his tanned cheek. Nine more times the Joker brought his leather-clad hand down, five on each cheek, each one harder than the last until Patrick finally bit down on the metal rod in his mouth and whimpered, tears of pain forming in his eyes. When he looked over his shoulder again, the Joker looked up and grinned wickedly, made macabre by his scars stretching.
Patrick thought it odd how those scars looked even more gruesome without the face paint hiding them. He blinked rapidly, trying to get the tears off from their clinging position on his eyelashes. The Joker watched this with something like fascination, and Pat felt a flush rise in his face to match the one on his ass. The Joker's grin turned smug and he slowly undid his pin-striped pants, sliding the zipper down excruciatingly slowly. Patrick shook his head and whimpered 'no' over and over in his gagged mumbles, eyes wide as he watched the Joker spit in his glove and slick up erection. Those green eyes never once left Patrick's pleading, wriggling form. When the Joker started moving Patrick up on the ottoman so that his front half was almost dangling off the end and his ass was in the middle, Patrick notched up his attempts to get away even stronger.
The Joker would have none of it, and grabbed the reigns attached to Patrick's bit and gave a tug. Patrick screamed as his head was yanked back so harshly, the metal digging into his mouth made the pain in his spanked ass seem trivial in comparison. "None of that," the Joker chastised in a gravely tone. Patrick shivered and tensed. The other man and pulled his purple trousers down to his ankles and straddled Patrick's thighs on the ottoman. He kept one hand on the reigns, keeping them taut so Pat didn't get any ideas, and the other hand he smoothed Pat's sweaty hair back. "There now, shh, shh... that's it. Nice and calm." The Joker licked his scarred lips anxiously and brought his hand down from Patrick's hair to his prick. The process of shoving it inside the tensed hole was long and blindingly painful for Patrick. Every time he tried to squirm away or protest, the Joker would tug on the reigns again to remind him of his place.
After an excruciating minute of this, the Joker was finally fully inside his captive partner. Both men stopped completely, breathing harshly. Patrick had his eyes clenched shut and his whole body was completely limp with exhaustion from struggling harder physically than he had ever exerted himself in a workout at Xclusive. The Joker was so close to orgasm already by this point, from all the struggling, fighting and whimpers from below him, that he had to stop in order not to come there and then. A few moments of silence passed before the man holding the reigns, literally and figuratively, began moving inside his captured bundle.
When the pain finally subsided, Patrick was surprised how good it felt. Completely opposite to his initial frenzied fighting, the Joker was now calm, relaxed, and his pace was slow and thorough as he slid in and out of Patrick. He did, however, keep a firm grip on the reigns with his purple-gloved hand and kept the tension taut. The sound of leather creaking and metal being bit into was in perfect rhythm to the slapping sound of flesh on flesh and heavy breathing. When Patrick actually started moaning, the Joker grinned triumphantly and tugged on the reigns as he suddenly picked up his speed. Pat didn't mind at all this time though, as the Joker had aimed himself to slide directly over Patrick's prostate with each deep stroke. The pace only increased each passing moment, the Joker grunting with the effort and Patrick groaning with a mixture of pain and pleasure. As the harlequin once again neared his climax, he pulled so hard on the reigns that the bit cut into the corners of Pat's mouth and pulled the man's top half almost off the ottoman. With a moan that sounded more pained than orgasmic, the Joker thrust in deep one last time and came.
Immediately untangling himself from Patrick and the footrest, the Joker tucked himself away and resettled his clothes in their proper place. His breathing was harsh and hurried as he slid the dirty coveralls back on and zipped them up, then found his hat and tucked all his sweaty green curls up inside it. Only after all of this was done did he remove the riding gear from Patrick, as well as the handkerchief holding Pat's wrists together. While the serial killer slowly got dressed, every single one of his muscles protesting loudly, the Joker cleaned up the gear of any potential evidence, as well as the ottoman, and did a thorough sweep of the area to make sure they left nothing at all behind. Usually he wouldn't have the need, as the authorities would never discover his true identity, but Patrick realized this whole process was purely for his benefit. He felt something strange at this realization and watched the Joker go through the process, exhaustion evident in every line of his body.
All of this done, the Joker gave Patrick as charming a grin as he was capable of, and led him back out to the truck. "I'm starving," the Joker announced as he started up the rickety vehicle. "Your place or mine?" When Pat just gave him a dumbfounded expression, the Joker laughed, and laughed, all the way down the driveway back onto the main road.
On to Part 4!
Also, here's another reminder to check out the November Meme! Patrick/Joker drabbles, yes plz!
Author: ehmaz
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Patrick/Joker
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me.
Warnings: [ violence, rape, torture, bondage, murder ]
Summary: After spending the night together, the Joker has some errands that need to be handled. He takes Patrick along for a ride he'll not soon forget!
Notes: ~6200 words. Sorry this took so long in coming, folks. As always, un-betaed. Enjoy :D
Part 1 | Part 2
Patrick awoke with a comforting haze of pain settling down his back and around his neck. The bed next to him was empty, which did not surprise him, but he did feel a sense of mild disappointment. He wasn't disappointed he got to sleep alone, he rather enjoyed that, but he would have liked some kind of reassurance that he would not have to wait so long or become so desperate for another meeting with the Joker.
Sliding his legs out from under the warm sheets, Patrick moved across the bedroom naked to his large closet and groped for his paisley ancient madder robe. It was missing. Wondering if he had misplaced it somewhere, the businessman rubbed his face tiredly and blinked blearily around the closet. He frowned when he did not see the familiar fabric amongst any of his other things. Misplacing things, especially articles of clothing, was highly unlike him. With a shrug, he got some Ralph Lauren boxers from one of the dresser drawers, and walked nude to the bathroom. The sound of running water didn't register in his sleep-hazed mind until he was actually staring at the source of the noise.
He stalled in the doorway to the restroom; the Joker stared back at a stunned Patrick. The Joker was wearing nothing but his purple pin-striped pants and multi-colored socks. His bare chest looked sort of pale in the harsh bathroom lighting. Neither was he wearing any make-up. His dyed hair was still very green, but Patrick could see dirty-blond roots underneath. The most amazing thing, though, was that the Joker was shaving... shaving with Patrick's razor and moisturizing shave gel. Patrick's mouth hung open and he furrowed his brows. He really had no clue whatsoever what to think about this odd scene. The Joker didn't say anything either, he just stared: he had one hand on the razor halfway through a wide swipe down his scarred cheek, and the other hand's fingers were lightly tilting his own jaw to make the action easier.
After a pregnant few seconds, the Joker raised one eyebrow questioningly at Patrick, who made a little odd clicking sound as he swallowed because he didn't know what to say. Patrick watched as the Joker looked back to the mirror and slowly, carefully, finished the interrupted swathe down his cheek. He rinsed the razor in the running water and his eyes flicked back up to stare hard at Patrick, almost challengingly. Pat had no idea what he could be challenging him over.
"Would you like some Herbal tea?" Patrick asked.
The Joker looked at him incredulously before going back to shaving, eyes on the mirror. Patrick watched as his fellow murderer deftly maneuvered the razor across his furrowed cheeks.
"I'll make two cups just in case. I usually have two anyway," he said, as his eyes noticed something in the mirror. Patrick stuck his head further in the bathroom and looked: his robe was hanging on the back of the door. Patrick moved into the room and plucked it from the hook and put it on. It smelled like the Joker. The Joker had worn his robe. When Patrick looked back up, the Joker was smirking and looking over the man still completely nude underneath the robe, who was still holding his boxers.
Feeling even more out of sorts, Patrick moved towards the kitchen while he tied the robe closed. Once he was in the kitchen he slipped his underwear up his legs and looked towards the bathroom. He shook his head and began the familiar routine of preparing his mint herbal tea. As the water was heating, he took out two bran muffins and sliced up two mangoes. Patrick never thought much about his breakfast. The only things that ever changed about it were the flavor of tea and the type of fruit. Looking at it now, though, it looked rather dull and uninteresting. Patrick frowned at it as his house guest came out of the bathroom slipping on his patterned blue shirt and buttoning it up.
Both men stared at the breakfast on the kitchen counter.
"Well don't bend yourself out of shape on my account," the harlequin said sarcastically, looking at the breakfast as if a gastronomically-challenged dog had just laid a pile in front of him rather than Pat putting out his normal breakfast.
"It's healthy," Patrick said defensively. "The muffin only has one-hundred calories and the fruit is full of antioxidants. The tea is decaffeinated and also full of minerals."
The scarred man stared intently at Patrick for several seconds after listening to his little speech. "Do I really look like a man who's worried how many calories his breakfast muffin has?" The Joker, who looked very odd to Patrick without his make-up, looked pointedly at the dry looking muffin.
Patrick frowned down at the muffin. "Sorry," he said and reached out to take the offending food away. Faster than Pat could blink, the other man's hand shot out and grabbed Patrick painfully by the wrist.
"Forget it," the Joker growled and plucked the muffin from Pat's fingers. He gave a little glare before sitting grumpily on one of the stools by the kitchen island. He ate the muffin messily in about three bites while Patrick watched.
The serial killer carefully pulled his muffin into two halves and put half in the Dacor PCOR30 over-the-range 1.1 cubic foot microwave. As that heated, he carefully poured two cups of tea and placed one in front of the Joker and blew on his own before taking a sip. When the first half of his small muffin was warmed up sufficiently, he ate it while cleaning up the few spots of mango juice and a few crumbs that had been left on the counter from the Joker, and then warmed up the second half of his muffin. By the time that half was warmed, he had finished the first and began eating the second half, while sipping his tea. The Joker watched him the entire time.
Patrick cleared his throat. The Joker grinned. Patrick became unnerved.
"Do you want to come to work with me today, Pat?"
"What?" the brunet asked, choking on a slice of mango.
"It's the official Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day down at the local criminal and mobster lair. Come on, it'll be fun." The Joker was grinning from ear to ear, almost literally, for his heavily scarred cheeks were stretched wide and making deep valleys in his face and cheeks they were so crinkled trying to contain the Joker's smile.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what--"
"Oh loosen up, tight ass! I just want to bring you along for a few errands I have to run. You oooobviously need to get out more. Look at you!" The Joker motioned towards Patrick with one hand, the other hand hooked around his knee, as he balanced strangely on the stool, looking as if he was almost about to topple over any second.
"What about me?" asked Patrick, again sounding defensive. He frowned before he took another bite of mango.
"You're wound up so tight you make Batman look like one cool cat." The Joker laughed at his own joke before hopping off the stool and picking up his cup of herbal tea. He sniffed it, took one sip, made an exaggerated gag, and tossed the cup into the sink. "Let's get dressed, Pats, we have lots to doooo!" With that, the Joker sauntered back into the bathroom.
~ ~ ~
"An hour, Pat, serrriously!"
"It was not an hour, it was forty-three minutes. I know: I have timed myself before!"
"You would."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Allllll I'm saying..." said the Joker, who was driving them somewhere in the most god awful, beat-up truck Patrick had ever seen. "...is that there is something really wrong with a man who takes an hour to do his hair and uh... whatever the fuck you were doing with your face."
Patrick glowered at the driver before looking out the window. "I already explained it all to you! I have moisturizers for--"
"Someone shoot me, please! If I have to sit through another fifteen minutes of all your beauty products I will have to shoot myself, so someone, please, save me the trouble!"
The businessman, who had not been allowed to wear one of his usual suits but had been forced into some loose jeans and a polo shirt, was not having fun yet. Patrick had no idea where the Joker had come up with these clothes, but Pat hated them, he hated everything about them. He was also wearing tennis shoes and a baseball hat. A baseball hat! The Joker himself, who said he was to be referred to as 'Bob' for the day, was wearing what looked to Patrick like plumber's coveralls. They were filthy, smelled weird, and didn't fit the Joker very well at all. Whoever had previously owned them had been of a much bigger build than the currently de-masked clown.
"Ah-HA! We're almost there, Patty-Pat." The man now known as 'Bob' was practically bouncing in his seat as they rattled along a lengthy driveway. They had been driving for over half an hour and were outside the city limits, nearing what looked to Patrick like some sort of private estate. The massive lawns leading up to the main house were very well kept, and the house itself looked like something that had once been a grand old farm house that had been stylishly renovated into a house befitting the title of Manor. There was a stable barely visible in the far distance, with a white-picket-fenced riding area, and on the other side of the large house was a fruit orchard of some sort. Patrick looked askance at his fellow baseball cap wearer.
"Just follow my lead," said 'Bob' with a smirk at Patrick's grumpy expression. "I promise -- it'll be a riot!"
The horrible truck made a grating, metallic squelching sound as the Joker shut off the engine. The sprightly man hopped out of the driver's seat and slammed the door shut with a flourish. The coveralls were a dull grayish-blue. His usual brown shoes were barely visible beneath the floppy pant legs. The bright red baseball cap the Joker wore had all of his green curls tucked up carefully inside and out of immediate view.
Patrick's own shirt was a dull yellow, which clashed horribly with his perfect tan, and his jeans had a hole in the left knee. His own baseball cap was hunter-orange and made Patrick feel like he was wearing a beacon of some sort on his head. He also felt like his hair was being suffocated and he could almost feel the oils collecting on his itchy scalp. Sticking his hands in his baggy jeans pockets petulantly, Patrick walked around the truck and nodded towards the house. "What are we doing here... Bob?"
The Joker laughed happily at the sound of his new name and made a strange bumbling skip up to the front door, ignoring the actual question presented to him by Patrick. "Ding dong, the witch is dead!" the Joker sang merrily as he pressed the doorbell three times in rapid succession. While the two men waited for someone to answer their summons, the Joker was smacking his lips and looking out around the grounds visible from the front steps. In the bright midday sunlight, his eyes looked pale green, and his complexion smoother somehow. Pat didn't realize he'd been staring until those eyes turned to him, and the Joker stuck his tongue out childishly at having been stared at.
Just then, the door opened and a pretty young woman came into view. She was wearing an Anne Klein summer skirt with a blouse from Bonwit's and some expensive looking earrings whose name brand Patrick couldn't detect. Her hair was blond and done up in a bun so tight it looked painful. The businessman was immediately reminded of Evelyn and a sense of unease overcame him. He looked nervously at the Joker, who was smiling a somewhat normal looking smile, for the Joker anyway, at the woman.
"Hello?" she asked of them pleasantly. She was, by Patrick's guess, about twenty-three.
"Good afternoon, miss. The name's Smithson but you can call me Bob. We're from Smithson Plumbing -- your dad should've mentioned we were comin'?" The Joker was standing on the balls of his feet, almost bouncing, and had both hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coveralls.
"I'm afraid he didn't mention it. Is the plumbing out in the upstairs washroom again?" Without waiting for an answer, the blonde opened the door further and let the two killers inside. She motioned airly with one hand towards the main staircase, a rather ostentatious thing made of maple. "I swear those last people didn't do it right. I kept telling Daddy it was broken, but does he listen to me? Of course not."
"Not to worry ma'am, we'll take care of it. Where did you say it was?" asked the Joker, his eyes wandering around the grand entry room they found themselves in. The decor was tasteful if not a bit too 'homey' for Patrick's tastes. The textiles were mainly plaid, done in reds and greens, and looked like something out of a Christmas card rather than the Manor the house had the potential to be. Patrick detested poor taste, whether it was in clothing or home decor, and he immediately did not like this woman at all. Again he had to wonder just what they were doing here, and who this woman was. He didn't have to wait long to find out.
"Up the stairs, third door on the left... say, shouldn't you have some tools or something?" she asked. Patrick got the feeling that the woman wasn't asking out of some sense that something may be amiss, but rather to be further condescending. Patrick didn't mind, he would've done the same thing. He hated service people. They were always dirty and generally in the way.
"Oh, not to worry ma'am! I have all I need... riiiight here," the Joker practically chirped. With that, he made a jerky motion with one hand towards Patrick. The blonde woman looked at him for the first time, an Patrick merely rose his eyebrows. He hadn't an inkling what the Joker was on about.
"Him?" she asked, looking Patrick over with disdainful curiosity.
"You have noooo idea," the Joker said in a gravelly voice, "how well you'll know what I'm talking about in a few minutes. You see," said the Joker, pulling a knife from the pocket of his coveralls, "we're all going to get verrry well acquainted."
Both Patrick and the woman's eyes widened at the nonchalantly branded weapon. "Wh-what do you want?" the woman asked, taking a step back, her eyes glued to the knife. The Joker, keeping the weapon trained on the woman, reached up and took off his hat and shook out his green hair. The motion caught the woman's attention and she let out a shriek as she realized who this was standing in her living room. There was no way one could mistake the greasy green hair when accompanied by the thick, furrowed cheek scars.
"I see we're beginning to understand one another," quipped the Joker, taking two long strides forward that brought him flush to the woman's quivering frame. He gripped her by the shoulder and shoved her towards Patrick, who automatically reached out and caught the frightened girl. "That includes you, Patrick -- are you starting to see why I brought you along, hmm?" the Joker asked, head turning to the side but his eyes staying trained on the businessman.
"What do you want me to do with her?" Pat asked with a frown. His fingers clenched on the woman's shoulders painfully, the feel of the blouse beneath his hands made him inexplicably angry. He looked down at her too-tight bun and had the sudden urge to burn it, while it was still attached to her scalp. When he looked back up, the Joker was grinning maniacally at him.
"I think you understand perfectly, Patsy. You see, it's all about sending a mess-age! Your dear old Daddy, Mr. Bologna-Maroni, crossed me," the Joker explained to the woman. He strode over to the nearby picture window overlooking the front lawns. "It was just rude, to turn me over to the authorities like that. Rude, rude, rude. I can't stand rudeness! So I thought I'd send him a little message. You, being the apple of his little mobster eye, darrrrling..." The Joker turned and walked over, grasping the girl's chin between forefinger and thumb. "You're the per-fect medium. You see there are... bad things," the killer let out a depraved little giggle, "that can happen to such a pretty little girl. Things that my partner here excels at. I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? I don't particularly enjoy that uh," the Joker cleared his throat and made a flourish with his hand, "particular thing, but Pat does."
The Joker took a few steps back and locked eyes with Patrick, who was probably looking rather stunned by all of this. "Wait, you want me to... hurt her?" Patrick asked, trying to wrap his brain around this bizarre turn of events. The woman in his grasp had been sniveling but docile up until that, her eyes locked on the verbose agent of chaos, but when she heard Patrick speak behind her she shrieked again and started writhing in his grasp.
"Let me go, let me go! I had nothing to do with it! I don't have anything to do with any of Daddy's business! Please!"
Patrick struggled to get a grip on her, which was hard given the silky blouse, and finally he grabbed her by her stupid blonde hair and punched her right in the face. The woman cried out in pain and tried to cower away, but Patrick held her close by the hair. "Shut up," he hissed in her face, and she looked up with tears running down her cheeks.
"That's it Pat, keep going, keep goooing," the Joker cooed excitedly, hopping up and down in place, his green eyes wide and bright as he watched.
Looking at her anew, Patrick felt the familiar adrenaline start pumping through his veins. His cock started hardening as soon as he realized the extent of what the Joker had planned, for both him and Miss Maroni. The Joker's words echoed in his mind: bad things that can happen to such a pretty little girl. Pat was intimately familiar with those bad things. He licked his lips and grabbed the front of the girl's blouse in a tight grip, his hand trembling slightly with the sudden intensity of the excitement that washed over the serial killer.
"Nooo," she wailed piteously. "No, no no... wait! We have money, lots of m-money," she stuttered, obviously grasping at straws at this point.
Patrick laughed, genuinely amused by the thought that he could want for money. The Joker joined in with his laughter, and when Pat looked back up, his partner in crime looked just as amused as he was. The two men laughed together, and the woman slowly grew quiet and still. Her brown eyes were wide as panic set in. Patrick zeroed in on that expression like a predator spots the weakness in his prey.
When Pat started man-handling her over to the couch, she fought anew, but was no match for the heavily-muscled psychotic. Patrick ripped off her clothing with no preamble nor flourish. She screamed and kicked and fought back, all to no avail. Within a matter of minutes, Patrick had her nude, face down on the sofa. He proceeded to break both of her arms at the shoulders, causing such loud screaming from the girl that his ears were ringing.
"Oh!" said the Joker, clapping his hands together, one of them still holding his knife. "Why did you do that, Pat?"
Patrick looked up, his eyes hazed with adrenaline-fueled lust, as if he'd forgotten the Joker was even there. "I... I don't know. I guess, this way she can't push away while I take a second to..." he trailed off, suddenly feeling weird. He had most definitely never had an audience to one of his rapes before and it felt strange. He licked his lips, and Patrick's dark eyes flicked to the Joker's mouth, where the other man was similarly licking his own. "While I undo my pants," Pat finally finished, feeling emboldened by the obvious interest the green-haired man was showing.
"Let meee," the Joker said excitedly and made a few little hops around the end of the couch and reached down where Patrick was kneeling on hands and knees over the naked, crying woman. The Joker quickly undid Patrick's jeans and slid down the zipper. He stood back, made a weird little twitch, and snatched up the hideous orange hat Patrick had been wearing. "Oh, take off your shirt, Pat, take it ooooff. I want to see your chest."
Patrick started taking off his shirt, as commanded, but the Joker insisted on helping and it got tangled on his head. He threw it off with a little snarl, and the Joker laughed happily at the awkward motion. "Come on, do it, Pat, I want to watch you. Oh, look!" Suddenly the Joker's warm, broad hands were sliding inside the opened jeans and grasping Patrick's half-erect penis.
As he gave a loud, pleasure-filled groan, the woman beneath him started pleading for mercy again. Both men ignored her. The Joker slid Patrick's jeans and boxers down his hips and gave Patrick's ass a rather hard slap suddenly.
"Hey!" said Patrick indignantly.
"Go, go, go," said the Joker, squeezing hard where he'd just slapped.
The woman was trying to get her useless arms to work, and was wriggling like mad underneath him. Patrick grinned. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved hard into the couch cushion. With his free hand, Patrick positioned himself. He was completely hard after the Joker's deft ministrations, but was having a hard time getting it in because of the woman's writhing hips. Just as he was about to give up and find a different position, the Joker's hands came into view and he gripped her thighs painfully hard, spreading them for Patrick. Pat looked over to see the Joker kneeling by the couch, looking up at him with wide green eyes.
"Thanks," he murmured before he slid into her tight heat. Once inside, the Joker was able to let go, as Pat's heavy frame was more than enough to keep her pushed hard enough into the couch to keep her from fighting him off. As the killer began to thrust slowly, he had the rather bizarre and sudden thought that she didn't feel nearly as tight as 'Jack' had last night. With that thought, and a falter in his rhythm, he looked up again.
The Joker wasn't watching the woman at all, his eyes were trained on Patrick's body. Experimentally, Pat spread his thighs a little more and flexed his muscular ass as he thrust in hard to the woman. The Joker bit his scarred bottom lip and his eyes widened a fraction more. Patrick grinned. "Take my pants off, take it all off," he instructed his partner. With an exuberant little smile, the Joker quickly complied. He pulled off Patrick's tennis shoes, jeans, boxers and even his socks. That done, Patrick was able to further straddle the woman's hips and began fucking her in earnest. The Joker remained at the foot of the sofa, behind Patrick, and Pat could only assume he was enjoying the show.
Over the course of the next few minutes, Patrick had managed to press Miss Maroni's face so hard into the couch that she suffocated. He hadn't noticed at first, but when he did, decided he really didn't care. He had no idea if she was actually dead or just unconscious, but it didn't matter. Patrick knew this wasn't about her at all, it was about him and the Joker. Pat's pace was frantic, and he was so close to orgasm he could feel it building in his tight sac. Being as experienced of a killer as he was though, he knew better than to come inside of her in this situation. He didn't want to leave behind any more evidence than was necessary. When he knew it was imminent, he pulled out gave a series of groans as he came all over her lower back in thick, sticky streams.
After ten surreal minutes in which the Joker helped Patrick wipe the body clean of all evidence (and they had determined that the woman was indeed dead), Pat was in a post-coital haze of disbelief. Immediately after he'd finished, the Joker's warm hands had been back, rubbing Pat's ass and back, caressing his shoulders, neck and upper chest, feeling his well-defined biceps. All of his muscles felt expended and tired as the adrenaline of the crime wore off, but he felt happy if not confused. The Joker looked wound up even tighter than usual, all of his movements twitchy.
"No!" the Joker commanded as soon as Patrick reached for his boxers. The rapist raised his eyebrows in question, and the Joker merely grinned. "Stay here a second, don't get dressed!"
Pat flopped down onto the couch next to the corpse, more than content to relax after his strenuous exertions. He watched as the green-haired man stalked out of the room with that strange, eternal half-hunched gait he had. Just when Patrick started to get chilled from being in the large room completely nude, he heard his partner in crime return. There was mud on his brown shoes and a wicked look on his face that had Pat feeling apprehensive, especially when the Joker revealed what he had behind his back. From his childhood horseback riding lessons, Pat recognized it as bit, head harness, and reigns.
The killer was up off the couch and halfway across the room in a split second. "What--"
"Shh, shh," cooed the Joker, switching all the items to one hand and making a calming motion with the other. Patrick noticed that the man had his purple leather gloves on -- had he brought them along? Pat hadn't noticed them in the truck. "Calm down there, little buckaroo. This won't hurt... at least not unless you're a buckin' bronco!" The Joker giggled and took a few steps towards Patrick, who stepped back.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asked. He could feel a sweat break out on his forehead and that made him angry. He smoothed his hair back and glared hard at the slowly approaching clown.
"Go for a ride, duh! Now... c'mere... Lightning, ha, that sounds like a winning stud's name, doesn't it? Lightning! C'mere, Lightning, nice and easy..." The Joker was licking his lips, soft laughter escaping involuntarily as he circled around an end table towards Patrick. The businessman was really wishing he had some clothes on right about then. Suddenly the Joker jumped clear over the end table and tackled the more muscled of the two men to the floor. Patrick fell hard on his hip and cried out in pain. Luckily he had not hit his head, though, and was able to put up a fight immediately. He did not want some horrible contraption meant for a beast on him, let alone one that was almost assuredly real and had been in a horse's mouth at some point.
The Joker was relentless. He wrestled all of Patrick's flailing limbs like a professional bouncer, and before Pat knew it, he had a horse's bit deep in his mouth, attached to a leather harness, with the reigns trailing down his back. As the final injustice, the Joker had pulled out a handkerchief from nowhere and tied Pat's wrists tightly behind his back so he couldn't get the wretched thing off.
"Ge' o'!" Patrick screamed, thrashing on the carpet. The bit was stretching the corners of his mouth so far back he couldn't talk properly and he let out a high-pitched keen of frustration and humiliation. The bit tasted absolutely awful, like moldy grass, cold metal and something else that Pat hoped to god wasn't dried horse saliva. "'ou mo'e' 'u'in' 'o'su', 'eh 'is 'u'in o' o' eh o'w!"
Blond eyebrows raising, the Joker listened to this litany of gagged sounds patiently. When Patrick was finally done, exhausted from his useless struggling, the agent of chaos merely let out a happy and amused laugh. "That was interesting. Now then... where do I begin? Oh, I know!" Looking more excited than Patrick appreciated, the Joker got a good grip on the bound man and dragged him over to a squishy ottoman. He flopped Patrick across it, stomach down, so his knees barely touched the floor. The businessman closed his eyes and pushed his face into the soft material of the ottoman. He couldn't believe he was in this position. The first time he'd had relations, or whatever you wanted to call them, with the Joker it had been pretty even. They'd both gotten off using each other and it had been good. The second time, after a brief struggle for power, Patrick had been able to fuck the other man, and that had been really good.
As Patrick listened to the sounds of the Joker getting out of at least some of his clothing out of Pat's line of sight, he knew the tables had turned. His entrance clenched in protest at just the thought of it and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. The Joker had taken off the coveralls and was now in his regular blue hexagon-patterned shirt, purple pants, and suspenders which were now hanging off the man's shoulders. He also still had his gloves on.
"Well aren't you just the cutest little thing," the Joker said in a high-pitched voice, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The scarred man brought his hand back and brought it down with a resounding smack on Patrick's ass, causing him to lurch forward, but he refused to cry out again. He could only imagine the vivid red hand print blooming on his tanned cheek. Nine more times the Joker brought his leather-clad hand down, five on each cheek, each one harder than the last until Patrick finally bit down on the metal rod in his mouth and whimpered, tears of pain forming in his eyes. When he looked over his shoulder again, the Joker looked up and grinned wickedly, made macabre by his scars stretching.
Patrick thought it odd how those scars looked even more gruesome without the face paint hiding them. He blinked rapidly, trying to get the tears off from their clinging position on his eyelashes. The Joker watched this with something like fascination, and Pat felt a flush rise in his face to match the one on his ass. The Joker's grin turned smug and he slowly undid his pin-striped pants, sliding the zipper down excruciatingly slowly. Patrick shook his head and whimpered 'no' over and over in his gagged mumbles, eyes wide as he watched the Joker spit in his glove and slick up erection. Those green eyes never once left Patrick's pleading, wriggling form. When the Joker started moving Patrick up on the ottoman so that his front half was almost dangling off the end and his ass was in the middle, Patrick notched up his attempts to get away even stronger.
The Joker would have none of it, and grabbed the reigns attached to Patrick's bit and gave a tug. Patrick screamed as his head was yanked back so harshly, the metal digging into his mouth made the pain in his spanked ass seem trivial in comparison. "None of that," the Joker chastised in a gravely tone. Patrick shivered and tensed. The other man and pulled his purple trousers down to his ankles and straddled Patrick's thighs on the ottoman. He kept one hand on the reigns, keeping them taut so Pat didn't get any ideas, and the other hand he smoothed Pat's sweaty hair back. "There now, shh, shh... that's it. Nice and calm." The Joker licked his scarred lips anxiously and brought his hand down from Patrick's hair to his prick. The process of shoving it inside the tensed hole was long and blindingly painful for Patrick. Every time he tried to squirm away or protest, the Joker would tug on the reigns again to remind him of his place.
After an excruciating minute of this, the Joker was finally fully inside his captive partner. Both men stopped completely, breathing harshly. Patrick had his eyes clenched shut and his whole body was completely limp with exhaustion from struggling harder physically than he had ever exerted himself in a workout at Xclusive. The Joker was so close to orgasm already by this point, from all the struggling, fighting and whimpers from below him, that he had to stop in order not to come there and then. A few moments of silence passed before the man holding the reigns, literally and figuratively, began moving inside his captured bundle.
When the pain finally subsided, Patrick was surprised how good it felt. Completely opposite to his initial frenzied fighting, the Joker was now calm, relaxed, and his pace was slow and thorough as he slid in and out of Patrick. He did, however, keep a firm grip on the reigns with his purple-gloved hand and kept the tension taut. The sound of leather creaking and metal being bit into was in perfect rhythm to the slapping sound of flesh on flesh and heavy breathing. When Patrick actually started moaning, the Joker grinned triumphantly and tugged on the reigns as he suddenly picked up his speed. Pat didn't mind at all this time though, as the Joker had aimed himself to slide directly over Patrick's prostate with each deep stroke. The pace only increased each passing moment, the Joker grunting with the effort and Patrick groaning with a mixture of pain and pleasure. As the harlequin once again neared his climax, he pulled so hard on the reigns that the bit cut into the corners of Pat's mouth and pulled the man's top half almost off the ottoman. With a moan that sounded more pained than orgasmic, the Joker thrust in deep one last time and came.
Immediately untangling himself from Patrick and the footrest, the Joker tucked himself away and resettled his clothes in their proper place. His breathing was harsh and hurried as he slid the dirty coveralls back on and zipped them up, then found his hat and tucked all his sweaty green curls up inside it. Only after all of this was done did he remove the riding gear from Patrick, as well as the handkerchief holding Pat's wrists together. While the serial killer slowly got dressed, every single one of his muscles protesting loudly, the Joker cleaned up the gear of any potential evidence, as well as the ottoman, and did a thorough sweep of the area to make sure they left nothing at all behind. Usually he wouldn't have the need, as the authorities would never discover his true identity, but Patrick realized this whole process was purely for his benefit. He felt something strange at this realization and watched the Joker go through the process, exhaustion evident in every line of his body.
All of this done, the Joker gave Patrick as charming a grin as he was capable of, and led him back out to the truck. "I'm starving," the Joker announced as he started up the rickety vehicle. "Your place or mine?" When Pat just gave him a dumbfounded expression, the Joker laughed, and laughed, all the way down the driveway back onto the main road.
On to Part 4!
Also, here's another reminder to check out the November Meme! Patrick/Joker drabbles, yes plz!