Nightminds - Chapter 8
Title: Nightminds
Chapter: Chapter 8 of ?
Author: spygirl690
Disclaimer: If these characters were mine I would broadcast their sex acts daily. No daily video so hence - they are not mine. *pouts*
Rating: R to NC17
Pairing: Batman/Joker. In this chapter only - Joker/OMC
Warning: drug use, language, sex, graphic violence in later chapters
Summary: This story examines the months Bruce spent at Princeton before returning to start his journey in Batman Begins. The title was inspired by the Missy Higgins song Nightminds.
Thanks to beta toriolees .
Find all previous chapters of Nightminds here.
Chapter 8
“And, although a blind man would admit you’re gorgeous, I never had any designs on you Bruce.”
Of course, Jack had been lying. He had been following Bruce for days, since their very first encounter. All Jack wanted to do was to get close to Bruce. Study him, figure him out and then fuck him until he couldn't walk straight. Speaking of which...
Jack growled in frustration as the boy underneath him moaned. Jack punched the back of the boy's head. The boy twisted to hiss, “What the fuck was that for?”
“If I wanted a conversation, I’d be plugging a girl,” Jack thrust in as hard as he could and saw the boy grimace in pain.
“You want your nose candy? You're going to have to be a quiet little bitch.”
After a few deals Jack had grabbed the first crackwhore he could find and pulled him into an empty bedroom. Unfortunately this one made too much noise; it was destroying his fantasy.
The one where Bruce was on his back underneath him, begging for Jack's cock. Bruce's eyes were hazy with lust and Jack's hands sliding down his sides.
Jack grabbed the hips of the boy in front of him, slamming deep before pulling out and ramming it back in again.
He was sucking Bruce's cock now. The billionaire's neck was thrown back and he was inarticulate and breathless for once.
“Oh... yes... harder...Jack... please. Want....need you.”
It was a beautiful sound. Jack's balls tightened at the thought, and he knew he was near the edge. He sped up the pace until the side of the bed was pounding against the wall over the beat of the music downstairs.
“Please, Jack, please fuck me!” Bruce was screaming now, bent nearly in half.
With a smirk of triumph, Jack slid into Bruce's entrance, slick with lube.
“Fuck, Bruce!” Jack cried out. He steadied his breathing, still gripping the boy's hips. After calming down Jack pulled out and cleaned himself off.
“My name's not Bruce,” the boy pulled his pants up and slid off the bed.
Jack pulled a green packet out of his jeans pocket and threw it at him, “Yeah, I know.”
The boy stared at Jack for a second and then walked out of the room. Jack finished buttoning his pants and sat on the floor, slumped against the bed. He was still too overheated to put his t shirt on just yet.
He took a sip from the half-empty bottle of beer he'd left on the floor.
Jack was feeling well and truly buzzed now, only a six pack away from oblivion. He let his hands fall to the floor and tipped his head back onto the bed. His eyes traced the constellations of glow-in-the dark stars scattered across the ceiling The empty beer bottle slipped from his hand and tinkling like a broken wind chime as it rolled across the hardwood floor.
A mixture of emotions were playing hopscotch in his subconscious. It had been a long time since he had gotten this drunk. He didn't really enjoy the feeling. It made it difficult to conduct business and study the people around him. These parties were really like a gigantic observatory for him. When he wasn't selling, he would stand on the outskirts of the action and watch people. They were so superficial, so easy to read. Most people showed their hand before the dealer even finished handing out the cards. The groups of blank-faced students housed within the university's walls were no different. Except for Bruce.
Jack had written him off when he walked into Patterson’s class that first day. Gorgeous, yes, but clearly filled with too much money and hot air for him to even glance at. But then Bruce had had quite the public metamorphosis and Jack was hooked. Bruce was a walking contradiction in terms that just begged to be studied.
On the outside Bruce appeared just as the others in his group. But Bruce held a darkness inside of him Jack understood. Events in his past that lead him to isolate himself from the world and trust only himself. This caused Bruce to have an analytical mind, instead of an emotional one; much like Jack's.
But somewhere during the game, he had let go of his objectivity and taken his eyes off the prize. In the past he waited months for a conquest. But there was always a definite direction to move in, Jack read his mark and played them based on their moves. Things with Bruce seemed to be going fine, better than fine. By the end of sushi Jack definitely made some progress into Bruce's Calvin Kleins. Even his lean forward in front of the restaurant to test Bruce's reaction had gone according to plan. He noted how Bruce's eyes flickered to his lips; the thought of a kiss had been there. Even if it had only been for a moment. But then he had to go and fuck it up.
Jack growled with frustration, dragging himself across the floor to the cooler of beer someone had attempted to give him as payment for some pot. He had taken it but insisted they give him at least half the money too. He cracked one open and took a long pull from the bottle. He'd collect the rest tomorrow.
He hated drinking. He had a plethora of different substances that would have made him happy or distracted his mind. Instead he chose the one thing that would keep him focused on the thought that made that quick fuck far less pleasurable than it could have been - Wayne. He had grabbed a bottle because they were there; call it a crime of opportunity.
Bruce's smile flashed in front of his eyes.
Usually, Jack's mind was comfortably scattered, but tonight it focused on Bruce. Jack never took a person to somewhere as connected to him as Knuckles. Usually, he would take his toys to places that would suit them. Something that would lull them into complacency and make it seem like Jack “knew” them. It wasn't hard to “know” them. They were all like a soap opera, dry and predictable. But he took Bruce some where he wanted to go. A place that would tell Bruce something about himself. It was Jack who showed his hand this time - a move that may have cost him everything.
Jack thew an empty beer bottle and it shattered against the opposite wall. Jack studied the shards of brown glass stuck to the wall. Moisture seeped down the wallpaper and collected on the lip of the baseboard.
The billionaire was something he'd never encountered before. Someone he could see as an equal and that made this game completely different from the others. Jack hadn't accounted for that. This carelessness was not like him. He didn't look too deeply at why. He didn't want to look deep; he didn't want to be deep. He just wanted to drown himself in beer until the goddamn Bruce Wayne was out of his head.
The bedroom door slammed open and a group of people charged into the room, probably called by the shattering of glass. A boy advanced and pointed at the stain left by the beer bottle on the wall.
“What the fuck man? What the hell did you do to my room!” Jack eyed him. He was boiling over, blond hair disarrayed, but his sweater vest still intact. His body type along with his dusty hair and blue eyes made him perfect specimen for the third Reich. Jack saluted him appropriately, holding his arm at a angle from his body.
“Sieg Heil!” Jack cackled and reached for his shirt.
The boy stormed into the room, “Get the fuck out!”
Jack pulled his shirt over his head. He chuckled in amusement at the boys anger as he slid on his shoes. He grabbed the rest of his beer and did a dramatic goose step out of the room. The boy fisted Jack's shirt as he walked past and turned Jack so he could yell directly at him, “Hey asshole. You better pay me for ruining my room.”
Jack quickly released himself from the hold and slammed the boy’s head into the wall. He flicked a small switchblade out of his pocket and pushed it into the boy’s face.
“Not tonight Fritz. Not tonight!” Jack waved the knife threateningly in front of the boy’s eyes.
Jack sharply brought his knee up to Fritz's stomach and the boy fell to the floor. Jack turned to the rest of the crowd and spread his arms, “Who's next?”
The crowd quickly fled, leaving Jack to do a victory dance near the boy's body. Jack stopped dancing and surveyed the situation. Many people had left after his brief encounter with the pathetic Fritz. Some looked at him wide-eyed from the doorways of other rooms. Sighing, Jack folded up his knife and put it back in his pocket. This party was rapidly losing its appeal. I'm done with business here, Jack thought as he walked downstairs, through the crowd below and out the front door.
Jack stumbled down the steps and stopped on the sidewalk, trying to decide where to go next. He stared up at the night sky as the fog of his breath clouded his vision. It was a beautiful night for a walk around campus. He looked at the cooler in his hand and grimaced. Beer would not and should not have been his first choice. This was all Bruce's fault. He opened the cooler and saw there were several left. Hmm, oh well, Jack thought, I am in blood stepped in so far that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
Jack opened another beer and tipped it up to the heavens, "cheers."
He started down the sidewalk, determined to forget Bruce by the time he turned the next corner. .
Chapter: Chapter 8 of ?
Author: spygirl690
Disclaimer: If these characters were mine I would broadcast their sex acts daily. No daily video so hence - they are not mine. *pouts*
Rating: R to NC17
Pairing: Batman/Joker. In this chapter only - Joker/OMC
Warning: drug use, language, sex, graphic violence in later chapters
Summary: This story examines the months Bruce spent at Princeton before returning to start his journey in Batman Begins. The title was inspired by the Missy Higgins song Nightminds.
Thanks to beta toriolees .
Find all previous chapters of Nightminds here.
Chapter 8
“And, although a blind man would admit you’re gorgeous, I never had any designs on you Bruce.”
Of course, Jack had been lying. He had been following Bruce for days, since their very first encounter. All Jack wanted to do was to get close to Bruce. Study him, figure him out and then fuck him until he couldn't walk straight. Speaking of which...
Jack growled in frustration as the boy underneath him moaned. Jack punched the back of the boy's head. The boy twisted to hiss, “What the fuck was that for?”
“If I wanted a conversation, I’d be plugging a girl,” Jack thrust in as hard as he could and saw the boy grimace in pain.
“You want your nose candy? You're going to have to be a quiet little bitch.”
After a few deals Jack had grabbed the first crackwhore he could find and pulled him into an empty bedroom. Unfortunately this one made too much noise; it was destroying his fantasy.
The one where Bruce was on his back underneath him, begging for Jack's cock. Bruce's eyes were hazy with lust and Jack's hands sliding down his sides.
Jack grabbed the hips of the boy in front of him, slamming deep before pulling out and ramming it back in again.
He was sucking Bruce's cock now. The billionaire's neck was thrown back and he was inarticulate and breathless for once.
“Oh... yes... harder...Jack... please. Want....need you.”
It was a beautiful sound. Jack's balls tightened at the thought, and he knew he was near the edge. He sped up the pace until the side of the bed was pounding against the wall over the beat of the music downstairs.
“Please, Jack, please fuck me!” Bruce was screaming now, bent nearly in half.
With a smirk of triumph, Jack slid into Bruce's entrance, slick with lube.
“Fuck, Bruce!” Jack cried out. He steadied his breathing, still gripping the boy's hips. After calming down Jack pulled out and cleaned himself off.
“My name's not Bruce,” the boy pulled his pants up and slid off the bed.
Jack pulled a green packet out of his jeans pocket and threw it at him, “Yeah, I know.”
The boy stared at Jack for a second and then walked out of the room. Jack finished buttoning his pants and sat on the floor, slumped against the bed. He was still too overheated to put his t shirt on just yet.
He took a sip from the half-empty bottle of beer he'd left on the floor.
Jack was feeling well and truly buzzed now, only a six pack away from oblivion. He let his hands fall to the floor and tipped his head back onto the bed. His eyes traced the constellations of glow-in-the dark stars scattered across the ceiling The empty beer bottle slipped from his hand and tinkling like a broken wind chime as it rolled across the hardwood floor.
A mixture of emotions were playing hopscotch in his subconscious. It had been a long time since he had gotten this drunk. He didn't really enjoy the feeling. It made it difficult to conduct business and study the people around him. These parties were really like a gigantic observatory for him. When he wasn't selling, he would stand on the outskirts of the action and watch people. They were so superficial, so easy to read. Most people showed their hand before the dealer even finished handing out the cards. The groups of blank-faced students housed within the university's walls were no different. Except for Bruce.
Jack had written him off when he walked into Patterson’s class that first day. Gorgeous, yes, but clearly filled with too much money and hot air for him to even glance at. But then Bruce had had quite the public metamorphosis and Jack was hooked. Bruce was a walking contradiction in terms that just begged to be studied.
On the outside Bruce appeared just as the others in his group. But Bruce held a darkness inside of him Jack understood. Events in his past that lead him to isolate himself from the world and trust only himself. This caused Bruce to have an analytical mind, instead of an emotional one; much like Jack's.
But somewhere during the game, he had let go of his objectivity and taken his eyes off the prize. In the past he waited months for a conquest. But there was always a definite direction to move in, Jack read his mark and played them based on their moves. Things with Bruce seemed to be going fine, better than fine. By the end of sushi Jack definitely made some progress into Bruce's Calvin Kleins. Even his lean forward in front of the restaurant to test Bruce's reaction had gone according to plan. He noted how Bruce's eyes flickered to his lips; the thought of a kiss had been there. Even if it had only been for a moment. But then he had to go and fuck it up.
Jack growled with frustration, dragging himself across the floor to the cooler of beer someone had attempted to give him as payment for some pot. He had taken it but insisted they give him at least half the money too. He cracked one open and took a long pull from the bottle. He'd collect the rest tomorrow.
He hated drinking. He had a plethora of different substances that would have made him happy or distracted his mind. Instead he chose the one thing that would keep him focused on the thought that made that quick fuck far less pleasurable than it could have been - Wayne. He had grabbed a bottle because they were there; call it a crime of opportunity.
Bruce's smile flashed in front of his eyes.
Usually, Jack's mind was comfortably scattered, but tonight it focused on Bruce. Jack never took a person to somewhere as connected to him as Knuckles. Usually, he would take his toys to places that would suit them. Something that would lull them into complacency and make it seem like Jack “knew” them. It wasn't hard to “know” them. They were all like a soap opera, dry and predictable. But he took Bruce some where he wanted to go. A place that would tell Bruce something about himself. It was Jack who showed his hand this time - a move that may have cost him everything.
Jack thew an empty beer bottle and it shattered against the opposite wall. Jack studied the shards of brown glass stuck to the wall. Moisture seeped down the wallpaper and collected on the lip of the baseboard.
The billionaire was something he'd never encountered before. Someone he could see as an equal and that made this game completely different from the others. Jack hadn't accounted for that. This carelessness was not like him. He didn't look too deeply at why. He didn't want to look deep; he didn't want to be deep. He just wanted to drown himself in beer until the goddamn Bruce Wayne was out of his head.
The bedroom door slammed open and a group of people charged into the room, probably called by the shattering of glass. A boy advanced and pointed at the stain left by the beer bottle on the wall.
“What the fuck man? What the hell did you do to my room!” Jack eyed him. He was boiling over, blond hair disarrayed, but his sweater vest still intact. His body type along with his dusty hair and blue eyes made him perfect specimen for the third Reich. Jack saluted him appropriately, holding his arm at a angle from his body.
“Sieg Heil!” Jack cackled and reached for his shirt.
The boy stormed into the room, “Get the fuck out!”
Jack pulled his shirt over his head. He chuckled in amusement at the boys anger as he slid on his shoes. He grabbed the rest of his beer and did a dramatic goose step out of the room. The boy fisted Jack's shirt as he walked past and turned Jack so he could yell directly at him, “Hey asshole. You better pay me for ruining my room.”
Jack quickly released himself from the hold and slammed the boy’s head into the wall. He flicked a small switchblade out of his pocket and pushed it into the boy’s face.
“Not tonight Fritz. Not tonight!” Jack waved the knife threateningly in front of the boy’s eyes.
Jack sharply brought his knee up to Fritz's stomach and the boy fell to the floor. Jack turned to the rest of the crowd and spread his arms, “Who's next?”
The crowd quickly fled, leaving Jack to do a victory dance near the boy's body. Jack stopped dancing and surveyed the situation. Many people had left after his brief encounter with the pathetic Fritz. Some looked at him wide-eyed from the doorways of other rooms. Sighing, Jack folded up his knife and put it back in his pocket. This party was rapidly losing its appeal. I'm done with business here, Jack thought as he walked downstairs, through the crowd below and out the front door.
Jack stumbled down the steps and stopped on the sidewalk, trying to decide where to go next. He stared up at the night sky as the fog of his breath clouded his vision. It was a beautiful night for a walk around campus. He looked at the cooler in his hand and grimaced. Beer would not and should not have been his first choice. This was all Bruce's fault. He opened the cooler and saw there were several left. Hmm, oh well, Jack thought, I am in blood stepped in so far that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
Jack opened another beer and tipped it up to the heavens, "cheers."
He started down the sidewalk, determined to forget Bruce by the time he turned the next corner. .