It had been fifteen hours, thirty five minutes, and sixteen seconds since she was murdered.
And Bruce Wayne stumbled into the bedroom of his penthouse, his head throbbing madly in agony, seemingly penetrating his skull with the fiery pain, and his body feeling oddly floaty, although he was not intoxicated. His muscles ached, begging him to take a seat after the long day of abuse he had put them through without armor and sleep, and the clamor of silence that surrounded him was deafening.
But, in this silence, he could still hear her screams, that cacophonous sound seemingly haunting him every moment of the day, a reminder of what could've been but what was never meant to be. It was almost asphyxiating; that feeling of loss that was dragging him under what seemed to be water and not letting him go. What ashamed him was the overwhelming feeling of anger that filled him. Not toward The Joker, no. This was an entirely different story than that…
He could've given Rachel Dawes the world, but her last words were not for him.
The shame that came with that melancholic thought was overwhelming, and he forced himself to block that thought out, to focus all his rage on that vermillion-mouthed psychopath who had brutally killed her; who had torn her from his wing and thrust him into despair. She had, truly, been his only hope for a somewhat normal life, and now that she was gone he didn't know what to do with himself. Was it destiny that whenever he came close to having something good that something malevolent came along and stole it from him? Was it just coincidence? Or was it a sign that he should keep dressing up like a monster and beating criminals to a pulp like one, that he should keep allowing himself to indulge in the delightful sin that came with being Batman?
Whatever it was, it was accompanied by that horrible, shrieking laughter that he automatically associated with decay, and that ghoulish painted face. The face that had thrust Gotham into pandemonium and himself into madness and despair, changing his life forever. He had inspired a beast to accompany his monster in a broken symphony; another half to his; a yin to his yang. Whatever The Joker was, he was there to wreak havoc and to cause destruction for Bruce Wayne, for what seemed to be the purpose of them continuing to play their game of chess over Gotham City…
A wiry, warm arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him to a hard, chiseled chest. Making his heart skip a beat, and fluttered around in his chest like a butterfly. He struggled not to close his eyes and get lost in relaxation, trying to make himself be angry that the monster who had taken his life away from him was now holding him in an embrace so intimate that only long-time lovers should share, and he struggled vainly to get out of his grip, only to be turned around and feeling that warm mouth covering his, easily prying open his mouth with that serpentine tongue and pulling him closer, Bruce's body only accepting the damn embraces, and a fight for Gotham's soul began in their mouths, Joker's stubbly nails running over Bruce's bruised, sweaty chest as he pulled the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, as if the article of clothing were disgusting trash for getting in The Joker's way of what he wanted and desired.
This little game outside of time had been going on for so long that Bruce didn't even know when it started. All he knew was that he responded to The Joker like a lover, his body was set ablaze by the plain sight of the painted madman, and he hated himself for it. But he told himself that indulging in this wouldn't lead to anything disastrous, that this was just something private, but The Joker had responded by turning his whole life into chaos and then proceeding to make love to him every night, seemingly apologetic for the pathetic tragedy that was the excuse for his life, filled with people who secretly hated him and people who put on acts around him but secretly judged him. With The Joker, he was never judged. He could be who he really was around the man, not who he pretended to be and not who he strived to be. Purely, simply, human.
The Joker, grinning lecherously, purred in his ear like a wildcat, nuzzling his cheek with his nose and running his hands along Bruce's bruised back, expertly kneading the sore, knotted muscles there like dough and causing low sounds of appreciation to come from the other man's throat. This only encouraged the madman further, and he began to undo Bruce's belt, the sound of the unhooking metal buckle echoing throughout the dark, quiet room, and he could see Joker's distorted white greasepaint in the dark, causing a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach to erupt and making him dizzy and light-headed, and causing a dull ache between his legs as his pants grew tighter…
No, no, no. This has been going on for too long!
In response to this, Bruce grabbed The Joker by the collar and lifted the clown to his level, glaring at him in the face, his grip loosening but still tight on his collar. The Joker rolled his eyes, scoffing at his most prized possession, and Bruce was absolutely livid by that point, ready to punch the jester in the face and beat him to a pulp with his bare hands, oh how good it would feel to break a few bones and wipe that always-present, smug grin off his face…
"Why are you being such a cockblock?" the beast finally spoke, giggling at the affect it had on the man before him. "Is it because of your lil' bunny? Hmmm? Batsy-darling, you know when to speak when I ask a question, otherwise nothing gets ya know, done. So, do make an effort to answer now."
Bruce glared murderously at The Joker, who only laughed in his face, and yanked the man closer, to the point where they were sharing the same breath, to the point where he could feel the warmth of the other man radiating onto him, inviting and absolutely intoxicating…
"You were never a man of words, Bats. But," he smiled, running a finger along Bruce's bare shoulder, making him shudder, "I have to adapt, now don't I? C'mere." Yanking Bruce to him, nails digging into the bruised, sun-kissed skin of those broad shoulders, he grinned up at the fuming man, his eyes easily making out Bruce's hazel glare in the dark. His hand ran over Bruce's battered chest, admiring how his perfectly sculpted chest felt under his calloused fingertips, and he softly graced Bruce's lips with his own. The bumps from the lacerations on The Joker's cheeks rubbed against Bruce's, and Bruce couldn't resist this… irresistible elixir anymore. He forced himself not to give in and kiss those lips and get lost in the intoxication of this all.
The Joker laced his fingers into Bruce's thick hair, twirling it around in his fingers, and admired the smell of his bat. He smelled of tangy, expensive cologne, soap, shampoo, sweat, blood, and ash that seemed to linger from their little adventure last time. Joker hadn't been kidding when he said the other man completed him, because he did. Oh yes he did.
Since Bruce refused to make the first move, Joker did so himself, crushing his destroyed mouth against the perfect one of his adversary—his soul-mate—and his tongue invaded that mouth, biting and suckling, making sure to mark his territory on what was his and his alone. Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent were nuisances to him now; a completely different thought that could wait until later. Now, now he was with his Bat, and that was all that mattered. Bruce responded a few moments later, almost shyly returning the kiss at first then beginning a fierce, violent battle for dominance with The Joker, yanking him by the tie and walking backward into the bed, never letting go of this horribly warm feeling that corrupted his body with The Joker's deadly embrace.
Somewhere far away in Bruce's mind, he heard Rachel again; felt that sharp slap to his face that brought him awareness even after all the years that had gone by. Your father would be ashamed of you.
And he knew, if his father was watching, he would be appalled by his son taking a monster like his murderer into bed with him. Bruce Wayne was a disappointment, and he had been all his life. Ignoring his inner demons, he pulled The Joker onto his lap as he sat down on the bed, the clown clinging to his collar and grinning sensually against his lips, his hips grinding obscenely into Bruce's and making him harder than he already was. The Joker was an incubus, but Bruce's incubus. His demon.
Responding to The Joker's lewd body language with his own, he thrust his hips into the clown's, smirking slightly at the growling and mewling that emitted from the painted madman's mouth as he did so, and bit down harshly on his neck, sucking and kissing the area. There was a white noise that filled his head as he did this, and he felt oddly exuberant and alive. The Joker, letting out an annoyed growl, shoved him back onto the bed, where he could straddle Bruce and continue to rub his hands over that beautiful body, and where he could continue to run his fingers through that hair.
Bruce's hands cupped The Joker's ass, yanking him up closer to his face and not ever wanting to let go of that parasitic warmth that only could come from this man. The man responded by leering down at him, and Bruce glared back up at him, hating and somehow loving him at the same time. The emotions of Bruce were so tremulous and confusing, and even he couldn't figure them out…
More visions of Rachel flashed through his mind, and he snarled in rage, turning The Joker and himself over so he was on top, his lips attacking Joker's neck once more, hands snaking down to grip Joker's narrow hips in his hands, hastily unbuttoning the satin green vest and pulling it from his shoulders, throwing the offensive clothing garment to the ground beside them. Joker only viciously swatted Bruce's ass with his now bare hand, making the man shudder in masochistic pleasure and deeply growl like a lion; things that only he could bring to him. Sometimes Bruce could just be an adorable little sex kitten, or a lustful sex lion. Joker honestly didn't mind either.
He killed Rachel. He fucking killed the woman whom he was in love with, his only ticket for a normal life, his best friend. And he was more than ready to make love to him only a second ago. What was wrong with him? Was he that desperate? Was he that starved of understanding and deprived of love? Love from The Joker came in a spoiled brand in their relationship, their loved combined was toxic and absolutely lethal. But Joker, whatever animosity he felt toward Rachel for even threatening to take his knight away, had gone out of control and killed her, to break him even further and to force him to keep the cowl and the armor, and continue to play with him, to fight with him and do this, whatever they had, until their dying day. All of this was a game to Joker.
In pure rage, he bore his teeth into The Joker's neck, overwhelmed by the want, no, the need to make the grinning madman break and scream beneath him like she had over the roar of flames, to strip down every layer of him and kick him off his egomaniacal pedestal which he talked of so frequently to him.
The monster in Bruce Wayne was coming out, and this only made The Joker giggle harder with lustful moans mixed into the shrieking, breathless laughter. He had driven Batman out again, and oh how he fucking enjoyed it. Bruce was okay, but Batman was his playmate. His soul-mate. Bruce would always deny that he was, deep-down inside, just a beast like him, but that only added more fun to their little escapades. Joker let out another husky moan as he heard the buttons on his shirt snapping open almost too quickly, hands digging wantonly into Bruce's hair and scratching at his scalp like a cat with a ball of yarn, thrusting his hips and absolutely starving for friction now.
Bruce moved his lips from The Joker's neck down his abdomen, colorful hickies beginning to cover the bruises on the lean chest from their nightly battles, the sweat on the clown's skin tasting salty on his tongue, like some kind of love potion. He moved his hands and mouth up The Joker's abdomen, his tongue dipping inside of his belly button and making him shudder, and he roughly squeezed his nipples in his hands, twisting them and rubbing his thumbs on them, the abuse making The Joker growl and whine with more pleasure, thrusting his hips into Bruce's and dying for the other man's attention to his body.
His Bat responded by suckling on the hypersensitive flesh of erect nipples, kneading the other one in his hand and feeling it spike his palm like a pebble. Joker's eyes were closed by now, rolling to the back of his head, coming undone at Bruce's hand. After all the destruction Joker had done, the only way to get to him was like this, through intimate touches and sex.
Ravenous for more, Bruce moved his mouth lower, pulling The Joker's pants and underwear to his knees and the smell of pure sex permeated throughout the air. Bruce moved his mouth to the clown's erection, faced with how purple and just how soaked it was for him. Without second thought, and as something odd came over him, he took The Joker into his mouth, the clown absolutely writhing and growling as he did this. The murky, bitter taste of precome was extremely present on his tongue and he wanted to gag.
But he continued, his teeth raking across the top of Joker's cock and his tongue moving on the bottom, making grotesque slurping noises. And Joker couldn't keep the low growls and groans of Bruce's name inside of him, and he knew from every experience of theirs that they had to be quiet for Alfred. Alfred could find them, it was like they were two young lovers hiding from their parents in their bedrooms, but this was a new experience for both of them. Every time they connected it was a new adventure, a new quest.
"Bats," he groaned, thrusting into that perfect fucking mouth that engulfed him, ripping Bruce's hair out of its roots by how tight he was gripping it, holding on for dear life as a powerful climax pounded in his balls, absolutely wanting to scream or roar out, but having to bite his lips to keep those barbaric sounds from escaping. Bruce moved his mouth up and down, sucking, stroking where his mouth could not reach and rubbing The Joker's balls roughly.
His eyes closed and a look of pure bliss on his face as the fiery warmth of his orgasm overwhelmed him, his back arching off the bed and into his mouth as he released, growling loudly like an animal and his make-up rubbing all over Bruce's silky bed sheets, come shooting down Bruce's throat and making him almost choke. But he kept up his ministrations, his jaw aching and just using her tongue to play with the hypersensitive head, his head getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen, and he felt The Joker withdraw himself from Bruce's mouth, letting out an even louder groan and staring down at Bruce, who was a ridiculous sight with the smears of greasepaint on his jaw and with Joker's come dripping down his face. Chortling, he pulled Bruce up, attempting to catch his breath as the aftershocks of his orgasm were currently ripping through him, and his hands shook.
Greasepaint was everywhere and distorted beyond recognition on The Joker's face, sweat matting his naturally untamed, dirty blonde-green curls to his face and scalp and making the bare skin of his chest that was not covered by the unbuttoned, hexagonally patterned shirt. Clothes were scattered randomly amongst the bed, and Joker could care less. Much to Bruce's shame, he was sure this was the most arousing, erotic thing he'd ever seen in his ripe thirty years of life.
Joker yanked Bruce, who stayed frozen and stoic, onto his lap, and pet the man almost adoringly, as if he were some kind of small dag who had down a favor for him. Licking a line up Bruce's cheek, tasting his own bodily fluids in his mouth, he grinned at Bruce still, seemingly purring in delight at this, like calm before the storm. Bruce just continued to glare, still struggling to breathe from what had just happened.
Suddenly, Joker threw Bruce onto the bed below him, shoving his face into the silky sheets and brought his hand to Bruce's ass, swatting it roughly and whispering harshly in his ear, "you like that, don't you? My little Bat?" Bruce let out groans of pleasure and pain, enjoying the spanking that created heat in his ass cheeks, loud slapping noises of The Joker swatting a hand against him, yanking his pants to his knees and leaving him almost fully naked beneath him, tossing it aside and squeezing the supple flesh tightly, enjoying the way Bruce cringed and growled beneath him as he did this, and slapped it harder, laughing lewdly at the bright purple handprint it caused to form on Bruce's otherwise perfect asscheek, and decided he would get a jacket of that color. Marvelous, The Joker thought with a dark, husky chuckle, rolling Bruce over so he could climb on him and straddle him now. He wondered just how filled with shame he was now.
"That's uh, gonna leave a mark before our fun really gets started, sweetheart," he giggled, and Bruce glared at him, with the same ferocity only his Bat could have. "Oh Bats, don't look at me like that. You're the one who started this." All conscious thought left Bruce once Joker began to gyrate his naked hips into his. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, and he felt himself unconsciously responding by rocking his hips in return and opening them wider to allow easier access for the lunatic. He felt the sharp, stubbly nails of Joker biting into his flesh harshly; loud, lustful groans that drove him absolutely insane and made that feeling of arousal grow even more, if that were even possible by this point. All of this felt new to him, although this had been going on for so, so long now. So long that it made him absolutely sick and ridden with shame and pangs of guilt with how he had actually let it continue and had done nothing to stop it.
The Joker stared into his eyes, the hot, putrid breath of the clown on his face as he reached over to grab something from the nightstand. Bruce already knew what it was as Joker rubbed it all over his hands. He could smell the Vaseline, which meant sex, which meant connecting with the one person in the world who truly understood the darkness and the monster that lived inside of him…
All of that was forgotten once Joker slowly, deliberately ran his hands over Bruce's soaked cock, making sure to get everything with the Vaseline. Intense pleasure came over Bruce at his touch, and he growled, forcing himself to bite his lips to the point where he bled even more and forced himself not to beg for more, more of what The Joker could give him. He was willing to do anything now at this point to get what he wanted.
Once Joker finished quickly preparing himself and Bruce, he gripped Bruce's hickeyed, sweaty shoulder with a bruising grip with one hand, and angled Bruce's cock so he could thrust it into himself on the other, slowly sitting down on him and an expression of pure blissful ecstasy came on The Joker's face as he closed his eyes, balancing himself by gripping Bruce's shoulders. The sensation of Joker's tight ass clenching around him was almost too much to bear, he couldn't breathe, and he almost pathetically screamed into the night air when Joker continued this new, delicious torture by beginning to thrust up and down on him, ass clenching tightly around him. And that was just what Joker could do; reduce him from a hero to a screaming whore at his hands as he did this. He could degrade him to malleable putty elsewhere but this, this was different. This was outside of time, outside of their usual fun and games.
The Joker moved up and down, feeling that odd, overwhelming sensation that told him Bats was hitting his prostate with each thrust. Fuck, this was good. He needed this, and a few more thrusts and he would be there, if only Bruce would move a little faster. Looking down at Bruce, he attacked him with his lips, tongue roaming that chest and claiming him with hickies to cover the yellowing bruises and scars that were already there, that already destroyed his knight before he even had a chance to defend himself. Bruce only groaned louder into the dark, tears forming at his eyes from the intense pleasure as he was fully into Joker, thrusting slowly.
"Bats. Fuck me harder, comeonccomeoncomeon," The Joker was rabid and delirious now, desperately wanting more of what Batman could give him. Ready for more of what he could give him. And Bruce was an animal himself, gratefully picking up the pace of thrusting. Joker felt the sensation of someone tearing him apart, sizzling flesh in his ass as Bruce picked up the thrusting, and this sizzling feeling began to form in his balls, spreading quickly, and he gripped onto Bruce for dear life as he growled loudly, coming onto Bruce's chest and thrusting himself harder, desperate to ride this out as much as possible and as desperate as possible to make Bruce enjoy this. And he seemed to be too, judging by the way his eyes were closed blissfully and the way he moaned out Joker's name, like in a porno, and he felt wetness inside of him as Bruce released himself with a loud growl. Sighing happily, Joker removed himself from Bruce, collapsing in a bunch of tired, sore limbs beside the other man, and they were both still in the aftershocks of their orgasms when Bruce pulled the blankets over them.
Sighing, he grabbed Bruce by the back of the head and pulled the man close. Bruce struggled for a bit, until he forced himself to relax in the monster's arms.
They both fell into deep unconsciousness.
When Bruce was aware he was conscious, he opened his eyes, and realized what had just happened. He guiltily looked at the clock. It was ten o'clock. Panicking, he rushed to get his bed clean and to take a quick, cold shower before Alfred came into check on him if he hadn't already in the two hours he'd been passed out. But Joker had left him in a position where Alfred wouldn't be able to determine what had happened, or see the discarded clothes on the bed.
On the bathroom counter, there was an envelope that had 'Bats' written on it in chicken scratch. He grabbed it, tearing it open, and opened up the folded notebook paper that was inside of it.
The note read:
Sorry, buttercup. I would've stayed for a slumber party but, I have a few boats to catch.
Sighing, he took a shower in record time, and knew he had to track The Joker down and end their torrid little game once and for all.
IDEK WHAT THE HELL I WAS ON AS I WROTE THIS. OMFG. O_O I HAVE ISSUEZ. LOL. WELL ENJOY. XD And yeah, it is supposed to be that they're having sexorz in TDK. Don't ask me how. They just are. Get the hell over it. ;)
Reviews are my friend.