The dark triad

BY : Triyune
Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman
Dragon prints: 210
Disclaimer: I don’t own Batman nor the Joker and I don't make money from writing this fic.

The dark triad

Chapter 1: Psychopathy

 

A few days ago, I had unambiguously shown him about my feelings for him. I had had arrived at point where I was sure that his sexual innuendos which he threw my way every, just every time we had an encounter, weren’t sexual innuendos but truth vocalized. A truth that should have sounded so ridiculous and laughable to me that I should have understood it as a joke.
But it was the truth. I was sure about that now. A tiny remark there, a barely audible comment here.

Did you miss me?
I’ve been thinking of you.
I am drawn to you.
That’s amore.
Flowers? For me?

Not forgetting the chocolate box with the poisoned chocolates on Valentine’s Day.
A few days ago, I had decided to end that game, admit and confess it to him. It had been a strange situation and I still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but I knew that he had understood me. I had unambiguously shown him about my feelings for him.

The next time we’d meet it would be different. He would know now that there was more to it than just a pyjama party for freaks in black and purple. I was excited to meet him again when he would know that his love would be returned by me. I was longing for the next time we’d see each other, hoping that it would be soon. That all was new to me. Would we just ring each other up and meet somewhere, like I did it with women? Would he bring me flowers or would I do that?
Who’d be on top?

 

__________________

 

I licked my lips and told Moler to spread the info and to make sure that especially the talky subjects would hear that the Joker was going to rob a bank and circulate it. All the way down to the Bat. If I wanted him to get wind of that he surely would that way.

“Make sure you tell it to the right people.”

“You can take it to the bank.”

“I will.”

Actually, it was an abandoned bank, yet, there still were printing plates hidden in it. It was just the right thing to get started with. Some old, dusty printing plates.
Two weeks later, I showed up there, prepared. The windows of the building weren’t there anymore, the floor was muddy and the iron rusty. A very romantic place. Shabby-chicdustrial, for the soft souls. To make it worse I put a candle on the counter, lit it and spread some opium scent. Then I started searching for the plates.

When I heard a moving of the air behind me I couldn’t hide the smirk. However, I dropped it instantly and turned around, fully into the realm of a dark figure.
It was impressive. Solid, dark matter towered in front of me, motionlessly. I could tell that it was him, yet, something wasn’t quite right. It was so intimidating that I took a step back. As much as I tried to see his eyes, they were hidden from me. He was waiting in the shade, watching me. He didn’t bat an eye and though, I could feel his tension and the suspense. That was uncharted territory for both of us.

I took a step towards him and the darkness seemed to flee from me. I could see him more clearly now and I clenched my teeth as I realized that Bruce Wayne was standing in front of me, dressed in a fine black suit with a black tie.
I needed a few moments to get past that shock. Just a few moments, enough to wake up my curiosity.
And more than that.

Wordlessly, I took some more steps towards him and grabbed him in his crotch. He jerked but tried to hide it.
Hard.
Inevitably, my heart beat faster and I slightly tightened my grip before I let go. Admitted, that had been one of the tastiest things I had ever gotten hold of. Solid Bat dick.

The smirk returned to my lips and a little more courageous, I approached him again, letting my fingers slide over his arm and chest, feeling for his body under that silky suit, muscles as hard as his dick. I could have gotten used to that. And still, he stood there in silence, not moving, tentatively feeling for the vibe. I couldn’t believe that he had dared to come like that. I would have expected everything but that, from Arkham psychiatrists down to the police force, but not Bruce Wayne.

I took a deep breath and tried to shove those brainkilling emotions aside.
His lips were just in front of me.
I dug deep into my pocket and took it out as silently as possible so that he wouldn’t notice. Just when the bar clicked he froze, realizing that something had happened without him noticing. A prime mistake.

When his other arm joined the party behind his back he finally let me glimpse his eyes. Fear and love were there at the same time; he was nothing but a helpless victim of his humanity. Me, addressed in that way, felt puzzled for a moment. I couldn’t believe that I was causing these emotions. Somehow, I felt proud. And something else.

Gleefully, I moved closer again and breathed against his lips, then I cast up my eyes. We had never been so close. I couldn’t escape the magic of that moment, me myself just the victim of my own humanity as well. I licked my lips again, knowing that I only did that when I was lost in emotional chaos. It was a sign of my own insecurity.

I reached behind his back and applied pressure, making him take some steps to the left. He allowed me to push him down and when he found out that he was finally safely sitting on a chair his eyes expectantly searched for mine again. I sat down on his thighs and started unbuttoning his shirt. It was a cold night and though, I could feel his breath on my hands, cold and coming in fits, excitement rendering him completely silent. Dreams would come true.

When his shirt was open I pushed it aside. The most aesthetic example of a male chest presented itself in front of me, I could not deny that. Nipples that were begging to be bitten stood out against a smooth, pale surface and a small hole, begging to be filled with my tongue was waiting a few inches above the waistband. I closed my eyes and savoured the sight in my mind. Delicious.

I lightly touched his chest and he gasped, unable to hide that which had been building up for years anymore. When my forefinger brushed his nipple his thighs grew tight and I seized the confusion of the moment to move a little closer.

My crotch against his.

It almost drove me mad. So I tended to it. Slowly, I freed his pants from the belt and unbuttoned them. Just a zipper between us, a thin line of metal. Breathing hard, I looked up just to find him as ravished with lust.
So it was true.

The zipper made way and I violently pulled his pants down, forcing him to comply without wasting a thought on it. When I straightened my back his dick had adjusted itself already and stood at attention. I did the same with my pants, dropped them on the floor and sat down on his thighs again, our dicks touching. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, doubting what was just happening.

It wasn’t that he was handsome, attractive or especially pretty. I knew guys and girls who were models and had the finest bodies and I knew intellectuals whose faces had assumed the shape of their thoughts – sharp and clean-cut.
No. It was the fact that that man was so hopelessly lost, so fatally attracted to me which gave me the utmost thrills. No other handsome subject or sharp-witted individual could press my buttons as easily as a desperate man.
And he was desperate if he was loving me and waiting for my love.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have to think about anything at all. I had been declared insane and I was sure that he, like anyone else who knew me a little, took me for a capricious man. Maybe it was that which appealed to him most but anyway, I could do what I pleased and didn’t need to preserve any reputation. Thus, I could allow myself to get carried away with him without fearing any consequences. I was a cold and calculating asshole, able to manipulate the feelings of others and even mine when the situation called for it.

I looked him straight in the eye. Still, there was insecurity and a kind of despair in them which drove me mad. Grinning, I took both our dicks in my hand which drew a hiss from him and me. What a sensual touch; his dick pressed against mine was like an orgasm already. I made our foreheads meet so that our lips were almost touching again. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to kiss him.

Instead, I started pumping our dicks and fondling his chest with my other hand. He squirmed and shifted, somehow trying to escape my touch and then again following my moves to get more of it.
It didn’t take long and he was leaking; impossible for him to hold back. I let go of our dicks and started kissing his collarbone. It was so new for me that it was purely exciting. About ten coffees would have done the same to me. If he had not responded in such an inviting and approving way I would have stopped at unbuttoning his shirt already.
It was the sweet bitterness of the first time.

After the fifteenth kiss I moved down his arm as much as I could, spreading kisses on it as well. On that occasion, I checked for the vein in the crook of his arm. That would work out.
I continued with my adoration back upwards until I finally arrived under his mouth. He was patient. He didn’t rush me; he’d give me all the time I would need if I just stayed with him. What a desperate man.

While I licked his earlobe I reached into the pocket again and took a small but long thing out. A few more kisses on his chest, then I took his arm and twisted it a little so I’d have access to the vein. Before he could say a word I had pushed through the skin and injected the vodka.
A stifling cry.
A flashing grin.
A gasp of breath.
A small drop of blood trickled down his arm. I had never been good at dealing injections.

He gave a groan and I dared to look at his face. Instantly, I was back, my dick bobbing for attention. While he rolled his eyes and clearly was going less and less clear within moments I gripped his dick again and gave him a few good strokes until his head fell down and I heard him panting again. I bent forward and buried my nose in his hair. Olive oil.

I pumped his dick more forcefully until he tensed up. Shortly before he spilt his semen I pressed his dick down and made him cum on his pants. I had to admit that it was a purely erotic sight to have him handcuffed on that chair, almost fully naked and moaning ecstatically. He loved me so much that he didn’t hide anything.
However, the finale was yet to come.

While he was busy sorting out his limbs and mind in the afterglow of that fabulous orgasm I gave him a second vodka injection which finally sent him into the land of lll, zzz and ddd.
“Whaddiya...” was the first word or words I heard from him today. What a declaration of love.

I got up from his legs, freed him and pulled him up to make him stand on his legs. However, that turned out too difficult and he almost fell back on the chair.
He cleared his throat and closed his eyes to make it go away. Yet, when he opened them again the world had gotten even nastier. After a pitiful moan he made a step forward and reached for the sleeve of his shirt.

Clumsily, he tried to pull it over his arm but after four attempts he still hadn’t managed. He generously gave it up and continued with his pants. Between pulling them up and buttoning them he made a few steps, tiny steps, first because his pants didn’t allow for any great strides and secondly, because he would have stumbled and fallen if he had dared to ignore the effects of that injection and proudly walk out of this.

With my eyes glued to that pathetic image I sat down on the chair and watched him, my dick in my hands. When he tripped up on an iron bar I felt a pleasure pang in my guts. I clenched my teeth and watched him how he kept turning his head, looking for the exit while it was just in front of him.
Eventually, he had realized that there was a hole in the wall in front of him and he stepped through it. I followed him. With his hand pressed against the wall to support his weak knees, he made his way for a few meters until he finally collapsed.

Disgracefully, he fell backwards, his back hitting the wall, his legs giving way, making him sink into a pile of debris, metal and dust. I stepped in front of him and started pumping my dick again. The image in front of me turned me on more than any drug could have.
Misery was my Viagra.

He coughed and gasped, the alcohol flooding his cheeks and giving him the most exquisite jag he had ever had. With a shaky hand, he tried to get his hair out of his vision but it was too late; I came and spread it all over his head, his despair fuelling my lust. Since I was sure that he would barely remember any of this I didn’t hold back and shamelessly moaned into the night.

When I felt the thrills fading I leaned against the wall over him and waited for recovery. Under me, the man gave up and allowed his body to slide down to the side. Covered in dirt, semen and shame, he finally surrendered himself to the circumstances.

However, not for long. I expected him to meet with physical resistance.
Indeed, a few minutes later, he convulsed his body and retched, but there was nothing to be thrown up. His vision must have resembled a merry-go-round ride, moving merrily. That, in fact, confused him. He tried to get up again but he didn’t even manage to sort out his legs and he gave it up again with a moan.

I had thought of everything but a camera. If I had had one with me I would have taken a picture of this to jerk off to later. Instead, I let my gaze slide down from head to toe for one last time, smirked and took a step back.

“Love you too,” I whispered with a grin, turned around and disappeared in the night.

 

______________________

 

The next day started without me. I just became aware of myself when the headache became unignorable. My ankle was aching, my back complaining, my arm hurting and my stomach sore. But the worst thing was a kind of headache which made it impossible for me to think. I swallowed and shuddered with disgust as I became aware of the bitter taste. Asking myself what had happened I tried to get up, which proved difficult since I couldn’t find any spot which would have allowed my feet to stand on safely.

While checking my options I remembered that I was carrying a phone with me. I called me a taxi and finally got up, yet, not without hurting my already sprained ankle even more. This was just hell. I knew that I had gotten there because of the Joker and that I had been sitting on a chair with him holding my dick until my memory had just gone black. I sighed and started moving. Until I had gotten to the spot where the taxi would pick me up I was all spent and very glad when the car was waiting for me already.

“Wayne Manor.”

I did not miss the surprise in the driver’s eyes when he spotted that creature in the back of his car, dusty, scratches in his face and cum on his hair. If I had been the driver I would have kicked that shady subject out of my car. But I was Bruce Wayne.

In the middle of Gotham I felt the urge to throw up again, my driver’s skills just sending me back into that sickness. However, we arrived at my home without any disgusting episodes in the back of the car and I was glad to climb the few steps of my haven, finally.
I pretended not to hear Alfred’s questions, left my clothes in the corridor and went, as dirty, sticky and drippy as I was, to bed.

When I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, which had turned into a huge rotating piece of paper, a feeling ascended and surpassed the headache. I took a deep breath and tried to give it a name, but I found none for it. It was a mix of many but the most prominent ones were affection and hurt. Just what had happened? Suddenly, I felt so embarrassed, for everything, just for every single thing I had done in my life and especially for those events which had taken place during the last few weeks.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin. What had happened? I felt somewhat abused, but that didn’t explain what had happened. I knew that he had dealt me an injection which had completely shredded my senses and I could remember scenes of what had happened then, but I couldn’t make sense of it. There was cum on my hair and on my pants. My cum on my pants. The driver had seen me like that; Alfred had seen me like that. I would have to think of a very good story. And an even better one for the semen on my head. How could he.

I felt a lump in my throat. Usually, that happened when I was too busy than to burst into tears. With a hurting mind and an aching body, I turned on my side and closed my eyes. But as much as I tried to focus on business plans and the numbers of the latest tax declaration he’d come to my mind, teasing me with his erection and his piercing look. I felt hurt and at the same time drawn to him. What had I expected, accepting these feelings for a maniac? A candlelight dinner or visit at the opera?

Yet, the thought of never seeing him again made me feel even more desperate. There was no way out. I pulled the blanket over my head and suppressed a sigh. Unbearable shame and an irresistible feeling of attraction tore me apart.
I had not realize that I was just falling for a psychopath who had managed to manipulate me as cleverly as he had done it with many fragile individuals before.

Meanwhile, at the other end of Gotham, as far away from Wayne Manor as possible, in the Cherry district, the Joker was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was not a huge rotating piece of paper, but a playground for his projections.
While he watched himself getting fucked by an exceptionally handsome man with dark hair and extraordinary stamina, he noticed cold sweat on his forehead.

His heart was racing.
Not out of excitement, but out of fear. He had tried to ignore it, but he was feeling cold by now, shivering. His body was bathed in sweat. As much as he dreaded that moment but he knew that he would call for him again. He had to.
And he would hurt him again.

 

_________

Notes:

Please don't ever consider trying out an alcohol injection yourself. It does work, but don't take this as an encouragement in any way.



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