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Even Bats Fall	By : BlueBastard Category: DC Verse Movies > The Dark Knight Views: 6333 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Knight or Batman Begins and I do not make a profit from writing this piece of fiction

Chapter List
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A/N: A couple of YouTube vids of Batman/Joker pairing that are an interesting watch:
Batman/Joker - Ugly Like Me by Sammye89
Batman/Joker: "I Hate Everything About You" by Morramorgenst...
-o-o-o-
"I just saw the news." The english accent over the phone was filled with concern.
"Alfred," Bruce sighed in exasperation, "HOW are you going to enjoy your vacation if you keep watching that kind of stuff?"
"It seems the proverbial moth is drawn to the flame, no matter the form." Alfred speculated, worry and frustration coloring his tone.
"Lucky me..." Bruce muttered bitterly, knuckles turning white as he gripped the phone.
There was a silence that descended.
The ticking of the grandfather clock filled the hollow room, its grand splendor lost to the sole occupant. How could it have gotten so out of hand? Bruce wracked his brain. He shouldn't have opposed the Joker so strongly. Should've known it would catch his attention. But what was he supposed to do? LET the crazed man blow everyone up?
Bruce sighed, shaking his head as he consoled the old man, "Don't worry about me, Alfred. You know I could handle myself, even with the Joker."
"I know very well how that crazed lunatic can dig himself under your skin, Master Bruce." The butler replied, sighing as well, "But I shall let sleeping dogs lay, as the expression goes. Just BE careful."
"You know me, Alfred." Bruce chuckled.
"Yes, Master Bruce, I do." Alfred replied quietly, before hanging up.
Bruce exhaled loudly. He 'failed' to mention the Joker never made it to the police station. The patrol car had flipped over, the driver inexplicably stabbed with a pen through his skull, the other officer lacerated with knife wounds and held up in the intensive care unit. Feeling the familiar itch of wanting to don the suit and chase the maniac down, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and finished his whiskey in one shot. He needed a distraction.
And fast.
He picked up the phone again, calling the first number in his black book. It picked up within the first few rings, and Bruce jumped to it, suave playboy once more, "Hey, Angela. This is Bruce. Yea, that Bruce. How would you like to have dinner tonight?"
-o-o-o-
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Joker was bored. Again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The new hideout was the same as the others, his blue eyes roaming over the dusty rafters, the cobwebs in the forgotten corners, and the stained glass windows. There were so many forgotten crates in here.
347 crates, to be exact. And four of 'em were broken, seven were smashed inexplicably, and over two dozen were falling apart from rot and mildew.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He was. Fucking. BORED.
Schlink.
He folded the butterfly knife with a snap of his wrist, staring absently at the small crater he had carved into the top of the crate with his incessant tapping.
Joker face-planted on the crate, groaning loudly.
Hell.
He missed his Bat.
Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, he did would make the Batman come back out. And it was seriously starting to mess with his head. He remembered the good old days. He would blow something up. Kill a few people. And the Bat would be RIGHT there. Now he was fucking lucky if he even HEARD the name at night. A few times his men had reported a sighting, and he had sped as fast as he could to the scene. Only to find fucking pretenders parading as HIS Bat. They had died slow, painful deaths under his caring blades.
Joker didn't even take the time to make elaborate plans anymore.
He had lost his drive.
It was just... too EASY.
The only reason he did anything anymore was to shut his goons up with their squawking. Rumors were flying around about the Joker losing his touch. He didn't deny or shed truth on anything. That was just it.
He. Didn't. Fuckin'. Care.
And it was starting to show.
He had to get outta there. He was going stir crazy. Maybe a night out in the town was just what he needed.
-o-o-o-
The champagne was fizzing. The ambience peaceful and refined. The soft lights showered perfectly on Angela's pale skin and blonde hair, the straightened strands twisted into an intricate bun, an ornate hairpin tucked inside. She rocked the body of a Victoria's Secret model, while holding herself elegantly. Her plump lips, accented in shimmering pink, moved as she spoke.
Everything should have been perfect. Only...
It wasn't.
Bruce, chin perched on a propped up arm, the other tucked suavely against his knee, was busy making it look like he was absorbing her words. Like they were the most interesting sounds he had ever heard. Only they weren't. Truth be told, he could not hear a damn thing she was saying. Her lips were flapping, her hands making graceful gestures, but Bruce could hardly focus. Not just on her. On *anything*.
He just kept hearing the Joker's laugh. Kept remembering the feel of the Joker's lips on his lips. Hands touching oh-so-familiar places. And it bothered him.
Intensely.
He shouldn't even be thinking about the crazed jester. He was done being Batman. Done sacrificing himself piece by piece to an ungrateful city. Done having to deal with... HIM. So why was it that he couldn't stop thinking about him? Why was it that he couldn't keep the Joker from creating chaos in the relative safety of his mind? His touch was like poison, tainting anything it came in contact with. And Bruce was infected.
All he needed was an antidote.
And he hoped perhaps kickstarting his love life might help. Not that he wanted to even BEGIN to consider why sleeping with a bunch of people would cure him of whatever mark the Joker had left. THAT was just not something he was ready to fathom, much less face just yet.
"-are still listening to me, right Bruce?" Her voice chimed through his thoughts, and Bruce blinked. He looked to be a man just surfacing from a deep plunge in murky waters, eyes blinking slowly before focusing on her face.
"Hmm? Of course," He cleared his throat. Smooth. Very smooth. Before adjusting his tie, as though it was a little too tight around his neck, "Uh... what were you saying?"
She huffed, loudly.
All right, so he was caught. He opened his mouth to apologize profusely, but she held up a single digit to silence him, "Excuse me a moment, I need to go powder my nose."
Bruce smirked as she stood. He should've known better than to think Angela was the type of girl to get upset over something like that. Not when money and fame were involved. He really needed to pick his friends better. Then again, she was not exactly a friend, per se.
"I'll... see you when you get back?" He called out after her, answering her departing smile as she slinked sensually away. It should have made him feel *something*, her dress open so low in the back, you could tell she wasn't even wearing any underwear. He looked down.
Nothing.
Not even a twinge.
A spark.
Oh hell, he was broken.
There was definitely *something* wrong with him.
Bruce groaned as if in pain, eyes scrunched as he leaned into his open palm, willing the bright lights and the whole room away. This was a mistake. A very bad idea. He should've just stayed home. Duct taped himself to the couch or something. This had to be the LONGEST date in the history of non-dates, and he was sure it had only began ten or twenty minutes ago.
He heard the chair scrape back across from him. Knew he should take his face out of his hand and open his eyes. Acknowledge her presence and at least ACT like the date was some semblance of having a good time.
Or tell her it was off.
Yea, that sounded better.
Then that voice filtered through, a raspy kind of amusement as the obviously male and NOT Angela's asked, "Heh eheh, rough night?"
Holy fuck.
Bruce's eyes flew open, taking in the the amused charcoal covered eyes, that red grin and slicked back green hair all at once. He had a slightly more than crazed look in his eye. But it turned to something feral as Joker leaned closer, azure orbs never leaving his as the clown's voice dropped a few notches, "I, erm, eheh, can *make* it ROUGHER."
That tone, that lustful gaze, it all shot straight down Batman's spine to his core. And this, more than anything, disturbed him the most.
Bruce's own chair immediately scraped back and he was partially out of his seat before a gloved hand clamped over his own, yanking it harshly back on the tabletop, keeping the billionaire half standing, but in place. Bruce felt his arm twitch, legs clenching. His typical Batman response was to fly over the table, tackle the man, and beat him to a bloody pulp, demanding WHY he couldn't just stay OUT of his life! He could do it. He didn't need the Kevlar. Years of intense training, getting himself beat up and pounding, likewise, on others, assured his ripped body was honed. A deadly weapon. But the Bruce visage stopped him. It was in that moment of hesitation that the Joker pounced, having already made his move moments before.
"Atatata tata," Joker admonished, clicking his tongue as something cold and cylindrical pressed against Bruce's kneecap under the hanging tablecloth, "No theatrics now. It's just you... and ME, Brucy. And unless you, erm, want me to pop one in your knee -which I, er, hear is *very* painful these days- and then another into your blonde bimbo, heh eheh, then I *suggest* you SIT. DOWN."
The last two words were snarled. Barely controlled screeched demands that were dressed as whispered words.
Bruce, still in a state of shock, complied. Slowly sitting down, eyes watching the Joker the whole time, Wayne found himself on the edge of his seat. How was it no one was noticing this? No one was screaming. Then he realized.
He had gotten the most secluded table in the whole place, potted shrubbery and fountains separating them from all the rest. That and, he noted with a furrowed frown, that the Joker's attire was the blacks and whites of a waiter, a large serving pan set on the other half of the table. Trickster. A fraction of him admired the ingenuity, before his inner Bat growled and pounded that inkling to oblivion.
"What are you doing HERE?" Bruce hissed, Batman lurking at the edges of his tone, his alter ego the reason he even found his voice so fast. Bruce Wayne's image would be a babbling incoherent idiot at that moment, and part of him warned that THAT was how he should be acting.
The transformation from stunned to angry pleased the Joker, however, as he murmured, "Closer."
Thrown off, Bruce gave a hard blink, "WHAT?"
Impatience crept into that nasal, lyrical tone as the Joker repeated more harshly, "I *said* scoot your chair CLOSER and I will answer all your questions."
It was a tactical disadvantage, the inner Bat noted. Even Bruce knew that, and he sat rigid for a moment, considering his choices. But the jester was watching him intently, hunched shoulders more tense, as though ready to spring into action at any moment. With a frustrated sigh, Bruce relented, using his free hand to grasp the bottom of the chair as he slid it closer back under the table. Though he was still sitting only halfway in the cushion, refusing to give that up.
Should have known the Joker would notice.
Green curls slid free, hanging along the edge of his painted face as he shook his head, "No no no no. Sit ALL the way back, like we're on a PROPER date."
"This is not a-" Bruce started to deny, voice rising.
"Atatata ta." The silencer tapped menacingly on his thigh, inky black sockets arching upwards under the Joker's painted brow.
Bruce froze, then grumbled, complying once more. But he was NOT happy about. Far from it. Batman was raging inside, caged and waiting to unleash hell's fury on the jester. But Bruce held the key tightly, fists clenching as he sat all the way until his rigid spine made contact with the back of the chair. He took small comfort in the fact that he still had the option of flipping the entire table, should he need to escape. Whether he could do it *before* the Joker shot him was another question entirely.
"Happy?" Bruce bit out, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
That evil pink tongue darted out to wet sinister lips, crimson grin smirking, "...Yes."
"Can we just get on with this," Bruce gestured in the air, "whatever THIS is? I have a date I need to get back to."
"You mean that yawn fest?" Joker cackled, noting the tension in Bruce's broad shoulders, "Oh, I noticed. Imagine my surprise, coming in the first restaurant I come across and snatching the perfect outfit, only to find little. Old. You. Hee Hee ahaw. I could barely contain my excitement."
Bruce's brow arched fiercely, "Try harder."
"Ooh I did, Brucy. I DID. I wanted to come over as soon as I saw and *rescue* you, buuuuut I waited... Waited for your blonde bimbo to leave, to give us some ALONE time. Heh eheh." Joker released Bruce's hand and watched, amused as Wayne yanked it away as though his touch had scalded the playboy's own. Nonplussed, he grabbed the skank's untouched glass and downed the contents. He gave a unsatisfied huff as he frowned, "Too fruity. I need something with, erm, a little more pizzazz. More of a kick to it."
"Then maybe you should get your OWN date. And kindly BUTT out of mine." Bruce's frown was deeper, his previously captured hand burning from the man's touch. He brought both under the table, wringing it as if to massage the trembling conflict from his assaulted digits.
"Atatata ta," Joker tsked, "Hands where I can see 'em Brucy boy." He waited patiently for the other to comply, smirking wider as the look on the man's pristine features CLEARLY stated he absolutely did NOT like how the Joker was ordering him around. Any other person, man or woman, would be shaking in their boots. Mob bosses, even the stubborn ones, would be showing a telltale sign of fear. But not Bruce. Oh no. He was ANYTHING but afraid. An unexpected fighter, in a world full of posers. And it warmed Joker's cold little heart to have uncovered this rare gem.
A keeper.
Bruce Wayne was definitely a keeper.
And it was chipping away the large void left in him by Batman's continued insistence on staying out of sight.
"Now apparently I'm gonna have to, er, SPELL things out more clearly for you since you're not getting the bigger picture," Joker licked his lips, delighting in the uncontrolled glare that followed the innocent gesture. Clearing his throat and straightening his stolen vest with a roll of his shoulders, Joker leaned in closer once more as he said slowly, "I am hijacking this date. It is O-FFICIALLY hijacked." He eagerly drank in the snort and narrowing of brown eyes as he continued, "So let's stop deluding ourselves in thinking of the past and that, erm, blonde thing you walked in here with."
Bruce Wayne's glare could melt what remained of the ozone layer, as he retorted in a voice colder than the arctic wind, "You seem to be doing a fine job in deluding yourself into thinking you can get away with this. My REAL date will be back any moment now, and I will KINDLY have to ask YOU to *LEAVE*."
"Ohoho Brucy boy, quite the optimistic, are we? This is the most fun I've had since our last meeting. WHY, erm, would *I*. LEAVE? Hmm?" Joker cackled, his whole body vibrating excitedly. It really was such FUN getting a rise out of the darker haired man. Created such tickling sensations in his gut when those eyes scorched his very soul, peeling back layer after layer of skin and bones. It reminded him sooooo much of his Bat. Thoughts of his missing other darkened his mood, and it showed as he turned to see the bimbo walking towards them. His voice laced with murder as he joked, "Speak of the devil..."
Bruce felt a jolt of fear for her wellbeing, turning as Angela came strutting back. Though her heels slowed hesitantly as she saw someone occupying her seat. Her beautiful face had creased, thinking at first it was another woman. But when she saw it was an odd man, his face painted as though a child had imagined the crude skull of a clown when he did it, her confusion etched clearly into her plucked brows.
"Bruce, what's going on here...?" She asked expectantly, "Who is this?"
"Yes, Brucy, tell her." Joker growled dangerously, all eyes flaying apart the bitch that had intruded in their evening together.
Wayne stumbled, not expecting her back so soon. In all truth, though he referenced her presence in their verbal sparring -something his inner Bat wanted to turn into a more viciously physical activity- he had completely forgotten she was there with him.
"A-Angela, this... is my old buddy from Harvard, stopping by on a social visit." Bruce stammered in the beginning, but quickly composed himself. All he could think of was how much danger she was in by being there. With him. He may not be the Bat anymore, but having another senseless death on his hands did not sit well with him.
"Date." Joker interjected, eyes still trained on the primp monkey before him.
Both Bruce and Angela spluttered, "Excuse me?"
"Date. We're on a DATE." Joker stressed, exasperated and turning to look at Bruce, promptly ignoring the skank's question altogether, "Can you please tell her-" Those maddened orbs outlined in coal shot back to said skank, "Can't you see we're BUSY here???"
"Ex-CUSE you?" Her pitch heightened.
"Yes, YOU are *excused*. Now run along and get breast implants or a nose job done and paid for by some OTHER billionaire... this one's taken. I call dibs." Joker's eyes gleamed, his grin twisted in place.
Her green affronted gaze shot towards the handsome bachelor, her voice wavering, "Bruce...?"
He could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes.
"This is NOT what it looks like-" Bruce explained quickly.
He was not-
He couldn't be interested in-
Bruce Wayne was NOT gay. He had entertained the idea of bisexuality, but he was, under no circumstances, indefinitely, NOT gay.
...was he?
NO.
"This is EXACTLY what it looks like," Joker purred, hand suddenly back on top of his, snaking and intertwining over his knuckles and fingers, "Isn't it, Brucy darling?"
"Don't call me that." Bruce growled, attempting to pull his hand back. The heat of those gloved digits was too much. Warning flares lit up his nerves like so many alarm bells. This was the JOKER. And he was close. Too close. But the Joker's grip was like iron, as he well knew it would be, "And stop it."
"No you stop it," Joker crooned, tongue audibly smacking in his mouth, an annoying habit the man had, before his tone pitched dangerously low, "Before *someone* gets HURT."
Bruce Wayne noticed a few things in that moment. One, Angela hovered a few feet away, brows so high they dipped under her bangs, hidden from view. Two, he was dealing with a raging, murdering psychopath. Who was currently getting more malicious by the moment in Angela's presence. A subtle kind of maliciousness that he caught only because he knew him as Batman. A tick or twitch here, a sneer there. The growing stillness of the normally constantly wriggling maniac.
And thirdly, he no longer felt the cool barrel of the silencer on his knee.
"Uh, a Date!" Bruce said in a rush, knowing he only had moments, if that. The Joker arched a painted brow, glancing sideways at him as Bruce cleared his blocked throat, "He's, um, my date. I'm so sorry, Angela. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
The floodgates spilled open, tears cascading down her reddened cheeks, making her mascara run. She looked so unsure of herself then, "W-what are you saying, Bruce? You can't possibly be with this-this thing!"
Bruce glanced at the jester, but he was silent. Watching Bruce with a hawk-like intensity.
"I-Uh..." He snapped his gaze back to the trembling mess before him. This was for her own good. He pictured her in a pool of her own blood, the Joker cackling over her dead body. His resolve hardened, "Yes. I am."
He could practically hear the hummed approval from the man across from him. Feel it through the vibrations of the silencer focused back on his thigh.
"I see..." Angela choked, giving a hiccuped sob before abruptly turning and dashing away.
Bruce made to stand, but the Joker yanked him back down again, drawing a growl from the trapped billionaire.
"Now you see, that wasn't so hard to admit, was it?" Joker drawled, iron grip turned to caressing Wayne's hand, pleased. The jester added thoughtfully, "Though... I DO believe, erm, you're gonna have to cross off little miss Bimbo off your little black book. Maybe all of 'em, since it'll save you the trouble of having, heheh, ME do it for you. Not that I'm the possessive type, really. I just. Don't. Like. SHARING."
Bruce was shaking. Batman roaring to be uncaged. To rain hell on the maniac sitting across from him. But he stifled his rage, letting it seep out a crack as he bit out, "You monster..."
"Yes, but one who has a DATE with the eligible, handsome Bruce Wayne." The Joker preened, smug. He was in his own little world, loving the fact that he had managed to make the stubborn man say EXACTLY what he wanted to hear. THAT deserved a treat.
Bruce was taken aback at the compliment, glowering when the painted menace noticed.
"You DO forget, don't you Bruce. Just, heh heh, how HANDSOME you are..." Joker rolled the word around his tongue, making it sound absolutely sinful. He released the man's fist, expecting the jerked motion of the playboy snatching his hand back. But no matter. Joker reached for a cherry tomato on the salad on Bruce's side, "You gonna eat that?"
"I'm not hungry." Wayne snapped back, his brows so drawn down they were almost welded together.
"Well I..." Joker popped the delicious vegetable in his mouth with a loud smack, "AM."
He delighted in the startled gasp, the widened brown eyes, as the billionaire finally took note of the movement under the table, the barrel of the gun sliding sinfully along the inner seams of his thighs. Up and up to the most intimate of places. A full body shiver went through the groomed man's frozen countenance, disbelief spelled clearly in his features.
"Spread 'em, Brucy." Joker demanded eagerly, swallowing his tomato whole.
Bruce Wayne growled, clenching his thighs together. He would NOT play this sick man's games.
Joker frowned at that, stating, "You do NOT take direction real good, Brucy boy."
"Not from YOU." That snarl twisted those pert lips, sparking another hint of familiarity, making the Joker want to do dirty things to the man.
This defiance just would not DO.
"Ah Brucy, you see the problem with you is, erm, you don't think things all the way through. Eheh heh. You see... closing your legs like that aligns things oh so well, and gives monsters, heh, like ME, the opportunity to do THIS." Joker relished in the strangled sound Wayne made as he shoved the barrel forward and down, pressing heatedly into an unfortunately covered hole that Joker desperately wanted filled.
Bruce tried to sit up straight, cover his vulnerable area as he scooted away from the madman and his intrusive gun. But the Joker was one step ahead, foot hooked around the leg of Wayne's chair, literally dragging it forward into the table with a hard yank, forcing the suave man to lean back as he was pinned aggressively. The table biting his mid chest, his upper back curled back against the chair. Legs spread at the sudden motion.
And Joker's other hand dived under the table into the thick of it.
Bruce tried to close his legs once more, but the sadistic jester had gotten wise to his tricks. The pinstriped leg that had hooked the chair was currently blocking one leg with a well placed knee. The other foot was pinned by an unforgiving boot on Bruce's polished heel. The barrel remained at the more exposed opening, but the real trouble was that second hand, which found an interesting spot to rest.
Right. Between. Bruce's legs.
Where the Joker immediately busied himself with roughly exploring Bruce through his suit.
Bruce choked on a groan, hands gripping the edge of the table, head lolling back before he jerked it forward, "STOP. This..."
Grinning hungrily, Joker spread the man's legs open wider, "Erm... NO."
Bruce was attacked with the dual sensations. The barrel of the gun prodding his opening in time with the rubbing of the hand against a horrifyingly growing bulge in his pants.
"You seem to be enjoying this, Brucy..." Joker growled appreciatively, strengthening his motions, eyes tracing every twitch and barely audible moan from his unwilling partner. He continued conversationally, "So, heh heh, tell me about yourself..."
"You're-" Bruce choked, straining to get his body back under control, fighting the impulse to arch his hips upwards into that talented hand. Damn him. "-serious? I want -ha, shit!- you to, gah, STOP."
The reply was snorted in a sing song manner, "No you *don't*..."
"JOKER." Bruce growled, jaw clenched. Glare shooting daggers. A flush from more than anger staining his cheeks.
"Sheesh, so serious..." Joker drawled, drawing out a particular stroke, pressing the barrel deeper and enjoying the deep shudder that wracked the billionaire's body, "Tell you what... You tell me enough about yourself, and I'll stop tormenting you. Deal? Simple enough."
Bruce could barely think past the heated haze that diffused his brain. His limbs were tense, his spine curling in on itself at the overwhelming spikes of pleasure inflicted on him by the damn menace. His knuckles were white, clenching the table so hard it hurt. What the Joker was doing with his HAND... that gun... it was eliciting an unexpected reaction that wracked his whole body with an immeasurable amount of white hot electricity. Firing up every nerve. Turning his brain to mush.
Batman forced himself to focus. He needed this to stop.
And as much as he detested it, giving in to the demented demands looked like the only way out.
"What..." He bit his lip hard to keep the groan from spilling out, feeling a slight stinging sensation as he did so, "hah... Do you want... to -shit- to know?"
The bite, however, had drawn some blood. And Joker was riveted, like a shark in a small pool. Previous questions flew out the window. His main goal came back to haunt at him. Torment him. It was all fun and games with good 'ol Brucy. But Joker's heart, sadly enough, belonged to another. The one who had. Quit. PLAYING. Leaning forward, he hissed, "I WANT... to know where the Batman is."
Fuck.
Bruce's eyes clenched shut.
"I don't know! Gah, why would I... KNOW that??" Bruce growled, straining in his seat. The heat was unbearable. The fact that it was the JOKER made it all that more insane. The man was DOING things to him that he should NOT be. And his inner Bat was growling.
Fight back!
But how?
He gripped the edges of the table, ready to flip it over even if it was bolted into the ground. But then the Joker did *something* with his fingers and Batman's strength turned to jello. He cursed.
Loudly.
"Joker! Ngh, I don't know where he is!" Bruce grunted with the last of his failing strength, doing his best to glare at the man across the small table.
"Wrong answer!" Joker cackled darkly, speeding up the process. He loved to see this man squirm. He knew he probably couldn't answer his question.
But that was what he was hoping for. He wanted this. Wanted to make the playboy's toes curl. His blood boil. Wanted to be the face Bruce thought of on those dark lonely nights.
Wanted it almost as bad as he wanted to see Batman again.
Almost.
But that was pretty freakin' bad.
Seeing Bruce like this, trapped, flushed with unwanted desire, it was doing things to the Joker that he had previously believed only the Bat could inspire. He felt a tent straining in his own monkey suit, and snarled. Wanting nothing more than to shred BOTH their clothes off and fuck the billionaire like he's never been fucked before. And it would feel so GOOD. He could tell.
If just doing THIS was making his cock hard, the Joker could only IMAGINE what it would feel like skin on skin. Flesh pounding flesh. And Bruce would fight him. Oh. He would fight him EVERY. STEP.
It was obvious.
And it was making the Joker hotter than hell itself.
If he couldn't have his Bat, then he would drain the billionaire for every cum-filled drop he could. The Joker had a serious case of blue balls. All this running and being chased by the Batman, and the vigilante goes and ENDS it before they get to the juicy punchline? It was the one angle the Joker had believed too impossible to consider. He had had it planned out meticulously. Right to the tiniest fraction of possible outcomes. If the Bat fought, he would fight back. If he submitted, heh heh, well...
But the Bat wouldn't make it easy. Oh no, he had his MORALS after all. Ridiculous, silly and fragile things. But the Joker had relied on those flimsy things to keep the Bat coming back. To keep chasing him. Keep playing the game.
Apparently he had pushed too hard that night in the cell.
But Joker had been unable, and unwilling, to STOP himself. It would be like asking him to stop laughing. To stop breathing. The Bat pulsed heartily in his veins, and he craved to just see the man again. What would he be like under the mask? Horrifically disfigured? If he must be. The average Joe? He supposed.
Or perhaps he could be handsome like the quivering billionaire in his hands.
Yessss.
The Joker looked at the gorgeous creature trapped before him. He began imagining what it would be like if he was His Bat, instead of just the Wayne prodigy that had caught his eye. He cackled then.
Yes. He liked to play pretend...
Bruce twitched his gaze upwards at that mad cackle. He decidedly did NOT like the look deep in those inky black pools, the flash of blue having a more sinister gleam to them than usual.
Batman lurked in the background. Growling. WHAT was the Joker planning now...?
"Let's... play a game, shall we? Brucy?" Joker's voice was rough, his raspy tone filled with lust, eyes slanted.
"Don't, ngh, wanna..." Bruce heaved deeply, voice hitching as he could taste the lust rolling off the man in waves. The grip on his manhood had changed, becoming rougher and gentler at once.
"Aw, Brucy. You seem to be under the delusion that you have a CHOICE." The last word was snarled, the grip twisting a little on the poor billionaire's bulge, the barrel prodding more insistently against his covered entrance. Bruce couldn't fully hold back the moan at that one, spine arching slightly, legs jerking wider in an unconscious need for something deeper. Wayne tried to close his thighs immediately after, at least a fraction, but the Joker was never one to pass up an opportunity, and had reconfigured his knee and foot to keep the billionaire spread at this more accessible position. The Joker crooned, "THAT'S it Brucy boy, get a little more into it."
"Enough..." Bruce had meant for it to come out gruff, but the tone came out gasping.
"Oh no no, Brucy. We're too deep in the game now," Joker growled, not once pausing in his lustful movements under the table. His own manhood strained for attention, practically weeping at the thought of what he was imagining, but he let it be for now. Didn't want to break his new toy, did he? Needed SOMETHING to fill his time with the absence of the Bat. He licked his lips, letting a loose green curl hang before his darkened gaze, "Now, let us pretend, you are the Bat..."
Bruce was glad his eyes were clenched shut. Otherwise his look of surprise might have given him away.
"But I'm not-" Bruce started to deny.
"Oh shush shush shush," Joker cut him off, "I KNOW you're not. This is a game of pretend. You, heh heh, *really* need to brush up on your listening skills, Brucy. All that millions going to waste. Then again, I guess you PAY to listen to what professional quacks have to say. And me? I'm, eheh heh, doin' this for FREE."
Intensely relieved he had not been discovered, Bruce went on to growl, "I want my... gah, receipt."
"Ohoho, a real *comedian* are we...?" Joker trailed darkly, wetting his lips once more, "I think *I* can get you to do more than just *laugh*..."
Bruce let out a strangled gasp, thighs quivering from the forced onslaught, that hand doing wonders to his aching cock, even through the layers of fabric. He almost wondered what it would be like to be free of clothing, under the sheets with the-
But Batman put a stop to that thought with an inner snarl, slamming the door leading to it with resounding finality. HE may be trapped inside, but that did not mean he was gone. This was the Joker they were taking about. The Agent of Chaos himself.
What was Bruce THINKING?
The Joker truly was a poison tainting his veins. And Bruce was caught up in the fever of it all. Neither the chair, table, or the Joker himself planned on letting him go anytime soon.
"Now tell me," The Joker began, speaking as though asking which color drapes Bruce preferred, "Do you think Batman would like *this* more?" His fingers curled tightly around the straining bulge in Wayne's pants, before palming it roughly, "Or THIS?" Which was followed by the intrusive rocking of the cold barrel against his -oh thank god- covered hole.
Bruce whimpered, growling brokenly, "I... don't know. Ah!"
"Mmm, you're right. Probably both." Joker's painted face cracked into a grin, going back into his ministrations with greater fervor. It drew another strangled cry from the other, and the Joker relished in it. He had caught on, earlier, of how the billionaire had attempted to escape. Flipping the table over? Not quite brilliant. Desperate. But not smart.
It would have worked too, but thankfully when Joker worked his magic, it left the more muscled man weak in the knees.
And Joker was loving every minute of it.
The green haired menace leaned closer, as though divulging a secret, "Do you, eheh, do you *think* the Bat would prefer being fucked against the wall? Or maybe bent over that bat signal, so everyone can see our shadows as I fuck that tense ass? Hard."
Oh god.
Batman snarled and raged from his cage, but Bruce could not help but become harder at the imagery. The lean, runner's build of the Joker's form, forcing him over the cold metal hull of the bat signal. Fucking him. Bruce shuddered.
What was WRONG with him? The Joker shouldn't be affecting him this way. It should be dredging up some disgust. Maybe bile.
But Batman had become silent inside.
He could not deny the strange feelings the painted clown stirred inside of him. He just... used his rage to cover it all up. Put it away, tucked in some dark corner of his mind, never to be glanced at again. He couldn't afford to unravel the meaning of it. Too much was at stake. Too much.
"Hmm, that might be a draw as well." Joker hummed aloud, "So many choices, so many scenarios. Wouldn't be too bad bein' the one fucked up the ass either. Let's see..."
Batman balked.
Was THIS the reason the Joker had been so into the chase? Off of some perverse desire to screw or be screwed by Batman? He recalled the many times he had pinned the Joker against the wall. How often he straddled the maniac, restraining him using his full armored body. Could it be possible the Joker got off on that? That he never fought quite hard enough to get away because that was the outcome he *wanted*? A part of him recoiled at the thought. The insanity of it all.
But part of him stilled at it. His inner Bat couldn't seriously be... THINKING about it could he? Contemplating the possibilities? This was the JOKER.
No matter how good he was with his hands-
Wait, what?!
Joker drank in the turmoil in the billionaire's face. Those sinful moans, quieted as they were, were like gulps of heaven to his ears. He imagined perhaps the Bat would sound like this. Would shakily give in because Joker skillfully sapped away his strength. By doing this.
He remembered that last night in the cell as though it were days, rather than weeks before. A cherished memory. The feel of the Bat's cock. The taste of his abject denial and utter surprise. The familiar hits of his rage at the Joker's advances.
The Bat spoiled him.
Never again would he be able to feel another cock, taste another man's mouth, without thinking of HIM. Not that he would have before that night. It had been an immediate shock the first time he had seen the Bat. All ebony darkness, danger, and rough, raspy snarls of rage.
The embodiment of Justice's fury. With wings.
And the Joker was enthralled.
He had been sentenced in Arkham with the Scarecrow, the night all hell had broken loose. Had watched, patiently in the dark, for his chance to strike. Take the device Scarecrow and his A'rah'ghoul pal or... whatever his name was, and use it for himself. Introduce himself to Gotham in all his glory.
The drug that had been pumped into the air, Crane's own mix of potent toxins, had no effect on the Joker. Rather, it seemed to ENHANCE his senses.
But then he had seen the Bat.
Embodiment of terror, gliding overhead above the alleys of Arkham. Untouchable. Unshakable. A true Prince of Darkness. He had wanted nothing more than to bring the Bat down. Shake him from his perch. Show him what civilization was TRULY made of. The Joker wasn't sure when that had changed. Or even HOW or WHY.
Perhaps it had been when he first started playing with the Bat. Rallied up the mobsters, killed a few pretenders. Rattled Gotham's cage. He had thought the game was up when he had the rocket launcher aimed at the police truck that carried Harvey Dent, the city's supposed 'unmasked' Batman. Man, had he been dis-A-ppointed. The Bat had given in so easily.
Only to be wondrously surprised when he caught sight of the Bat's ebony beast of a ride. The Tumbler was it? Streaking down the orange lights of the causeway tunnels behind the stolen semi.
Magnificent.
Perfect.
His Batman.
But his Bat had disappeared. And taken away a little piece of the Joker with him when he did. What little left of his soul had shriveled. Without the Dark Knight's presence, it just ebbed away. His original purpose was to be the Agent of Chaos. To go down, and make sure to take all of Gotham with him. But that had changed.
The Bat had changed that. Like he did everything his ebony cape whipped over. Like a cloud overhead. The winds had shifted.
Thugs, regular class and high class criminals, and mob bosses were all left shaking in their boots. Afraid of their own shadows. But Joker was affected differently. He WANTED the Bat to come after him. WANTED the chase. The thrill. With Batman there, he never felt... alone.
Bruce curled inward, his head bowing down with the intense, spiraling pleasure. Unaware of the Joker's own turmoil. He could only feel the heat winding tighter and tighter, ready to burst.
"Enough..." He rasped, voice strained, getting closer to his release, "Joker... that's *enough*..."
"Look at me, Bruce..." He could hear the trembling excitement in the tone across the table. Could feel just how much the Joker wanted this. Though Bruce could hardly account for why.
Bruce stubbornly shook his head. He couldn't give the man that satisfaction.
He wouldn't.
But the Joker wasn't taking no for an answer.
"LOOK. At. Me." He repeated. It was no longer a request.
But Bruce shook his head once more, sweaty bangs hanging free from his dipped head.
Joker, knowing he had only precious moments, switched tactics. He would not let the billionaire deny him this. His snarl was low, "Either you LOOK at me, or I will bend you over this table and FUCK you dry."
Bruce shot him a dirty look through his bangs, snarling back, "You can try."
At that smug grin, Bruce realized his mistake. But then it was too late. His eyes had locked with those pleased blues, and the black pits they were surrounded in swallowed him whole.
It was the Joker.
That was the message. That was what he wanted. For Bruce to acknowledge it was the Joker, and only the Joker, that was doing this to him. Bringing him to such heights just to make him swoon and plummet back down.
The movement under the table quickened, that hand and barrel working overtime, bringing Batman to the brink and shoving him over. At the edges of his mind, Bruce could make out the sound of cloth shredding beneath his death grip on the table. The hushed silence of the Joker. The strangled groan he clamped down on until it transformed into a prolonged grunt. The pleasure shot like wildfire through him. His back curled tighter, his heart stopped, and his vision peaked a glorious white. And all he could see were those eyes. Joker's eyes, memorizing every little detail as Bruce came, before Batman's eyes clenched shut, unable to remain open against the onslaught.
He came harder than he ever had before, the strong spurts contained within the confines of his boxers and pants suit. His hips arched of their own accord, encasing him more fully into that unrelenting, skillful grip. One which was merciless in milking every last drop. Bruce gasped, whole form tense and quivering with the rush of it. His hips jerked once, twice, jets of cum spilling out, before an eternity passed, and Bruce's body was able to drop back into his seat. Drained. That barrel pressed deeper in his covered hole, wrenching one last cry from his lips, his softening shaft twitching.
Joker was beyond amazed. Speechless. Which was new for him. His own cock was so hard it hurt. But he was content to just sit there, watching the trembling billionaire, chest heaving as though there was not enough air. Gathering himself after that mind shattering orgasm.
Joker's fingers twitched, just wanting to drag Brucy over to him and show him JUST how good the Joker could make him feel. Without all the cumbersome clothes in the way. But he clamped down on the urge, not used to stifling his instincts. But he had a feeling he wanted this particular billionaire to stick around. And in order to do that, he would have to take it slooow.
Oops.
Maybe he shoulda thought about that before pinning the man down and molesting him like he did. Then again, how could the Joker help himself? That's why Brucy went out with that skank, wasn't it? Though he hardly believed she could make Brucy feel a fraction of how the Joker made him feel just now.
"Heh eheh heh, some first date, huh?" Joker smiled, pulling away.
Bruce glared sluggishly up at him, inner Bat raging to get up. Tackle the maniac. Pound him for what he did. With... his fists, of course! But the connection between his brain and limbs seemed to be temporarily disabled. The most Bruce could do was halfheartedly attempt to rise, before slumping back down. Even his glare failed to be as fierce as he wanted it to be.
When he finally noted that the painted menace was leaving, instead of throwing insults, threats, or curses, what tumbled out of Bruce's mouth was an angry, "Where are you going?"
He could have kicked himself. Adding a, wait a second until I catch my breath so I could beat the living snot outta you, would've just made it worse rather than better.
"Aw, you missing me already, pretty boy? Don't worry. I'm not done with you yet. I just have a -er- small surprise meeting I've got to make with a, uh, Mr. Fleece, Geese, or some other. Then I will be back for you, Brucy. Count on it..." Joker gave a lighthearted smirk, tongue darting out to casually lick a wet glove, before wiggling his fingers in farewell, "Ta ta, lover boy."
Joker was gone in a swirl of black and white before Bruce could finish snarling in a rush, "I am NOT your lo-"
But then his gut plummeted, the strangely euphoric feeling from moments ago vanishing. The fact that the Joker butchered the name didn't deter Bruce's mind from clicking it into place.
What Joker wanted to know. How fast he slipped out of there. The name.
Coleman Reese.
The one man outside of Batman's trusted circle of Alfred Pennyworth and Lucius Fox, who knew his true identity.
And the Joker was galavanting out to MEET with him.
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Even Bats Fall