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The Circle	By : Triyune Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 2614 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not make money of writing this fiction and I don't own Batman nor the characters from that universe.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4: Doubts and devotion
Summary:
The Joker has finally come back to the castle after finding out about the true identity of the Volto. He consents to the game again, not expecting another decisive turn in the story of his life.
Notes:
Some time ago I had the idea of Joker assuming the role of a priest (pervy catholic that I am) and lynxina drew me a marvellous piece. Keats then asked me whether that was part of my fiction, The Circle, which made me consider the idea. Thus, I gotta thank both parties, lynxina and Keats112, both from deviantArt, for the visual input!

The Circle
Doubts and devotion

After he had leashed me the Volto led me back into the castle, straight to the room with the drinks. It was a kind of odourless liquid and though, I could feel my body rebelling against it every time I swallowed it and I wouldn’t need it anyway. With every step, my desire grew. Knowing that it was Bruce Wayne I was following, being dragged along behind him like a dog, almost sent me to my knees, jerking off right there and then.
I didn’t approve of it, but that didn’t matter. His will was the only thing that mattered so I followed him and gulped down the liquid.
We left that room and entered another one where people are sitting and drinking. Red leather chairs and black tables filled that room and most of them were occupied. We found a free triplet in the back of that room near a black curtain. When he sat down he almost merged with it. I, on the other hand, was like the bait; if I had glown in the dark it wouldn’t have been more attention-getting than my current look with my hair dyed white and my black lips.
Expectantly, I looked at him. A vacant expression.
A sheet of paper and a pen was put on the table. He scribbled down something, then handed me over the sheet.
“Your strict taboos” I could read on it.
Were we that close already? I wasn’t sure whether I wanted that at all. It was different when I didn’t know who was behind that mask but now that I knew I felt afraid. Thinking of Bruce Wayne knowing my pleasures and abjects made me feel uncomfortable.
He noticed me hesitantly playing around with the pen and got up to get it back and write something else on it.
“Trust me.”
My eyes stuck to the two words. He was serious about it. And I couldn’t leave anymore at all; I was wearing his mark and I had consented to this, yet, I had not fully been aware of the consequences. Or had I been, deliberately accepting them back then? I didn’t remember anymore. I stared at the words.
Strict taboos. Did that mean that he wanted to know about them in order to avoid it? Did that mean that my will mattered as well?
“Why do you want to know about them?” I replied silently.
“So I can avoid them.”
Clenching my teeth, I looked up at him straight into his eyes. Warmth spread in my guts.
Someone who cared. I could barely believe it. I felt threatened, feeling him seeping into me, reaching for things which weren’t his.
No, they were his. I had committed myself to him, fully aware of the consequences and I had agreed on that because I knew that this was my only chance.
Salvation.
I looked down at the words again and had a thought. Finally, my lips turned into a smirk and I shoved the paper towards him again, but he insisted on me writing something on it by pushing it back.
I took a deep breath and took the pen, thinking hard on that. Well, a lot of things seemed like a stupid idea to me, some of them were gross, some of them could possibly be fun, some of them surely must be fun and others just gave me the creeps. It must have been those he was demanding to know.
“Shit, needles, enemas.”
He read those three words, the expression never changing, remaining cold and silent, as always. Then he wrote something again.
“All-time favourites”
I cleared my throat at reading that. I had absolutely no practical experience in terms of this game. Leaning back, I tried to appear as relaxed as possible, thinking hard on that. Images of the Batman beating the shit out of me turned up. I couldn’t say that our meetings never had had any sexual component. Yet, I had never expected him to be aware of it.
“Blood, bondage, asphyxiation, whipping”.
I handed over the sheet, yet, when he was about to take it I took it back and wrote another word on it.
When he read the last word he did bat an eye. I had expected that to happen and so I stared at him defiantly. He was free to be as perverted as he pleased and so was I. Free. No need to justify anything, no need to fear any consequences. We were all wearing masks. Even if I knew who was behind that, he wore a mask.
He wrote a reply.
“Electrostimulation?”
“No prob.”
Arkham had some of the finest stimulating instruments. Daddy’s been a bad boy. Off to the electrotherapy room. What, yet again? Yes, please.
“Drugs”
“NO”
“Golden shower”
“?”
“Pissing games”
“Wouldn’t really turn me on.”
He looked up at me.
Heck, did I feel sick. Exposing myself to him like that, talking about things which even I had not been aware of until now. But, on the other hand, he was doing the same. Both of us were vulnerable, probably doing that for the first time. And as much as I was worried about him asking me whether I enjoyed showers, I wouldn’t judge him. Cause he wouldn’t judge me either.
“Female clothes”
I hesitated. Did I want to admit that? Well, considering that I had admitted that I was into electrosex it couldn’t get any more embarrassing.
“Yes”
“The safeword?”
“The what?”
“Principally, I will be as considerate as possible but if something turns out to be too much and unbearable you say that word and I will stop immediately.”
“Ace”
“It shouldn’t contain any i or s. What about ‘cograph’?”
“Fine.”
It was a little frightening how much he knew about that all. Maybe that wasn’t his first time at all. I kept the sheet.
“Is that your first time doing this?”
He took it, read it and looked at me for a long time. Then he started writing, slowly.
“Basically, yes.”
“What, “basically”?”
“Nothing as intimate yet. Women, but just sex.”
That one word bothered me. Of course, I couldn’t deny it and though, it unsettled me.
“Why not stick with women and just sex?”
I felt something like disappointment and anger claiming my mind. If he had had so many women why didn’t he continue fucking them. I didn’t want to become just another fuck buddy. In the end, I had not gone through all that just to be a deluxe fuck.
He put the sheet away and leaned back, crossing his legs. I could see it in his eyes.
Too much. Too many feelings. Too many implications, too many secrets, too many worries, too many objections, too many fears. Too much.
We were both lost in a game we didn’t understand.
We stared at each other for a long time, trying to read each other. Someone laughed. Imagining Bruce Wayne sitting in front of me behind that mask gave me a thrill.
We had been knowing each other for so long and now we realized how little we knew about each other. Why had he chosen me? Always, those questions accompanied me. Why. Directly related to my self-doubts. Why me, what did he like about me so much that he chose me for his company. As self-aware as I was, I wouldn’t find a reason for loving me. By then, I had choked Jack again. The lovable one.
The Volto finally moved, took the pen and paper and wrote.
“There must be more than that.”
“Than what?”
“Than sex.”
“Think you find it with me?”
“Yes.”
His handwriting...the sheet of paper was so white, bleached...the table black...I felt a lump in my throat choking me.
That wasn’t right. My self-hatred grew the more he seemed to love me. Overwhelmed by disgust and fear I got up and headed for the exit.
In the middle of the room I stopped. I had run from him once already and here I was again, ready to serve. I was moving in circles of doubts and devotion but maybe, it was about time to accept my decision.
Once I had someone touching me so readily, kissing me so deeply and even trying to understand me so patiently I should cling to that and never let go anymore.
I saw him taking the pen and paper and getting up. Footsteps behind me, clattering. A shiver ran down my spine, knowing that within a moment, he’d claim me back. I expected him to pull my hair or violently grab my wrist.
Gentle fingers on my neck, his forehead nudging the back of my head.
“This is as new for me as it is for you”
Words whispered into my ear. His real voice.
It was the first time I heard it like that, Bruce Wayne talking to me. It was quite a moment.
To be honest, I craved his touch. He knew how to treat me and how to beat me. I had to forget about everything I knew by now again; who he was, where he lived, what he did at daytime...did I...Bruce Wayne...someone I had been obsessing with for years, someway, somehow...behind that mask...
His fingers brushed over my crotch and I jerked. What a sick bastard; we had a moment and he just used that for gropes again. Yes, honestly, he was the right one. Just as sick.
He pressed his hand against my dick and I took a step back, right into his genitals. He grabbed some hair and pulled my head back. As expected, the way I loved it.
“We’re bound to each other. You are mine.”
Words, striking like thunder. That drew a smirk from me. He let go and I straightened myself, repeating the words in my head over and over again.
The leash went tight and I began to move again, following. That was my master, that was my lover, that was my saviour, dressed in deepest black, dragging a moon-white man along behind him.
Bruce Wayne.
I licked my lips when my dick woke up again. It had never been sleeping at all, it had just retreated a little during our conversation but now when I imagined Bruce Wayne fucking me it stood at attention.
Wayne...determination, libertinism, fetishist-
I bumped into said man all of a sudden when we stopped.
He took a step to the side and I saw a black door with a red light above the door frame. I gasped when he tugged at the leash so that I stumbled and crashed against the wall. I was intelligent enough as to not stand in the middle of that aisle; I just would have liked to examine that red light some more, darn it. I loved it when he made a fool out of me. Back to business.
The leash slid from his hand and again I searched his eyes for a clue. An angry stare made me clench my teeth. What had I done wrong? While I still was asking myself he turned and walked down the aisle, disappearing behind a corner.
Dumbfounded, I looked at the spot where he had disappeared. Gone, away. However, I was sure he would return and I were to wait here. That look. Of course.
I leaned back against the wall. A statue, a mirror, stucco…one sheep, two ships, three ribs…the floor, the carpet, red, fuzzy, warm…minutes passed in silence, only the distant moans and laughs of distant individuals fucking each other senseless - I jumped with fright when the door was opened to my right and a laughing couple stepped out of the room. They didn’t even look at me but headed down the aisle.
Well.
I looked at the floor again. Warm, fuzzy. Bruce Wayne…
However, it always ended with sex. Not that I liked it but where was the love? Where was that ‘more’ he had been writing about? I didn’t know the rules and system of this underground society of blood and pain at all and so it was hard for me to see the love in that kind of sex. Yet, when I thought of my feelings when he had tied me to that chair the previous time I could have an idea of what it all was about. That love went deeper. The body was just a means to act it out, like a canvas ready to be painted on. Pictures of love.
While I was philosophizing and waiting for his return some couples passed me and also three men. One of them stopped and looked at me. I lifted my head and froze. A black skull was grinning at me. Reflexively, I swallowed and pressed myself against the wall. No criminal had ever dealt me harder blows, no doctor had ever hurt me more badly and no man had ever humiliated me in a more horrible way than this subject in front of me. It was the black skull who had led the rape brigade a few months ago.
The other two men stopped and turned to see the reason why their man wasn’t following them.
When they spotted me their eyes turned into gleeful slits.
That was no coincidence. These men hadn’t just been walking down the aisle accidentally right now. I suspected them having been watching us, one way or another. That dramatic appearance was just a masquerade.
I was short of breath. Usually, I confidently bodychecked anyone blocking my way, but these men had an unpleasant effect on my body. I felt sick to my stomach and couldn’t breathe anymore. To hide the pain in my face I bent my head, ready to take anything they would come up with. Secretly, I was praying for him to return. Every second I spent in their company made me feel weaker and sicker.
Three men, dressed in black, stood there and stared at me. Their looks were burning holes through my head. A slave without his master, unable to stand up for himself. It was pathetic.
Their fine shoes were shimmering in the light of the candles. Polished, shiny black.
A loud clattering made me look up. The Volto was rushing across the aisle, his cape doing saltos behind him, eyes riveted on the three gents. The sword of Damocles dissolved when he took my hand and pulled me behind his back, putting himself between me and them.
It was embarrassing and flattering at the same time. They sneered at us, arms crossed.
“May we try him out again? I bet he isn’t so tight anymore, now that you’ve screwed him a few times, eh? What a tight little asshole that was, right, boys?”
“Yeah…”
“Must’ve been a virgin,” the Zanni stated, grinning.
“Get out of my sight,” someone growled in front of me. I watched them laughing.
“If you dare touch him again I will rip that filthy thing out of your body and you will choke on it, no matter whose protégé you are, got me?!”
The Zanni licked his lips and with a smirk turned away. The skull took one last glimpse at me, then left as well.
I was torn between showing off with a traumatized soul and giving in to the lust which that imperious behavior of my Volto was causing. I decided for pleasure, hedonist that I was.
“Much obliged,” I whispered into his ear from behind. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing that voice for the first time as well. I made sure to sound as sexy as possible. I could feel his soul melting away under my voice.
I felt like a newborn. All that shit didn’t matter anymore; all those crimes, my look, my deeds, my mind…nothing of that mattered to him. He loved me for the one I just was behind that layer of white.
Jack.
Jaggedy Jack-I stumbled into the room and almost tripped up on him. A few chambersticks illuminated enough of the room’s interior to tell that it was a kind of theatre stage, a vaudeville occasion.
He pushed me across the room and behind the curtain, giving me a big plastic bag, then he left without any further word.
Maybe we should start talking to each other.
I dropped the contents on the floor; it was a costume. Understanding enough to not ask him what I should do with that I started undressing. A robe, a scarf, a cord. Fine then.
Before I left the safe side of the curtain I decided to drop my mask. If that was a fetish of his he should enjoy it to the maximum and I was sure that he wanted to see my face together with those clothes.
I shook my hair loose so that it covered my eyes and with a smirk I stepped into the light of the stage, slowly walking up to the edge of it.
Bruce Wayne was sitting in a chair right in front of the stage, spotting a man with green hair and red lips who had donned the clothes of a priest. A long black robe with a million buttons, a red cord wound around his hips and a mahogany coloured tippet on his shoulders. The perfect copy of a preacher.
The smirk made him cross his legs to hide the erection.
When the man on the stage became aware of his effect on the viewer he started moving, coqueting with the man behind the mask. His smirk grew as he slowly lifted the seam of the robe, baring his thigh enough just to let the black silk fall from his hands a moment later, hiding his pristine white skin again under the demure clothes.
When he let his head fall back he noticed the pole to his right. That was all he needed to make his watcher cum in his ludicrous suit.
He loosened the cord around his hips a little, then set about climbing the metal bar for a slow, teasing pole dance.
The man with the mask was glad he was still wearing his mask, otherwise he would have felt embarrassed at his own arousal. How could that man, dressed in sacred clothes, turn him on so much. No, it was rather the fact that sin dressed in sacred clothes turned him on so much.
He was sure his father was just turning in his grave, yelling at the skies to bring his boy back to reason.
Father Seers, dear almost-member of his family, marrying them, doing the funerals for his family, aunties, uncles, cousins, visiting them once a month to sit down in front of the fireplace with Thomas to have a glass of Gin…poor father Seers, turning in his grave as well, watching the debauched son of a millionaire getting off on a lunatic in priest clothes.
The fall of the House of Wayne.
His erection grew.
The green-haired man wetted two fingers, opened three buttons and stuck his hand through the slit. With eyes turned to heaven and his mouth hanging open in lust he caressed his dick, feeling it growing under his touch as well.
The man with the mask got up and climbed the stage. Violently, he grabbed some hair and kicked the inside of the other man’s knee so that he fell down on the floor. The green-haired man cried out in shock and pleasure and while he was trying to recover from that a plastic ball was forced through his lips.
After gagging him, the man in the suit left the stage to sit down again with a faint smirk. The false priest looked up behind his curtain of green hair, staring at the masked man’s eyes. Yes, he was sitting on the ground, his legs bared, but he knew that this position would just serve to tease him even more. If he was his slave he was going to be a good one, pressing every psychological button.
He got up on his knees, pushed the robe aside and bluntly started stroking his dick in silence. Only the delicate sound of his hand moving that skin was heard. The other man remained silent, so a glance at the audience told him. He inhaled loudly through his nose and let his other hand join him, cupping his balls and rubbing the scrotal septum, moaning around the gag and winding his body to the rhythm of that song.
The masked man got up again. He wouldn’t watch that any longer; his attempt to slow it all down hadn’t really been as effective as he had hoped it would be. Eyes met for a second, longing, desperate, expectantly, before his boot collided with the kneeling man’s chest, sending him backwards to the floor. Though, he propped himself up on his hands, looking up at the caped man towering over him.
No sign of emotion; a cold, vacant face.
His boot hit the white man’s jaw which sent him back down to the floor.
Where he belonged, he thought.
The masked man knelt down on his cheek, drawing a muffled cry of pain from him. Under the mask, he was smirking.
He wasn’t done yet. While with one hand working on the fly of his pants and with the other stroking the false priest’s dick, he added some pressure till the man under him was panting hard. He didn’t dare to touch him at all; his hands were resting on the floor, trying to push against it to free himself from that oppression.
When he thought that his dick couldn’t get any harder at all the other man lifted his leg and positioned himself between the white man’s legs. Before he could touch the sore spots on his cheeks his attention was drawn to his lower regions again, having the masked man passionately pumping his dick and making sure to touch the glans every time he let the prepuce slide over it.
The masked man finally tugged at the closure of the gag, eager to get rid of it and finally kiss that asshole until his lips would bleed.
Precum was shyly trickling from the tip. The man saw it, took the tippet and wound it around the other man’s throat, strangling him.
Ten fingers tried to get between the layer of fabric and skin and ten fingers failed. While he desperately attempted to remove the device the masked man kept stroking him. Despair was written in the white man’s face.
With a muffled cry he came, spilling his semen all over the priestly clothes, white against black.
Trembling, he sank to the floor,
The masked man first removed the gag, then let go of the tippet only to pull him up by his hair. Groaning and coughing, he complied and sat up, eyes shut in heavenly distress.
Hard flesh was pushed past his red lips, touching the uvula and triggering more coughing and gagging. He clutched at the masked man’s hand, begged him to let go, but he wouldn’t, ramming his dick into his mouth even more forcefully.
A few violent thrusts and he came as well, ejaculating into his mouth.
The green-haired man couldn’t keep himself from coughing. Semen flowed from his nose, down on his lips and down on the twitching dick still stuck between them. For a moment, he meant to suffocate. He weakly lifted his hands but let them sink again, giving in and gagging finally.
Tears streamed down his face when the man withdrew from his mouth. The man slid down on the floor, coughing and panting.
He loved that sight.
With loving eyes, he knelt down and gently touched his cheek, reassuring him of the love in his actions. The other man felt too weak than to respond in any way and just snuggled into his hand, still coughing and wheezing.

I was spent. Aching. Sore. A mess.
But happy.
His perversion was my liberation.
I needed some gentleness now.
Still huffing and puffing, I took his arm and snuggled up to his body. When I closed my eyes and allowed myself to get lost with him he dropped his mask.
That was Bruce Wayne.
He embraced me and held me while I wiped the semen off my face. It was an odd taste since it stuck in my nose as well. He had planned all of that; every single action, everything leading towards this. I had underestimated him; he was just as neurotic as I could be when I was thinking up crimes.
We spent some moments in silence until I had recovered as much as to be able to get up. I showed him so by gently pushing his hand away and he got up and his mask. Mine was lying behind the curtain so I went to fetch it. When I returned, Bruce Wayne had become the Volto again. A cold, vacant gaze, yet, so full of love behind it.
He disappeared behind the curtain then and got back with a full plastic bag; my clothes. He leashed me again and pulled on it but my throat was so sore that I couldn’t stifle an audible protest. He reacted by pulling even more forcefully and coughing and gasping I smirked, stumbling along behind him, liking that all way too much.
We left the room. There was a couple waiting at the left and the door didn’t even fall shut, were they in already, so eagerly had they been awaiting the moment they could enter as well.
“Have fun!” I shouted behind me, grinning.
He put me in my place again with the leash by causing another round of coughing. Then we went back to usual with him dragging me along behind him. However, I was feeling a little off, dressed like that. There were a load of perverts around, but most of them turned to take a second look at us. He was proudly presenting me, indulging in the curious looks of the other guests.
Strands of my white dyed hair covered my eyes and I pushed them back. Just at that moment, someone tripped me up and I fell down, almost dragging him to the ground as well since he still held the leash in his hand.
While I was sorting out my legs and arms I heard laughter. A voice I knew. I decided to stay where I was and watch it from down there.
The Volto turned to look at the man. It was the black skull, flanked by the Zanni and a Bauta. I was so sick of them.
He jumped at them and smacked the skull so hard that he fell backwards. Immediately, the other two got ready for a brawl and lunged at him. Inviolable loyalty made me get up and join the fight. Fingers and fists collided, hits were dealt and taken and in the end, I watched the Volto finishing off the skull.
Guests were watching us, some of them jerking off around us, some of them derisively smirking, others amused at the new kind of entertainment and others turning away in haughty arrogance.
My nose was bleeding, my stomach was upset and my arm ached terribly from the fall but otherwise, I was quite alright. Panting, I leaned against a chair and watched the Volto growing in front of the beaten skull. That was the man I knew, fists as hard as iron, a godly stamina, invincible. He was completely in his element.
To mock the skull, he just stood there, gazing at him.
Yes, his was bigger. And longer.
When he thought that the skull had gotten the message he turned around and beckoned me over. Wordlessly, he took the leash and dragged me out of the room, people staring at our backs. I couldn’t hide the smirk.
After getting us another load of those drinks he led me to a room where we could have some privacy. Long curtains going down from the ceiling to the floor were separating sofas and wing chairs so that no one could see through. There were various things lying on the table; some glasses, some small bottles, ropes and some instruments.
He pulled the curtains close and sat down, beckoning me to sit down on his thighs. So I did, but not without difficulties. I had to push the robe past my thighs to be able to straddle my legs as much as needed. His mask was cracked.
He took my mask off, then got rid of his own and put them on the table. His nose was bleeding as well and his cheek was swollen. Bruce Wayne would give the next speech with a black eye. What a hoot. He placed his hands on my thighs and pushed the robe past my dick.
Heck, even if I solely was a deluxe fuck, it didn’t matter. I was his.
He just couldn’t leave me well alone; his thumb was on my dick again. He was worse than me. Yet, what he did then made me acknowledge that I never wanted to know about the real depths of his mind at all when it was about sex. I’d probably drown before I’d reach anything even close to the bottom. Or the surface.
He unzipped his pants, took out his dick and wrapped his foreskin around my penis.
His expression changed. It turned from cold, indifferent ignorance into a soft and mellow indulgence with a faint, fond smile.
If I was his first man maybe he was just trying it out. And that meant that he could possibly find out that he didn’t like it. I wasn’t ready to be ditched. I wasn’t ready anymore. I had fought for him, I had endured some of the worst, terrific pain of my life and I had come back, seeking his closeness. That entire thing had demanded a great deal of me; I had had to overcome myself in order to make way for closeness. I had had to consult Jack and I had had to stand his pain, his honesty, his craving. I had sacrificed my self for him.
I wasn’t someone to be fooled around with anymore when I had already started to be serious.
The fears were choked by the effects of the drink again. A very reliable thing.
My dick grew towards his, unfolding like a rose, from a bud to full bloom, inviting his to do the same.
A smirk told me that he was up for more ungodly things. He leaned forward, reached past me and gave me a glass with some liquid in it. I took a closer look at it. It looked similar to the drinks we were given at the beginning but I doubted that it was the same since that stuff was served in champagne glasses.
“What is that?”
He licked his lips, then grinned at me.
“Drugs.”
His eyes told me that he was serious. Why had I told him that I wasn’t into that shit at all when he just forced me to take it now? Why-
“Trust me. You just need a good leader.”
His presence flicked a switch in my mind and I changed my position. Sometimes, that happened when he successfully invaded my mind and took control over me. That, and additionally when I allowed him to do so.
What could happen to me? I knew that he wasn’t out to hurt me for real or to damage me. The experiences I had made when I had been on my own or forced to take that shit had been hell but together with that first drink, I felt more confident and ready for some more experiments. And apparently, he knew enough about it to drag me from hell if I fell again.
I took the glass and emptied it. Flavourless sparkling mineral water.
He tugged at my robe then and I got up.
“Undress. Sit down, lean back and close your eyes.”
While I did so he took a drink himself and leaned back.
I snuggled up to the corner of the sofa and closed my eyes. It was hard for me to keep them closed because there still was something inside me needing to see what was going on around me; something very afraid of the entire world and its inhabitants. However, I forced myself to keep them shut and concentrate on Bruce Wayne looking after me.
Minutes passed.
I didn’t feel bored at all; various parts of my body ached so terribly that a few moments in silence did me very good.
The black started to materialize. Bubbly, solid, yet squeezable. Like patchouli. Just one minute later I noticed that I was smiling, probably as idiotically as possible. He’d see it.
Who’d he? Bruce Wayne, darn it, was sitting right next to me.
A warmth similar to the one at the beginning flooded my body, but it was even more pleasant. The man to my right became the center of my world. I needed to talk to him, I needed to see him, now.
I opened my eyes and turned my head. Bruce Wayne was looking at me with a rapt smile. That was about right; exactly my feelings as well. I got up, faltered and came to sit on his thighs again. That wasn’t enough. I needed more of him. Clumsily, I opened his jacket and shirt and bared his torso. Beautiful, smooth skin, muscles, everything the heart desires.
I kissed him long and deeply.
“Why have me met just now…” I whispered into his mouth.
“Because I was just ready now.”
“What kept you from it?”
“Fear.”
“What kept you from it?”
“Joker”
He looked me in the eyes, a long and deep look which I just interrupted by kissing him again. I wasn’t up for philosophy right now; however, knowing that I had just revealed everything to him by that one single word. Maybe I could distract him from it. It had spilled from my lips so effortlessly, yet, now I regretted it. It made me vulnerable, bared my soul, bared my sickness and my mind. He consented to oblivion and kissed me back, finally.
Why had I told him? I leaned back and got some distance between us. Nothing like fear was on my mind, quite the contrary, actually: joy and affection.
He lifted a hand and traced along a scar on my chest. I looked down.
Four years ago, half a wooden chest sticking in my chest after another fight with the Bat. In fact, almost every of my scars was the result of an encounter with the Bat. Not counting broken ribs, bleeding noses, brain concussions, sprained ankles, cuts, burns, corrosive injuries, bloody urine…I had to laugh out loud. He arched his eyebrows, looking blank. When I got aware of the comical side of the situation and that he didn’t know why I was laughing at all I stopped.
“I always enjoyed you beating the crap out of me…”
The second I had ended the sentence I clenched my teeth. Just what the fuck?
I watched him contorting his face till he couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing himself. When he had calmed down he wiped the tears from his eyes. Nice to know that he was just as fucked as I was.
“You know…” he replied breathlessly, yet, still grinning, “me too…”
As fucked as I was, I became aware of the implications of our talk and I took a deep breath.
Maybe he had already been serious long before I had even played with the thought of getting serious.
Bones colliding, knuckles hitting soft flesh, warm blood trickling down that chin and fingers collecting it by dealing that jaw another blow until it hurt so much that it could barely be moved anymore, hands meeting, grabbing form muscles, failing at keeping them from what they were doing…there was a secret choreography in our dance, a moving close and a distancing again and always…always we had our eyes glued to the other man’s eyes, speaking, talking, kissing with them, through pain and blood.
“Love me hard,” I whispered into the vacant air between us.
“Let me,” he whispered back, eyes darkening.
As graciously as I was able to, I got up and positioned myself in front of him, presenting my body to him. I knew that he couldn’t resist.
He fucked me with his eyes. My collarbone, I could feel his tongue tracing along it; my nipples, they went hard when I felt his teeth closing around them; my chest, trembling when he touched me with his fingertips; the insides of my thighs, so sensitive to his touch…
His dick had freed itself from the grip of his pants now fully and was pressing against his stomach.
“Turn around”
I did as he told me. Showing him my back triggered another hallucinatory wave and sent me into blissful unawareness.
“Imagine…”
I tilted my head to show him that I was attentive.
“You find yourself in a warehouse…you were just about to set the trap and you get up from the floor to look at your equipment…you stumble and you hit the wall hard. You like that…but you hide your grin and you turn around to see who’s done that.
Just when you are about to make a figure out in the dark in front of you you find yourself pressed against the wall, fingers tight around your throat, the other hand pressing against your chest to keep you there…you notice now who that is.”
His voice got lower. Tainted.
I was shaking with excitement, craving for the feeling of his hard dick in my ass.
“You try to escape, you try to wriggle free but a knee presses against your crotch and you stop, feeling that pressure getting too much. You ask yourself what he wants from you. If he had wanted you arrested he’d have cuffed you already; if he had wanted you dead you’d be dead already; if he had wanted you he’d have taken you already. Right at that moment, he loosens his grip around your throat and you ask yourself again what he wants from you…”
It felt, looked and sounded too familiar. Often, I had asked myself what he wanted from me when it clearly wasn’t my arrestation, nor my death, nor my sanity. Usually, I had already swallowed so much blood by then that I mostly felt sick and just about to throw up on his hands and boots but I always pulled myself together, trying to not destroy that romantic moment when he was choking me and trying to catch hold of my wrists.
“What does he want from you…why you…”
A long pause followed. The two words didn’t disappear anymore. It had been that question I had been asking myself since we had met the second time. And I wasn’t any wiser yet. These two words kept eating away at my self-confidence, at my very sanity. I didn’t want to bother about that now since that drink was addressing quite other spheres than those about sense and meaning.
I turned around, slowly, dealing him a dirty look.
“Cause I got the tightest asshole of them all.”
A grin spread and I wetted two fingers and pretended shoving them up my ass.
That threw him. Completely.
He jumped from the sofa, gripped my jaw and kissed me violently until he drew blood. It hurt like hell when he bit my lips sore but I loved it. I’d look in the mirror after days and find the dried blood there.
“Wanna see that,” he whispered into my ear, biting my lobe, his fingers tracing down my spine towards my ass.
“Do me,” I replied and slapped him in the face.
For a second, he was somewhat perplexed. In order to break the spell I lifted my hand for the next blow but he gripped my wrist and paid me back in kind. Our noses started bleeding again, still sore from the fight with the rapists, but neither of us could bring himself to bother. We fought on, kicking, slapping and hitting each other, yet, careful not to break through the curtain wall. In the end, I found myself bending forward, yielding to the pressure as he was about to dislocate my shoulder joint, breathing harshly, watching blood dripping to the floor and feeling blood dripping on my back.
“Enough?” he asked, out of breath.
“Never,” I replied haughtily.
“Fine then”
He let go and before I could straighten my back his hand pressed against my pelvis and I was forced to cope with half of his dick in my ass.
The pain that action caused was unbearable and I caught my breath.
“You’re right,” he sneered into my ear as I was gasping for breath, “the tightest asshole of them all.”
And in order to break me even more he pressed his dick in further till I flinched.
“Fuck…” was all I could breathe into the silence. I couldn’t move. Although the pain was limited to just some ridiculous ring of muscles it spread in my entire body and drained me.
He held me in place and I could hear him breathing right next to my ear, hard from tainted lust. Desperate from the stinging and dull pain I shifted and just triggered another pain attack. Right now, I couldn’t tell whether I liked or hated it, desperately trying to kick my algolagnia in gear.
“Relax,” he whispered gently and started stroking my chest.
“You don’t know…what that feels like,” I panted teeth-gnashingly.
“Maybe I do”
His thumb was teasing the underside of my dick. Back to business. If I couldn’t take a fully grown manly dick like a man I rather should have left the location. I swallowed and moved forward, letting his dick almost slide from my ass. I needed some moments to catch up with him. And I loved him for what he did then.
Nothing.
His hands were still glued to my body, yet, he didn’t force me to take him in again. When I realized that I closed my eyes and threw back my head to meet his.
“Why me,” I asked him, putting my hands on his, fingers intertwining.
I could feel scar tissue under our fingers. It was silent, until one of his hands left and touched the inside of my thigh, the mark.
“Don’t ask.”
Insight regarding my lovableness eluded me. He seemed to know the reason why, but that didn’t help me.
With a sigh I took his dick in, balls deep. It hurt, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel him since my soul felt like running from him. He kissed me, then started moving gently. Each of his thrusts was considerate, careful and full of tenderness, like he tried to fondle my prostate. I lost the last bit of my strength which I had managed to save from his attack and leaned back against him.
Suddenly, I broke out in a cold sweat and a nasty kind of nausea made it impossible for me to pronounce one more word before I passed out.

Complete bliss.
For a second, I thought I had entered heaven until I opened my eyes.
Curtains.
Pain.
Wayne.
I searched for his eyes to ask what had happened.
Bruce Wayne was looking at me with a sweet smile.
“Syncopation.”
“What?”
“You fainted.”
Oh really?
Laboriously, I rolled over and came to lie on my side. The air wouldn’t weigh down on my chest so heavily that way.
My ass felt sore. Like the gates of hell.
The movement had caused some upheaval in hell and when I understood what the cause of that was I closed my eyes in disbelief. It was cum. That man had just fucked me into unconsciousness just to come in my swooned ass.
“You’re disgusting”
He cleared his throat, then bent down to get his face down on my level and to stare straight into my eyes.
“Just for the record, you came as well, saint.”
“I didn’t.”
Boldly, he touched my dick and then forced me to take the fingers into my mouth.
“What does it taste like? Honey?”
I moved my head away, spitting.
“Herring brine.”
“You are disgusting.”
I couldn’t but smirk at that.
There was no right or wrong simply because there was no wrong anymore.
There was a wrong, but I didn’t dare to think of that.
A day, an hour when he would approach me with a serious look and tell me that it was over. A day, an hour when he had gotten sick of me, when my body would gross him out, when my touch would make him shirk from my fingers.
I had barely won him over and I was losing him already.
“Don’t leave me,” I said into the silence.
It grew.
Oppressive. It grew to a killing extent.
He was looking at me, but I couldn’t read him. I was too busy choking my panic. Finally, he drew a deep breath and began to speak.
“What do I need to do to show you how serious I am about this?”
The grotesqueness of this situation was hilarious.
Two men, fighting each other tooth and nail for years, one good, one bad, one saving, one killing, suddenly snuggling up to each other and searching for comfort within the other.
It was a brittle peace. I didn’t believe in his fidelity and I didn’t believe in his love. Although he had told me many a times, with words and actions, and it had felt like he had been honest but whatever it was, he couldn’t love me for real.
He must have seen that in my face because he looked away. I wanted to be alone in my pain.
He turned to face me again, eyes piercing me.
“I think it is about time we part for tonight,” he said dryly.
I had disappointed him.
“But I would ask you to come again next time.”
I sat up and brushed some strands out of my face. Damaged.
Weak.
Worthless.
Slut.
“Please.”
I clenched my teeth and looked at him.
“Trust me.”
“I’ve never trusted anyone,” I whispered, “and the one’s I trusted just…”
I was past any shame or dignity. I had openly admitted my hopeless plight.
He turned away to leave me alone in my misery, to give me some moments and some space where I could recover safely.
“Can you try…”
He faced me again, eyes fixed on mine, “…one more time…Jack…”
Within 10 minutes I had left the castle, just holding the mask in front of my face, not bothering to put it on fully.
Away.
Breathlessly, I entered the car and headed home. As far away as possible. It was a trance similar to the one I had experienced when I had found out who was hiding behind the mask of the Volto.
And now he had found out who hid behind the white.
On the backseat, someone touched me gently. Someone lovable.
“He’s figured you out. You’re not so hard to read, after all.”
I winded down the window of the car and got rid of the mask.
He had rendered it redundant.

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The Circle