Archive of Our Own

Just when I think I’m

Free as a dove

Old devil moon

Deep in your eyes

Blinds me with love

It's a ten minute drive from Park Row to Arkham Asylum. But Joker notices immediately when they begin driving in the opposite direction. He glances at his disgruntled personal driver as they make the first wrong turn, but Bats makes no acknowledgement or mention of the route change. Batman, his angry little vigilante, stares ahead, hands gripped tightly to the wheel. He never deviates from their routine so it piques Joker’s curiosity right away.

It's a simple routine. They fight, Joker eggs the bat on, spits in the face of his oh so precious justice, laughs at his insistence to maintain his steadfast moralities, tests them to their limits until he's beaten black and blue, lands a punch or two, carves off a little slice of bat-meat here and there, kills a few innocents for good measure, and then they wrap it up all up with a pretty little bow by tossing Joker into Arkham, after a little more backseat punishment for his antics. The backseat punishment is new. They've only recently added this extra little dance move. It's a long story, quite romantic if Joker might add, involving a breathtaking cathedral, rains of blood, sexually charged fighting, near-suicide, declarations of love, and a Ray Charles number. But Joker can reminisce about their first kiss some other time. 

The clown prince assumes he'll be receiving the usual little backseat treat tonight, especially with the way he royally pissed off his darling this evening. Generally, the more awful his antics, the more aggressive the sex will be, if he gets any at all. Because his darling still seems quite skittish about the whole thing, so when he sticks a hand out, Bats doesn't always come sniffing. Sometimes he retreats and hisses and sometimes he's nuzzling into the palm of his hand. So while the bat never deviates from the old routine, they're still working a few kinks out with these new additions. Quite literally too. If he's particularly malicious, kills too wantonly, then he often gets nothing but a one way trip to his cell. Which only makes him want to push it even harder next time, bring the bat to the edge of his boundaries.

What else would Batsy expect from him though, he can't be too surprised by this unintended side effect. If he thought that sleeping with a murderous clown would quell his murderous clown urges, then he was sorely mistaken. But hey, technically, nobody got hurt tonight. Instead, he's just been very, very naughty. 

So yes, this destination shift intrigues him. It makes him sit up a little straighter, and bite his lip with anticipation. They drive farther and farther away from the asylum and Joker watches Gotham from his passenger side window, devastating, harsh lines, gothic and modern architecture mingling together, all passing by in a flurry, the batmobile speeding through nearly empty city streets. It's one of his favorite things about being driven in the batmobile. The speed. 

A thought occurs to him, that it would be so funny if he escaped from these amateur handcuffs right now and lunged for the steering wheel, forcing them through the closest four-way intersection and committing several hit and runs before the bat beat him back into the passenger seat and locked him up good and tight. There wouldn’t be any backseat treats if he did that though. Plus he would probably be forced into some Arkham sanctioned van as a result, the bat ditching him so he could attend to the injured instead. Boring. He’ll keep still for now. He doesn't want to lose his unrestricted batmobile passenger privileges yet. The vehicle hardly rumbles beneath his feet, but he can still feel his stomach dip at a turn that is far too fast and far too sharp. Racing with death is a tale as old as time. Dancing too.

Another thought occurs to him. This aptly named batmobile could be the perfect deathtrap if it was in more creative, clownish hands. What would he name it though? Not the clownmobile, that’s for sure.     

The purple satin robe he wears, the only thing he had on when he was captured, feels luxurious against the batmobile's expensive, protective interior. Joker looks down into his lap and stares at his rumpled suit, snatched from his dresser in a hurry as he was running out of his warehouse, shooting towards his love until he was inevitably caught, handcuffed and thrown into the car without care. He won't be bothered with putting on the wrinkled get up now. It would only come off again anyway. It tickles him that Bats detained him without any time to change. Absolutely tickles him pink to be seated in this dreary, darkened vehicle, half naked, like some kidnapped housewife. Caught by a hardworking husband in the arms of another and dragged home by the ear. 

Joker crosses his legs and begins humming. Because he can't stand a lengthy silence for long and because he knows that it will annoy his darling that much more. He tucks his cuffed wrists between his silk covered thighs and sways slightly to the song playing in his head. He vocalizes one lyric that begs to escape his lips.

"Baby, I'm yoursss…"

Oh, that Barbara Lewis has a voice like velvet. He doesn’t mind the Cass Elliot version either. 

He sits content in the passenger seat of the batmobile, his temperamental adversary guiding them to parts unknown, more than pleased with this evening's turn of events. After an awful, failed explosion at Gotham Gas & Electric, Joker managed to escape the bat's grasp and stomped home, disappointed. But Brooks, his faithful, designated second in command that night, was ready to take care of him. The infatuated henchman tended to his injuries and accompanied him into his bedroom for a proper girl's night in. 

And what a girl's night in he'd had. 

Brooks, poor, sweet Brooks, was ready to offer himself in whatever way Joker needed. He's a loyal follower, and an example to henchmen everywhere. Even when helpless hunk got a little too bold, not so subtly discouraging him from killing one of his hench-friends, he accepted his scolding with an eagerness and promised to never repeat the same mistake again. So for that, he's getting a raise and a promotion, and maybe another private audience with yours truly when he returns from his siesta. 

Yes, it sure was a lovely night. And it had only gotten better as the night went on. Because his Batsy was kind enough to stop by his warehouse and pick him up for round two. It was a pleasant surprise but he was still angry at him, mad at the bat's words earlier that evening, and he was ready to let him know that when he arrived. Using Brooks, he performed an obscene display, so that his love would understand just how vexed he was with his behavior.  

His darling, in response to the clown's failures at the power plant, made the mistake of telling the clown that he was losing his touch. Now, Joker loves his man to death, but his darling has never held a knack for making jokes. Bats wasn't trying to make him laugh then, he was making fun of him for failing. A rare instance in which the stoic man chose to open his mouth and it had to be that. And Joker, well, he just didn't deserve it. He was only trying to set up a dance underneath a pure, uninhibited night sky. All he wanted to do was shut off that awful, artificial lighting, and set up some romantic, TNT packed candles of his own so they could waltz the night away. So yes, it was very offensive for the bat to make jest at his failed romantic gesture. And Joker does not like to be the butt of the joke. He will do all the jokering around, thank you very much. 

So when he invited faithful Brooks into his bedroom for a little unwinding together, he did so with the intention of hopefully pissing off his beloved adversary even more, in an act of petty revenge for those biting words. Luckily for him, Batman's timing couldn't have been more perfect, because he got to see just how much Joker has certainly not lost his touch, no, not at all. 

Another sharp turn distracts him from his musing, and pretty soon he's getting bored again. The humming can only entertain him for so long. He once again considers breaking out of his handcuffs for a cheap thrill, but it will be much more fun to see if the bat will use them for their impending private time. He decides to tease the man instead, which never fails to  amuse him.

“Not locking me up in your superseat, darling?" he asks, "Or is it going to give you too many ideas? Me, restrained, already undressed for you? Lucky for you, I can’t exactly hide a weapon in this get up, so I’ll behave, and I'll behave because you picked me up so sweetly too… my sweet. Ha! See what I did there?” he chuckles at his silly little play on words. 

Batman says nothing. He expected as much. It remains silent albeit for the lightest of rumbling from the batmobile's engines. The pressure of the metal handcuffs on his wrists remind him of the bat's rough grip when he pinned him to the bed upon barging into his room, pressing him into the mattress in a fit of frustration. He startled little Brooks half to death with that. It sends goosebumps along his skin remembering it all. His Batsy, glowering, holding him down and scolding him for his petty behavior. Making the bat angry easily ranks as one of his top favorite activities. The addition of their new dynamic on top of that has only made his favorite pastime that much more enjoyable.

Without moving his head, he darts an eye towards the bat, and a smile ghosts his lips, mischievous. He shuts his eyes, takes a light inhale, and breaks the silence again. 

"That was Brooks by the way. He works hard, as you can see." Joker teases. 

Nothing. The bat continues to ignore him. But a surge of satisfaction races through Joker when he watches his darling grip the steering wheel a little harder, and feels the car speed up just a little more. 

They speed past Sheldon Park and Joker realizes they’re heading towards the bridge that enters Bristol County, nowhere near the asylum. Now, that's a little strange. Not the detour he would have guessed. Bristol means Wayne Manor. And Wayne Manor means batcave. And there's no way he would ever be permitted in either. Especially not for their… play time. The anxious curiosity dissipates quickly however. The clown assumes Bruce knows Bristol just as much as he knows Gotham. He can drive them to the edge of Wayne Manor, into his property, close but not nearly close enough to the mansion, and feel confident they will be completely secluded there. He knows how much the bat values privacy when it comes to their recent entanglements. 

It's still strange though. Usually, he's taken to their favorite service road, a detour off of Arkham’s main pathways. Joker finds it a little off, but not enough to bring it up. Instead, he returns to his task of stirring up Batman's anger once again. 

"Brooks is a good egg," he continues, "Not too dumb, not too smart. Strong, excellent work ethic. He's hung too. I can barely take it some days. Mmm plus the things he can do with his tongue…" 

It's still deathly silent. They speed over the empty bridge and pull into a dirt road. Joker jumps slightly at a sudden right turn, and he notices pavement give way to a dirt road in a heavily vegetated area, a driving path only defined by the flattened dirt and a parting of trees in an otherwise thick forest. His curiosity is stimulated once more. Perhaps his Batsy wants to make him scream especially loud tonight…

As Bruce guides them through the forest, the bat's stoicism and silence begins to grate Joker just a little. Why is it always up to him to maintain the communication in this relationship? 

"You seem a little tense, darling. Did you forget to take your bat-vian this morning? You can't miss doses like that or they'll never work. Trust me." 

Joker giggles lightly, as if he knows the first thing about psychiatric medication, they've never really worked on him, that's for sure.There have been instances in which the drugs in Arkham put him in a numbing, catatonic state, pumped to the gills with all kinds of chemicals, the poor staff hoping it would at least subdue him enough to not cause any trouble during his always temporary stays. Eventually though, they inevitably stopped working and he returned to being the resident menace. So that hardly counted as actually treating whatever he had going on in his noggin. 

He briefly wonders if Bruce has ever been to a psychiatrist. As a kid, sure. Watching his parents die or whatever. But as an adult? He doubted it, the man would not be running around in kevlar suits fighting clowns if he'd received extensive psychiatric support. 

"Or maybe they're working too well," Joker adds on, "because you've gone as good as mute tonight, love." 

Crickets again. He readjusts in his seat, and feels a bubbling anticipation as the car slows down to a stop. 

A couple minutes pass and Bats doesn't make a move. It's officially irritating Joker. He doesn't usually act first when it comes to these things, usually he lets the bat come to him like a jumpy, feral creature. But he hates this silence. He rolls his eyes and huffs, no longer willing to wait for his darling to make the first move anymore, and jumps into his lap. He rushes into the silent man’s face and kisses the bat with a roughness he knows that he enjoys. But the bat does not kiss him back. 

Batman does plant his gauntlet covered hands along his backside, pressing him closer to him. He continues to kiss him but his darling’s lips still refuses to move. So he pulls away, curious. Bats doesn't look at him. He looks distracted and far away. What ails his love's troubled mind tonight, the clown wonders. From here, Joker's robe hangs loosely on his chest, and so he takes the silk, palms it with both hands, a bit awkwardly, because the cuffs require two hands, and runs it along the bat signal, pressing against a hard, kevlar protected chest. The contrast of armor and silk sends a shudder through him. But the brooding man's dark cloud widens above his head, and his frown deepens. 

"Oh darling, did I upset you that much? Don't worry baby, Brooks is just a plaything. A distraction. I only sleep with him on nights when you've neglected m-" 

Joker is startled when Bruce suddenly surges forward, shooting daggers into his face. He rises then, grabs Joker's bound wrists with one hand, opens the driver's side and drags him out of the car. He yelps in pain as he's manhandled onto the hood of the car, in a seated position, on its edge. His cuffs are subsequently removed and tossed to the forest floor and the bat leans into him, hands slamming into the hood and boxing him in, leans in so close that Joker has to plant his hands onto the hood and lean back himself. His darling thunders into his face, whispering harshly. 

"Listen to me. This isn't happening again. I don't care who you fuck, or how you do it. You get into trouble, I find you and you go to Arkham, that's it. No detours. Enough of this. It's over." 

"No detours? What the hell is this then?" He gestures towards their surroundings. They're in Bristol, for god's sake. 

"I just need you to understand." 

"So you had to slam me onto the hood of your car to break up with me?"

Joker laughs. It's cute, is what it is. Watching Bruce stick up for himself. Following the shame that whispers in his ear to put an end to this. 

"This isn't a break up. We aren't together. This was a lapse in judgment that I've taken way too far." 

Bruce dips into the car for a brief moment. He emerges with Joker's suit in hand and tosses the articles of clothing at him. Joker catches them, and glares at the bat with indignation. 

"Put your clothes on. Now." 

Joker throws his suit right back at him. They join the discarded handcuffs on the dirt floor. 

"Why? They're just gonna strip me again anyway. Right as soon as I walk through that door. In fact, how about I just leave the robe here too?" Joker reaches over one shoulder, and pushes the silky fabric off.

"It would be easier for everyone." 

Bruce growls, and grabs Joker's wrist, putting an end to the impromptu stripping. The clown’s eyes shine with amusement. He can act as huffy as he wants, but Joker knows how to stir Batman up. He knows what turns the bat on even if he denies it with all his might. A flash of the shoulder, a breathy moan, a hungry tongue, or sharp teeth rushing fresh blood to the surface of his skin, feeding from his flesh, all of which drives the bat wild. But Bruce remains steadfast with his decision. 

"Don't be difficult." 

"Now that one's actually funny, Bats. Because you of all people know that difficult is what I'm all about!" 

Joker laughs then. Hearty, genuinely amused. And that sends a new wave of anger through Bruce so he grips that thin wrist tighter, like a vice, and fingertips purple a little at the pressure and lack of circulation. It's never taken much to bruise this delicate skin. He can already imagine the ring of dark purple around his wrist giving way to green in a few days. 

"I'm serious."

"When aren't you? Listen, I don't think you understand just how wrong you are right now, darling. You fail to grasp the severity of this situation. You don't get to just walk away from this now. Oh no, you opened the door, remember? Coaxed me right through it, and guess what? I already slammed that door shut. Locked it from the outside and threw away the key. There's no stopping this." 

"This isn't right." 

"Hah! No shit it isn't. It's quite the kinky Romeo and Juliet situation we've found ourselves in, huh? What would our warring families say? So taboo. Oh darling, is that what this is? Your shame getting the best of you?" 

He forces the bat forward, pushes his hips against his by wrapping his hands around his utility belt and pulling, and Bruce twinges at the boldness the clown exercises in daring to make contact with such an important piece of his suit, but ultimately allows himself to be guided, and does nothing to stop Joker when he wraps his legs around his middle and runs his hands up and down his chest piece. Joker whispers into his lips. 

"We both know you think about this all the time. You sit in that cave," he points into the forest, into the general direction of Wayne Manor, and then points to his mouth and runs a finger against his lips "and you picture these lips all over you, don't you? Last time, you had me in the backseat of this stupid batcar, and you shoved your crotch in my face from above, choked me while I swallowed you whole…" 

Bruce remembers it easily. He can still hear Joker struggling to breath underneath him, his hands wrapped tightly around his neck. And he can still see the way the clown's eyes peered into his cowl with complete adoration and arousal, and clawed at his forearms when Bruce came into his mouth, suffocating and forcing him to swallow every last bit of him. 

Joker continues to whisper into his lips, teasing the possibility of contact with every ghosting word. 

"And then you went home and you thought about it, didn't you? The mess you made of my face. Thought about it for days. And now I'm here again, and I can do that again for you, my love…" 

He trails his palms up his chest and massages his cowled neck. Bruce inches closer, enough to where the clown’s legs must part even more to make room for his larger body. 

"You didn't take me here to end this…" 

He wraps his arms around his neck and their faces are a hair’s breadth away.  

 "You took me here to make it all worse." 

Joker stills as Bruce bridges those last few inches and kisses him with an urgency. He melts into it right away. Bruce doesn't kiss like Brooks does. No, not at all. Bruce kisses him like he's drowning and desperate for air. Like it's the last time he'll be able to kiss him again. Perhaps in his mind, he thinks it will be. Probably hopes he will stop after this one last kiss. But Joker won't ever let this end. And it's really Bruce's fault for unleashing all this possibility for him in the first place. For starting a new dance. 

And he looks so beautiful like this, Joker thinks. Conflicted, frantic, his mind screaming at him to do one thing and choosing to do the other. Joker is completely mesmerized by this state. It's a state he's never been able to witness before and he's addicted to it every time. 

But it hardly lasted. Bruce pulls away, darts his tongue back into his open mouth, lips wet, panting. He speaks. 

"No." 

Joker only wraps his arms around him tighter. "Enough of that, darling. Just quiet your mind now. Come here…" 

Joker tilts his head up for another kiss. He gets close but the bat turns his head to the side, avoiding contact. Joker expected a bit more resistance so he tries again, ready to break through the bat's walls, but once again, his advances are avoided. He groans in frustration and grips his darling’s chin then, forcing him forward but all that does is cause his own fingers to shake with tested strength, trying and failing to keep the bat's face towards his own, and that sends a wave of humiliation through the clown. Rejection from the bat is painfully familiar but in this context, it feels even worse. 

Joker slaps his face away, forcing Bruce to step back a couple paces while he readjusts his robe, wrapping it tighter around himself. 

"You know what, Bats, perhaps this has gone too far. I knew your weak disposition wouldn't be able to handle this. And here I was thinking you'd grown a pair that first night you took me. And you know what else Bats?" 

He hops off of the hood and stands in front of Bruce, pokes at his chest and presses up against him. 

"I don't need you like this. I was having plenty of fun before you started your little experiment. No, I don't need any of this, not even a little. In fact, I've got plenty of playthings already! More than a clown could ask for! My warehouses are a toy store, all for me. I just snap my fingers and men come crawling. And now I have my handsome little Brooks, who looks just like you but isn't nearly as stubborn. So take me to Arkham, darling. But guess what? I'm not chasing after you when I get out again. I'm just going to skip home with glee and play with my new little toy, who doesn't mind one bit fucking me until I can't even think str- ah!" 

Joker was really proud of his speech up until this point. He was locked and loaded with even more cruelty to share, ready to demean the bat and express to him how disposable this dynamic could be to him, ignoring the stirring in his chest that he knew meant if this ended today, it would trigger a new wave of vindictive payback some line down the road. But he doesn’t get a chance to further his taunts because he's in the air being manhandled again, except this time, Bruce is even more reckless about it. He's practically treated like a rag doll. He's lifted over the bat's shoulder, flipped over, like a wrestling move, and slammed onto the hood again, on his back, his feet towards the glass of the front window. 

"You're loud."  

He looks up, and watches the bat, upside down from this angle now, peering down at him from above, the moonlight illuminating his frame, creating the effect of a bat shaped shadow creature, a shadow creature with whom he is ready to disappear into the darkness with if only the creature would allow it. 

This creature of the night envelopes him from above, all consuming, leans over him and Joker stares at the bat symbol, upside down, above him. The sounds of armored pieces coming loose reach his ears but he cannot see it from this angle. Bruce's ungloved hands emerge from behind, and reach over to his middle, loosening the robe and exposing Joker to the darkened glow of evening. His ghostly complexion shines against the night and the clown feels like an offering at temple, displayed at the altar, ready to be sacrificed, to meet his maker. 

His shadowed bat takes those ungloved hands and trails up his upper legs, up to his stomach, presses nails into his bare skin, digs into his ribcage and ends the trail on his upper body, where his darling presses in again, massaging down on his chest, and lingers on his flat breasts. This silent night creature rakes his nails against his undefined pectorals, leaving light red trails in its wake, before pinching and stimulating his nipples. Joker's back arches immediately at the sudden attention to such an erogenous zone. 

"Nngh…"

He moans into it, and his own hands trail down his body this time, ready to stimulate himself to the sensations, parting his legs and rocking them a few times, running his hands against his inner thighs too, ready to put on a performance yet again tonight, except it will be private show this time, all for his darling, his silent beast. 

But the bat will not allow it. The chest play ends and suddenly his wrists are pinned next his shoulders, preventing any stimulation to his growing erection. 

"Ah…" he gasps in disappointment. 

He averts his gaze from his groin, back above to his Batsy, and his eyes widen when he sees the anger plain as day written all over the man's face, a tightened jaw and grinded, exposed teeth made visible by moonlight. Even upside down, he can see all that delicious hate directed towards him and it makes him shudder. Being held down by his darling, emitting all that thundering frustration as he pins him to his car, stirs him up like nothing else. His arousal grows, and it builds until he can feel his erection land on his lower stomach, completely hard. 

"Mmmm Bats…" he moans, higher in pitch, involuntary saccharine notes. 

"Don't move." 

He wouldn't dare now. The clown's chest heaves lightly, his breath quickens, and little puffs of air escape his mouth, hot breath meeting a cold night breeze. But his face can't register the cold, and he imagines that his face is reddening now, contrasting against his pale skin, and hopefully stirring up the bat even more. 

Bruce releases his wrists but Joker keeps his hands fisted at his shoulders. He pants, awaiting the next game. From behind, his darling has already removed the armor from his hips, lowered the insulating fabric from beneath, and released his own growing erection from his suit. He grips himself and nuzzles his cock to Joker's cheek and the clown mewls with desire, mouth parting and tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes lidded with lust and a desire to swallow his darling love whole. 

Bruce wraps a hand around Joker's neck then, and the clown is ready. He extends his neck and opens his mouth wide, and his entire body melts as the bat glides his cock against his lips. Bruce rubs his tip against his parted mouth, holding his neck down with his other hand and squeezing. There's electricity firing from all angles. Joker is lit ablaze by this. Everything from earlier, Joker's bruised ego, Batsy's shame, none of it matters anymore. He kisses and provides shallow sucks to the head of Bruce's cock, the best he can do from this angle. 

It ends too quickly. Bruce has removed his length from his face already, but lifts Joker shortly after that, presses him onto the dirt floor, on his knees. 

He is face to face with Bruce’s cock now, and he watches the man stroke himself before him. He wants to conjure up something obscene, dirty, and inappropriate to say but he really does feel hypnotized by the sight. On his knees, he looks at Batman, an imposing presence of kevlar and armor and that cape, a wingspan lowered, the bat’s complete, undivided attention, at last. 

"Oh. Oh, darling, look at you…" 

He'd fantasized about this very position hardly an hour ago. But Brooks was at the mercy of Joker’s instructions then. Here, with his beautiful, angry Batsy, Joker gets no opportunity to be in charge. He doesn't command the bat. He is at his mercy. And the lack of control transforms him into a desperate mess immediately. The clown grips Bruce's thighs, and peers up at him, mouth agape, tongue stretched out, awaiting permission to perform too, but Batman gives him nothing. 

His heart drops when it doesn't happen. The teasing is incessant tonight. Fine, his darling doesn't want to make it easy, alright. He'll let the tension slowly kill him because as he's said before, there's nothing more fun than dancing with death. And there’s nothing fun about easy. 

Bruce continues to stroke himself against his face and Joker becomes more and more thirsty with each passing movement. His darling is big, no surprise. And girthy too. Joker wants to stretch his jaw muscles around this thickness, that leans just a little to the left, run his tongue along the beating vein of his underside, and have his mouth fucked raw from his devastatingly handsome adversary. He can't hold on for much longer. His mouth is practically watering for it. And internally he commends the bat's stoic, but effective efforts in making him feel so pathetic and wanton. He knows what his darling wants him to do. This is how he will be punished tonight. And by god, did he succumb to it quickly. He hammers it in a little more, because it doesn't take much to conjure up all the pathetic pleading he knows the bat longs to hear. 

"Ah, B-batsy… nghh… please… " 

His mouth closes and his teeth clench with desperation. Bruce growls at the anguished display, drinks in Joker's unashamed desperation, and the pleading sends him over the edge. He grabs the clown's face then, and practically shoves himself into that eager mouth. The push sends Joker's head back and he hits the front bumper hard. The car traps him further and pretty soon he is at the mercy of Batman's aggressive, rhythmic thrusting. 

He goes to work. His tongue slides against the bat's length, taking every thrust and gasping for breath at any opportunity but ends up choking and forced to hold his breath many times, completely succumbing to Batman's rough use of his mouth, more than willing to provide an outlet for his darling’s vexation. 

Bruce is not gentle here, he gives in to his pent up frustrations, and uses Joker's mouth to release all of his built up anger. Anger that bubbles up at him even more as he remembers the events of this evening. He watches Joker's head bob, his cock disappearing in and out of a mouth that has been forcibly silenced. A quiet Joker squints his eyes with concentration, and he imagines that the clown must be in little bit of pain already, his throat getting fucked raw like this. He pulls at his hair, and feels a few green strands break loose as a fresh wave of irritation crosses him. 

"Mmm…"

He hums into the pain, and Bruce can feel the vibrations of the clown's vocal cords on his cock. Despite the rough treatment, he once again feels like he's rewarding Joker for bad behavior. 

He raced through the city for two hours, looking for him, frustrated that Joker ran away before he could properly assess his injuries, because his bruised ego insisted on manually setting off a bomb that partially exploded in his face, only to discover him perfectly fine, wounds tended to, in the arms of another.

And it shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. It shouldn't have mattered that Joker was so quick to use one of his men as a substitute to satisfy his cravings. It shouldn't have sent a deeply penetrating sense of betrayal through his core to see Joker rocking his hips against some random guy, a younger look alike no less, but it did. They've only done this a handful of times, but Bruce was very aware that his possessive streak was being fed more than ever. And he didn't care. Compared to everything else they've done to each other, this was the healthiest outlet of them all. He wanted to dominate, to exercise a sense of control he rarely felt over the stubborn little clown and he was going to exercise it now.  

So yes, Joker got to him tonight. His insolence, combined with his salacious behavior here in this forest, has succeeded in getting a rise out of him. Again. But he'd rather fuck the clown within an inch of passing out before he ever admitted it to him.  

He tightens his hold against Joker's face again and removes himself abruptly. The clown parts from Bruce's cock with an audible pop, mouth open wide, and looks up at him with confusion. Bruce can see the precome on Joker's tongue, and watches the drool run down his lips, as Joker gasps and gulps for a proper breath of air. His robe has fallen off the other shoulder, and doesn't cover his front at all anymore. Green curls stand at all angles and his face is a mess of fluid and bandaged injuries from tonight's partial explosion. He looks ruined. Bruce wants more of that. 

"Get up." 

Joker scrambles to his feet, but his bare feet trip over the loosened dirt, right into the bat's arms, who catches him around the waist with ease. He stares up at him, and claws into his shoulders, begging for a kiss, like an animal hopping up to reach a high place, stretching his neck and standing on his tippy toes to do just that. An all consuming desire to continue tasting his beloved rushes through him, to overwhelm himself with his substance, and to attach himself to him like a lovesick parasite. 

But instead, Joker falls back to the car again, right side up this time. Bruce pushes him onto the hood once more, parts his legs, and steps between them. The ravished clown wipes his mouth and stares into his darling’s white cowl lenses. Even through the expressionless material, Joker can see the contempt pouring out of him, and it makes him shiver. The bat hooks an arm underneath his knee and hitches a leg to a bulking, armored shoulder and the material is cold and hard and makes his toes curl with delight. 

When Bruce enters him with one finger, Joker is shaking for it. He brings his own fingers to his face, bites a knuckle and revels in the deepening probing. Finally, he thinks, get on with it already. 

His darling stills for a moment, and Joker is about to lash out with impatience until he realizes that he is very much still filled with Brooks' earlier orgasm, his hole already stuffed with the fluid of another, and that the bat can feel it on his fingers. He rises from his elbows, compelled to acknowledge it, make a joke of it perhaps, but Bruce brings in another finger and starts thrusting those digits with complete abandon, so Joker becomes putty. Brooks' cum provides all the lubrication he needs right now, enough to glide in and out, but leaving room for a little bit of pain without proper lube, which Joker is more than accepting of. Bruce pushes deeper and curls his fingers just right, brushes up against his prostate and begins massaging against it over and over again, and Joker starts to feel like all he is is a collection of nerves and sound effects, and he revels in the privilege of being underneath the bat like this again. All the disbelief bubbles to the surface and becomes vapor, gone. His mind is empty except for a cacophony of yes yes yes yes and god I love you so much. 

"Ah! Ah, oh, Bats. Oh, yes darling, mmm…"

He can't think straight. It overwhelms him like it always does. Disbelief always takes over when Bruce is on top of him like this, disbelief that he actually gets to do this again and that his beautiful bat wants him like this. He reaches down to play with himself but Bruce hooks his hands above his head, and keeps them there. His finger fucking gets rougher and rougher, and all Joker can do is lay there and take it all. He moans with each thrust, and his panting reaches a steady  rhythm. 

"Hah… hah… hah…"

Put those breathy gasps closer together, and Joker could be laughing. The thought tickles him so he lets himself do it, airy little chuckles. He knows that the laughter angers the bat unlike anything else. Especially during this. But he can't help it. 

"Hah…hahaha… haha- ahh…"  

A third finger enters him, and the stretch is fantastic. It borders on too much but he doesn't care. In a moment, the stretch will be even more intense and he won't be thinking about anything at all. Bruce effectively puts an end to the involuntary giggle fit with that third finger, and as he thrusts in and out of him with that strong hand, so so strong, the bat gets close to his face and finally speaks. 

"You're lucky nobody died tonight." 

His deep voice rumbles against his higher pitched moans, a thundering little storm speaking through clenched teeth, entering his own mouth and leaving devastation in its wake. He moans in response to the scolding, and he can't help but bite back just a little. 

"Mmm… oh… hah," he pants, "I sure am, because now you get to touch me like this without all that pesky shame tapping… mmm… your shoulder. Or, ah… haha… is it still there and you, mmm! Just- just can't help yourself! Maybe you really don't mind one bit that you’re fucking a killer clown? Mmm that you- ah! Ow…" 

Bruce pulls his hand out, one fell movement, quickly and inconsiderate. It stings when he does it, stings a lot. But again, Joker doesn't care. He can never deny an opportunity to be hurt by this man. This man can push him within an inch of his life and he would thank him from the bottom of his heart for doing so. Being fucked within an inch of losing consciousness will suffice too. 

Bats pulls him closer to the edge of the hood, grasping underneath his thighs, and bends them into his stomach, half laying atop him.  

Joker can feel the intrusion prodding at his opening, teasing. 

"Your plan failed because you're getting too confident." Bruce lectures. 

His eyes widen, and the bat speaks about his failures in methodology as he enters him. 

"Too complacent." 

He feels the stretch ache and grips at the arms that box him in. He gasps, because Bruce doesn't wait for him to get used to that aching stretch, he just forces himself through the muscle cavity. 

"Getting lost in your own ego." 

Bruce bottoms out, completely buries himself and doesn't move. Joker's toes curl and shake with want around his love's shoulders. His gaze lingers down and he can see his own thighs pressed against his torso, and he can see his darling’s hands crush those thighs with a bruising hold.  

"And you talk way too much to notice." 

"Ah…"  

Bruce moves then, buries himself in and out, bruising his legs with a vice grip and fucking Joker hard, and Joker can hardly breathe with the aggressive intrusion, and he listens to the bat continue to reprimand him as he fucks him into the hood of his car. Bruce's words continue, hitched around his increased breathing, but persistent and emphasized with each slamming thrust. 

"Always trying to get a rise out of me.” he snarls.

“Pushing me to hurt you,” the bat grunts between steady, harsh thrusts.

“Using people to get to me. Toying with life like it means nothing!" 

Joker whimpers and whines at those words, and looks up at him from his dazed state, grips his upper arms tighter, digging nails into kevlar, and responds with a breathless passion, compelled to explain. 

"Ah! Mmm it's- it's because I love you darling! I do this all for love! Oh, oh I love you so much Batsy- mmph!" 

Bruce clamps a hand over his mouth. He hates to hear it. Hates it so much. It pierces right through to his heart every time he hears it. A hot, searing stab right into his chest. 

It's that very love that's kept Joker alive day after day, year after year. Joker's love taunts him. It reminds him that beneath it all, Joker is not a cold hearted monster. That he is capable of feeling something as human as love. And all he wants to do is coax that love out more. Tame it and guide it down another way. It's a raw and visceral wish. A wish if not for Joker's benefit, than for his own. For his own selfish desire to possess this man on all levels. 

Bruce watches this lovesick man moan and rock below him. That satin robe long fell away and bunches up under him, giving Joker a layer of shiny purple fabric for his pale white sensitive skin to avoid chafing against hard black metal. 

This man, this awful, awful man, who spits in the face of his efforts to protect a city and its inhabitants, now mewls and pants underneath him and Bruce only wants to hear more. A man who would have had no qualms about killing those city workers tonight if it meant that the bat would show up to dance. 

Because the lives of innocent people mean nothing to him. So of course, trampling on the hearts of innocent men, men who fall in love with him with only a few whispers of madness, those broken hearts mean nothing to Joker too. Ask the clown and he will tell you the world is meaningless. It's all some cruel, hilariously twisted joke. And the only thing that makes any sense to him is Batman. So he offers the bat gifts day after day, to show him just how grateful he is to have one creature on this earth that makes sense. 

And Bruce is lost to it. Because at the core of it all, away from the bloodshed, gusto and nihilism, Joker's intentions are misguided but sweet. And so saddening to see. 

So he wraps his arms around an arched back and pulls the clown in close, penetrating deeply, and Joker wraps his arms around his neck in response and nuzzles into a cowled shoulder. Joker stares up, through the parted trees and is face to face with a shining full moon. He watches the bright orb peer to him and realizes that he did get to dance with his beast under the cover of the night’s blackened glow after all. Dammit it if it doesn't make him feel a little sentimental. 

Bruce is not being gentle now, but he’s holding him and Joker becomes pliant and dazed from it all. Bruce is ready to make it even worse, to distract from his heavyhearted musings, thrust harder and rougher to stir the clown back to life but then the damn man has to go and say his name like that. 

"Bats…" 

There's a fondness in Joker's voice then, soft and sweet, and genuine and that scares Bruce again. But he doesn't stop fucking him, he couldn't possibly, so he sits with that uncomfortable fondness offered to him, and inches closer to orgasm. Joker, however, can't take it anymore, his love for the bat spills over so he unwraps his arms from around his neck and grabs his face, and they're kissing deeply through Bruce's rhythmic thrusts. Bruce can taste himself along Joker's lips and the clown moans so musically against his mouth that he can't cling to all that anger and melancholy when he is serenaded in such a wanton way. 

When Joker collapses back onto the hood, Bruce holds tightly to his hips and watches the man as his face morphs into a look of concern and trail down to where their hips meet. He worries that perhaps the pain has gone too far until he watches the clown twitch a hand towards his erect cock, bobbing along his bleached, scarred stomach, and realizes that Joker wants Bruce to touch him. But words, for once, are failing him. 

"B-ba… dar…" is all the clown can manage. His eyes are glazed over, far too lost in the pleasure. 

Bruce stares at that cock, just as white as the rest of him but engorged to a faint purple at the slit, begging to be stimulated, but having been awfully neglected thus far. 

Joker has nothing going on in his brain besides feeling the Bat stretch him and press into his prostate with every thrust. He could touch himself but he really wants his darling to do it for him. Not even Brooks gets to touch him there. In the clown's mind, that should only belong to Batman. Bats must notice the tortured glances because he finally, finally, reaches down, and proceeds to palm and massage his balls and base, rubbing the underside where his shaft begins. And then with a rough grip, his darling wraps around his length, and strokes him along with the pacing of his hips and Joker swears he goes blind for a moment. 

"Nghhh!"

He arches into it, and he knows his darling loves all his little noises because he growls that thundering growl again, and slams into him harder and harder. He moans loudly, mewls with abandon in this dark and dreary forest, and he can hear his own songs of pleasure reverberate back to him, bouncing against trees and echoing in the terrain.  

The electric shock coursing through his body, all of these little pricks of lightning in his core, are better than any of the bolts of shockwave therapy he's indulged in over the years. 

Joker is but a noisy little sex toy at this point. And Bruce doesn’t mind it one bit. He's loud tonight, taking full advantage of their isolated surroundings. So Bruce is getting close. Quickly. He can feel the way his breath hitches more and more, and then he feels Joker squeeze his rectal muscles involuntarily as the orgasm begins to rip through him without warning. 

"Ah, ah! Basty, oh…" 

He rises suddenly with his elbows, and watches Bruce pump him to orgasm, and he shakes and moans and utters a mangled little cry as he decorates his already moonlight colored chest with more streaks of white. 

That's it for Bruce too. The performance is too much now. Joker's performances often are though. He bottoms out inside Joker and fills him as deeply as his body will allow and succumbs to the crescendo of nerve stimulation, feels himself empty into Joker's already filled cavity. 

They pant and ride out their orgasms like this. Joker stares straight ahead into the bat signal on his darling’s chest and Bruce focuses in on the reddened bruises left along Joker's front earlier today but neither of them look at each other. It's here, during this part, where they never can. 

It's going to get awkward very soon but Joker never lets it get there. He gently pushes the bat's hips so that he'll pull out steadily and Bruce gradually steps back, out from between Joker's legs. 

"Well," Joker speaks, still catching his breath, legs still spread apart, "Always an honor to watch you work…" He smiles, and all that usual, annoying, mischievous energy returns. 

With that stupid little line and that all too familiar smile, Joker effectively brings Bruce back to reality. He makes quick work of some post coital clean up, reaching into the batmobile for a packet of wet wipes that he's only recently decided needed to be in there at all times. Bruce wipes himself, and is collecting his armor back and putting everything back in place in record time. 

Joker watches this and remembers he's got a mess of his own to deal with. He grabs a wipe and cleans off his own seminal fluid from his dick and chest, grimaces at the sticky substance, grabs another and cleans his mouth too, and then he huffs a little breath of frustration as he realizes that not only was he filled with Brooks' mess, his dominating, darling Batsy has filled him up too. And it's a shame that it needs to be cleaned out because he wouldn't have hesitated even a little bringing a little essence of bat with him into Arkham. 

If it didn't feel so incredibly good, Joker would find the whole ordeal of sex a messy inconvenience. But it's a necessary evil instead. Just like him, he thinks, rather humored by the comparison. 

He needs to get all that cum out though so he might as well be completely obscene about it. He turns around, on his knees, and Bruce stands there, stares intently at this pale little devil illuminated by moonlight, a fully naked backside presented for the bat to soak in because Joker isn't facing him and he can leer as much as he wants like that. 

And so Joker reaches behind him and spreads one cheek, extends his back out and enters himself, stretching his hole and letting gravity do what it needs to until he feels the first glob of cum drip out of him, but then his hands are pulled away and behind his back, as if to be handcuffed. Oh, they didn't use the handcuffs tonight, Joker realizes. Missed opportunity. Bruce speaks, no thunder this time, just a simple demand.  

"No." 

He could do this all over again after hearing that. Oh, you possessive little freak. Please keep giving me more reasons to kowtow to you. 

"I have to, darling. They're going to search me in there…" 

He peers over his shoulder and Joker can sense the disappointment when Bruce reluctantly lets go. Joker spreads himself apart again, and Bruce watches the cum drip out of a scarred ass, collecting along the metal hood of his car. Bruce will never be able to unsee this display. White fluid mixing with purple satin, interrupting solid black, and Joker's fingers stretching himself to do it. 

Joker, frustratingly, is completely correct about another thing too. When Bruce finds himself back home home in the morning, completely spent from this and having to continue his rounds, he'll sit in front of the batcomputer and it will be silent for only a second before his mind races with memories of this. And they will consume him until he finally takes off his batsuit and gets himself in the shower, puts it off as long as he can but ultimately will recall every little detail he can as he masturbates to it, a mix of pleasure fighting with disgust and anger and shame all over again. 

Joker leans his body back into his front when he's done cleaning himself and looks up him, smiling, naked, looking small from this angle, and it's not cute. It's not cute when Joker presses his back into him, grabs his now gloved hand and nuzzles the gauntlets against his face, sighing with complete contentment. But it is cute and it makes Bruce so angry that he thinks so. He pulls his hand back and grabs Joker's clothes from the dirt. There's no harsh command this time, he simply hands the pile to him and the clown jumps off the hood and takes them without complaint and gets dressed. Bruce wipes the fluid off the hood with the discarded robe and tosses the ruined fabric into the backseat. 

They're getting back in the car shortly after that. Bruce considers cuffing the now limping clown but decides not to when he watches Joker whistle and hum absentmindedly, step into the passenger side and actually put his seatbelt on, apparently satiated enough to behave and abide the simple car safety etiquette.  

Bruce places a call directly to Arkham's intake department, warning them of their incoming patient, requesting that they be ready at the entrance to the processing unit. He does this because he knows how tempting it will be to pull over to their service road, and take the clown all over again. 

"You know darling," Joker says after the call is over, staring up at the night sky, “they call the full moon in January the Wolf Moon. Aptly named after the howling of hungry wolves. Lamenting the scarcity of food in the winter and crying out to the heavens with their tragic singing about it. But I found my meal just fine tonight darling, and I know you did too. I look forward to the next feeding, my love.” 

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Joker doesn’t mind. They make their way out of Bristol, turning back to Gotham and making all the correct turns this time as they speed towards Arkham.