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“You need to stop this right now.” Bruce’s voice rumbled through the TV screen.
It had been twenty minutes since he announced on GCN that he was going to reveal himself to the Joker and end this mess once and for all. Alfred had called him reckless; Gordan gave him a disapproved look; and Rachael tried to block his way. He just pushed her away. It was too much, for the city. He had to become what Gothan needed him to be.
Now, Bruce stood in the empty parking lot, all the same as to those parking lots he’d beaten mobs down, then disappear. Joker stood opposite of him, alone also. An oversized coat slacked on his shoulders, looking awfully heavy. Bruce doubted either man would survie if any triggers were pulled inside that coat.
“You wanted me. Here I am.”
“Unexpected.” Joker carefully punctuated each sylable. “I never thought you’d really come.”
“You will stop this.” Bruce said one last time, then he reached for his cowl, lifting it off.
Laughter.
Bruce stared as Joker wheezed, cupping his stomach and laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. His face darkened with fury, or maybe humiliation, he didn’t know. “What’s so funny?” Bruce said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“B-Bruce Wayne hahahahaha I spent so much ti— hahahaha…!” Joker jabbed his index finger at Bruce’s direction, howling with laughter. “You billionnaire playboy!”
Embarrassment filled up Bruce’s mind, and all he knew was that he wanted Joker to just shut up and stop laughing. He suppose it was their dynamic after all - Joker teasing and taunting everything he did or said, and Batman getting fueled with anger and punching him time after time. It was easier to kick him into Arkham, though he swore sometimes he would jolt awake with Joker’s wheezing still echoing from his dreams - nightmares only, of course.
He stormed over and pinned the clown on the pillar marked D. Joker laughed harder, reaching over and trying to squeeze Bruce’s cheek, but got slapped away by his gloved hand. “Shut up, just shut up!” He growled, slamming Joker every time a syllable hit.
Why? Why? Why? He asked himself after each smack. He should’ve known that Joker’s only reaction would be laughter once he knew about his true identity. It was for Gotham’s good, he reminded himself. Fuck Gotham. Bruce couldn’t really hear the clown anymore.
When his head jolted clear, he realised Joker’s laughter had died down and morphed into soft whimpers. Dark red was smeared on the grey pillar. “Fuck…fuck! I’m sorry.” Bruce spun Joker around and checked his wounds frantically.
Joker burst out a Ta-da and jabbed his elbow into Bruce’s ribs. “Gotcha! I didn’t take you for the caring type, Batsy…” He bit his bottom lip, pretending to be flustered.
“Quit it, J.” Bruce shoved Joker head first against the hard surface once more, hissing into his ear.
“You finally gave me a pet name?” Joker giggled, despite catching his breath. “Man, this relationship is going slow!”
“You keep talking nonsense, your head’s going right in this wall.” Bruce growled.
Joker turned to face him, cackling. “But you won’t. You’ll never, never, do it, Batsy.” He wriggled his finger wildly. “You’ll never bring yourself to kill me because you know you can’t LIVE WITHOUT ME!”
“Shut. Up.” Bruce just wanted him to stop talking, stoping fucking laughing so hard. He didn’t think at all as he crashed his lips against Joker’s.
The lips he met with were slightly chapped, thick, and softer than he would’ve ever imagined. Smudges of lipstick grazed on his tongue, or perhaps it was blood, but Bruce didn’t care anymore. He sucked eagerly on Joker’s bottom lip, attempting to pry them open.
Unmoving.
Bruce lifted his head, looking up at Joker with a questioning frown. What was—? He staggered backwards, being shoved right on his chest. Joker had started to limp away, eyes no longer on Batman.
“What’s wrong?” Bruce called out after him. “I thought you wanted this!”
Joker didn’t answer. He just kept walking, faster even. At least that was what Bruce saw.
After the hotheaded action, shame began to creep its way into his mind. Bruce clenched his right fist, nails digging into his palm. “What is wrong with you!” He shouted into the open space of the parking lot.
Instinct craved for Batman to chase after Joker, grab his collar and smash his head into the wall again. Or maybe yell in his face a bit more, to let the anger out.
After all, it was all Batman was for.
But Bruce stood still at the spot, watching the Clown Prince of Crime walk away without a word, nor a laugh.
What was he doing? Bruce slumped against the grey pillar after making sure that Joker had left. He lifted a finger and traced it lightly over the place that had just been grinding against his mortal enemy’s lips.
Joker’s lips. Joker’s lips.
Batman shuddered at the thought. A hint of red lipstick was smeared on his finger now. He rubbed it off on the ground. Scraped his skin, probably.
What would everyone say? Seeing the Batman kissing the worst villain in Gotham. What would Alfred say? What would he say when he finally realise how messed up Bruce was? He wiped his mouth harshly with his palm - Once, twice, more, and more.
“Master Wayne. You haven’t eaten anything I brought you today.”
“I’m fine, Alfred, just need to…sort some things out.” He pushed the meal farther across the bedside table, staring into the skyline. It was after a few hours when he came back to Wayne Manor last night did he open the curtains. Sunlight was always too bright in the morning.
“Forgive me for asking, Master Wayne, but is the Joker who has been bothering you?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, kind of.” Bruce paused. “I showed him my face, and he promised he’d stop killing. Foolish, I know.” He had only told part of the truth. After all, Alfred rarely gave unworthy advice.
“Perhaps, Master Wayne, you trust the Joker more than you think you do.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t?”
“I think you ought to think about it. Stay safe, Master Wayne.” Alfred then left, the tray of food still on the table.
The curtains stayed open that night.
“…kissed me. He kissed me!”
It had been three days - three whole days - and there was no grand scheme associated with Joker. Batman was patrolling at night when he heard the familiar nasal, raspy voice muttering in a small alleyway. He hid in the corner of the nearest rooftop and listened.
Joker was pacing back and forth in the shadows, rambling into a phone. “Look, Harley— Yes, I know! That’s the problem - I know Batsy doesn’t want this. I’ve wanted this for a long time, but now that he’s really done it, I just think he’s probably just playing with me. And…he knows.” Joker scoffed. “He’s probably the last one figuring out my feelings anyway… No, Harley, I can’t tell you his identity. No.” He sighed once more and hung up, looking visibly frustrated.
Bruce swooped down and landed in front of him. Joker looked up, not even bothered to act surprised. “Hi, Bats.” He said glumly.
“I’m not playing with you.” Bruce said as calmly as he could.
Joker didn’t say anything for a while. When he did, it was a hesitant whisper. “…how can you prove it?”
In the dark, Joker’s face looked like a ghost. Bruce could barely make out his eyes. Instead, his gaze landed on Joker’s hands. His fingertips were smeared with white and blue paint, trembling just slightly. Joker noticed him looking and quickly formed fists, trying to hide.
Bruce slid off one of his gloves and tossed it aside. His tanned fingers slipped between Joker’s and intertwined. Neither of them spoke. Bruce leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on Joker’s forehead.
“There’s proof. And don’t be too smug.” He added. “Ground rule Number One - No killing. And I still want to chase you down.”
“You’re saying I can rob banks?” A sly grin spread across Joker’s cheeks.
Bruce silently ruffled his hair.