Joker: Arkham – Chapter 7 – Drowning

Love is gone
My TV’s on
I’m hanging with the boys
A life with fools
this world is cruel
We never dispense with toys
Could you make a suggestion
for an act I would enjoy

And I’m drowning
So come inside
Welcome to my filthy mind

My fingers are burnt
Forgot what I learnt
I’ll never be a satisfied
Become a recluse
Enjoy the abuse
It’s better to just get high
Now I feel like a baby
who has just opened its eyes

And I’m drowning
so come inside
Welcome to my filthy mind
My filthy mind
Now I feel like a baby
who has just opened its eyes

And I’m drowning
so come inside
Welcome to my filthy mind

~ Filthy Mind (Amanda Ghost)


Warmth … and a cold hardness – close. He shifted, moaned. Fingers touched … but didn’t offer harm. Brushing over his brow, ghosting over lips, and then a mouth replaced them. It was soft, giving comfort more than taking it.

Turning into it, his lips parted and the mouth pressed in, the tongue smooth and easy, twining against his.

When it left him, he shook his head, another low moan in his throat. The mouth descended, lips feathering over his. Pain came when he shifted to accept the tongue again and a small cry escaped his lips.

“Shh … you’re safe now.” The voice was soft and hummed beneath the words. “I won’t leave you … until you’re … better.”

Fighting to speak through the clay in his mouth, he muttered, “Need … need it.” He found the fingers and moved them, used them to cover it. They were cold, hard, and his body hardened beneath them.

“You’ve been ill, you should rest.”

“No…” It was crushing, the weight of trying to make a connection – to be heard. “Need it…”

Lifting his head to catch the mouth, he groaned into it when the fingers grasped his hungry flesh. Artless and awkward, but with a strength that could easily bruise, injure … the cold hardness worked the other with a tireless grip.

Gasping, he threw his head back, his mouth open wide. Time slanted, stretched, until the heat made him cry out, raw throat aching. Reflexively, he reached down and caught it when it spouted, warm and slick.

It was agony to turn again, to roll away so that his fingers could smear the slick where it was needed. As they rubbed it in, he hissed in pain.

“What are you … no… I’d hurt you.”

Turning his head, he licked his wounded lips. “Give me … what I need.”

The mouth covered his and he knew, somehow, that was the key. Driving the kiss into a desperation of imprisoned feeling, he worked it to the point of breathless and beyond. Breaking it, licking whole and smooth lips, he turned his face away from their need to offer his body.

“I don’t know how … to do this…”

Wincing in pain, he grasped the fingers, slid to the hard wrist and tried to pull the other body over him. “Not sure I’m … even alive… Show me, show me … that I am.”

There was only silence, stillness … then a heavy weight moved. A small sound clicked. “Oh God… I don’t want to injure you – you’re really hurt, what they did…”

“It will hurt, it will; that’s what … I need.”

He fell still until the weight moved over him, settled between his opening legs. Moving them was agony.

Smooth lips on his bare shoulder, soothing. Then the fingers pried him open, unsure and seeking, unwilling but wanting just the same. They held him ready. With a shift of weight, what he needed descended.

Thick and hard, it nudged, well able to force, to take – yet it was slow and trying to be gentle. Twice, it almost stopped, withdrew, left him. The third time, desperation broke him, alien tears gathering, sliding – breath sharp.

“Please,” he whispered, the need twisting his guts.

When it pushed in, the weight above moving his whole body, he screamed. Grabbing the wrist, he stopped the weight from falling away.

“Don’t … I need it; muscles hurt, can’t help it. Do it … do it…”

With a hiss, it pushed again. Prepared for it, he controlled himself better, teeth slicing into his arm to mute the cries. Again, slow, hard – and again.

“Damn it,” the voice cursed, more fear than anger, and then pleasure began. “I … ooh…”

Trying to be still, forcing his body to simply accept the invasion of flesh in flesh, he growled, tasting blood.

“You’re hurting yourself,” the voice warned, alarmed. A hand moved to his mouth, pressing to make him let go. When he did, two fingers slipped in, allowed his teeth to grip them hard.

Moaning, ignoring the pain, he pushed up on his arms, lifted his hips. The weight moved slightly to allow it, thrusts faltering for a beat. Pushing back, he speared himself on it, forcing it deeper than it had dared to go before.

A strangled noise over him intensified his lust. Huffing breaths around the fingers in his mouth, he bit down on them as he was abruptly stretched and filled. Body on fire, sweat running down his face, arms, and back, he began to writhe with each thrust. The strength there was endless but the act would be quick – it was too sharp, burned too hot, to be drawn out for long.

The sounds over his head again, rough and low, doubled both his pleasure and pain as the thrusts turned urgent. Three final strokes and the hard flesh shuddered deep inside, spilling, stilling.

Breathing ragged, he released the fingers and they disappeared. When the weight moved, the softening flesh sliding free, he bit his lip to keep quiet. The padded surface beneath sank slightly as the heavy body settled at his side again. Hissing at the pain in sated flesh, he turned away from it, laying his head down with eyes still closed.

“Joker? Are you all right?” A hand on his back, hesitant, guilty – settled and stroked, trying to soothe.

“The dark – it’s with us, it … breathes.”

“Sleep now, you have to rest. God help me, that wasn’t what you needed.”

Lips stretching in a thin hidden smile, he let oblivion, dark and pure, creep over his fractured mind.

~ ~ ~

Joker woke in pain but it was a dull ache as long as he was still. Some of it was in sweet places, too, a fact that made him smirk before the night fully crept back into his awareness.

He knew he was alone where he lay, warm on his belly, but someone conflicted and fretting paced the stone floor beyond. Encouraged by that watchful presence, he dared to open his eyes.

A dim light at his feet, its source a short distance away, gave the round room a gloomy aspect. The place might have terrified anyone else, with or without the stalking giant bat, but to him it was a stroke of fortune.

“Huh. I wasn’t dreaming all of it – it is dark.”


Swift and concerned, the bat knelt on one knee beside what turned out to be a real bed. It was wide, if old. The mattress had been there a while, but the sheets and blankets were relatively clean – despite a faint lingering smell of sex.

“Gonna propose to me?”

“You’re back, you’re … making sense. Talking nonsense – but talking is a start.”

Sighing as all of his aches crowded in with the movement, he reached out one hand and touched the bat’s bottom lip. “Come back to bed, hmm? Don’t wanna be alone down here.”

“You’re in –”

“The Citadel, I know – been a guest here before.” Moving his hand to the shoulder, he grasped a fistful of cape. “Bed, back to, come – keep me waaarmm.”

“Not the best idea ever.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, precious – you did fine.”

“You know? I thought you were…”

“Outta my head? Was. Waking now, I have a limp dick and a loose ass – sure sign of a good time.”

“It’s almost dawn; I have to leave.”

“Why? Don’t bats sleep in caves during the day? Hang from the rafters if you like but you only wanna go because you’re trying not to deal with the fact that you finally fucked me. Guilt, shame, whatever you’re in deep, it’s a waste of time. A better use of time is getting back in this bed, sleeping most of the day away, and then fucking me again before you have to go to work.”

“No. Not possible. The nurse will be here, Helen – she’s going to bring you meals and pain meds if you want them.”

“Helen hates my pink and twisted guts … and she’s nightshift, too.”

“She’s helping so you’ll change your mind about wanting to kill her.”


“I believe she’s sincere.”

“Infallible judge of character, hmm?”

“I’ll come back after midnight to check on you – or as soon as I can.”

“Busy, busy – at least lemme suck you off first, in return for the rescue.”

“Rest, recuperate… I’ll see you tonight.”

Wincing, he struggled to prop himself up on an elbow. “Am I locked in?”

“Of course – you’re safe from Dr. Tanner and the world is safe from you.”

“You’re not safe from me.”

“Good night, Joker.”

Sighing, he flopped to his back and then cursed when it hurt. “Good day, Batty.” Before he left the holding cell to enter the lighted foyer, Joker added, “Definitely a worthwhile fuck, Lamb Chop.”

The bat didn’t reply as he closed and secured the cell door, leaving him in delicious darkness.

In the distance, from within the foyer, the main exit door creaked open. A medieval metal thing with a fancy key, it must have gone a long way to reassure the bat of everyone’s collective security.

After it closed and locked, he whispered, “Alone at last.”

~ ~ ~

At first, he lay still for a few hours and honestly rested, though he didn’t sleep; he was too busy pulling in every sound and smell around him. The lights were controlled in the small office adjacent to the staff quarters but for now, he was grateful for the darkness.

All that bright light in solitary had been obnoxious – a form of torture in itself – but mostly it was for the surveillance camera. The Citadel had them too, in every room, but they were rarely used that he knew of.

Back in the day, when Uncle Arkham built this little playground for the insane, remodeling his family home, the Citadel had been something to fear.

The new Dr. Arkham had found little use for it until the last few years but his methods of dealing with difficult and dangerous patients differed vastly from his uncle’s good intentions.

Never mind that old Uncle Arkham went completely sack-o-hammers himself, eventually.

Rolling back onto his stomach carefully, Joker buried his face in the rumpled sheets, breathing in the slight scent of the bat. It was the coating on the armor that he smelled the strongest and he had to sift through that to find the whiffs of clean skin and the tang of metal.

No cologne traces around the face, no tobacco – the cowl and armor hide everything else.

Abruptly realizing the odd creature had laid beside him in full kit, boots, utility belt, cape and all – probably for hours – made him giggle.

So now I have to add ‘armor fetish’ to my list. All right, okay – now what? A frown settled over the carved planes of his bare face. Time to rattle the cage and get what I need.

Joker struggled to his feet with caution, blankets falling away from his body. The room was cold but nothing like the solitary wing above.

He’d already begun to pull the Citadel’s layout from his mind when the simple act of using his gift of photographic memory twisted his thoughts into a phantom pain of loss. For one breathless moment, he wondered if the cramps of the mind would pull his body down, make it sick.

Gaps still there. Batman stopped asking me inane ‘what happened’ questions, so does he know?

Growling in frozen rage at a loss he couldn’t properly articulate, he yanked the remembered layout over his mind’s eye and walked to the door toward the foot of the bed as confidently as a man who had light to see the way.

‘Helping so I won’t kill her’, is she? We shall see about that.

Raising a fist, he knocked on the metal door, listening to the echoes it made. Three short, sharp knocks – it was a summons disguised as a request. Counting breaths, he got to twenty-seven before the nurse opened the viewing slot over the narrow window. That meant she came from the staff quarters.

“Good morning, Helen.”

“Nice to see you on your feet; how do you feel? Need something?”

“Nice? I suppose it is. Clothes, drugs, food – in that order; my freedom for dessert.”

“I can’t open this door until Dr. Arkham gets here, you know that. Your new friend took the keys.”

“So he did. Fine then, nick the freedom; I’ll have the rest.”

“Drugs – for pain?”

“No, for a sniffle. I’ve already spent a big part of the last hour sorting out how to thank you for bringing me to Dr. Tanner’s attention; he was happy to plow Nurse Alice and ignore me for the most part – ‘til you left your clever little note.”

“You’d still be there if not for me.”

“That’s the bat’s line, try again.”

“I told him about this place; I brought him here, showed him the keys.”

“If he wanted to scarper with me, he woulda found a place.”

“Not like this.” She met his gaze without flinching, holding her ground.

“Dr. Arkham never gave you the code?”

“No, just showed me the keys. I have to use the dumb waiter to get anything down here while that caped freak is gone.”

“Oh, I see – you’re locked in. Ha-haha. Yes, I like it.” Running his fingertips down the glass, he tilted his head and gave her a crooked grin. “Our dance will have to wait, then. For now, I’m undecided ‘bout you, sweet pea – but that won’t last.”

She didn’t waver, knowing it was stupid to show fear. “We can have anything the kitchens can make for the staff. I suggest something light at first, soup and bread; you haven’t eaten much at one sitting in weeks.”

“Amuse yourself – just be certain it isn’t laced. I want my meds in pill form, thank you. Something with kick, that will let me function without this wretched wearying pain.”

“I’ll be right back, with clothes first. They’ll only send down prisoner scrubs without Dr. Arkham’s approval, you realize.”

“What I realize is that you aren’t telling me what Dr. Tanner did to me. You winced when I mentioned pain but since you have no empathy for the likes of me, I’m gonna guess that you know all about it and it gives you the willies. Share?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Shock treatments. You kept saying the word ‘Mecta’ to Batman; that’s the manufacturer of the ECT machine in solitary. Your symptoms fit. Judging by the bruises, he likely skipped doping you properly first. That’s all I know. If I hear more, I’ll tell you.”

“See? I knew you were a smart little thing. Clothes, drugs, food – off you go.”

When she left, she didn’t close the cover on the glass. Through it, he could see the lit foyer, circular like all of the rooms, with its collection of doors. The third door from his was the spacious office used by the director and the fourth was the staff quarters.

She disappeared into the fourth door. Behind it was a smaller office, like a nurse’s station, and a tiny bedroom for a night nurse. The little office held part of the pharmaceutical collection, with the lion’s share under lock and key in the director’s office.

Closer to me are the treatment and observation rooms, doors one and two, respectively. Yet the doors one can see aren’t the ones I care about. The doors one can’t see – those are the portals of fun and mayhem. Ah, sweet flying rodent – you’ve outdone yourself, precious. If you’ll hold still tonight, I’ll thank you properly.

He knew how he hoped to proceed with the Batman’s carnal education but the fate of the others would require some thought.

Returning to lie still again on the bed, he began to categorize the damage done to his mind the best that he could, now that the mystery of how he’d been knocked so low had been answered.

As for Dr. Tanner – I simply must find a suitable way to repay him. From down here, mmmm, so many choices.

After accepting the nurse’s offer of a sleep aid with the pain meds, convinced that she couldn’t enter the cell, Joker spent most of the day post-breakfast comatose and resting – just what the bat ordered.

~ ~ ~

As if the horrid events upstairs had never dulled his senses, he woke as sunset began. Imagining Gotham’s skyline in his head, he painted it with slowly muting bright colors and watched internally as they slid into night.

Nurse Helen rapped at the door to ask if he wanted supper, shunting the tray through with her pre-selected fare for a recovering starving invalid. He had to admit that regular food was far better than the slop Dr. Tanner had insisted on, even if her choice of soups and stews resembled that description.

“Leave it,” he replied, and slowly sat up. “A bit of light wouldn’t hurt, sweet pea – just enough for a gloomy atmosphere, hmm?”

Rolling or rotating various joints to test them, he flexed a few muscle groups as well. The pain had been buried under pills but it was sleep that would bring him back to top condition. Without Dr. Tanner’s sessions pulling him apart at the seams on a daily basis, he could crawl back to peak shape in no time.

He rose as carefully as he had that morning and went to fetch the tray out of the slot, carrying it back to the bed to eat and think. By the time he sat down with it, the darkness had been chased back to a perfectly vague gloom.

Fantasies of revenge that had begun in sleep formed and popped in his thoughts in rapid fire as he returned to assessing the damage to his mind. Now and then, striking a point where the weave of memories was disrupted, anger would bloom to fill that gap.

To calm himself, he changed gears and indulged in sweet reminiscence: the birth of his masterpiece, Two-Face.

Once, I told Harvey Dent that chaos is fair and when his lucky coin proved it, he slid into that sublime truth, didn’t even question it, no matter all the long years of dedication to a useless and narrow interpretation of justice. Mere moments was all it took – ah, to be so raw and malleable in the face of mind-shattering grief. How curious it is, to … care … so much for another useless pile of talking meat that you allow their loss to destroy and remake everything that you are?

The fact that Dent had had help in the remaking only made the Joker smile.

Still, my dedication to random mayhem has only one shining purpose: to smash the schemes of others and give chaos ascendance. Most of ‘em will never know the purity of soul that comes from living without dreams and schemes – bet I sleep better than all of ‘em, too … when I take the time to bother. My only insomnia problem is that I don’t wanna miss any fun. So … how to begin having fun again? Bats is an entertaining distraction but he’s never been the main event; he enriches the threads of the weave – but the loom is bigger than either of us.

He rose to deposit the tray and push the slot back through, and discovered that some of his strength had returned.

Stretching slowly in the fresh orange cotton shirt and pants, he stepped into the simple thin white shoes of a patient of Arkham Asylum and began to familiarize himself once more with his unique surroundings. He didn’t expect much to be different but one never knew.

Counting off the steps that measured the room was a habit he was unlikely to shed, so he paid it no mind. He explored the holding cell, its meager and bolted down metal furnishings, and its small alcove for lavatory and shower, without really categorizing that data right away. His fingers were too busy touching walls, remembering which hid the tunnels and where each one could lead him.

Fun, yes, must get back to the big picture – but first, I owe a few friends here a parting gift, to thank ‘em for all they’ve done for me. That, of course, can be even more fun. Sometimes it’s nice to cut people without fretting over how what’s left of ‘em will fit into that big picture.

At the sink, he turned on a push-button faucet just to see if it would work. Cupping a palm under the freezing water, he drank it from his hand.

Still brackish – they must not have gotten the budget sorted out to fix the potable water quality. Either that or the good Dr. Arkham found better uses for those funds. A week yet to go before he arrives?

Frowning, he turned and headed back to the bolted table and chair. Sitting on the chair, he bent over the small table and set his chin on folded hands.

Only one exit is usable ‘til he gives me the new code for the rest and that won’t get me out from under this pile of stones. It’ll get me back up to the solitary wing, though – convenient. Question is, did he keep his promise to not change that passcode?

Joker thought about trying it now but rejected the idea. There was little point in risking it at dusk, in case the bat’s growing hunger led him back sooner than later.

Ah, Bats – what to do about you? Can’t hand out my thank-yous as easily from the outside but can’t let you find out the secrets of this little rescue nook, either. A careful dance, then. In the meantime, I’ll be pleased to dirty your soul as far as I can.

Squirming slightly in the cold chair, he called up the feeling of the thrusts deep within.

Mmm, my my … how to get you to repeat that? It’d be a shame to use the same trick twice but one does what one can to get by.

As night took hold and grew late, he facilitated matters by leaving the clothes draped over the solid pipe of the bed’s footboard. Kicking the thin shoes off next to it, he sank onto the bed under blanket and sheet and settled on his back to await his daring and conflicted rescuer.

When sleep tapped at the edge of his thoughts, he let it in and drifted away, knowing oblivion would speed the arrival of the bat.

~ ~ ~

He was surprised out of a deep sleep by the grip of a gauntlet on his shoulder. The lights in the room, hidden within the edge of the round ceiling, glowed just enough to throw the meager furniture into deep shadows. The light made an amusing halo effect around the bat ears too, and it took some effort not to laugh.

“You don’t talk in your sleep, don’t snore, and barely seem to breathe.”

“Aw, precious – were you startled, thought I’d slipped loose my mortal coil?”

“Something like that. Stop calling me ‘precious’.”

“Gimme a name to use and I’ll drop the pet names. Larry? Ralph? No, no, that jaw is too chiseled for a Ralph. Tom, Dick, Harry? Am I warm or cold?”

The bat sat beside him on the edge of the creaking mattress. “I’ll trade for your real name.”

“Ah, ah, ah – now see? You don’t play fair,” he admonished, wagging a finger.

“I don’t play.”

“Beg to differ, sugarlips.” Smiling, he reached up to the edge of the cowl. “Still, while you’re getting an eyeful of my unadorned face, I should at least get a peek…”

The bat grabbed his wrists and held them away from his neck.

“What did I say? Don’t play fair at allll.”

“It’ll shock you if you try to take it off. You know that already.”

“Oh, well, yes – had enough of that, haven’t I?” Pouting, he glared up at him. “Take something off then, hmm? You’re making me feel underdressed.”

“You aren’t dressed at all.”

“Just for you. May I have my hands back?” Joker grinned when he paused before releasing him.

“The nurse told you what they did.”

“Uh-hmm, yes,” he said, rubbing his wrists. “She’s desperate to please.”

“I don’t want you to hurt her, understand? You need her.”

“Me? Hurt dear Helen?” Sighing at the glare, he added, “Oh, very well – for you. Again. I do so much for you. So … what are you gonna do for me in return?”

“How are you feeling?”


“Joker…” The gauntlets tightened into fists.

“Still guessing names, it is fun. My but you’re in a mood. Bad day – er, night?” Smirking at him, he winked. “What on earth do you do all day, anyhow? Don’t tell me ‘chittering upside down in a cave’, either, I won’t buy it.”

An alien smile stretched the normally frowning lips. “I’m a janitor in a city park.”

Beaming at him, Joker grinned. “There, see? You can lie just fine.”

“You sound better.”

The grin snapped off his face like turning off a light. “I may sound better, precious, but there are holes in my memory you could throw a rat through. I keep worrying the ragged edges of the missing pieces, but nothing…”

He started to roll away from him but one of the black gloved hands pressed down on his chest. “We will deal with him; he’ll answer for what he did to you.”

One eyebrow arched as his lips fell into a dark frown. “Yes … he will.”

“Let the law handle it.”

Startled, Joker laughed outright. “The law, Batty? Who in hell do you think you’re chatting with?”

“It doesn’t matter; you’ll be in Arkham for a lot longer than it’ll take to lock him up somewhere else.”

“Oh, sure, now that you’ve had me ensconced in the worst hole here.”

“Happy to ruin your escape plans.”

“Aww, well … wouldn’t wanna go anywhere while you’ve taken to regular visits, conjugal or not.”

The bat shifted, grew uncomfortable. “Now that you’re safe, once Dr. Arkham gets here – I won’t be back.”

“I see.”

“You don’t seem too upset.”

Laughing again, Joker steepled his fingers together, bumping the forefingers against his lips. “Should I be? We aren’t exactly star-crossed lovers, hmm? So this odd little ‘match made in hell’ tryst has a week-long shelf life, give or take. I’ll just have to find another playmate when you leave, that’s all.”

Dark eyes narrowing, the bat frowned. “I shouldn’t trust you.”

“No,” Joker responded, meeting his glare with a cool expression, “you shouldn’t.”

Thick arms crossing over the barrel chest, he glowered down at the Joker. “I’ve just rescued the man who killed the woman I loved and destroyed the most decent champion for justice Gotham ever had – nearly annihilating Gotham in the process.”

“Gonna make me blush if we hold hands down memory lane, Bats. Reminiscence of my finest works aside, what’s your point?”

The stiff shoulders fell just a fraction. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I do. Would you like to?”

“Your twisted version?”

“No, the truth.” When he remained silent, Joker continued. “You changed the world, as I said, no going back to the halcyon days like the mob bosses wanted. Here’s the trick, Batty – you aren’t the only one who can change worlds. I stirred that pot right after you did, added some new spice and twists – namely Two-Face. He knocked a few dominoes over from all of our patiently lined up rows and, ta-dah! A brand new Gotham rose from the ashes … again. You ended up taking a moral fall to protect the city from Two-Face and his truth, but then he popped up out of that pat little hole you tried to hide him in anyway, just like a jack-in-the-box.”

“Largely your fault.”

“Some of it… I didn’t turn dear little jack’s handle, though – couldn’t reach it in here. As for what you’re doing now…”

He rose and propped himself on one elbow, his other hand reaching for the bat’s tucked wrist. Prying it out with a satisfying play of semi-resistance met with fledgling strength, he pressed the back of the hand over his scarred cheek.

“You’re drowning in a backwash of every harsh reality you’ve endured since your little, uh, manufactured fall from grace. Denying yourself … every comfort.” Moving the hand, he kissed the tips of the gauntlet’s fingers. “You cut yourself off, made yourself touch hungry – made your body crave … any kind of sensation…”

Slipping three thick fingers into his mouth, he sucked them, sliding them in and out as he watched the heated lust come into those dark eyes.

Once again kissing the tips, he added, “Me, I’m just a liiittle lonely – and I can’t say I’ve ever had really high standards on whom I bed.”

“This isn’t going to happen again.”

“Too late – it’s already started.”


“It’s so cute when you say that; you try so hard. Got your number last night, Bats: you loved every minute of it. No amount of guilt, shame, remorse – all useless, by the way – can change the eager lust I’ve already sparked or stop the craving … to shove inside me again.”

The Batman’s lips twisted into a cruel smile as he pulled his hand free, shaking it once as if he needed to wash it.

“I have no idea where you’ve been.”

“You know where I’ve been since your maiden voyage. Bit late to worry ‘bout that sorta thing now, isn’t it? When you’ve already pitched the baby out with the bath water, what good does it do to wonder if he got clean first? Anyhow, you wouldn’t be here at all if you weren’t in the mood to flirt a little with death.”

Sitting up, he ran his palms over brilliantly bruised skin.

“We could always call the nurse, tell her you’d like to wrap that willy – of course, you’d have to unlock everything and let her out to play fetch; the Citadel isn’t stocked for safe sex.”

Rising before the Joker could touch him again, he ground out, “I said no.”

“Amazing, wasn’t it? How that tight little ring of muscle straannngled your cock? Melted your brain, didn’t it? Tell me, Batty – did sweet, beautiful Rachel ever give you her perfectly white pouting ass to fuck?”

“Don’t do this.”

“What – make you hit me? What is it about me that makes you think I can’t take it? She might have bent over for Harvey; she seemed quite taken with him. I wonder if he’d disgust her now. Personally, I’d love to pull his tongue through the hole in his face and suck it – but Rachel probably wouldn’t have done that anymore than she woulda gotten on her knees and stuffed your dick down her throat… Or let you work the core outta that juicy apple bottom, hmm?”

“Stop. Stop saying her name. You don’t … deserve … to say her name.”

“Fine, fine, but it’s confession time, Bats – did the little lawyer cunt give you any hole you asked for, any time? Or was that Harvey’s piece of action after she traded up?”

He was already laughing when the punch smashed into his stomach, knocking him back across the bed. Two more body blows landed as the bat followed him down; the last one, right across one of the strap marks, made him cry out.

Joker was ready for more but the cry had jolted his enemy out of mindless cruelty. He was crouched between the Joker’s splayed legs, fists poised and lips peeled back in a snarl.

Lifting his knees to frame the creature, he whispered, “It’s right there, waiting … and all yours. Come on, Bats – wipe the grin off my face with a hard, dirty fuck.”

Joker laughed again when he fell over him, ignoring the pain of the armor pressing down into his bruises. The bat was so mad for it, he began to rut with the plates still closed.

Lips at his cheek, Joker whispered, “Slip a finger down there and let that thing out, hmm? Can’t play without it.”

One of the bat’s hands disappeared to free himself and then the shock of a finger pushed inside, making the Joker buck once, gasping at the rough invasion.

The humming voice was low and heavy with lust. “You need … something to ease it.”

Clinging to him, trying to make him stab that finger deeper, Joker panted. “Humph – telling me what I need now… Use some spit, precious, I don’t care – just fuck me! Spent all damn day with the phantom of your dick in my ass!”

“Roll over.”

“No. No no no. This way – I wanna see your face when you blow!”

Watching the Batman spit on his gloved fingers to stuff and smear it nearly made the Joker come, more than the feeling of him actually doing it. In the instant that the cock punched inside and began a rough, pounding handful of thrusts, the overload between pain and pleasure kicked him dangerously close to the edge again.

“Oooh, yes, do it – slam it, darling. I wanna be leaking for days!”

He would have laughed when the dark hand came down, but it covered his throat and squeezed, cutting off his air.

The creeping threat of asphyxiation charged his body with a stunning lust. Added to the mix was the thrilling question: just how close would the bat come to breaking his one rule?

His face flushed hot as the combined pressures of a need for carnal release and oxygen almost drove him outside the borders of his mind.

Unable to cry out when he came, he slapped his hand flat over the spurted mess on his abdomen and smeared it upward seconds before the blackness gathered, dimming both senses and awareness.

The last thing he felt before he passed out was the brutal final shove and shudder of his enemy’s cock, buried to the balls inside him and the bruising pain of the armor as the open edges of it were pressed into his skin.

~ ~ ~

Joker slowly came back to himself, aware first of all that a pair of the bat’s fingers were still pressed to the pulse in his throat. The large black mass of him was stretched out at his side, far too close for comfort.

Eyes closed, he muttered, “It’d be nice to wake, just once, without you plastered to me one way or another.”

“I was afraid I’d killed you – your pulse is so faint… I think I almost did.”

“We’ve had a discussion ‘bout assumptions – my pulse is rarely all wound up, regardless of what – or whom – I’m doing.”

Removing the fingers, he rose and rolled until he’d laid himself out on top of his bedmate. For the ugly fun of it, he made sure his cock struck and then lay alongside the bat’s, enjoying the grunt and wince it won him. The fact that he hadn’t locked it away set him giggling with delight.

With some effort, Joker quieted. He leaned his forearms over the winged symbol on the chest and smirked as he stared into dark and troubled eyes. Leaning down, he licked the firm thin line of lips, the tip of his tongue teasing them until they parted.

He took his time, keeping the kiss slow and simple – almost lazy. When he broke it, he set his chin on folded hands and returned to staring into those eyes before they closed to escape him.

“Why can’t I stop?” he whispered, the hum of the low voice muted.

“First you think want, the sire of ambition, is a brutal task master; then you stumble into letting need make you it’s bitch and find out what ‘hell on earth’ really means.”

“I thought you were all for need; you keep correcting me on it.”

“I am, sure – I’ve mastered mine; neither of ‘em rule me anymore. Big difference, precious.”

“How do you master them?”

“Think I’ll give away hard-earned secrets for free? I’ll tell you this … you’ve already taken the first step; you gave in to ‘em.”

The eyes opened to glare up at him. “I despise you; you disgust me – why do I…”

“Aww, poor thing, so confused. You’ve tried to care for me, even saved me from the evil beast – to justify wanting to touch me, to make it okay. It’s your nature to save things, of course. Doesn’t change the fact that you do truly hate me – hence your struggle. Truth is, you wanna punish yourself and your subconscious chose me. I’m flattered, actually; though, to be honest, if you’d picked someone else, I’d be terribly jealous.”

“Why … this?”

“Sex? I told you, Batty – denial of craving, subversion of natural drives: never a good idea. Nature is the mate of Chaos – deny her and she’ll fuck you up bad. Did you ever read the works of the Marquis de Sade?”

“Not a man I admire but of course you would.”

Joker tsk-tsked at him. “Look what having no outlet for sex – or even choking the bishop – did to Charlie. You’re almost as repressed as he was. I do hope you weren’t a virgin before I got you – so tedious, having to teach ‘em from scratch. It’s far more fun to take preformed and treasured notions and ideals and twist ‘em ‘til they break. Then you set the bones to grow in odd ways and wait to see what happens! That’s half the fun, really – never knowing how the finished piece of art will turn out.”

“I can’t begin to understand a man like you, can I?”

Laughing, the Joker replied, “Welcome to my filthy mind.”

Leaning down, he kissed the man again, with heat. Grinning when he responded in kind, Joker levered himself up to sit on thick thighs with his knees pressed into the sides of the armor. Holding the man’s gaze, he groped for and seized the stiffening bat dick next to his rock-hard erection.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s called fucking, precious, haven’t you been paying attention?” When he started to rise, Joker’s fingertips on his lips stopped him. “Relax and enjoy – besides, I prefer to bottom from the top.”

It should have been easy to straddle his hips, even with the armor; easy to lift and stab himself with that cock, to move in a strong piston rhythm – but the pain medication was wearing off. He sought to ignore it as the deep, dull ache in muscles and joints seeped back into his awareness, concentrating only on making the bat’s eyes roll back in his head.

When it was over, eyes all properly rolled, he felt no bloom of satisfaction at the flush of shame on the face beneath him, no crowing delight in his victory.

His neglected erection still stiff and hungry, he dismounted without a word. Settling on his side, his back to the bat, he yanked the sheet over his hips and stared at the shadows under the dim lights.

“You’re in pain again.”

Joker slowly closed his eyes. “It will pass.”

“I promise you, he will pay for what he did – within the law.”

“Your justice is too slow for me; your system is broken.”

Inexplicably, the bat responded, “I know.”



Author’s Note: The line, “I prefer to bottom from the top” is Joker’s line in the Batman: Cacophony graphic novel. The line, “You’re system is broken” was once said by Bruce Wayne to Rachel Dawes in Batman Begins, hence his odd agreement when Joker unknowingly expresses the same sentiment.

Because of his personal losses, Batman knows the Joker is mourning his lost memories and damaged mind. In spite of Joker being the cause of some of Batman’s grief, it is the noble nature of the man to feel empathy for someone suffering an unjust loss. Joker, of course, has no empathy at all; he’s just plotting bloody revenge. Any pet name and/or endearment-fueled display of care or sympathy the Joker shows to anyone is just a mask for his fascinated cruelty and manipulations. Others never seem to understand that, of course. Psychology 101: we judge others as we are ourselves. Even though he “studied the criminal mind”, Bruce has no way of comprehending the Joker. He sees the quiet despondence the man seems to be feeling, and he can’t remain cold or aloof – he has to offer some form of comfort. This is one of the main draws of this character for me, and I find his natural empathy going up against the Joker’s utter lack of it to be terribly fascinating. Incidentally, in The Dark Knight, when the immortal Heath Ledger’s Joker “soothes” someone with a trademark, “Shh, shh, shh” that is where, for me, he becomes the most disturbing; especially since he’s almost always the cause of their terror. Thanks for reading! – AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic,



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