Fic Exchange- "Stone Angels and Real Demons"- for irisbleufic
Title: Stone Angels and Real Demons
Author:darkangelazure
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured in the fic and I make no profit, it’s all in the name of fun!
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-Con (kinda), Blood, Violence, Bad Language, M/M, Dark
Characters/Pairings: Batman(Bruce)/The Joker
Written For:irisbleufic
Prompt Used:Nolanverse or any of the comic books I've mentioned. I don't get too specific with my prompts because I prefer to trust the person writing for me with the direction in which the piece is going, just as I prefer to be trusted in kind by the person I'm writing for. But if specific prompts are all that come out in the wash, consider "Nolanverse" and "comic books" your starting-points.
Summary: I took the approach of just after Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth.
It’s not the first time he’s had that dream. Not by a long shot but everything seems more intense, a little too much for an impassive heart to shield from. He sighs and looks up at the pregnant clouds.
Dark, swollen with thunder and rain, almost breaching.
It never seems to stop raining in Gotham. People flitting on pavements below, already umbrellas bloom like black floors against the grimy grey concrete.
“Well Hello, Big Boy!” A spray of apple Mohawk and a chiseled out grin, ridged and dark ruby smile, green nails like talons as they dig against the stone of wings, Batman didn’t even hear him.
Word count: 2724
000
Everything in The Joker's hands turns into a weapon, that’s what Batman's found. Slices of information, A Pencil.
He hasn't been within 10 miles of that place for what seems like an age, an age since the salt ground under his boots, sticky green fingernails tried to pry open his mind.
He hasn't heard anything of the Joker since that night; he doesn’t know weather to be glad or completely paranoid. He opts for the latter.
He stands on one of his common perches, melding between the stone angels, stony wings stretched wide and hands cold, slender stone fingers open some sort of metaphor that Bruce doesn’t seem to find eloquent.
Instead Gotham has a Knight not an Angel; a few headlines have called him a Demon, criminal vigilante but never complained about the amount of madmen that he’s put into the warped walls of Arkham.
He still has nightmares, he hates himself for it. Sticky walls, red and dark. Gunfire and the pearls, sprayed pearls on black floors and he can’t stop screaming.
It’s not the first time he’s had that dream. Not by a long shot but everything seems more intense, a little too much for an impassive heart to shield from. He sighs and looks up at the pregnant clouds.
Dark, swollen with thunder and rain, almost breaching.
It never seems to stop raining in Gotham. People flitting on pavements below already umbrellas bloom like black floors against the grimy gray concrete.
“Well Hello, Big Boy!” A spray of apple Mohawk and a chiseled out grin, ridged and dark ruby smile, green nails like talons as they dig against the stone of wings, Batman didn’t even hear him.
The words are caught, Batman’s never been articulate, that’s what The Joker gets off on mainly, making the Bat talk, coaxing and drawing out spools of words like silken thread.
“You should have stayed in Arkham.” Its short and gruff and Batman can’t stand having his back to the Joker, he doesn’t no weather the psychotic clown is going to stab him in the spin or grab his arse again; he never knows with that guy.
“Oh but it’s no fun without you there honeycakes, who ever's going to push old Destiny down a flight of stairs? Or pull the plug on Zeus? And of course who am I going to play with!? HAHA” He seems to twirl around one of the statues, hand gripping on the almost dissolved features, mouth open wide and full of rotten laughter.
“You’ll find someone there; you had enough of the inmates eating out of your hands, why leave such a loyal following.” The sarcasms thick and The Jokers eyes round with such glee; a laugh splitting from his lips, as he runs a hand through the cockatoo like spray of hair.
“Oh but dress up and astronomical card games can only go so far in one place, and it’s no fun without you there darling, I mean they can all laugh now but you’re the one that needs me to teach you how to laugh!” Dark pupils and lime green irises hold a seriousness that Batman’s rarely seen in the Joker, his smile permanent but slightly faltering as he takes a fluid step closer to Batman.
It hits him.
they can all laugh now
“What have you done?!” It an almost gasp of horror but he manages to puncture the words with a heavy anger, the only thing that seems to make him feel a little better is his anger.
“Oooo aren’t we a smart w’ittle Bat! See that’s what I really like about you Batsy, I can hardly get anything past you! Well our good Doctor Ruthie is always going to be smiling and you should see the patients, Arkham’s so full of laughter!” He dances on the ledge, his blue parker flapping in the howling wind that’s picking up.
“What have you done Joker!?” The flicker of black, like looming headlight shadows as he winds his fists in the Clown’s lapels, the growl blends with the bloom of thunder that fills the air.
“Welll they do have a fantastical medical center and I may have taken the liberty of using a few little vials! And the water system is so poorly protected I couldn’t help myself!” It’s a squeal of laugh that seems to blend with the jagged flash of lightning.
“I should-“
“You should what?! What should you do Batman, hmmmm throw me off the ledge maybe? Break my face and make me choke on my blood and teeth, cut my throat with a Batarang? Oh the possibilities are so fun and endless Batsy, c’mon I know you can do it!” It’s breathy and Batman can feel the bile and his own self hatred burn his mouth as he stares into pinpoint pupils, never wavering gaze of madness.
His breath hot and too close to the vulnerable sliver of flesh and lips exposed to the now falling rain.
“I should take you back to Arkham.” He finishes, a spear of fear hurtles through him as he lets go of the Joker, reaching round to pull out the cuffs, the fear settles, lead like and hot in his belly as he thinks about going back to that place.
“Grow some fucking balls, you’re pathetic! C’mon I know you wanna do it, you’re no fun noble you know that?! Fucking weak!” The Joker spits, his mood whip fast to change like the swirling tide as the rain flattens the crazy arc of his hair and his clothes stick to his wiry frame.
It's almost a shock when he see's the Joker sprawl his arms out and leans back into the wind.
He's already 2 stores down before Batman lunges over the edge, hearing above the rain a cackle, high and full of manic glee, Batman is quick to pull out the Gatling gun as he races against the falling droplets, towards the carved out smile and excited gaze
He grabs the Joker's tall, lithe frame, as he hangs onto the rubber grip of the gun and hopes his tendons don't snap as the wire twangs taut, looks like a cheese wire as he howlers at the audible pop of his shoulder.
The Joker's limbs curl, wet and tight around Batman's neck, legs wrapped like vines around his waist, the point of his chin resting on his shoulder as he nuzzles into the edge of Batman's jaw, the hard inhale isn't lost on Batman as they both swing into the glass.
It's doesn't smash like Batman was hoping, but the crack splinters across, weakened and slick with rain as he grunts, the grip on the gun nearly faltering as the Joker hangs on, merry and hiccuping giggles in his ear.
“ Oh my big strong man, you know you could have let me fall, but you didn't! You know I'm quite flattered! Can't you tell?” He squeezes, his frame might not suggest it but the Joker's strength is existent and through the rubber and cold Bruce can feel a hard ridge as the glass finally gives.
It's more of a tumble as they sprawl into the office area, papers sprayed out of the open window as Batman soon scrabbles away, trying to pop his dislocated shoulder.
“Welll you sure know how to show a girl a good time, I gotta say! I don't usually put out on the first date but I think I can make an exception for you! What do ya say Batsy wanna have some real fun?!”
He's crawling back trying to pop the joint back into place but it's just not budging, just this sickening pain that makes his whole body rattle as his back collides with a desk leg, a scatter of pens at his side and the rain drying ice cold on his face.
He feels like a coward, some part of his brain that isn't fringed with white how pain is screaming at him.
GET UP! GET UP YOU PATHETIC FREAK! GET UP!
“ On Rubberstripe legs the Batman comes softly through the shadow of the evening sun stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead looking for the victim shivering in bed searching out fear in the gathering gloom and suddenly! A movement in the corner of the room! And there is nothing I can do when I realize with fright that the Batman is having me for dinner tonight!” It's odd how on key he is as he brushes glass of his shoulders, his sticky lime eyes never leaving Batman's form as he reaches into his trench coat, pieces of glass in his long, slender hands.
It's not like he can't feel the silver shards, some pain is forgotten in the face of another and Batman can't even tell if it's blood or still drops of rain running down his chin.
It's fluid, almost unearthly as the Joker steps forward, his feet crunching glass and his fingers twirling a switch blade, a pearl handled switch blade as he laughs, wide mouth, face wet with rain and blood as he flicks it open, a shiver of sliver catching the sparse light.
“ Oh Batsy red really does suit you! I bet it tastes even better! Now, as much I I love a little rubber it's certainly getting in the way don't you think!” He steps closer and Bruce thinks If he just steps a little closer, if only.
But the Joker catches it, a flicker of Batman's cold blue gaze, at the small distance.
“You know if you didn't behave like such a prick, you might for once enjoy yourself! But noooo you have to so fucking serious all the time, you know you're a real party pooper!” He chides as he side steps a swipe, it's too quick and the Joker's there, his carved face, bleeding and wet, his breath hot against the exposed edge of Bruce's jaw and his smile too large and eyes too wide with a manic glee.
“Filthy Degenerate!” Batman spits as the fringes of his vision blurs and weaves.
“Like I said, complements won't get you nowhere lover boy, but it doesn't harm to keep throwing em' out there, I know I don't mind!” He whispers, but it's smooth and an octave too low as it skits across Batman's bones like a fever.
Bruce screams, screams like his skins on fire as the Joker pulls the disjointed knob of his shoulder, but he pulls out a shard of glass from Bruce's hip, long and opaque Burgundy,a sickening pop as his shoulder slots back into place resonates.
“See it ain't so bad when you go along is it!” He breathes, and it's sickening to Bruce how much care the tone carries as he nearly passes out.
But he almost throws up as the Joker, swoops down and presses a kiss to Batman's exposed lips, brutal and tongue forcing hard like a white hot spear into Bruce's pain slacked mouth.
The Joker keeps his hand against the rubber of Bruce's shoulder, pressing just enough to keep the pain steady as he wades into Batman's mouth, a violent caress as he cuts at the rubber.
“Now this is what I'm talking about!” The Joker says with a wicked grin as he pulls away licking his twisted lips, a silky string of spit hooking them together as his gaze eats up naked flesh.
Ripped abbs and jagged scars, all imperfect and heavy muscles bunching in pain, scratches of glass and red, red blood adorn.
“See? I can have some real fun with this right here!” He smiles, the edge of the switch blade pressing with a dangerous glint.
“DON'T TOUCH ME!” Bruce roars, it's almost slow motion as he tries to swing his fist, muscles fused with lactic acid as the Joker catches the offending limb with a simple yet graceful strength.
“You are in no position to give me orders Batman, now behave like a good little bat, before I decide to carve up those pretty lips. Can't really keep an identity a secret with a Glasgow smile!” He says it as if it's advice, as he presses the blade against the swell of Bruce's bottom lip, Bruce can already feel a bead of blood gather.
“I never got the answers I wanted Batman and now you're going to give them to me! I'm willing to keep pushing, like I said I want you to know what it's like to have sticky fingers prying into your mind, all those dark, nasty corners. C'mon it'll be fun!” He leers, taking away the blade and pushing it under Bruce's mask, cutting the flesh hidden there, where it's white and delicate.
The Joker pushes the weight of his body down, wriggling harsh, bony hips and his sharp nails searching out underneath, finding seems a weakness as he clicks off Batman's utility belt, finding skin.
He digs in there, testing it, skin just below Bruce's naked belly button and trying to skit further down and Batman's hands try and shoot out pushing, his gloved palms against wide deceivingly strong shoulders, but his own body is frightening lax and the pain crashes against him consuming waves.
He throws the blade, swipes at Bruce's shaking hands and presses his thumb against Batman's exposed windpipe, dipping down again for another kiss, smooth and measuring this time as Bruce tries to keep his eyes open and it's too stark, too frightening to find his gaze is met.
A smooth calculating flower stem green staring as he presses harder and stares longer, trying to find the dark places in Bruce, where his nightmares live and where it's fragile.
The Joker pulls away but his grip never wavers and Batman can feel his lungs burn, the air too thin through his wide abused mouth and tears gather smooth and delicate in the corner of his corn blue eyes, it's like been eight years old again.
“Quite soft here aren't you, maybe if I dig a little deeper?” The tone speaks of musing, like he can't keep his own thoughts in his head, Bruce can't see his eyes anymore, theres not enough light and he feels weak, the fear strikes him like he's falling without a parachute, just tumbling through the air with his arms wide open and body too small against the forever like black sky.
The Joker gouges hard enough to draw more blood, red and sticky against the green of his dirty, sharp fingernails and grabs a piece of paper, the shimmer of glass pieces slide off the white surface and smears his hand against it, turning it to himself, smiling proud and too wide.
He grips it, blood still clinging to his fingers and the spray of scarlet drying fast and dirty on the page.
“What do you see Batman?”
The End