Fanfic -- "Gravity"
Title: "Gravity"
Rated: PG, PG-13?
Word count: 550
Characters: Joker-centric, but Joker/Batman
Disclaimer: characters belong to DC or Nolan
Warnings: not really, just mentions of physical violence (superhero-fighting)
Notes/Summary: Just a short piece until I can get my fic chops back. I imagine the timing as occurring later that night of the Joker’s interrogation at police headquarters. The Joker’s pleased with the way Batman beat him up -- almost as if the bat had given in to the forces of chaos himself.
His scar distorted obscenely as his tongue moved around inside his lip, assessing the damage. Finally free from police custody and far from the bat, the Joker took inventory of his scrapes and bruises. He inspected his grin in the mirror, delighted with his progress tonight. Rinsing his face and mouth, he spat out the blood which stained his teeth. That blow had been particularly sweet and satisfying. His hands -- Batman’s hands -- had flown at the Joker in a thrilling moment of impulse. Batman had snapped with a madness the Joker couldn't help but be impressed by. Now Joker stood still, his body recalling the adrenaline rush which passed from the bat into him as they struggled. When he attacked, Batman had utterly surged with chaotic energy. The Joker knew it when he felt it. With the right kind of push, Gotham’s hero could be on the verge of letting it go wild.
The bat man was almost too easy to goad, provided you could work into the chinks in his armor. One little threat to the D.A. or a well-timed giggle at his noble efforts, and Batman lashed out. It was simply too funny for words. He zoomed about, cape flapping in the most show-offish way. So funny when he was furious. It looked good on him -- the mad eyes, the clenched teeth. A little insanity works wonders. No more calculated punches or disciplined attacks. Batman fought with a reckless enthusiasm...but it was honest. And that kind of honesty felt good.
The Joker twisted, testing his pummeled ribs. He flinched at the sting of pulled muscles, but laughed low. That had been fun too. Being thrown and slammed about was as much like play as he could hope for. And then -- ow, yes -- a knee had definitely connected with his groin. He shifted carefully, but congratulated Batman with a drawn-out laugh. There was a real victory -- a kick in the balls, the classic cheap laugh. Who said that flying rodent couldn’t lighten up?
Bruised beneath the white paint, the Joker brought his hand up to his jaw, lining up his knuckles along the spot where Batman’s own had hit him. Batman’s hands were quick; his grip severe and tight. They held him without fear and reacted without regret. Most encouraging of all, his actions became unpredictable. The bat’s fists had cut his mouth, torn his clothing, pulled his hair. Each injury felt all the more rewarding for having been born from a loss of control. Too much fun to feed off of all that havoc.
Best to push him close to the edge, but not over it. With Batman on the side of chaos, there would be no one to strain against. It felt too good to strain against the bat’s stubborn will, against his fists, ... his chest, ... his thigh. Men like Batman merely need the reminder of how close they can come to spiraling out of control. A Batman is no use without his backlog of repression. If it ever did go wild, the Joker wanted to be there to feel it. He re-applied a layer of paint and shrugged on his coat, ready again to go out and give the bat another dose of friction.
Rated: PG, PG-13?
Word count: 550
Characters: Joker-centric, but Joker/Batman
Disclaimer: characters belong to DC or Nolan
Warnings: not really, just mentions of physical violence (superhero-fighting)
Notes/Summary: Just a short piece until I can get my fic chops back. I imagine the timing as occurring later that night of the Joker’s interrogation at police headquarters. The Joker’s pleased with the way Batman beat him up -- almost as if the bat had given in to the forces of chaos himself.
His scar distorted obscenely as his tongue moved around inside his lip, assessing the damage. Finally free from police custody and far from the bat, the Joker took inventory of his scrapes and bruises. He inspected his grin in the mirror, delighted with his progress tonight. Rinsing his face and mouth, he spat out the blood which stained his teeth. That blow had been particularly sweet and satisfying. His hands -- Batman’s hands -- had flown at the Joker in a thrilling moment of impulse. Batman had snapped with a madness the Joker couldn't help but be impressed by. Now Joker stood still, his body recalling the adrenaline rush which passed from the bat into him as they struggled. When he attacked, Batman had utterly surged with chaotic energy. The Joker knew it when he felt it. With the right kind of push, Gotham’s hero could be on the verge of letting it go wild.
The bat man was almost too easy to goad, provided you could work into the chinks in his armor. One little threat to the D.A. or a well-timed giggle at his noble efforts, and Batman lashed out. It was simply too funny for words. He zoomed about, cape flapping in the most show-offish way. So funny when he was furious. It looked good on him -- the mad eyes, the clenched teeth. A little insanity works wonders. No more calculated punches or disciplined attacks. Batman fought with a reckless enthusiasm...but it was honest. And that kind of honesty felt good.
The Joker twisted, testing his pummeled ribs. He flinched at the sting of pulled muscles, but laughed low. That had been fun too. Being thrown and slammed about was as much like play as he could hope for. And then -- ow, yes -- a knee had definitely connected with his groin. He shifted carefully, but congratulated Batman with a drawn-out laugh. There was a real victory -- a kick in the balls, the classic cheap laugh. Who said that flying rodent couldn’t lighten up?
Bruised beneath the white paint, the Joker brought his hand up to his jaw, lining up his knuckles along the spot where Batman’s own had hit him. Batman’s hands were quick; his grip severe and tight. They held him without fear and reacted without regret. Most encouraging of all, his actions became unpredictable. The bat’s fists had cut his mouth, torn his clothing, pulled his hair. Each injury felt all the more rewarding for having been born from a loss of control. Too much fun to feed off of all that havoc.
Best to push him close to the edge, but not over it. With Batman on the side of chaos, there would be no one to strain against. It felt too good to strain against the bat’s stubborn will, against his fists, ... his chest, ... his thigh. Men like Batman merely need the reminder of how close they can come to spiraling out of control. A Batman is no use without his backlog of repression. If it ever did go wild, the Joker wanted to be there to feel it. He re-applied a layer of paint and shrugged on his coat, ready again to go out and give the bat another dose of friction.