Short Story: The Vorpal Blade
Title: The Vorpal Blade
Author: razothredfire
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bruce/Joker
Synopsis: Sequel to Under the Chapiteau. Bruce returns to see the very last performance of the circus, only to get a few surprises.
Bruce took his usual seat in the theater, ignoring the speculative buzz that filled the room behind him. His regular attendance the last few weeks had not gone unnoticed, not by the staff or by the general public.
To be honest, it was a miracle thus far that the press hadn’t figured out exactly who was responsible for his repeated patronage. Bruce could only speculate that the other performers in the circus company had been frightened into submission, afraid of what the reaction might be from Jay or himself should the secret leak. It was certainly not a mystery to them why the billionaire attended every performance in the best seat in the house.
The lights dimmed as the show began as it always had. Despite the fact that no cameras or recording equipment were allowed, Bruce was willing to bet that some investigative reporters had snuck some in. It was their last chance to catch some clue, gather some bit of dirt; tonight was, after all, the last show before the circus moved on.
Bruce felt a small twinge of disappointment upon remembering that fact. This was his last opportunity to watch this. The show would end and so would Joker’s alter-ego concocted for the sake of a part-time job, the clown melting back into the squalor of the Narrows and presumably turning back to his sprees of murder and mayhem.
Unwilling to let his dark thoughts ruin his enjoyment of this final night, Bruce savored his last viewing of the contortion and fire dance acts, wishing that he’d broken the house rules himself and brought a hidden camera like the paparazzi hidden throughout the room.
Noting the time on his watch and the brightening lights, Bruce was about to raise a hand to summon a drink for the intermission when the Emcee nervously stepped out on stage, the lights pausing in their progress before the theater darkened again. “Ladies and Gentlemen, my apologies for the unexpected change, but it appears we have a special act for tonight’s closing show. Please, remain in your seats and enjoy this exclusive, never-before-seen performance. Our scheduled intermission will resume directly afterward.”
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Bruce watched as the stage crew wheeled out a large, circular vertical board with restraint straps. As they exited, a pounding beat filled the theater and Jay strode out onto the stage, his performance garb augmented with body rigging, glittering sheathed knives covering both sides of his body. Moving with the tempo, the man paused in mock thoughtfulness, surveying the audience before locking his gaze on Bruce. Smirking, he quirked a finger, beckoning Bruce up onto the stage.
Frozen in surprise, Bruce hadn’t moved before Joker came down to get him, pulling him to his feet and removing his suit coat with exaggerated motions. Bruce tensed and his jaw clenched before he remembered that he was in a room full of people, under a spotlight. Whatever joker was planning, Bruce wouldn’t be able to fight him off in the way he was accustomed.
Dragging Bruce onto and across the stage, Jay pressed him against the circular board, strapping him in as Bruce fought three conflicting emotions: rage, fear and, inexplicably, lust.
“Don’t move now,” Joker murmured in his ear, giving Bruce a wink and a charming smile before gesturing expansively to the audience. The hidden members of the press had to be eating this up. Striding a short distance away, Joker removed some knives from their sheathes and started flipping them thoughtfully, swaying back and forth to the music. Bruce felt his heartbeat race as the singer started growling on the speakers: That I, I, I, I’m so hard, so hard; ride this beat, beat, beat (like a pony)…
Bruce had never felt so helpless, strapped down in front of an audience while a madman launched blades at him, outlining his body in steel. When the Joker ran out of knives he glided forward seductively, retrieving his weapons, licking the last one suggestively as he stared at Bruce in amusement, eyes dilated with the thrill and looking far more like himself than he’d shown with this persona before. A wave of lust gave way to surprise and fear again as Joker grabbed the edge of the panel and the world suddenly began to rotate.
Disoriented, Bruce heard more than watched this round of knives thud harmlessly around himself. The audience was riveted, an audible gasp filling the theater as Jay exhausted all his weaponry again without Bruce gaining so much as a scratch.
Moving back to the platform a third time, Joker stopped the rotating motion when Bruce was rightside up again, fanning himself with hands full of blades before resheathing them all. Giving Bruce another sly smile, playing things up for the crowd, Joker moved back across the stage for a third round. He paused with his back to Bruce before slowly turning his head, summoning memories in Bruce of the last time he’d seen that post: a madman offering himself as a target for the Batpod as Batman almost ran him down.
Joker began, this time twisting, flipping, and disorienting himself, appearing to be flinging the blades carelessly in between acrobatic tricks. Bruce was unspeakably tense as the knives thudded in the wood around him, perceptibly trembling once the last sliver of silver came to rest harmlessly inches from his skin.
Slinking back to the platform where Bruce was pinned down, retrieving and putting away all his knives, Joker unstrapped Bruce, touching the man’s face with a smile for his shaken nerves. Grabbing Bruce’s hand and pulling him to the center of the stage, he pushed him into a bow beside him. The audience went nuts as Jay showed Bruce the stairs back down to his table, the room lights coming on as soon as Jay exited the stage.
Bruce, for his part, was both turned on and absolutely livid. He pointedly ignored the increased whispering in the room, almost reconsidering his policy to never drink. Almost, but not quite. With Joker, there was no telling what would happen later.
After the intermission the show resumed as before, going off without a hitch and without any other surprises. If Joker had looked at him at all during the final aerial silks performance, Bruce hadn’t been able to tell.
The lights were coming back up and the Emcee was thanking the audience for attending when the manager for the company came up to Bruce’s table, a card in his hand. “Mr Wayne, I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t aware that Jay had made any changes to the program, and I don’t think the others knew what he was going to do…”
Sure they didn’t, Bruce thought, but kept it to himself. “It’s fine. A little warning would have been nice, though. That’s a hell of a way to say ‘thank you’.”
Paling, the manager swallowed. “Quite. Er, that is to say, it’s rather short notice and we would completely understand if you had no wish to accept, but I would like to offer you an invitation to our Cast Finale Party. As both an apology and a thank you,” he added, setting the invite card in front of Bruce. The billionaire stared at it a moment, the wheels in his head turning as he weighed his options and his sanity.
“At the J. Pauline, hmm?” That was a rather posh hotel for the troupe but, all things considered, he had made them quite a bit of money - both via his sponsorship and from the ticket sales he’d drawn from curious gossipmongers. “The whole cast is going?”
“Indeed we are. Shall I tell everyone to expect you, then?” the manager asked hopefully.
Knowing that this was likely a very poor decision, Bruce nodded.
The Cast Party was everything one would expect a party full of circus people to be: loud, chaotic, full of laughter, tall tales, familiar touches, and too much booze. Bruce had instructed his chauffer to wait outside the hotel, grabbing some refreshments and working his way through the crowds, as would be expected of him. His attention was barely on the friendly, drunken banter of the other crew; he was vigorously scanning every room, trying to catch sight of honey-blond hair.
Bruce finally spotted him in the corner of one of the rooms, shunned and avoided by the rest of the staff. The man was dressed in a plain purple t-shirt and dark jeans, finishing a drink and setting down the empty glass before stalking up to Tony, the manager. After what appeared to be a short argument, Tony handed an envelope over to the blond man. Jay promptly pocketed it before walking back to his corner, scooping up what looked like the equipment bag Bruce had seen before and ducking out an exit. Excusing himself, Bruce went after him, followed by the knowing eyes of the cast members.
Joker was halfway down a dark alley when Bruce caught up with him. Dropping his bag with a hiss, he spun around, directing a look of anger at the billionaire. “Go away, Mr. Wayne. I’m not interested.” He was only interested in one person, truth to tell, and that person was most certainly not an awkward playboy with too much money and too few brain cells.
“Jay, just wait a second, will y-“ Bruce was cut off with a grunt as the smaller man struck him, punching and kicking in an attempt to literally drive Bruce away. When he didn’t retreat the blows began to get more vicious, and Bruce found himself instinctively blocking them. “Joker, stop.”
If Bruce’s blocks were giving him pause, the movements oddly familiar, the sound of Bruce saying hiss name in a tone halfway approximating Bat’s growl made him freeze. …it can’t be. Eyes wide in shock, Joker stared at Bruce, hardly ever to believe it.
Bruce’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe it either - believe that he’d been so completely, utterly foolish, destroying his cover in front of the criminal who could do him the most damage. His bitter thoughts of self-reproval and panic were halted as the madman visibly swallowed, his shock transforming into a nervous uncertainty.
Joker stepped forward, eyes scanning Bruce’s face as he obviously tried to reconcile this face with the one he was more familiar with. Gauging Bruce’s reaction with each inch he moved forward, the blond man hesitated, then touched their lips together. Two things happened at once: a jolt of electric lust shot through Bruce, pooling at his groin… and a flash lit the alleyway as one lucky paparazzi got a shot of them, dashing off before their vision had returned.
Joker’s face twisted in mindless rage as he stared down the alleyway where the photographer had been, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He was contemplating murder when Bruce touched his shoulder, distracting him.
“So what happens now?” Bruce asked, painfully aware that this man was nowhere near sane and just as untrustworthy. He didn’t want to even contemplate breaking his One Rule, but he was having trouble thinking of a way out of this.
Joker laughed bitterly. “I was going to ask you the same thing, Bat.” So many weeks, right under his nose. He didn’t know whether he should be more offended that Bruce had obviously recognized him that first night, or that he hadn’t recognized Bat at all.
Come to think of it, that was worth considering; Batman had watched him for weeks, knowing, and yet never snatched him up after a show to deposit him in Arkham.
“Come with me.” Bruce was Joker visibly stiffen with anger and realized what the clown must have thought. “No, not Arkham. I want you to come with me.”
Joker looked at Bruce skeptically, trying to figure out if the man was lying and what reasons he’d have to lie, now. Now, after he’d let Joker run free after watching him so many nights. Now that Joker knew his daylight name. The blond man finally nodded, his eyes still wary.
Bruce took his hand and led him out of the alleyway towards his waiting car, ignoring the hooting and hollering of the waiting press. Seeing the smaller man’s anger and discomfort, Bruce removed his coat without thinking, draping it over joker to help shield his face from the photographers. He didn’t pause to consider what this might mean until they were safely seated in the back of the car, the driver instructed to take them back to Wayne Manor.
They passed the trip mostly in silence, each nervously eying the other, neither one knowing whether the other man could, should be trusted. Bruce called ahead, letting Alfred know that he was bringing home company and that he’d appreciate some privacy. He knew the butler would assume the usual - that it was time to get his latest date very drunk, gently break up with her, and that a cab would be called later to drive her home.
Joker refused the helping hand Bruce offered as they got out of the car, shouldering his duffel bag and quirking an eyebrow at the billionaire. He didn’t know what Bruce was expecting, but surely he knew better than to try to bribe him into silence about his identity with riches.
Gesturing for the blond man to follow him, Bruce made a hard decision and turned his back on Joker in a deliberate display of trust. He didn’t know what sort of insanity had come over him; he was barely thinking things through at all. This wasn’t like the mindless drive that had him out every night, stalking through the streets of Gotham in an effort to tip the scales in favor of justice again. This was… different. This was like the drive that had made him go back to the circus for every show, not really knowing why he needed to be there, wanted to be there so badly.
Vaguely impressed by Bat’s trust - or was it sheer ego, thinking he’d be able to stop any attack from behind? - Joker followed Bruce through a silent Wayne Manor into a high ceilinged room with wooden beams and rich furnishings. A king bed stood in one corner, the room obviously a guest bedroom. Joker was beginning to get the picture.
“That’s what you wanted?” he laughed, pointing at the bed with an incredulous look. “You could’ve spared the melodramatic silence and just asked, Bat.”
Bruce turned to consider the smaller man, absorbing his words and… finally realizing and admitting the truth to himself. “Yes, but not just that.” Watching Joker’s face shift from amusement to a blank mask, he continued. “I don’t want just that. I want… anything more that I can have. You. Gotham safe. My identity safe, so I can keep working to help the city.”
Joker looked more lucid and serious than Bruce had ever seen him before, eying Bruce like the billionaire was trying to trick him. “…you have to have figured out by now that everything was just a bid to get your attention.” When Bruce nodded, Joker sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an oddly human gesture, when Bruce had been previously unaccustomed to thinking of this man as human.
“What do I get in return?”
“…me, for the most part. Whatever that’s worth to you.” The way the Joker’s eyes lit up with green fire spoke to how very much it was worth, for him.
“I won’t become your tamed pet, you know. You’re not going to ‘fix me’ like the doctors at Arkham want to.”
“I know,” Bruce murmured, stepping forward to kiss the man again. He’d always be insane, but somehow… somehow it didn’t matter. “…did you bring those silks with you?”
Catching Bruce’s meaning with a smirk, remembering very well just how much the man had stared during his performances, Joker opened the bag. “…have a thing for that, hmmm?”
Bruce silenced him with a well-placed touch, finding the smaller man just as hard as himself. Flushing, Joker dug the strips of fabric out of the bag, throwing a loop over one of the ceiling beams and making a slipknot to secure it. “I don’t have any experience with this sort of thing, you realize.”
“I know. Neither do I.” Bruce kissed him again, pulling Joker’s hands up and knotting the blood-red cloth around them, tying them in place. He knew Joker was referring to things both physical and emotional when he said ‘this sort of thing’. “Does it really matter? We’ll figure it out together.”
Joker shrugged, as much as he was able to with his arms tied above his head at any rate. He started as Bruce literally ripped the t-shirt off of him, green eyes following those fingers as they drifted towards his pants. “…that was my shirt, you know.”
“I’ll buy you a better one.”
“Am I allowed to pick it out?”
Bruce covered his mouth again to shut the man up, biting at his lower lip as he stripped the rest of the blond’s clothes off. Joker hadn’t bothered covering the rest of his scars underneath his clothes. Which reminded him…
Tracing fingers down Joker’s face, Bruce found where the texture didn’t quite match. “I like you better as you are,” he murmured, digging his nails in and pulling the disguising strip of latex off. Joker’s eyes dilated with pleasure at the statement and he tilted his head, making it easier for Bruce to remove the other side.
Stripping off his own clothing, revealing his own matching set of discolored lines of skin, Bruce retrieved a small bottle from the bedside table. Coating his hands, he began the slow work of stretching Joker with one hand while the other stroked the man’s cock.
Joker moaned, his eyes fixed on Bruce as the man’s hands moved. He reminded Bruce of nothing so much as the Incubus of myth, primally sexual and undoubtedly dangerous to one’s health and sanity. He tried not to think too hard about that last, or the siren song coming out of Joker’s throat as he prepared him.
Finally ready, Bruce coated himself, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist and lifting him up, doing what he’d desired unconsciously ever since he’d watched the man’s first performance in the circus. Joker twined his legs around Bruce’s waist, more than willing, his gaze burning with the same obsession Bruce had seen every time the clown had faced off against Batman. Whatever madness this was, the tie went both ways.
Sinking deeper into lust as he hit the smaller man’s prostate and heard Joker’s hoarse cry in response, Bruce drove into him at a manic pace. They clung to each other, drowning in the unfamiliar lust and electric jolts of feeling. It was over far too quickly, both of them too new to this for it to last long. Joker bit Bruce’s shoulder as he came, screaming through his teeth as Bruce’s orgasm rippled and poured into him.
Bruce held the blond man for a long moment before setting him back on his feet, untying Joker’s hands. He ignored the burning pain in his shoulder, his attention all on the criminal.
Joker swallowed, returning the stare. He didn’t dare touch Bruce, as if that would break the dream. “I can’t stay here, you know?”
“Why not?”
“Just… not yet.” The madman wasn’t quite willing to give up that independence yet, that freedom. He might have been squatting in a condemned building in a hellish slum, but it was his. This cold elegance and old money around them, it wasn’t him. It was all too soon.
“When will I see you again, then?” Bruce asked, wondering if that was it - one quick fling and the clown was satisfied.
Joker laughed softly. “I imagine you’ll come and find me,” he whispered, mischievous smile touching his scarred lips again. “Just don’t wait too long, Bat, or I may have to do something drastic to get your attention again.”
“Now, about that shirt you owe me…”
Fin
A/N: For those so interested, the track that plays during the knife-throwing act is this particular remix of Rihanna's song Hard. I couldn't resist.
Author: razothredfire
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bruce/Joker
Synopsis: Sequel to Under the Chapiteau. Bruce returns to see the very last performance of the circus, only to get a few surprises.
Bruce took his usual seat in the theater, ignoring the speculative buzz that filled the room behind him. His regular attendance the last few weeks had not gone unnoticed, not by the staff or by the general public.
To be honest, it was a miracle thus far that the press hadn’t figured out exactly who was responsible for his repeated patronage. Bruce could only speculate that the other performers in the circus company had been frightened into submission, afraid of what the reaction might be from Jay or himself should the secret leak. It was certainly not a mystery to them why the billionaire attended every performance in the best seat in the house.
The lights dimmed as the show began as it always had. Despite the fact that no cameras or recording equipment were allowed, Bruce was willing to bet that some investigative reporters had snuck some in. It was their last chance to catch some clue, gather some bit of dirt; tonight was, after all, the last show before the circus moved on.
Bruce felt a small twinge of disappointment upon remembering that fact. This was his last opportunity to watch this. The show would end and so would Joker’s alter-ego concocted for the sake of a part-time job, the clown melting back into the squalor of the Narrows and presumably turning back to his sprees of murder and mayhem.
Unwilling to let his dark thoughts ruin his enjoyment of this final night, Bruce savored his last viewing of the contortion and fire dance acts, wishing that he’d broken the house rules himself and brought a hidden camera like the paparazzi hidden throughout the room.
Noting the time on his watch and the brightening lights, Bruce was about to raise a hand to summon a drink for the intermission when the Emcee nervously stepped out on stage, the lights pausing in their progress before the theater darkened again. “Ladies and Gentlemen, my apologies for the unexpected change, but it appears we have a special act for tonight’s closing show. Please, remain in your seats and enjoy this exclusive, never-before-seen performance. Our scheduled intermission will resume directly afterward.”
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Bruce watched as the stage crew wheeled out a large, circular vertical board with restraint straps. As they exited, a pounding beat filled the theater and Jay strode out onto the stage, his performance garb augmented with body rigging, glittering sheathed knives covering both sides of his body. Moving with the tempo, the man paused in mock thoughtfulness, surveying the audience before locking his gaze on Bruce. Smirking, he quirked a finger, beckoning Bruce up onto the stage.
Frozen in surprise, Bruce hadn’t moved before Joker came down to get him, pulling him to his feet and removing his suit coat with exaggerated motions. Bruce tensed and his jaw clenched before he remembered that he was in a room full of people, under a spotlight. Whatever joker was planning, Bruce wouldn’t be able to fight him off in the way he was accustomed.
Dragging Bruce onto and across the stage, Jay pressed him against the circular board, strapping him in as Bruce fought three conflicting emotions: rage, fear and, inexplicably, lust.
“Don’t move now,” Joker murmured in his ear, giving Bruce a wink and a charming smile before gesturing expansively to the audience. The hidden members of the press had to be eating this up. Striding a short distance away, Joker removed some knives from their sheathes and started flipping them thoughtfully, swaying back and forth to the music. Bruce felt his heartbeat race as the singer started growling on the speakers: That I, I, I, I’m so hard, so hard; ride this beat, beat, beat (like a pony)…
Bruce had never felt so helpless, strapped down in front of an audience while a madman launched blades at him, outlining his body in steel. When the Joker ran out of knives he glided forward seductively, retrieving his weapons, licking the last one suggestively as he stared at Bruce in amusement, eyes dilated with the thrill and looking far more like himself than he’d shown with this persona before. A wave of lust gave way to surprise and fear again as Joker grabbed the edge of the panel and the world suddenly began to rotate.
Disoriented, Bruce heard more than watched this round of knives thud harmlessly around himself. The audience was riveted, an audible gasp filling the theater as Jay exhausted all his weaponry again without Bruce gaining so much as a scratch.
Moving back to the platform a third time, Joker stopped the rotating motion when Bruce was rightside up again, fanning himself with hands full of blades before resheathing them all. Giving Bruce another sly smile, playing things up for the crowd, Joker moved back across the stage for a third round. He paused with his back to Bruce before slowly turning his head, summoning memories in Bruce of the last time he’d seen that post: a madman offering himself as a target for the Batpod as Batman almost ran him down.
Joker began, this time twisting, flipping, and disorienting himself, appearing to be flinging the blades carelessly in between acrobatic tricks. Bruce was unspeakably tense as the knives thudded in the wood around him, perceptibly trembling once the last sliver of silver came to rest harmlessly inches from his skin.
Slinking back to the platform where Bruce was pinned down, retrieving and putting away all his knives, Joker unstrapped Bruce, touching the man’s face with a smile for his shaken nerves. Grabbing Bruce’s hand and pulling him to the center of the stage, he pushed him into a bow beside him. The audience went nuts as Jay showed Bruce the stairs back down to his table, the room lights coming on as soon as Jay exited the stage.
Bruce, for his part, was both turned on and absolutely livid. He pointedly ignored the increased whispering in the room, almost reconsidering his policy to never drink. Almost, but not quite. With Joker, there was no telling what would happen later.
After the intermission the show resumed as before, going off without a hitch and without any other surprises. If Joker had looked at him at all during the final aerial silks performance, Bruce hadn’t been able to tell.
The lights were coming back up and the Emcee was thanking the audience for attending when the manager for the company came up to Bruce’s table, a card in his hand. “Mr Wayne, I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t aware that Jay had made any changes to the program, and I don’t think the others knew what he was going to do…”
Sure they didn’t, Bruce thought, but kept it to himself. “It’s fine. A little warning would have been nice, though. That’s a hell of a way to say ‘thank you’.”
Paling, the manager swallowed. “Quite. Er, that is to say, it’s rather short notice and we would completely understand if you had no wish to accept, but I would like to offer you an invitation to our Cast Finale Party. As both an apology and a thank you,” he added, setting the invite card in front of Bruce. The billionaire stared at it a moment, the wheels in his head turning as he weighed his options and his sanity.
“At the J. Pauline, hmm?” That was a rather posh hotel for the troupe but, all things considered, he had made them quite a bit of money - both via his sponsorship and from the ticket sales he’d drawn from curious gossipmongers. “The whole cast is going?”
“Indeed we are. Shall I tell everyone to expect you, then?” the manager asked hopefully.
Knowing that this was likely a very poor decision, Bruce nodded.
The Cast Party was everything one would expect a party full of circus people to be: loud, chaotic, full of laughter, tall tales, familiar touches, and too much booze. Bruce had instructed his chauffer to wait outside the hotel, grabbing some refreshments and working his way through the crowds, as would be expected of him. His attention was barely on the friendly, drunken banter of the other crew; he was vigorously scanning every room, trying to catch sight of honey-blond hair.
Bruce finally spotted him in the corner of one of the rooms, shunned and avoided by the rest of the staff. The man was dressed in a plain purple t-shirt and dark jeans, finishing a drink and setting down the empty glass before stalking up to Tony, the manager. After what appeared to be a short argument, Tony handed an envelope over to the blond man. Jay promptly pocketed it before walking back to his corner, scooping up what looked like the equipment bag Bruce had seen before and ducking out an exit. Excusing himself, Bruce went after him, followed by the knowing eyes of the cast members.
Joker was halfway down a dark alley when Bruce caught up with him. Dropping his bag with a hiss, he spun around, directing a look of anger at the billionaire. “Go away, Mr. Wayne. I’m not interested.” He was only interested in one person, truth to tell, and that person was most certainly not an awkward playboy with too much money and too few brain cells.
“Jay, just wait a second, will y-“ Bruce was cut off with a grunt as the smaller man struck him, punching and kicking in an attempt to literally drive Bruce away. When he didn’t retreat the blows began to get more vicious, and Bruce found himself instinctively blocking them. “Joker, stop.”
If Bruce’s blocks were giving him pause, the movements oddly familiar, the sound of Bruce saying hiss name in a tone halfway approximating Bat’s growl made him freeze. …it can’t be. Eyes wide in shock, Joker stared at Bruce, hardly ever to believe it.
Bruce’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe it either - believe that he’d been so completely, utterly foolish, destroying his cover in front of the criminal who could do him the most damage. His bitter thoughts of self-reproval and panic were halted as the madman visibly swallowed, his shock transforming into a nervous uncertainty.
Joker stepped forward, eyes scanning Bruce’s face as he obviously tried to reconcile this face with the one he was more familiar with. Gauging Bruce’s reaction with each inch he moved forward, the blond man hesitated, then touched their lips together. Two things happened at once: a jolt of electric lust shot through Bruce, pooling at his groin… and a flash lit the alleyway as one lucky paparazzi got a shot of them, dashing off before their vision had returned.
Joker’s face twisted in mindless rage as he stared down the alleyway where the photographer had been, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He was contemplating murder when Bruce touched his shoulder, distracting him.
“So what happens now?” Bruce asked, painfully aware that this man was nowhere near sane and just as untrustworthy. He didn’t want to even contemplate breaking his One Rule, but he was having trouble thinking of a way out of this.
Joker laughed bitterly. “I was going to ask you the same thing, Bat.” So many weeks, right under his nose. He didn’t know whether he should be more offended that Bruce had obviously recognized him that first night, or that he hadn’t recognized Bat at all.
Come to think of it, that was worth considering; Batman had watched him for weeks, knowing, and yet never snatched him up after a show to deposit him in Arkham.
“Come with me.” Bruce was Joker visibly stiffen with anger and realized what the clown must have thought. “No, not Arkham. I want you to come with me.”
Joker looked at Bruce skeptically, trying to figure out if the man was lying and what reasons he’d have to lie, now. Now, after he’d let Joker run free after watching him so many nights. Now that Joker knew his daylight name. The blond man finally nodded, his eyes still wary.
Bruce took his hand and led him out of the alleyway towards his waiting car, ignoring the hooting and hollering of the waiting press. Seeing the smaller man’s anger and discomfort, Bruce removed his coat without thinking, draping it over joker to help shield his face from the photographers. He didn’t pause to consider what this might mean until they were safely seated in the back of the car, the driver instructed to take them back to Wayne Manor.
They passed the trip mostly in silence, each nervously eying the other, neither one knowing whether the other man could, should be trusted. Bruce called ahead, letting Alfred know that he was bringing home company and that he’d appreciate some privacy. He knew the butler would assume the usual - that it was time to get his latest date very drunk, gently break up with her, and that a cab would be called later to drive her home.
Joker refused the helping hand Bruce offered as they got out of the car, shouldering his duffel bag and quirking an eyebrow at the billionaire. He didn’t know what Bruce was expecting, but surely he knew better than to try to bribe him into silence about his identity with riches.
Gesturing for the blond man to follow him, Bruce made a hard decision and turned his back on Joker in a deliberate display of trust. He didn’t know what sort of insanity had come over him; he was barely thinking things through at all. This wasn’t like the mindless drive that had him out every night, stalking through the streets of Gotham in an effort to tip the scales in favor of justice again. This was… different. This was like the drive that had made him go back to the circus for every show, not really knowing why he needed to be there, wanted to be there so badly.
Vaguely impressed by Bat’s trust - or was it sheer ego, thinking he’d be able to stop any attack from behind? - Joker followed Bruce through a silent Wayne Manor into a high ceilinged room with wooden beams and rich furnishings. A king bed stood in one corner, the room obviously a guest bedroom. Joker was beginning to get the picture.
“That’s what you wanted?” he laughed, pointing at the bed with an incredulous look. “You could’ve spared the melodramatic silence and just asked, Bat.”
Bruce turned to consider the smaller man, absorbing his words and… finally realizing and admitting the truth to himself. “Yes, but not just that.” Watching Joker’s face shift from amusement to a blank mask, he continued. “I don’t want just that. I want… anything more that I can have. You. Gotham safe. My identity safe, so I can keep working to help the city.”
Joker looked more lucid and serious than Bruce had ever seen him before, eying Bruce like the billionaire was trying to trick him. “…you have to have figured out by now that everything was just a bid to get your attention.” When Bruce nodded, Joker sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an oddly human gesture, when Bruce had been previously unaccustomed to thinking of this man as human.
“What do I get in return?”
“…me, for the most part. Whatever that’s worth to you.” The way the Joker’s eyes lit up with green fire spoke to how very much it was worth, for him.
“I won’t become your tamed pet, you know. You’re not going to ‘fix me’ like the doctors at Arkham want to.”
“I know,” Bruce murmured, stepping forward to kiss the man again. He’d always be insane, but somehow… somehow it didn’t matter. “…did you bring those silks with you?”
Catching Bruce’s meaning with a smirk, remembering very well just how much the man had stared during his performances, Joker opened the bag. “…have a thing for that, hmmm?”
Bruce silenced him with a well-placed touch, finding the smaller man just as hard as himself. Flushing, Joker dug the strips of fabric out of the bag, throwing a loop over one of the ceiling beams and making a slipknot to secure it. “I don’t have any experience with this sort of thing, you realize.”
“I know. Neither do I.” Bruce kissed him again, pulling Joker’s hands up and knotting the blood-red cloth around them, tying them in place. He knew Joker was referring to things both physical and emotional when he said ‘this sort of thing’. “Does it really matter? We’ll figure it out together.”
Joker shrugged, as much as he was able to with his arms tied above his head at any rate. He started as Bruce literally ripped the t-shirt off of him, green eyes following those fingers as they drifted towards his pants. “…that was my shirt, you know.”
“I’ll buy you a better one.”
“Am I allowed to pick it out?”
Bruce covered his mouth again to shut the man up, biting at his lower lip as he stripped the rest of the blond’s clothes off. Joker hadn’t bothered covering the rest of his scars underneath his clothes. Which reminded him…
Tracing fingers down Joker’s face, Bruce found where the texture didn’t quite match. “I like you better as you are,” he murmured, digging his nails in and pulling the disguising strip of latex off. Joker’s eyes dilated with pleasure at the statement and he tilted his head, making it easier for Bruce to remove the other side.
Stripping off his own clothing, revealing his own matching set of discolored lines of skin, Bruce retrieved a small bottle from the bedside table. Coating his hands, he began the slow work of stretching Joker with one hand while the other stroked the man’s cock.
Joker moaned, his eyes fixed on Bruce as the man’s hands moved. He reminded Bruce of nothing so much as the Incubus of myth, primally sexual and undoubtedly dangerous to one’s health and sanity. He tried not to think too hard about that last, or the siren song coming out of Joker’s throat as he prepared him.
Finally ready, Bruce coated himself, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist and lifting him up, doing what he’d desired unconsciously ever since he’d watched the man’s first performance in the circus. Joker twined his legs around Bruce’s waist, more than willing, his gaze burning with the same obsession Bruce had seen every time the clown had faced off against Batman. Whatever madness this was, the tie went both ways.
Sinking deeper into lust as he hit the smaller man’s prostate and heard Joker’s hoarse cry in response, Bruce drove into him at a manic pace. They clung to each other, drowning in the unfamiliar lust and electric jolts of feeling. It was over far too quickly, both of them too new to this for it to last long. Joker bit Bruce’s shoulder as he came, screaming through his teeth as Bruce’s orgasm rippled and poured into him.
Bruce held the blond man for a long moment before setting him back on his feet, untying Joker’s hands. He ignored the burning pain in his shoulder, his attention all on the criminal.
Joker swallowed, returning the stare. He didn’t dare touch Bruce, as if that would break the dream. “I can’t stay here, you know?”
“Why not?”
“Just… not yet.” The madman wasn’t quite willing to give up that independence yet, that freedom. He might have been squatting in a condemned building in a hellish slum, but it was his. This cold elegance and old money around them, it wasn’t him. It was all too soon.
“When will I see you again, then?” Bruce asked, wondering if that was it - one quick fling and the clown was satisfied.
Joker laughed softly. “I imagine you’ll come and find me,” he whispered, mischievous smile touching his scarred lips again. “Just don’t wait too long, Bat, or I may have to do something drastic to get your attention again.”
“Now, about that shirt you owe me…”
Fin
A/N: For those so interested, the track that plays during the knife-throwing act is this particular remix of Rihanna's song Hard. I couldn't resist.