Work Text:
It had been a hell of a night, though Joker was only one of the reasons.
His part came at the end. He'd snagged the Bat's bird buddy, tossed the kid into an oversized cage, and dangled it over a pit of rabid raccoons. Nothing fancy. But the sidekick rescue was unusually delayed. There was word of a fire in a Narrows highrise, and an hour or so after that, a goon reported that Scarface had made a move on Maroni territory, shooting up a drug warehouse.
Add all that to a rough few days— Two-Face robbing two million from a bank on the second, a string of unsolved disappearances, a bomb in the Knights stadium— and it was little surprise that Batsy looked tenser than usual while driving Joker back to Arkham. Getting to send an intact Robin safely home first had not improved his mood.
"Feeling burnt out, Batsy?" Joker asked, his cuffed hands resting demurely in his lap. "I don't just mean the apartment fire, though that was probably rough enough on its own. Gotta be lotsa tykes in those buildings."
No answer. Batman stared at the long road ahead, straight down the isthmus that connected Arkham to the rest of the city. A dried streak of blood marked his jaw, and there was a gouge in the temple of the cowl.
"I hope it was an accident and not some insurance fraud," Joker continued. "There's too much competition for your attention as it is. I want to spend my time planning spectacles for you to foil, not offing boring distractions."
Hm, more of a clench to the jaw. That was something.
"All that added stress isn't good for you, and I know better than to think you take any time for self care. No, you have to give every available moment to somebody else, even if they're probably dead. Every resource is better spent elsewhere. Somebody could hand you a fancy coffee perfected to your taste and you'd hand it off to someone else— or use it as a projectile, ha!"
The car passed onto the island proper, the road now winding through the forest that preceded the asylum. Their speed decreased by a fraction to manage the turns.
"That's the thing about you, Batsy," Joker sighed. "It's not that no one is willing to commend all your efforts; it's that you won't accept it. It's only a thankless job because you want it that way, because it makes you feel more the martyr. That's the only indulgence you allow yourself."
Still silence.
"I know what would help," Joker said with a gleam in his eye. "Sure, Catsy has some idea, too, but she hasn't been around for a while, has she? If only there was someone else who could help you ease that tension, and so much better than she could. A particular outlet to satisfy your particular needs, someone you can beat all your frustrations into."
He thought that would pry out some indignance at least, but Bats still wouldn't look at him.
"Someone," Joker continued, "who is more than happy to help. A partner to help you wind it all up and then"— he fanned out his fingers on either side of his crotch— "pow!"
A simultaneous bang hit like a blast of gunfire, and the batmobile swerved, shrieking. Batman veered with it, jerking the wheel. The headlights flew past the mouth of a dirt road tucked into the trees, then pulled back again as the car slid onto the path, fishtailing as Batman regained control. After several yards, they skidded to a stop.
Joker blinked dumbly, wondering if this was a gag he'd forgotten. He stared out at the service road, a way to get to certain power and pipe lines that served Arkham. The headlights illuminated nothing but trees and brush on either side, and eventually gave way to the moonlight. It was probably quiet out there. In the car, a rapid beeping noise accompanied a graphic on the dashboard that confirmed Joker didn't have anything to do with this at all.
He looked at Batman, whose arms remained locked straight in front of him, hands almost crushing the steering wheel. The clown cackled.
"And on top of everything, your steed's tire blows! Oh, Batsy, this is a real everyman moment for you! What next, a pipe bursts in the roost?"
Batman took in a controlled breath and let it go just as steadily.
"See?" Joker said. "After a night full of action, this should be a minor inconvenience, but look how tense you are! We both know what would take the edge off, darling. Imagine the release. Why not? Afraid people would find out? It's not like anyone would believe me, much less care."
Seconds passed, long enough that a rabbit emerged onto the road, sniffed the air, then darted into the shrubbery on the other side. Batman finally let go of the wheel. He turned off the dashboard warning and the engine, then pressed another button on the dash. The batmobile's canopy slid back, and Joker expected the vigilante to hop out and start changing the tire.
Instead, he hit another button that released Joker's seat belt, then grabbed him by the collar. The material cut into the clown's neck as Batman dragged him over the center console and out of the car. Joker laughed with delight until he was thrown against the vehicle's side face-first, hard enough that he bent over, head dipping back into the interior. Joker couldn't find air then, and glee swelled in his chest, trapped. Tonight's beating would be brilliant.
But Batman reached around Joker's hip and undid his belt.
Frozen, Joker stared at the glossy black leather of the driver's seat. He always had faint hopes that his flirting and needling would actually work, but this couldn't really be happening.
Au contraire, said the brisk air to his ass as his pants slid partway down his thighs. He managed a raspy laugh and propped his elbows on the car's edge, looking over his shoulder to toss back a quip. Batman shoved him back down by the nape first, and his arms jerked into the car.
Joker's indignance was cut short by leather-clad fingers pushing between his cheeks to prod at his hole. Batman had coated them with something slick, some all-purpose oil, unless all that neurotic preparation meant he was ready for his repression to fail too, and this was actual lube. Joker might have sang if he wasn't still amazed at this turn of events. He could feel the glove's stitches as Batman slid one digit inside, stroking just twice before forcing another finger in.
Joker jolted happily. "Ooh! Not one for romance, eh, Batsy? I suppose the moonlight is enough."
He relaxed and angled his hips, trying to get those fingers to reach just the right spot, and the grip on his neck tightened.
"Of all the advice you could have taken from me over all these years," he sighed, "I'm glad it was this."
"Shut up," the Bat growled.
"And that's the advice I'll never—"
Joker choked as the fingers inside him spread, made way for a third, and then he could only laugh. He tried to keep the sound low, lest the Bat get too aggravated and turn back to beating him instead. Not that Joker would have minded; he just wanted to see if Batman would take this all the way or chicken out after some rough fingering.
As Joker made a mental note to get some leather gloves on his next breakout, Batman carelessly pulled his fingers out. Joker wasn't close to coming, but he hoped Batsy's transgression would last longer than that. He let himself be held in place, though the noises that reached his ears were frustratingly hard to interpret. He considered another mocking comment, then felt something warm and blunt knock against his inner thigh and tweak his balls. Then it settled home, pressing inside him, and Joker couldn't laugh. It was too incredible, the moment Batman finally gave into what they both knew and split Joker open with his hard cock. Biting his lip, Joker whimpered at the magnificent intrusion and spread his legs wider. It felt immense, but he couldn't have expected differently. He tried to buck, but an unforgiving grip latched onto his hip as the caped crusader bottomed out.
Joker barely had a moment to enjoy the wonder-full feeling before Batman drew back and slammed in again, and again, and again. Quick and dirty, of course. Bats would want to get through this before that conscience started prickling again, but that was fine. Each purposeful, painful stroke swiped Joker's prostate, winding him up good and tight, and knocked his hips into the car, rubbing his length against it. He braced his cuffed hands on the center console and rode the rhythm happily, especially when Batman started to groan, unable to hide that it felt good to indulge in animal lust with his sworn enemy. Joker didn't know if he could humor other lovers after this.
Inevitably, the Bat sped up, his groans catching on uneven breaths. Joker was close to coming from the anticipation and making a mess of the door, but he stayed stuck on the edge even as Batman wrecked him with his final frenetic thrusts. How magnificent it felt, the beat of the Bat's hips and hearing his strangled cry, so like his shouts of anger when they fought.
For a moment, Batman held still, cock lodged deep. Then he swiftly pulled out, and Joker swallowed back a sad whimper. He managed to stand upright as Batman sorted himself, and he was a little disappointed when he saw the condom. Batsy didn't think his clown would use DNA evidence against him, did he? That wasn't what this was about. Every stage of their unending game was for them. But it was nice to watch the latex come off that softening cock, to relive the moment he'd made Batman come. He thought about how it must have looked, Batman stuffing that thing into his barely prepared ass.
Joker unrolled his tongue and lashed it at the air. "If you're paranoid about evidence, I can dispose of it more efficiently."
Batman simply put the tied-off condom in his belt and snapped his codpiece back on. Then, incredibly, his hand moved toward Joker's erection, as if to finish him off. He froze, and in the next moment, he grabbed Joker's pants instead, pulling them back to his waist.
"Put yourself together," Batman growled.
"Aw, what a meanie," Joker cooed, a mix of frustration and delight tightening his jaw. He snickered and rebuckled his pants. Tucking his shirt in wasn't doable with the cuffs. "I hope you don't think that leaving me hanging takes away from the joy of finally railing me like you've always wanted. Burning that condom won't make it go away either."
Batman didn't respond. He silently wrestled Joker back into the passenger seat before switching out the blown tire.
On the last leg of their drive, the vigilante obviously wanted to pretend all that didn't just happen, despite the obvious tent sprouting from Joker's crotch. Joker made sure to let out a pleased moan at every bump in the road that agitated his sore ass.
Naturally, Batsy's repression would swoop in with a vengeance and cockblock Joker for a couple years or so. Living through that anticipation would be frustrating, but the clown could get in some prime mocking in the meantime. He and Batman shared a dirty little secret now, and it would be such fun to discreetly prod the hero about his moral failing in front of his do-gooder pals and his doe-eyed birdies.
At least, that was Joker's thinking until the aftermath of his next caper a month later. He and Batman were once again on their way to Arkham. The car came up on the service road, and Joker leaned over and cooed, "They should really mark that road with a sign. Lover's Lane?"
And Batman pulled onto the trail.
Joker was again stupefied. Batman didn't open the car this time. He efficiently detached his codpiece, dropped it into a door pocket, and grabbed the chain of Joker's cuffs. Joker yelped as he was yanked over the console on his stomach, and he found his face hovering over Batman's half-hard cock.
"You wanted the evidence?" Batman growled, letting go of the cuffs to grip the clown's green locks.
Goodness gracious, it had to be Christmas in… whatever month this was. Sometimes Joker lost track.
"You remembered," he said sweetly, then wasted no time getting down to business.
He lavished the head with his tongue as he made himself more comfortable, kneeling on his seat. He rested his chest on the console, putting his weight there as his chained hands closed around Batman's shaft. His grip worked in short strokes as he fit his mouth around the tip and sucked, enjoying the salty flavor and how quickly his enemy came to full attention. Like the last time, he tried to focus on his senses, to commit this event to memory in case it was one of a pair of flukes.
He wondered if Batman told himself a blowjob was somehow better, less intimate than fucking. Joker certainly wouldn't let him end the night with that impression. He sucked more eagerly, letting trails of saliva slide down the shaft, slicking up his palms as he jerked them up and down. Batman let him work at his own pace but kept his grip tight at Joker's roots. Joker moaned at the sparks of pain; he wanted so badly to rut against something, anything, but with his legs folded, his erection was left straining against the tight confines of his slacks.
A quiet growl came from above, and that just wouldn't do. Joker worked his hands faster, twisting, flicking the tip of his tongue along the slit. He was rewarded with a loud snarl and a buck of the Bat's hips. The cuffs had enough slack that he slipped one hand to the side and played with Batman's sack.
Batman growled again, covering a gasp. "Move your hands," he ground out.
Joker would have snorted at the order if his mouth wasn't busy. There was little room to maneuver in such close quarters, and pressing his forearms into Batman's thigh helped his balance. But he complied, grasping said thigh with his hands instead, shifting his knees to keep his equilibrium.
He was about to compensate for the loss of friction with his mouth when Batman did it for him; gloved fingers splayed across the back of Joker's head and forced him down. The clown choked in surprise as his throat abruptly filled with cock, then again when he felt the Bat twitch and spurt. Joker pushed himself to recover, breathing harshly through his nose, and focused on swallowing.
Eyes watering, he kept flexing his throat until the cum petered out, until Batman's fingers curled back into his hair and yanked him up. Joker was allowed a moment to cough before he was shoved into his own seat.
The cuffs clinked as he wiped his lips. "I was right," he rasped. "You look so much more relaxed."
Batman replaced the codpiece, then started the car up.
Joker licked around the inside of his mouth. "Aren't you worried they'll wonder why you keep bringing me back in this state?"
"You said it yourself. No one will believe it."
"Ha! True." Joker set to grinding the heels of his hands into his groin. "Nevertheless, I love helping you, darling," he gasped, "even if you won't return the favor. Yet."
He put on a show, rolling his hips upward and whining. He thought about how the heft that slid across his tongue had felt pumping into his ass, and moaned Batman's name.
The fabric over his crotch darkened, and he sighed. He looked over at Batsy, who looked stalwartly forward, or so those lenses would have Joker believe.
It wasn't a two-time fluke. It was a new, delightful routine. Over the next few months, Batman drove Joker back to Arkham, Joker flirted, and Batman detoured onto the side road and had his way. Not that Joker wasn't having his way. To think that all those dreams and fantasies about Batman's dick were now a turgid, throbbing reality, a happy ending to violent foreplay.
Joker still got himself off, and only after his partner was done, but breaking through that last shield of denial was just part of the long game he'd been playing for years. Batsy was cruel with a purpose, not to his core. He knew Joker enjoyed the role of being used, being held down and made to take, and soon enough he'd want to see that pleasure to its end. He'd accept that the escalation of violence over the years was a bruising, breaking courtship. Batman and Joker were joined in every way, and a shared orgasm was simply the crudest proof.
Acceptance would probably break the Bat, just for a little while, and then he'd come back insisting things had changed. He'd try to palliate their connection, pull Joker into a relationship closer to normal, if only by a degree or two.
Maybe Joker would let him, just for a little while. A change could be fun.
Batsy liked this position: Joker's cuffed hands pinned under the small of his back and his bare legs up on Batman's shoulders, giving the hero something to drive against, and drive deep, with his hands braced on either side of Joker's hips. It had to be the threat of exposure, too, having the half-naked clown splayed on the hood of the car, out in the open for any wayward motorist to see.
Maybe that part was Joker projecting a tad. Batman taking the risk that someone would discover his darkest want was thrilling, all the more because it meant they were close to reciprocation. Joker ached for it, his back arching as his dick leaked over his hip.
"Come on, baby," he purred. "Touch me."
"Why?" Batman said with not a stutter in his pace.
Joker chuckled. "You can't get enough of me." He felt a spike of pleasure in his gut and let out another moan. "You've always needed me, and now I've felt it inside and out."
"Tell yourself that."
"Heh, your batawang's the one telling—"
A thick glove clamped over Joker's mouth.
"All I'm doing," Batman grunted, "is taking what I'm owed."
Joker tried to laugh, to shake his mouth free and correct him, but Batman suddenly leaned forward, pumping faster. His palm pressed against Joker's mouth so tightly that the clown's teeth cut into the inside of his cheeks. Batman let his head tip back, and with a final smack of his hips against Joker's ass, he moaned his release.
Trapped in silence, Joker waited for Batsy to look at him again. The hero had to. He was marking his other half, not wringing out his own pleasure.
Batman pulled out and stepped back, letting Joker's legs drop onto the car. Like every other time since the first, he put his dick away and didn't give Joker's a second glance.
Joker spat, blood-tinged saliva striking the edge of the hood. He sat up, wrists straining to snap the handcuffs' chain, and snarled, "You've fucked me for months, and you think it means nothing? Out here in the open? All this risk?"
"Risk?" Batman let out a dry laugh, and Joker didn't like the sound, not at all. "You said it yourself. I need to let off some steam, and no one will care."
Obviously it was the denial. Again. Joker had underestimated Batman's stubbornness as he often did— and it was getting old! Tiresome, in a way that wore on his enthusiasm. On his next escape, he mustered only a passable criminal performance, practically giving himself up at the end. In the middle of it all, as an explosion rang hollow in his ears, Joker had realized that Batman didn't deserve a full spectacle.
And on the ride to Arkham, hours earlier than usual, this time Joker said nothing. Once the batmobile's engine started, he resolved to be silent all the way to the asylum gates. Batman would get the message when Joker didn't initiate their happy ending.
But the car turned onto the service road anyway.
Joker looked at the stone-faced driver, not sure if he should laugh or scowl, but he didn't have time to choose. Batman hauled him out of the car, and the clown found himself struck silent by the obliviousness. How could the pointy-eared idiot miss that Joker was not in the mood?
He fell against the hood and watched those gloved hands efficiently open his pants, and he still couldn't find words. The wicked knave wasn't supposed to reject his righteous knight's indulgence. Didn't he want to keep the hero in the muck? Making a fuss might make the Bat rethink the routine, overthink. Batman might stop entirely, wrecking all their progress.
So Joker left it up to the detective to mark his partner's silence, any moment now. Batsy had to notice it under the tinkling of the chain as he grabbed Joker's bound hands, under the thud as he pushed Joker face down on the hood, under his own grunt as he stretched to hold Joker's hands over his head. Joker bit his lip as the Bat's free hand breached his ass, hastily preparing him. Then without a pause, Batman withdrew his fingers and shoved his cock inside.
Joker winced, but he didn't know why. It was no different than the other times Batman fucked him, and restraining Joker like this kept them close, Batman's chest plate rubbing against the back of Joker's jacket. Yet the careless groans by Joker's ear somehow sounded far away. He tried to focus on the weak friction of his dick sliding against the car, but lights distracted him. Past their hands, in the windshield, he saw the glow of the cowl's lenses. They hid Batman's eyes, but not the faint reflection of his clenched jaw, the mechanical jerk of his hips, and his hand pressing flat against the car, all marks of a man staring blindly ahead.
That didn't make sense. This was happening because Batman loved their connection, Joker reminded himself. Batman had all sorts of options if he just wanted a fuck, but he was here, driving into his sworn enemy, grunting his pleasure.
Shooting his load like one would into a doll.
No, Joker decided hours later in his cell. The routine was the problem. It had doused the fireworks. Joker would make this stay a long one, figure out how to relight the fuses. It was his own fault. He never should have expected the vigilante's feelings to crack open over something as rudimentary as sex, certainly not when his denial was a critical part of their relationship.
A break would reset everything.
Weeks passed. Months. Joker lived his days in contemplation— or a catatonic state, as the doctors preferred to call it. He and they often disagreed, violently so this time, when the docs with the dumbest intentions started their meddlesome treatments. After that misadventure, the asylum staff happily let their jester curl up in the corner of his bare cell, comfy-cozy in a straitjacket.
His thoughts were haunted by those soulless lenses. He missed the early days when his Bat's eyes were exposed, when he could see the blue electrify as he strained to drive a knife into the pupil.
He imagined that blue locked on him in flagrante delicto, a cold balm to every burning thrust. Those eyes would flash with hatred for their inescapable bond, and Joker would reflect love back, and that would be no surprise. Even in his contempt, Batman understood that they were mirror images, dependent on each other.
And finally, one night, the Bat was there.
Many shadows had flashed past the light outside the cell's tiny window, but this time, the shadow had two pointy ears. Joker jerked, thrown back into himself, and he stared at his visitor. Batman stared back. The door opened, letting in a full block of light as the vigilante stepped inside. Watching from the dim corner, Joker saw that one side of the cape had been left in tatters and that dark stains— blood— spattered up Batman's leg. Two fins had broken off one of his gauntlets. Another rough Gotham night, and therefore a rough Gotham knight.
The door closed, and Batman stood in front of it, blocking the window. The lone light of his lenses spotlighted Joker.
The clown was excited. He had to be. Over these past months, Batsy must have been occupied by any number of Arkham escapees, but tonight he visited Joker, who'd been perfectly behaved. There was nothing for Batman to resolve here but Joker's absence.
The thought pulled up Joker's smile, pulled him to his feet. "Realized you miss me?" he giggled, stumbling. His trapped arms made it hard to keep his balance.
"Miss you?" Batman scoffed.
That delectable growl! Joker hadn't heard it in so long, it was a shock that he didn't swoon as the thunder rolled down his spine. It had a note of callousness as always, but that was a test. Batsy pretended he didn't care just to get a rise out of his clown. It was one of the few jokes he could pull off. Joker's smile only felt strained because he hadn't had time to rehearse, to settle back into the beat and flow of their banter. He stepped jerkily into Batman's space.
"There's nothing like my brand of trouble, darling," he said. He licked his dry lips, anticipating bluster, denial, over-the-top aggression. "You need it."
And the reply was tired. Disinterested. "As you say."
The words stabbed into Joker's gut, drawing no blood from an arid, hollow cavity. He held too much space entirely, he was suddenly sure, and he'd pass through the floor if not for the blank glow holding him in the room. The glow came closer, letting the hallway light leak back in, and Joker looked away, down at black gloves tugging up the bottom of the straitjacket.
"I'm here for a minute," Batman said, pulling at Joker's waistband.
Perhaps the stab had nicked Joker's spleen; spite surged through him and he lurched back into the wall. His arms strained against the thick canvas, trying to lash through it. The elastic of his pants had caught low on his hip, and he had the urge to rub against the concrete to slide it back up.
He kept his glare on Batman. "I have a headache, dear," he spat.
Batman cocked his head slightly to the side. Suddenly the lenses made him reminiscent of an insect, or an apathetic alien. "I've given you plenty of headaches."
"Right now, that's as much of you as I need."
Joker held his head high with not a hint of a smile. There were occasions when he, resentfully, had to set jokes aside. Batman had witnessed several; he knew when the clown was deadly serious.
But Batman didn't leave.
He reached for Joker's waist again. "I don't have time for games."
This time it was an unfamiliar jolt in Joker's chest that had him scuffling against the cold concrete. "What— Do you see a ring toss?!"
Batman crowded him against the wall and grabbed the cheap Arkham-issue pants with both hands. He yanked them down and pinned Joker's shoulders when he thrashed.
"Guards!" Joker burst.
The corner of Batman's mouth quirked up, and he huffed. "Right, they're about to come running."
Why was he acting like this was a joke? Didn't he...
It's not like anyone would believe me, much less care.
"Just be quiet, and you'll get what you want," Batman said, curling his hand around Joker's neck.
He threw Joker to the floor just like he threw him around the car, except Joker's heart pounded with panic, not anticipation. Joker tried to get up, the cheap treads on his thin socks barely gripping the tile, but the Bat swooped in, holding him down by his hair and hiking up his naked hips. Joker's cheek mashed against the floor, and the smell of bleach and stale urine filled his nose. He growled, again trying to tear his arms free, wanting to flail and bite, but blunt digits plunged inside him and he froze.
"Did you go without underwear all this time?" Batman scoffed as he hurriedly plunged his fingers in and out. "Just hoping?"
Joker couldn't help a weak laugh. Wasn't that accusation straight from his fantasies of a night like this, with that voice rumbling into his ear and his body being crushed into a lumpy mattress? But the orderlies had only been lazy in dressing him after hosing him down. Joker hadn't planned this. He hadn't been prepared for it at all. Batman wasn't supposed to—
Those rough fingers jammed deeper, wrenching a cry from Joker's throat.
"Quiet," Batman scolded, "or I'll leave."
Joker should have screamed. Then Batman would have left, or orderlies or security officers might have shown up after all to see what the noise was about, and found themselves witnesses to the do-gooder's sins.
And walked away, hardly sympathetic to a happily homicidal harlequin. And whether they mustered good will or not, say they reported what they saw: Joker prone and abused, weak and vulnerable, not as dangerous as he seemed, a feasible target despite his history.
A fool. His grand tale of two nemeses locked in endless ideological conflict, destruction following in the wake of their personal animus— it was all torn apart by base instinct.
Batman's touch left him, and just as quickly his cock forced its way into the void, and Joker swallowed a cry.
"Good," Batman grunted, quickly snapping his hips, because he was just there for a minute.
He pressed down on Joker's head and latched his other hand onto the clown's waist, fingers digging in to hold him still. Numbness settled in Joker's chest while his cheekbone and knees ground against the cold floor and pain thrust into his gut. Batman's shadow enveloped him; Joker stared at the edge of that darkness as he listened to the slap of skin on skin.
With a sudden hitch of breath, Batman rocked faster, moving both hands to Joker's shoulders. He bore down as he pistoned in, and the light from his cowl bobbed on the wall. The weight was too much, and Joker struggled to pull in each breath, his head feeling lighter and lighter. For a moment he thought he would pass out, but the thrusts went erratic, the burning jags holding him in consciousness. It was too long before Batman groaned, cock pushed deep and weight still pressing down. He held himself like that as he caught his breath. Eyes watering, Joker managed to twitch his head and tried to gather the air to speak, to curse, despite the crushing pressure on his chest.
He couldn't, not before Batman pulled out on his own, his grip vanishing too. Joker fell to the side with his pants stuck around his knees. He dragged air into his lungs, blinking away tears as he watched Batman take off the condom and tie it off, storing it in his belt for secure disposal. Business as usual.
Ages ago in the batmobile, Joker's suggestion had been a taunt, but once the sex started, he knew it couldn't stay raw, emotionless fucking. His and Batman's history was a mess of emotions, and intimate, rapturous contact could only push them to some new stage.
But that expectation was as much of a joke as everything else. It all turned into nothing more than a cock seeking a hole.
Joker wanted to laugh and finally managed a weak, guttural noise.
Codpiece back in place, Batman glanced over. "Maybe I could give you a hand for once, considering," he muttered.
Considering Joker couldn't use his own hand. He made another noise no closer to a laugh, and he didn't try again. Batman barely looked at him. The vigilante checked some display on his gauntlet before moving closer, then watched the door as he fumbled around Joker's crotch. He finally turned his head back so he could close his glove around Joker's dick, and took no notice that it was only half-mast. He stroked as quickly as he fucked, checking his gauntlet again. The feeling was rough, too much, and Joker grimaced.
He finally found his voice. "Bats," he tried, rasping. "S-st—"
"Hurry up," Batman snapped.
Joker swallowed, and he felt himself getting harder. Some weak and pathetic part of him wanted something out of this. After years of waiting, Batsy was finally touching him.
He closed his eyes and imagined they were on a rooftop. They had fought and Batman had won. He'd restrained Joker with a grappling rope around his arms and held him up against a crumbling chimney. It wasn't the first time Joker had an erection after being beaten, nor was it the first time Batsy had noticed. Tonight, the dark knight didn't pull away; he stepped closer so they were chest to chest, and he asked if that was really it, if all the chaos was because Joker needed something more beaten out of him. Joker answered with a laugh and ground his groin against Batman's. The Bat let him do it, his mouth pressed into a disapproving line, but he stayed close and those lenses couldn't be watching anything but Joker's gasping face.
With a trembling keen, Joker came.
"Finally," Batman muttered, his voice above, away.
Joker opened his eyes to find Batman already pulling his pants up for him. Then Batman stood and opened the door, his looming form blocking the extra light as he stepped out. The door closed again, leaving Joker with just the small, pale yellow square that almost reached the wall. He heard not even a grunt of goodbye, just the sound of heavy footsteps fading down the corridor.
He could make out the mess on the floor. With other restrained patients, it would be a red flag to staff and trigger an investigation. But with Joker it didn't matter. Maybe he managed it on his own, maybe he didn't. Mop it up.
They didn't matter, though. Batsy mattered. Batman and Joker mattered. So what if absence hadn't made the heart grow fonder? Joker would just have to try something different, when he was back out in the world with all his faculties recovered.
Multiple scenarios already came to mind. He could amplify the carnage, or he could regress to the lighter and less deadly gags. He could forgo a scheme entirely and declare his love, or skip even that and simply throw himself at his Bat. However it went, Joker would take control, would ride him, would clutch that cowl in both hands and make Batman look at him, make him see what they were. Joker imagined it so clearly, the rubber under his palms, the armor against his thighs, the pulsing cock eager to erupt inside him.
And Batman gasping, groaning— and looking right through him.
Joker's scream flooded the room, bleeding into the hallway. It drew no one.