Work Text:
Batman was bored.
That in itself was weird. Batman doesn’t do bored. If his costume parties with Dick and Alfred finished he would work out. If it was late at night he watch a movie or maybe shred some heavy metal music because he’s just cool like that. Maybe he could check in on commissioner.
Huh. Batman wasn’t bored, he was lonely. But he wasn’t alone? He had family.
Batman was hunched at the Batcomputer, adjusting something that already worked perfectly but could, in his opinion, always work more perfectly. There was a plate of half-eaten lobster thermidor on the console. He ignored it. There was a ping from the Bat-phone. He ignored that too. What he did not ignore was the creeping sensation that the cave was no longer empty.
“Knock, knock!” came a voice that did not belong in his meticulously calibrated, crime-fighting sanctuary.
Batman closed his eyes. Breathed in. Counted to three. Slowly. Then spun around in his chair. He ignored the sound of beating drums in his heart. Clearly, it was his mind making boss battle fight music to fight against his greatest enemy.
And there was Joker.
Perched atop the T-Rex statue’s tail like it was his throne, swinging his long legs and grinning like he’d just walked in on a surprise party. His lipstick was a deep shade of red and Batman seemed almost hypnotized by it. Red lips. Because it looked crimson. Blood of his enemies.
No other reasons.
“I knew it,” Batman muttered. “My perimeter alarms have failed me.”
“Or,” Joker said, spreading his arms with mock innocence, “I’m just that good at getting past you. Which, you know, is basically our thing. The whole ‘me being where I shouldn’t be, you getting all growly about it.’ Classic us.”
Us. Him and I. Batman and Joker. It had a nice ring to it. Batman folded his arms, cape swishing for emphasis. “You’re trespassing.”
“And you’re lonely,” Joker countered, hopping down and landing with a clatter that echoed through the cave. He waltzed over, twirling his nonexistent mustache. Eyes shining and shimmering with pure pleasure and adoration. “What’s the point of all this—” He gestured at the Batcomputer, the vehicles, the gadgets, “—if you can’t share it with someone who truly understands you?”
Alfred understands him. So does Robin. And maybe Babs too. Batman turned back to his screen. “I’m busy.”
“Busy brooding?” Joker leaned over his shoulder, invading his personal space like it was a national sport. Like it was his business! “Or busy pretending you don’t want me here?”
Batman’s jaw tightened. His fingers tapped the keyboard louder than necessary.
“You know,” Joker continued, strolling toward the Batmobile like it was his personal showroom, “I was going to stay home tonight. But then I thought—‘hey, what if Batsy misses me?’ So here I am. Delivering myself. Gift-wrapped in charm and mischief. You’re welcome.”
Batman swiveled the chair just enough to glare. “I don’t miss you.”
“Ha!” Joker gasped, clutching his chest in theatrical betrayal. “A boldfaced lie if I ever heard one. You missed me when we weren’t talking after the big team-up. Admit it. You were all sad and lonely, sitting here with your… what do you even do down here all night? Alphabetize your grappling hooks?”
Batman growled. It wasn’t a real growl, more like a warning signal: “conversation over.”
Joker, naturally, ignored it. He bounced onto the console beside him, narrowly avoiding the lobster thermidor, and tilted his head. “You are glad I’m here. Even if you don’t say it. Especially if you don’t say it.”
He was about to deliver a firm lecture about the importance of boundaries, but Joker’s smile widened, and suddenly the lecture dissolved in his throat. Because Joker leaned in closer, close enough that Batman could smell faint lemon smell and the weirdly sweet scent Joker always carried, like someone had dipped him in sugar.
“You’re impossible,” Batman muttered.
“And you love it,” Joker sang.
He turned back to his screen, but his reflection in the glass betrayed him: faintly pink in the cheeks, scowling too hard, trying too hard. Joker noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Blushy-Bat!” Joker cackled. “Ohhh, this is going to be fun.”
And Batman realized, too late, that fun was exactly what Joker had come for tonight.
“Don’t,” Batman warned.
“Don’t what?” Joker tilted his head, innocent as a fox in a chicken coop. “Don’t sit here? Don’t breathe the same cave air as you? Don’t…” He darted forward, snatching Batman’s cowl by the chin. “…do this?”
Before Batman could respond, Joker planted a kiss on his cheek. Loud. Exaggerated. The kind of kiss you could hear echoing in the stalactites.
Batman froze. His fists clenched on the armrests. His brain supplied three hundred countermeasures, ranging from ejector seats to smoke bombs. He used none of them.
Instead, he muttered, “Unnecessary.”
“Oh-ho-ho, necessary,” Joker crooned, hopping off the console and circling him like a predator, if predators wore purple suits and carried invisible jazz hands. “You’ve been hiding from me. You think I don’t notice? But I do. Every second without my favorite Bat is like… ugh, agony.”
Batman rubbed his temple. “You’re being dramatic.”
“That’s literally my brand,” Joker said, hopping onto the arm of his chair. “Now hold still.”
“I’m not—”
Too late. Joker’s mouth found the curve of Batman’s jaw. Then his neck. He pressed kiss after kiss, trailing lower, each one punctuated by a ridiculous smacking sound.
Batman went rigid. “Stop.”
“Mm, nope.” Joker’s teeth grazed against plastic skin. Then he sucked hard. A blotch of bright red appeared. “One for me.”
Batman’s heart stuttered. “That was—”
“—a hickey!” Joker sang. “My masterpiece!” He tugged Batman’s cape aside, zeroing in on fresh territory. “And here’s another one. And another. Oh, Batty, I could do this all night.”
Batman gritted his teeth. “I don’t like this.”
“You love this.” Joker nibbled at his collarbone with gleeful precision. “Ohhh, you’re practically glowing.”
“I’m not glowing,” Batman hissed. “I’m—busy.”
“Busy blushing, maybe.” Joker leaned back, admiring his handiwork like an artist at a gallery. “Look at you. Gotham’s broodiest bachelor, reduced to my personal canvas. Adorable.”
Batman turned away, tugging his cape up to cover the marks. His ears felt hot, which was absurd, because they were molded plastic.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered again.
“And you’re not stopping me.” Joker beamed. “So what does that say?”
Batman opened his mouth. Closed it. No comeback arrived.
Joker gasped in delight. “You’re so pretty like this!”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re kissable.” Joker smirked, leaning in to steal another. “Big difference.”
Batman shoved him lightly, not enough to move him far, just enough to reclaim an inch of space. “I have work to do.”
“Yeah, yeah, world’s greatest detective, eternal brooder, blah blah.” Joker swung off the chair, skipping toward the shadows. “I’ll leave you to it. But, uh…” He pointed two fingers at his own neck, then Batman’s. “Maybe invest in some scarves.”
Batman groaned but a smirk told Joker he welcome to do this again.
Joker’s laughter trailed up the cavern walls, bright and ridiculous, until it was swallowed by the dark. And Batman was left alone. Or, more accurately, left not-alone because Joker’s marks were still on him, glowing like neon signs he couldn’t turn off. Maybe he could invite him over for dinner sometime.
Maybe. (Emphasis on that part, okay?)
Morning in the Batcave looked the same as night in the Batcave:silent. The only difference was the arrival of Alfred, tray balanced in one hand, tea steaming delicately in its cup. He was typing furiously, as if sheer determination could erase the memory of Joker’s teeth on his neck.
“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, voice calm and dry as always. “Lobster thermidor for breakfast, as usual.”
“Already ate,” Batman muttered.
“Mm. Indeed.” Alfred set the tray down beside him, then straightened, hands folded neatly. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Sir, may I… ask you something?”
Batman stiffened. “If it’s about last night’s system breach, I handled it.”
“It’s not.” Alfred tilted his head. “It’s about your neck.”
Batman froze.
“Mosquitoes,” he said quickly. “Huge ones. Radioactive. From… the Bat-swamp.”
“I see.” Alfred leaned closer. “Curious that these ‘mosquitoes’ leave perfectly circular marks in, dare I say clusters.”
Batman tugged his cape higher. “Training injuries.”
“Of course.” Alfred’s eyebrow climbed. “Training injuries that suspiciously resemble lipstick patterns.”
Batman’s cheeks went crimson. “They’re not lipstick.”
“Sure they aren’t,” said another voice.
Batman groaned. Dick Grayson was perched on the upper railing, legs swinging, grin wide. He slid down the pole like the world’s happiest sidekick and landed with a bounce. Which he probably was.
“Whoa!” Dick said, pointing. “You’ve got spots! Are those, like… friendship bruises?”
Batman spluttered. “They’re not—”
“Oh, I get it!” Dick gasped. “It’s, like, a secret handshake but with your neck! Or maybe it’s Bat-symbol camouflage!” Batman buried his face in his gloves. “Master Dick,” Alfred said smoothly, “I believe what you’re seeing are hickeys.”
“Hickeys?” Dick tilted his head. “Like… kisses, but meaner?”
Alfred gave the faintest of nods. “Precisely.”
Batman slapped the console. “Okay! Enough! No more commentary on my… personal business.”
Dick’s eyes sparkled. “Wait, does this mean you have a special someone?”
Batman’s cape wrapped tighter around him like it might hide him from reality itself. “No.”
“Uh-huh.” Dick folded his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Then who made them?” Before Batman could invent another excuse about “training accidents,” laughter echoed from the shadows. Joker stepped out, clapping slowly, grinning ear to ear. “Guilty as charged!”
“Joker, No!” Batman barked. How did the clown get back in here? He would have to talk ‘Puter later.
“Yes!” Joker sang, spinning in place. “It was me! The Clown Prince of Cuddles!”
Dick gasped so loud it nearly rattled the Batcomputer. “You and Joker?!” His eyes went starry. “That’s… that’s amazing! That’s, like… two best frenemies finally realizing they’re better together! Like peanut butter and jelly! Or capes and tights!”
Batman covered his face with both hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Correction, sir,” Alfred said calmly, pouring himself tea. “This is the day your family discovered your… romantic entanglement.”
Joker bounced over, draping himself across Batman’s chair like he owned it. “Oh, come on, Batsy. Don’t act so ashamed. Your boy’s thrilled. Your butler’s resigned. And you…” He leaned close, voice dropping to a purr. “…are adorable when you blush.”
Batman’s glare was supposed to be intimidating. It wasn’t, not with the bright red marks peeking above his cape.
“Shall I add another plate for dinner, Sir!” Alfred asked, sipping his tea. This old man thought he was playing matchmaker was he?
Dick giggled. “And for dessert too!”
Joker smiled and batman and his lips got all wobbly. Batman groaned so loudly the Batcave shook. And somewhere, deep down, under all the embarrassment and denial, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
”Would you mind staying for dinner, J-bird?”
”I don’t mind staying forever!”