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Feb. 28th, 2009 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Dissolving
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Wordcount: 690
Rating: Hard R/NC-17 for not-very-detailed sex
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All characters and settings belong to Warner Brothers and DC Comics and maybe some other people too.
Summary: “The Joker had broken him a long time ago.”
A/N: This is for the fic exchange for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bjts_monthlyfic. My challenge, from siriuslyyellow– keywords: optical, fingernail, grace. Dialogue: “I wish we could do this a different way.” This is wildly different from my usual style, which is to say it’s short, not funny, and contains almost no dialogue. But, er, hopefully it’s not bad anyway. I wanted to write a Batman/Joker story that doesn’t really explain how they ended up together, and in which Bruce is, uh, really crazy. This is what came out.
The Joker had broken him a long time ago.
It was hard to remember, now, exactly how it had happened. Bruce was getting lost, and lost, and…Had the Joker tied him up? He was kidnapped, drugged, tied up…awoke naked, unmasked…The Joker forced him somehow – not rape, exactly. Worse. He’d made him want it, made him want him. Little touches, gentle and firm, it had all felt too good, he was overwhelmed despite the fear and hate, the Joker had teased him for hours until he ached and begged for release, coming into the Joker’s pumping hand as the Joker thrust into him and it felt good…
Or maybe not. Maybe he had taken the lead – too many nights beating him up, and the Joker always laughing, laughing, until Bruce had had him up against a wall, and hardness sticking into his thigh - so that’s what you want, he thought, or had he said it out loud? I’ll give you what you want, spinning him around and tearing off his clothes, taking him barely prepared, it must have hurt, and fucking him hard against the wall, trying to ignore the moans, but the harder he went, the louder the Joker moaned…
Maybe not, maybe…maybe they knew eachother, years ago, as children, or in high school. For one of his plots the Joker had gone without makeup – Bruce saw his face; even with the scars, he knew, and he kissed him, for the boy he’d once cared for. And the Joker had kissed him back, soft and willing, but when the makeup was back on it was laughter again and they were strangers, again…
None of these sounded right. Or maybe all of them did. Impossible to remember for sure (did it matter anyway?), when he was melting, dissolving, perhaps, no Batman, no Bruce Wayne, nothing but whatever was left when he was naked.
Like now.
And the Joker, naked too. He knew what that looked like, he knew how the shuffling walk had a weird grace when he wasn’t hunched into his coat, his clothing. He knew the scars on the Joker’s skin. There weren’t as many as he would have expected. He knew which ones Batman had given him.
He was still Batman, wasn’t he?
The Joker walked towards the bed where Bruce lay, half-hard already in anticipation.
Maybe it was an optical illusion. The room was half-dark. The rancid orange of the streetlights coming in through the windows was the only illumination. The Joker’s pale face, still in make-up, seemed to hover above his body, detached from his shoulders.
Maybe none of it was real. He could be home in his bed in the manor, imagining all of this.
The idea was almost worse. What could be in his mind that he’d imagine something like this?
The Joker reached the bed, after what seemed like an eternity, and knelt on the edge. He reached out for Bruce, and his touch burned. Bruce jerked away, scrambling halfway across the bed.
“I wish we could do this some other way!” he said, and even to him, his voice sounded high, whiny – pathetic. Not to mention absurd. There was no other way.
“There is no other way,” the Joker said. He reached out again, slowly. Bruce stayed still this time and the Joker ran his fingernail down the side of his face. When he didn’t flinch, the Joker kept going, fingers trailing the length of his torso. He wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock and they both moaned. Bruce’s back arched into the touch and his mind screamed nononopleasenoyesnoyesyesyesplease -
“You know we don’t exist otherwise, Bruce.” How could a voice be so mocking and yet sound so tired?
After that, it was all heat and tight, skin and bones rubbing together, the taste of the makeup, he knew it now, he knew every plane and curve of the Joker’s skinny frame, and everything he was dissolved in those lips and tongue and teeth and fingers…
In the morning, Bruce thought, maybe he’d just keep dissolving. With or without the Joker. There was nothing else to do. There was nothing left.
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Pairing: Batman/Joker
Wordcount: 690
Rating: Hard R/NC-17 for not-very-detailed sex
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit. All characters and settings belong to Warner Brothers and DC Comics and maybe some other people too.
Summary: “The Joker had broken him a long time ago.”
A/N: This is for the fic exchange for
bjts_monthlyfic. My challenge, from siriuslyyellow– keywords: optical, fingernail, grace. Dialogue: “I wish we could do this a different way.” This is wildly different from my usual style, which is to say it’s short, not funny, and contains almost no dialogue. But, er, hopefully it’s not bad anyway. I wanted to write a Batman/Joker story that doesn’t really explain how they ended up together, and in which Bruce is, uh, really crazy. This is what came out.The Joker had broken him a long time ago.
It was hard to remember, now, exactly how it had happened. Bruce was getting lost, and lost, and…Had the Joker tied him up? He was kidnapped, drugged, tied up…awoke naked, unmasked…The Joker forced him somehow – not rape, exactly. Worse. He’d made him want it, made him want him. Little touches, gentle and firm, it had all felt too good, he was overwhelmed despite the fear and hate, the Joker had teased him for hours until he ached and begged for release, coming into the Joker’s pumping hand as the Joker thrust into him and it felt good…
Or maybe not. Maybe he had taken the lead – too many nights beating him up, and the Joker always laughing, laughing, until Bruce had had him up against a wall, and hardness sticking into his thigh - so that’s what you want, he thought, or had he said it out loud? I’ll give you what you want, spinning him around and tearing off his clothes, taking him barely prepared, it must have hurt, and fucking him hard against the wall, trying to ignore the moans, but the harder he went, the louder the Joker moaned…
Maybe not, maybe…maybe they knew eachother, years ago, as children, or in high school. For one of his plots the Joker had gone without makeup – Bruce saw his face; even with the scars, he knew, and he kissed him, for the boy he’d once cared for. And the Joker had kissed him back, soft and willing, but when the makeup was back on it was laughter again and they were strangers, again…
None of these sounded right. Or maybe all of them did. Impossible to remember for sure (did it matter anyway?), when he was melting, dissolving, perhaps, no Batman, no Bruce Wayne, nothing but whatever was left when he was naked.
Like now.
And the Joker, naked too. He knew what that looked like, he knew how the shuffling walk had a weird grace when he wasn’t hunched into his coat, his clothing. He knew the scars on the Joker’s skin. There weren’t as many as he would have expected. He knew which ones Batman had given him.
He was still Batman, wasn’t he?
The Joker walked towards the bed where Bruce lay, half-hard already in anticipation.
Maybe it was an optical illusion. The room was half-dark. The rancid orange of the streetlights coming in through the windows was the only illumination. The Joker’s pale face, still in make-up, seemed to hover above his body, detached from his shoulders.
Maybe none of it was real. He could be home in his bed in the manor, imagining all of this.
The idea was almost worse. What could be in his mind that he’d imagine something like this?
The Joker reached the bed, after what seemed like an eternity, and knelt on the edge. He reached out for Bruce, and his touch burned. Bruce jerked away, scrambling halfway across the bed.
“I wish we could do this some other way!” he said, and even to him, his voice sounded high, whiny – pathetic. Not to mention absurd. There was no other way.
“There is no other way,” the Joker said. He reached out again, slowly. Bruce stayed still this time and the Joker ran his fingernail down the side of his face. When he didn’t flinch, the Joker kept going, fingers trailing the length of his torso. He wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock and they both moaned. Bruce’s back arched into the touch and his mind screamed nononopleasenoyesnoyesyesyesplease -
“You know we don’t exist otherwise, Bruce.” How could a voice be so mocking and yet sound so tired?
After that, it was all heat and tight, skin and bones rubbing together, the taste of the makeup, he knew it now, he knew every plane and curve of the Joker’s skinny frame, and everything he was dissolved in those lips and tongue and teeth and fingers…
In the morning, Bruce thought, maybe he’d just keep dissolving. With or without the Joker. There was nothing else to do. There was nothing left.
