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[For those of you waiting for the next part of my Joker/Scarecrow series, I'm sorry this isn't it. XD I hope it'll be out soon. I actually wrote this before I started that series, but it was for the challenge community ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bjts_monthlyfic so I couldn't post it right away.]
Title: Elephants Are Kindly (But They’re Dumb)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: NC-17
Challenge:siriuslyyellow; parrot, peanut, parsley; “Precisely.”
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
A/N: This is a bit dark and a bit cracky. I’m sorry about the title, it fits in with a second part which may or may not be completed (this works fine as a stand-alone though, I think). Also, I have no idea why I hated on Cirque de Soleil so much. I’ve never even seen Cirque de Soleil. I’ve only heard it mocked a bunch of times. For all I know, it’s absolutely amazing. It just seemed funny somehow. So, er, sorry about that.
Bruce sighed and scratched his nose. Charity, he reflected, was all well and good, but Cirque de Soleil was not his idea of a fun evening, even if the proceeds of his very expensive tickets were going to a good cause. He thought with some wistfulness of the circuses he used to go to when he was young. Bruce was slightly ashamed to be nostalgic for them; he knew now that they often exploited their workers and abused their animals. Still, there had been something magical about it then. He remembered that once, he had gotten to feed peanuts to an elephant. The animal had been so huge, but its trunk was soft as it took the nuts from his palm.
Bruce wished he could have convinced Alfred to come with him, but he had given some smartass answer in that British butler way that made it sound like he was being perfectly respectful. It had boiled down to the point that it wouldn’t be appropriate for a powerful billionaire playboy to take his butler to a charity event, but Bruce thought Alfred didn’t want to watch the show any more than he did.
The date he’d half-heartedly lined up had had to cancel at the last minute, in a flurry of apologies and innuendo that she’d really like a chance to make it up to him. Bruce was considering taking her up on it. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and he was willing to try anything to get rid of those dreams.
The lights dimmed. Bruce sighed, and sat back.
***
An hour and a half later, it was intermission. Bruce went to use the bathroom, as much to stretch his legs as for any biological need. He returned to his chair with still a few minutes to spare, and out of desperation, opened his program, which turned out to contain a rather interesting article about an upcoming play at the same theater. Engrossed, Bruce hardly noticed when someone sat down next to him, though, considering he’d paid for the seat, it shouldn’t have escaped his attention.
“Enjoying the show, Mr. Wayne?” drawled a nasal, oddly familiar voice. Bruce looked up, startled, into a pair of black eyes, also familiar, this time disturbingly so.
He wasn’t in makeup, but between the voice and the scars, there was no mistaking him. “Joker!” Bruce said, and as the other man’s eyes widened, Bruce realized with horror that he’d said the word in Batman’s growl, not his own voice.
The Joker’s eyebrows shot up and his fingers flew to his mouth in a parody of shock. The lights went down. “Oh, Mr. Wayne,” he said in a low voice, almost a moan. “I had no idea.”
He said it like a woman in a bad porno movie confronted with an unusually sizeable member. Bruce’s mind was racing, but he was coming up blank. He had a few concealed weapons, but not his suit, of course, and there were hundreds of innocent people around, and now the Joker knew? Well – maybe he didn’t know, maybe he still only suspected –
“What are you talking about?” Bruce tried to imbue into his voice as much fear as he thought a billionaire playboy who was still trying to hold on to his masculinity might express.
The Joker gave him a withering look. “Don’t play games with me, Batman,” he said, voice still low enough not to carry. “Games are my department. Don’t you know I know your voice? Don’t you know I think about it every night, dream of you while I-” Instinctively Bruce’s arm whipped out and grabbed the Joker’s. Bruce was glad he hadn’t latched onto his throat. He was usually observed at public events, and strangling the man next to him probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.
The Joker grinned. “Playing a little rough for the circus, don’t you think?” he said, as if he had read Bruce’s mind.
“Come with me,” Bruce said, and though he’d tried to suppress it, there was just a hint of the Batman growl in his voice. The Joker sniggered under his breath as Bruce, somehow utterly unable to think of a better option, marched him out of the theater and into the parking lot, where his limo was waiting.
“Drive anywhere,” Bruce said to the driver, who was utterly expressionless at the addition of another person, just as any highly paid servant to the very wealthy should be.
“Yes, sir,” he said. The Joker sat and looked around the interior of the car with an expression of mock admiration.
“Swank ve-hi-cle, Bruce,” he said, savoring each syllable as if he could taste it. “But aren’t you going to frisk me for weapons? I wish you would.”
Bruce sat back against the red leather interior, about as far from the Joker as he could get. “I thought you didn’t want to kill me,” he said. “Did you change your mind?” Lit better than he’d been in the semidark theater, Bruce studied the Joker’s unpainted face. It was surprisingly handsome, despite the red masses of scar tissue on his cheeks.
“No, no, no, no, no. Especially not since this wonderful little discovery.” The Joker stared at him with something akin to fondness, and somehow Bruce found this almost more disturbing than anything that had taken place so far that night. “And to think, all I wanted to do was kidnap Bruce Wayne and see what happened. I was going to tell you I had that theater rigged to blow, and that I wouldn’t blow it up if you went with me. But, I would let you go free if you wanted, and then I’d blow up the theater with everyone still inside. Not bad, hmm?”
The Joker looked expectantly at Bruce, who stared back, stony-faced. The Joker sighed.
“A little der-i-va-tive, I know. Mostly I just wanted to draw out the Batman. It must be my lucky night.” The Joker sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of utter joy and contentment, and the expression on his face was almost moony.
Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the weight of this stare. He tried to imagine a worse scenario than the one he was currently embroiled in, but came up blank. He couldn’t seem to access the power and anger he could find so easily when he was Batman. Instead, he felt tired and worried. How was the Joker so self-possessed without his makeup? Bruce watched him. He’d found the minibar and was rooting through it. He took out a jar of olives and popped one in his mouth, then replaced the jar. Rising as much as he could in the limo, he moved to a seat much nearer Bruce.
“Now tell me, Bruce – what are we going to do about this?” the Joker asked, in between chews. He swallowed the olive and Bruce found himself watching his Adam’s apple bob, in a sort of horrified fascination. “You won’t kill me – although you know, that would be the best way to solve this problem. Ex-pe-di-ent.” He leaned in close and put a sympathetic expression on his face, like a friend offering advice. Bruce shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He wouldn’t kill, least of all to protect himself. The Joker sat back.
“I thought so,” he said. “And you can’t hand me over to the police, because they would put me in court and you know that in court – you can’t lie.” He affected an expression of great innocence, somehow conveying the sense that if he was asked to testify in court, he would of course do his civic duty.
"What do you want?" Bruce asked finally.
"What do I want?" the Joker parroted, and smiled. "I want so many things...a little house in the country, some gunpowder to blow it up with...oh, you meant, what do I want from you?" He regarded Bruce for a long moment, smile still playing about his lips. "Well, I think I deserve some compensation for keeping your little secret, don't you?"
"You want money?"
The Joker looked disappointed, and shook his head. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. No. I thought you knew me better than that. I want something only you can give me."
"Like what?"
"Um." He cleared his throat. "Head." Bruce jerked back away from the Joker, who grabbed his wrist deftly.
"Shshshshsh," he said, in what was probably intended as a soothing tone. "Now, don't go off all half-cocked. You may have misunderstood me. My language was admittedly im-pre-cise."
"What's to misunderstand?" Bruce growled, lots of Batman in his voice this time, and here comes the anger, thank God.
"I don't want you to give me head," the Joker explained quickly, and Bruce stopped struggling, confused, the anger draining away again. The Joker's eyes trailed slowly down his body, and he smirked very slightly. "Well, I want you to. But that's not what I'm asking." He moved onto the seat next to Bruce, without letting go of his arm. Slowly, cautiously, eyes trained on his face, he put his hand on Bruce's knee and slid it up his leg, stopping at his inner thigh. "I want you to let me, you know. Blow you."
"How did you know-" Bruce stopped abruptly, heart pounding. He'd already given himself away once tonight, and now it looked like he'd done it again. The Joker looked intensely interested.
"Know what, Bruce?" he asked. Bruce was silent. "Oh, you have to tell me. Now we're such good friends." Bruce still didn't say anything.
"Know what, Bruce?" the Joker repeated. "Tell me that you always secretly wanted me to say just those words to you..." He was stroking Bruce's thigh (god help him, it almost felt good) and now his hand moved further up.
"No!" Bruce said loudly, jerking again violently with no real direction in mind, and as a consequence not going very far. The Joker raised his eyebrows.
"Then why don't you tell me, so I don't have to keep guessing?"
Bruce thought wildly, trying to come up with a plausible enough lie. What was wrong with him tonight? Had Cirque de Soleil melted his brain?
"Maybe you need some more motivation," the Joker said, pulling out a detonator. Bruce grabbed for it but the Joker held it out of his reach. With his thumb hovering millimeters over the button, Bruce was afraid to attack him further, worried he would depress it, purposefully or not.
"I think the people in that theater were really enjoying the show," the Joker continued. "Maybe we should make sure it ends with a bang, what do you think?"
"Give it to me," Bruce demanded.
"Finish your story," the Joker replied. "You said, 'How did you know -'" He looked expectantly at Bruce. His thumb moved a fraction closer to the button.
Bruce slumped back in his seat. How had he lost control of this situation so completely? Don't kid yourself; you never had control of the situation, or of him. Ever, he thought. "About...my dreams," he said, in a low, defeated voice.
Bruce could swear the Joker's eyes were sparkling with glee. "Oh, Bruce...what dreams?" He was leaning towards him again, though only slightly, still holding the detonator out of reach.
Bruce hated those dreams, and he couldn't think of them as anything but dreams no matter how many times he told himself, very firmly, that they were nightmares. Nightmares didn't feel so good, nightmares didn't make him wake up hard - or, worse, no longer hard.
"Dreams...about...you," Bruce said, through gritted teeth. "Where you're doing...what you proposed to me. Just now."
"Blowing you."
"Yeah."
Awful as it was to remember those dreams anytime, it was much, much worse to think about them with their main character sitting next to him, especially as Bruce was now, unmasked, powerless. His face was hot with shame and, he realized with quickly mounting horror, not just shame. The memory of the dreams had him half-hard already.
The Joker moaned and the sound went straight to Bruce's cock, making it still more interested in the proceedings. He shifted slightly and tried to talk some sense into it but was distracted when the Joker's hand landed heavily on his knee, sliding up his thigh again.
"Oh, Bruce," the Joker said, looking up at him from under his eyelashes, for all the world like a Victorian maiden. "This is the best night of my life."
"So," Bruce said, trying desperately to get some kind of handle on the course of events. "In exchange for keeping your silence about my identity, you want to be allowed to suck my cock." He forced himself to say it with perfect casualness, as if engaging in fellatio with your mortal enemy was an ordinary thing, something Bruce did every few weeks.
"Pre-cise-ly," the Joker said, his eyes alight.
Bruce was silent for a moment, trying to ignore the promptings of his cock, which seemed to have no conception of the situation at all and was getting harder as the Joker kept stroking his thigh. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"I'm a man of my word." Everything the Joker said sounded sarcastic. This didn't. Bruce looked into his face, which, for once, was utterly serious. His instinct was to believe him.
"You expect me to believe that?" he said. The Joker kept looking at him, his face still deadly serious.
"What if I sweeten the deal?" he said finally. He held up the detonator, grinning again now, which Bruce found strangely comforting. "I'll give you this, too. Then you can pretend you're doing it to save people, not your own ass, and not because you want to." Bruce grabbed the detonator and the Joker laughed triumphantly, sliding to his knees on the floor in front of Bruce.
Bruce's heart was pounding suddenly, and he tried not to calculate how much of it was fear and how much was arousal. He was aching. "What are you getting out of this?" he asked suddenly, without thinking. His voice wasn't as strong as he would have liked. The Joker looked up at him, eyebrows raised.
"I mean," Bruce clarified. "It would make more sense the other way around. Uh...wouldn't it?" It occurred to Bruce that he should stop talking or he might convince him.
"Oh, Bruce," the Joker sighed. "You really don't understand things at all." He reached out and pressed his palm against Bruce's cock, and Bruce suppressed a gasp, hips jerking automatically at the friction. The Joker licked his lips.
"It's more than enough for me that you want me to," he said. Bruce watched him, trying not to think too hard about this. Without the makeup, he could almost pretend...no, not really. The Joker unbuttoned the pants of the tux, then slid the zipper down slowly, almost reverently. He pulled down his pants and underwear a little, so that Bruce's cock sprang free.
He wrapped a hand around it and gave an experimental tug, seeming pleased when Bruce's hips jutted forward again. He looked up into his face and Bruce shut his eyes firmly, letting his head fall against the back of the seat. This was madness enough; he thought it might send him over the edge to watch.
The Joker kept his hand wrapped firmly around the base of Bruce's cock, and at the first touch of his tongue on the head Bruce bit back a moan. He remembered the dreams he'd had. There had never been much buildup that he could remember – they would be fighting and suddenly the Joker’s head was between his legs, the mop of green-blonde hair bobbing in front of him. He resisted the urge to open his eyes and see if it looked the same.
The Joker was licking him all over, laving his cock as if he were cleaning it. It was torture, and after a few minutes Bruce was breathing harshly. Finally the Joker slipped his lips over the tip and took him slowly, slowly down his throat. His mouth was hot, hotter than anything Bruce’s crazed subconscious had conveyed. A groan escaped Bruce’s lips, despite his best efforts, and the Joker moaned. The vibration made Bruce gasp, and he heard the sound of a zipper going down.
He opened his eyes; he couldn’t see much, but the Joker’s elbow was sticking out and he was vibrating now, and moaning as he stroked himself. As if he knew that Bruce had opened his eyes, the Joker opened his and raised them to his face. Bruce quickly shut his eyes again. The Joker dragged his tongue up the underside of his shaft, and Bruce shuddered.
Within a few minutes Bruce found himself incapable of keeping quiet, though he tried. The Joker was moaning continuously now and sucking him hard. Although he’d told himself he wouldn’t, Bruce growled and buried his fingers in the Joker’s hair, thrusting hard, fucking his mouth. The Joker groaned louder and squeezed Bruce’s thigh with his free hand, stroking himself faster. He gave a muffled cry and slowed. Bruce thrust a few more times and tried to stay silent, but a strangled noise escaped from the back of his throat as he came into the Joker’s hot mouth.
The Joker moaned again as he raised his head slowly and looked into Bruce’s eyes. He swallowed and licked his lips. “You taste good,” he said, as Bruce looked away and hastened to do up his pants.
“But you need a garnish,” the Joker continued thoughtfully. He pulled a sprig of parsley out of his pocket (why does he have that?) and tucked it behind Bruce’s ear. He jumped up suddenly and straddled Bruce’s lap, then leaned in and kissed him long and slow, pressing him so hard against the headrest that their teeth clicked together. Bruce pressed back, unable to tell if he was returning the kiss or trying to push him away. The Joker tasted salty and bitter. Bruce had tasted himself in the mouths of lovers in the past, but it had never felt so awful, or been so arousing. He wondered how the Joker would taste if he had his makeup on, and immediately banished the thought.
The Joker pulled away and looked into his face for a second that felt much longer. Then he jumped off his lap.
“Be seeing you, lover,” he said, opened the door, and jumped out of the moving car. Bruce jumped to the door; it was grassy on the side of the road. He pounded on the glass separating his part of the car from the front seat.
“Pull over!” he said. They went back and forth over quite a few hundred yards, but though the country was open all around, there was no sign of the Joker.
***
Bruce crawled into his bed as soon as he got home, weary beyond measure. Well, he thought, before he fell asleep, maybe now the dreams – nightmares – will stop.
bjts_monthlyfic so I couldn't post it right away.]Title: Elephants Are Kindly (But They’re Dumb)
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Pairing: Batman/Joker
Rating: NC-17
Challenge:
siriuslyyellow; parrot, peanut, parsley; “Precisely.”Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
A/N: This is a bit dark and a bit cracky. I’m sorry about the title, it fits in with a second part which may or may not be completed (this works fine as a stand-alone though, I think). Also, I have no idea why I hated on Cirque de Soleil so much. I’ve never even seen Cirque de Soleil. I’ve only heard it mocked a bunch of times. For all I know, it’s absolutely amazing. It just seemed funny somehow. So, er, sorry about that.
Bruce sighed and scratched his nose. Charity, he reflected, was all well and good, but Cirque de Soleil was not his idea of a fun evening, even if the proceeds of his very expensive tickets were going to a good cause. He thought with some wistfulness of the circuses he used to go to when he was young. Bruce was slightly ashamed to be nostalgic for them; he knew now that they often exploited their workers and abused their animals. Still, there had been something magical about it then. He remembered that once, he had gotten to feed peanuts to an elephant. The animal had been so huge, but its trunk was soft as it took the nuts from his palm.
Bruce wished he could have convinced Alfred to come with him, but he had given some smartass answer in that British butler way that made it sound like he was being perfectly respectful. It had boiled down to the point that it wouldn’t be appropriate for a powerful billionaire playboy to take his butler to a charity event, but Bruce thought Alfred didn’t want to watch the show any more than he did.
The date he’d half-heartedly lined up had had to cancel at the last minute, in a flurry of apologies and innuendo that she’d really like a chance to make it up to him. Bruce was considering taking her up on it. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and he was willing to try anything to get rid of those dreams.
The lights dimmed. Bruce sighed, and sat back.
***
An hour and a half later, it was intermission. Bruce went to use the bathroom, as much to stretch his legs as for any biological need. He returned to his chair with still a few minutes to spare, and out of desperation, opened his program, which turned out to contain a rather interesting article about an upcoming play at the same theater. Engrossed, Bruce hardly noticed when someone sat down next to him, though, considering he’d paid for the seat, it shouldn’t have escaped his attention.
“Enjoying the show, Mr. Wayne?” drawled a nasal, oddly familiar voice. Bruce looked up, startled, into a pair of black eyes, also familiar, this time disturbingly so.
He wasn’t in makeup, but between the voice and the scars, there was no mistaking him. “Joker!” Bruce said, and as the other man’s eyes widened, Bruce realized with horror that he’d said the word in Batman’s growl, not his own voice.
The Joker’s eyebrows shot up and his fingers flew to his mouth in a parody of shock. The lights went down. “Oh, Mr. Wayne,” he said in a low voice, almost a moan. “I had no idea.”
He said it like a woman in a bad porno movie confronted with an unusually sizeable member. Bruce’s mind was racing, but he was coming up blank. He had a few concealed weapons, but not his suit, of course, and there were hundreds of innocent people around, and now the Joker knew? Well – maybe he didn’t know, maybe he still only suspected –
“What are you talking about?” Bruce tried to imbue into his voice as much fear as he thought a billionaire playboy who was still trying to hold on to his masculinity might express.
The Joker gave him a withering look. “Don’t play games with me, Batman,” he said, voice still low enough not to carry. “Games are my department. Don’t you know I know your voice? Don’t you know I think about it every night, dream of you while I-” Instinctively Bruce’s arm whipped out and grabbed the Joker’s. Bruce was glad he hadn’t latched onto his throat. He was usually observed at public events, and strangling the man next to him probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.
The Joker grinned. “Playing a little rough for the circus, don’t you think?” he said, as if he had read Bruce’s mind.
“Come with me,” Bruce said, and though he’d tried to suppress it, there was just a hint of the Batman growl in his voice. The Joker sniggered under his breath as Bruce, somehow utterly unable to think of a better option, marched him out of the theater and into the parking lot, where his limo was waiting.
“Drive anywhere,” Bruce said to the driver, who was utterly expressionless at the addition of another person, just as any highly paid servant to the very wealthy should be.
“Yes, sir,” he said. The Joker sat and looked around the interior of the car with an expression of mock admiration.
“Swank ve-hi-cle, Bruce,” he said, savoring each syllable as if he could taste it. “But aren’t you going to frisk me for weapons? I wish you would.”
Bruce sat back against the red leather interior, about as far from the Joker as he could get. “I thought you didn’t want to kill me,” he said. “Did you change your mind?” Lit better than he’d been in the semidark theater, Bruce studied the Joker’s unpainted face. It was surprisingly handsome, despite the red masses of scar tissue on his cheeks.
“No, no, no, no, no. Especially not since this wonderful little discovery.” The Joker stared at him with something akin to fondness, and somehow Bruce found this almost more disturbing than anything that had taken place so far that night. “And to think, all I wanted to do was kidnap Bruce Wayne and see what happened. I was going to tell you I had that theater rigged to blow, and that I wouldn’t blow it up if you went with me. But, I would let you go free if you wanted, and then I’d blow up the theater with everyone still inside. Not bad, hmm?”
The Joker looked expectantly at Bruce, who stared back, stony-faced. The Joker sighed.
“A little der-i-va-tive, I know. Mostly I just wanted to draw out the Batman. It must be my lucky night.” The Joker sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of utter joy and contentment, and the expression on his face was almost moony.
Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the weight of this stare. He tried to imagine a worse scenario than the one he was currently embroiled in, but came up blank. He couldn’t seem to access the power and anger he could find so easily when he was Batman. Instead, he felt tired and worried. How was the Joker so self-possessed without his makeup? Bruce watched him. He’d found the minibar and was rooting through it. He took out a jar of olives and popped one in his mouth, then replaced the jar. Rising as much as he could in the limo, he moved to a seat much nearer Bruce.
“Now tell me, Bruce – what are we going to do about this?” the Joker asked, in between chews. He swallowed the olive and Bruce found himself watching his Adam’s apple bob, in a sort of horrified fascination. “You won’t kill me – although you know, that would be the best way to solve this problem. Ex-pe-di-ent.” He leaned in close and put a sympathetic expression on his face, like a friend offering advice. Bruce shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He wouldn’t kill, least of all to protect himself. The Joker sat back.
“I thought so,” he said. “And you can’t hand me over to the police, because they would put me in court and you know that in court – you can’t lie.” He affected an expression of great innocence, somehow conveying the sense that if he was asked to testify in court, he would of course do his civic duty.
"What do you want?" Bruce asked finally.
"What do I want?" the Joker parroted, and smiled. "I want so many things...a little house in the country, some gunpowder to blow it up with...oh, you meant, what do I want from you?" He regarded Bruce for a long moment, smile still playing about his lips. "Well, I think I deserve some compensation for keeping your little secret, don't you?"
"You want money?"
The Joker looked disappointed, and shook his head. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce. No. I thought you knew me better than that. I want something only you can give me."
"Like what?"
"Um." He cleared his throat. "Head." Bruce jerked back away from the Joker, who grabbed his wrist deftly.
"Shshshshsh," he said, in what was probably intended as a soothing tone. "Now, don't go off all half-cocked. You may have misunderstood me. My language was admittedly im-pre-cise."
"What's to misunderstand?" Bruce growled, lots of Batman in his voice this time, and here comes the anger, thank God.
"I don't want you to give me head," the Joker explained quickly, and Bruce stopped struggling, confused, the anger draining away again. The Joker's eyes trailed slowly down his body, and he smirked very slightly. "Well, I want you to. But that's not what I'm asking." He moved onto the seat next to Bruce, without letting go of his arm. Slowly, cautiously, eyes trained on his face, he put his hand on Bruce's knee and slid it up his leg, stopping at his inner thigh. "I want you to let me, you know. Blow you."
"How did you know-" Bruce stopped abruptly, heart pounding. He'd already given himself away once tonight, and now it looked like he'd done it again. The Joker looked intensely interested.
"Know what, Bruce?" he asked. Bruce was silent. "Oh, you have to tell me. Now we're such good friends." Bruce still didn't say anything.
"Know what, Bruce?" the Joker repeated. "Tell me that you always secretly wanted me to say just those words to you..." He was stroking Bruce's thigh (god help him, it almost felt good) and now his hand moved further up.
"No!" Bruce said loudly, jerking again violently with no real direction in mind, and as a consequence not going very far. The Joker raised his eyebrows.
"Then why don't you tell me, so I don't have to keep guessing?"
Bruce thought wildly, trying to come up with a plausible enough lie. What was wrong with him tonight? Had Cirque de Soleil melted his brain?
"Maybe you need some more motivation," the Joker said, pulling out a detonator. Bruce grabbed for it but the Joker held it out of his reach. With his thumb hovering millimeters over the button, Bruce was afraid to attack him further, worried he would depress it, purposefully or not.
"I think the people in that theater were really enjoying the show," the Joker continued. "Maybe we should make sure it ends with a bang, what do you think?"
"Give it to me," Bruce demanded.
"Finish your story," the Joker replied. "You said, 'How did you know -'" He looked expectantly at Bruce. His thumb moved a fraction closer to the button.
Bruce slumped back in his seat. How had he lost control of this situation so completely? Don't kid yourself; you never had control of the situation, or of him. Ever, he thought. "About...my dreams," he said, in a low, defeated voice.
Bruce could swear the Joker's eyes were sparkling with glee. "Oh, Bruce...what dreams?" He was leaning towards him again, though only slightly, still holding the detonator out of reach.
Bruce hated those dreams, and he couldn't think of them as anything but dreams no matter how many times he told himself, very firmly, that they were nightmares. Nightmares didn't feel so good, nightmares didn't make him wake up hard - or, worse, no longer hard.
"Dreams...about...you," Bruce said, through gritted teeth. "Where you're doing...what you proposed to me. Just now."
"Blowing you."
"Yeah."
Awful as it was to remember those dreams anytime, it was much, much worse to think about them with their main character sitting next to him, especially as Bruce was now, unmasked, powerless. His face was hot with shame and, he realized with quickly mounting horror, not just shame. The memory of the dreams had him half-hard already.
The Joker moaned and the sound went straight to Bruce's cock, making it still more interested in the proceedings. He shifted slightly and tried to talk some sense into it but was distracted when the Joker's hand landed heavily on his knee, sliding up his thigh again.
"Oh, Bruce," the Joker said, looking up at him from under his eyelashes, for all the world like a Victorian maiden. "This is the best night of my life."
"So," Bruce said, trying desperately to get some kind of handle on the course of events. "In exchange for keeping your silence about my identity, you want to be allowed to suck my cock." He forced himself to say it with perfect casualness, as if engaging in fellatio with your mortal enemy was an ordinary thing, something Bruce did every few weeks.
"Pre-cise-ly," the Joker said, his eyes alight.
Bruce was silent for a moment, trying to ignore the promptings of his cock, which seemed to have no conception of the situation at all and was getting harder as the Joker kept stroking his thigh. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"I'm a man of my word." Everything the Joker said sounded sarcastic. This didn't. Bruce looked into his face, which, for once, was utterly serious. His instinct was to believe him.
"You expect me to believe that?" he said. The Joker kept looking at him, his face still deadly serious.
"What if I sweeten the deal?" he said finally. He held up the detonator, grinning again now, which Bruce found strangely comforting. "I'll give you this, too. Then you can pretend you're doing it to save people, not your own ass, and not because you want to." Bruce grabbed the detonator and the Joker laughed triumphantly, sliding to his knees on the floor in front of Bruce.
Bruce's heart was pounding suddenly, and he tried not to calculate how much of it was fear and how much was arousal. He was aching. "What are you getting out of this?" he asked suddenly, without thinking. His voice wasn't as strong as he would have liked. The Joker looked up at him, eyebrows raised.
"I mean," Bruce clarified. "It would make more sense the other way around. Uh...wouldn't it?" It occurred to Bruce that he should stop talking or he might convince him.
"Oh, Bruce," the Joker sighed. "You really don't understand things at all." He reached out and pressed his palm against Bruce's cock, and Bruce suppressed a gasp, hips jerking automatically at the friction. The Joker licked his lips.
"It's more than enough for me that you want me to," he said. Bruce watched him, trying not to think too hard about this. Without the makeup, he could almost pretend...no, not really. The Joker unbuttoned the pants of the tux, then slid the zipper down slowly, almost reverently. He pulled down his pants and underwear a little, so that Bruce's cock sprang free.
He wrapped a hand around it and gave an experimental tug, seeming pleased when Bruce's hips jutted forward again. He looked up into his face and Bruce shut his eyes firmly, letting his head fall against the back of the seat. This was madness enough; he thought it might send him over the edge to watch.
The Joker kept his hand wrapped firmly around the base of Bruce's cock, and at the first touch of his tongue on the head Bruce bit back a moan. He remembered the dreams he'd had. There had never been much buildup that he could remember – they would be fighting and suddenly the Joker’s head was between his legs, the mop of green-blonde hair bobbing in front of him. He resisted the urge to open his eyes and see if it looked the same.
The Joker was licking him all over, laving his cock as if he were cleaning it. It was torture, and after a few minutes Bruce was breathing harshly. Finally the Joker slipped his lips over the tip and took him slowly, slowly down his throat. His mouth was hot, hotter than anything Bruce’s crazed subconscious had conveyed. A groan escaped Bruce’s lips, despite his best efforts, and the Joker moaned. The vibration made Bruce gasp, and he heard the sound of a zipper going down.
He opened his eyes; he couldn’t see much, but the Joker’s elbow was sticking out and he was vibrating now, and moaning as he stroked himself. As if he knew that Bruce had opened his eyes, the Joker opened his and raised them to his face. Bruce quickly shut his eyes again. The Joker dragged his tongue up the underside of his shaft, and Bruce shuddered.
Within a few minutes Bruce found himself incapable of keeping quiet, though he tried. The Joker was moaning continuously now and sucking him hard. Although he’d told himself he wouldn’t, Bruce growled and buried his fingers in the Joker’s hair, thrusting hard, fucking his mouth. The Joker groaned louder and squeezed Bruce’s thigh with his free hand, stroking himself faster. He gave a muffled cry and slowed. Bruce thrust a few more times and tried to stay silent, but a strangled noise escaped from the back of his throat as he came into the Joker’s hot mouth.
The Joker moaned again as he raised his head slowly and looked into Bruce’s eyes. He swallowed and licked his lips. “You taste good,” he said, as Bruce looked away and hastened to do up his pants.
“But you need a garnish,” the Joker continued thoughtfully. He pulled a sprig of parsley out of his pocket (why does he have that?) and tucked it behind Bruce’s ear. He jumped up suddenly and straddled Bruce’s lap, then leaned in and kissed him long and slow, pressing him so hard against the headrest that their teeth clicked together. Bruce pressed back, unable to tell if he was returning the kiss or trying to push him away. The Joker tasted salty and bitter. Bruce had tasted himself in the mouths of lovers in the past, but it had never felt so awful, or been so arousing. He wondered how the Joker would taste if he had his makeup on, and immediately banished the thought.
The Joker pulled away and looked into his face for a second that felt much longer. Then he jumped off his lap.
“Be seeing you, lover,” he said, opened the door, and jumped out of the moving car. Bruce jumped to the door; it was grassy on the side of the road. He pounded on the glass separating his part of the car from the front seat.
“Pull over!” he said. They went back and forth over quite a few hundred yards, but though the country was open all around, there was no sign of the Joker.
***
Bruce crawled into his bed as soon as he got home, weary beyond measure. Well, he thought, before he fell asleep, maybe now the dreams – nightmares – will stop.