[sweetrosemary]

Про Joker/Batman фик)

Гугл гуглить не умеет! Я когда-то сохранила в evernote одну почти pwp-шку Batman/Joker и это оказалось, блииин, очень крутой вхарактерной-вхарактерной-вхарактерной pwpшкой. Да и «порно» пишет же автор, сволочь, круто, не придерешься)))
Хотела всем скинуть ссылку, а гугл не гуглит по фразам из текста. А ссылку я почему-то прошляпила, как и шапку фика o_O Обидно!

я тупо вставлю его, а вы, если найдете автора, свистните мне, ок? я же хочу его почитать еще что-нибудь)

It was a long shot. Bruce knew it. But if there was any chance... any at all...
Switching off the TV, Bruce hurried out of his penthouse--he had only minutes to suit up and get to Gotham General. Knowing the Joker's taste for the theatrical combined with his penchant for a hands-on technique, Bruce had a feeling that if the Joker was anywhere, he would be at the biggest hospital in Gotham, watching his own handiwork with glee. There was only a slim chance that he would be able to find him, but Bruce knew that it was a chance he had to take. He had to stop this insanity before it went any further.
Revving the 'pod up to its maximum speed, Batman arrived at the hospital within minutes. He could see lines of buses out front, with policemen and hospital orderlies ushering throngs of patients aboard. He maneuvered the bulky 'pod into an alley nearby, hoping that no one had spotted him. He didn't want the Joker to get the jump on him; the element of surprise was his only remaining weapon, and he wasn't about to lose it through carelessness.
He made his way to the hospital as swiftly and silently as a shadow, heading towards the back of the building. As soon as he was close enough, he shot a grappling hook up to the roof and allowed himself to be reeled up by the titanium-strong line. He knew he had to start from the top and work his way down; the upper levels would have been the first to be evacuated, and there would be less of a chance of being seen before he wanted to be. When he reached a top floor window, he pushed off from the side of the building with his feet and crashed through the window on the backswing. As he expected, the room was deserted, and he quickly began his search.
Corridor after corridor, room after room, Batman found no sign of his adversary. He was considering giving up and evacuating before the entire place blew, when suddenly he noticed a closed door halfway down the hall. Every other door in the place had been left open in the haste of evacuation, so why was this one open...? Batman rushed over and knocked the door off its hinges with a well-aimed kick. Inside was a sight that he had never in his life thought he would be witness to. The Joker was inside with his pants around his ankles, a white nurse uniform pulled halfway down his torso, and a copper-colored wig hanging halfway off his head.
"Well, ah, this is awkward," the Joker said with an odd grin, pulling the dress the rest of the way down his body. Barely allowing himself a second to recover, Batman lunged forward, hoping to catch the villain off-guard--if he could just catch him a blow to the head, knock him down, anything that would allow him to get the man to hold still long enough to restrain him. But the Joker was as slippery as a wet cat, and he leapt out of the way, nearly tripping out of his pants in the process.
"You just love to ruin my fun, dontcha?" Joker said in what was not quite a chuckle and not quite a snarl. Batman rounded on him, but was caught by a kick to the jaw, sending him toppling backwards. He cracked his head hard on the floor, and despite his helmet he could swear he felt his brain rattle inside his skull. He tried to recover, but he could suddenly feel the heavy weight of the Joker sitting on his chest.
"Luck-ily, I still remember something from my Cub Scout days," the madman said, fishing around in the breast pocket of his uniform and pulling out a glinting syringe. "Always be prepared..."
Batman tried to jerk away, but he was too slow; the needle flashed, and he could feel it pierce his neck, the tiny point jammed between the joints of his armor. Finding a last vestige of strength, he managed to shove the Joker off of him, but he could already feel the drug beginning to sluice through his veins.
"Hmhmhmhmmmm," the Joker chuckled darkly, leaning his head back against the wall. "Too bad I was kicked out of the Cub Scouts. Never did get the hang of the whole knife safety thing." The man then let out a shrill hyena laugh, kicking his heels against the cold floor. Batman could feel his limbs growing heavy and useless, and his vision swam even harder than when he'd hit his head. He tried to fight it, but his eyes dragged slowly closed, and he could feel his entire body going numb. The last thing he heard was the spastic, shrieking laughter of the villainous clown.
~
Batman clawed his way back into consciousness, trying to ascertain as quickly as possible where he was and how long it had been. His eyes burned, but he forced them open and saw that he was still in the same room, although he had been relocated atop the small hospital cot. His arms and legs still felt leaden, and the moment he tried to move them, he found that he was being restrained by something other than the drug: He had been tied with his ankles together and his wrists behind his back. Glancing down, he saw that the job had been done with a bizarre conglomeration of bandages, electrical wire, and medical tape. He let out an exasperated breath. How could he have been so stupid... He'd had the Joker literally with his trousers down, and he still couldn't apprehend him. And now he was trapped, with no way of knowing where the Joker was, or how long he had until the entire hospital blew sky high. The Joker had won.
At that moment, the devil himself burst through the door, just out of the corner of Batman's vision.
"Wakey-wakey, Batman!" Joker trilled, waltzing into view. He was still sporting the nurse uniform, but he had lost the wig, and his makeup looked even more smeared than before. He leaned over the trussed-up vigilante, his putrid locks swaying tauntingly.
"You really have a thing for messing up my plans, Batsy," the Joker said with a disquieting glint in his eyes. "You made me miss my bus," he said, pouting his flashy lower lip mockingly. "Fortunately, henchman can be good for more than just fetching dry cleaning." At that, a manic grin spread across his face, distorting his painted one, crinkling it at the edges and making his scars agonizingly stark. "So fear not, all is not lost--I'll still get to conduct my little, ah, experiment, whether I'm there to turn on the Bunsen burner or not," he finished with a slight chuckle.
Batman stopped trying to figure out what the disturbed clown was saying, focusing instead on trying to twist his wrists apart, although his muscles still didn't seem to want to obey him. He succeeded in little more than a pathetic wriggle, which he unfortunately failed to hide from the leering Joker.
"Ah, ah, ah," the madman shushed, placing a firm hand on Bruce's chest, forcing him into stillness with surprising force. "We can't have that, can we? Next thing you know, you'll be trying to escape!" He let out a short, bark-like laugh.
Suddenly the Joker launched himself up onto the cot, straddling Bruce's waist. His skirt rode up dangerously high, and for the first time, Bruce found himself becoming sincerely unnerved--he was truly at the mercy of this merciless madman, and he was running out of options.
"So here's the deal," Joker muttered, leaning in close enough that Batman was strafed by the man's noxious breath. "Since you've been so thoroughly uncooperative, I think that I deserve a little... reparation. After all, I could be duct-taping hostages right now if it weren't for you." The Joker's reptilian tongue flicked out, as though tasting Batman's unease in the air.
"What exactly did you have in mind?" Batman snarled contemptuously. He just had to keep the Joker talking while his strength slowly returned to him. If he could occupy him long enough, he could escape...
"Ohhh, I think I'll let you use your imagination on that one," the Joker snickered, propping his elbows on Batman's chest plate. "What I can do will never be nearly as good as what you could imagine me doing." But despite the vagueness of his words, Batman felt Joker's hips press jerkily down against his own, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He couldn't actually say that he was surprised; he'd dealt with enough mentally disturbed criminals to recognize the pattern of obsession. But to have that madness directed towards him... He could feel equal measures of disgust and fear churning in the pit of his stomach.
"You're sick," he spat, his voice almost--almost--breaking.
"More than most, but not as much as some," the Joker said, his grin only getting wider. "Besides, aren't you being terribly sexist?" he purred, leaning back and placing his hands demurely on his collar.
Batman glared.
"I mean, if a guy wants it, that's perfectly fine, but if a girl wants it, she's just a slut!" the Joker finished with a guttural giggle that was anything but feminine. He gave a brief wriggle on Batman's lap, causing his skirt to ride up even higher, and Batman suddenly became very aware that the man hadn't bothered to retain his threadbare underpants.
"NO," he growled, trying very hard to keep his eyes on the Joker's face.
"Hm, y'see, I think you've got the wrong idea here," the Joker murmured, reaching back and pulling a small, handheld detonator out of his belt. "My little... proposition wasn't a request." Batman could feel his teeth clench so hard that his jaw ached; he had let himself get into this position. He'd been too senseless, too reckless... And now he had a decision to make, and it wasn't much of one. What else could he do?
"What'll it be, Batsy?" Joker asked, jiggling the detonator mere centimeters from Batman's face. "You can either play my little game or we can both go and see if Hell is all it's cracked up to be."
Batman glared up at the madman's vacuumous eyes, already knowing what his decision must be. He almost would have welcomed death, were it not for the knowledge that he would have failed his parents. He wasn't supposed to go out like this. There was still so much for him to do. He couldn't let this psychotic clown win.
Expelling a short sigh of defeat, Batman gave a tiny, curt nod.
There was no gloating, no laughter, not even a few moments for Batman to brace himself for what he had just agreed to--there was only a slight glint in the Joker's eyes, and then a sudden crushing of lips and teeth. There was a moment of almost numbness, a few seconds before his brain could process what it was being bombarded with. But then it all came crashing into him--slick, hot, moving, sharp, pain, scrape, smear--and suddenly he could taste him, a mixture of obvious dental neglect, plasticky paint, burned sugar, and blood. Dimly, he realized that the blood was his own.
It was all too much for him to accept; his instincts suddenly over-rode all else, and he didn't even think about the detonator in the Joker's hand as he struggled to pry himself away, squirming as much as his lingering weakness and his bound limbs would allow.
The Joker drew back with a wet smack, licking his lips slowly, savorously--a sharp contrast from his usual twitchy flicker.
"Not trying to back out, are you, Batsy?" the Joker quipped, leering down at his captive. "Or are you just trying to... cut to the chase?" He reached over into his right sock and pulled out a small plastic handle. With a tiny flick, a gleaming blade sprung out, and Bruce could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise in a shuddering wave. The knife flashed through the air, and Bruce braced himself for the pain--but the Joker only jabbed the knife under one of the chest plates of Bruce's armor and began prying it off like a paint can lid. With a groan, the practically impenetrable casing gave way to reveal the vulnerable black bodysuit beneath. Licking his lips compulsively and chuckling to himself, the Joker set to work prying up Bruce's entire torso, like a child peeling off a beetle's shell to expose the softness underneath.
All Bruce could do was try to resist his body's urge to tremble. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life. It wasn't just the armor being peeled away--it was his identity, his mask, his soul. He'd had to separate Bruce and Batman so much in his mind that he had begun to think of their meeting as an impossibility. But now he could feel the panic rising in his chest as he realized that with a mere flick of the Joker's wrist, Bruce and Batman would never be separate again.
The Joker stopped when he wrenched off the plating over Bruce's thighs and took a moment to cast his eyes over the dark expanse of fabric before him. Deftly, he changed the grip of the knife in his hand and then swiped at Bruce from a different angle, with different force. Bruce nearly jumped in surprise, but he knew that would be fatal. Instead he forced himself into stone-like stillness as the Joker cut away at the black bodysuit, exposing scarred flesh. The madman was very good with the knife--so good it was frightening--but he still managed to catch a few knicks here and there, causing small beads of blood to ooze to the surface of Bruce's skin. Bruce could see a change occur as Joker caught sight of the blood, almost as though a switch had been turned in his head. The usual mad glint in the man's eyes became almost a gleam, and he seemed to become even more twitchy than usual.
Finally his bodysuit from neck to knees was no more than rags, and Bruce was losing his battle with the shivers. He felt so helpless... Before he even noticed it, the Joker's fingers were at the edges of his mask, and Bruce's heart stopped.
"They say opportunity isn't a lengthy visitor," the Joker said in a gravely half-whisper, his fingers tracing up and down the outline of Bruce's mask. "But that would just ruin the fun, wouldn't it? It'd be like opening your Christmas presents too early. You always end up disappointed." The fingers withdrew, and Bruce could feel a small fraction of the tension ease out of his body.
Bruce's relief was short-lived, however. The Joker's hands, although no longer occupied with his mask, began to explore other possibilities. The Joker focused his attention on Bruce's chest, brushing aside the scraps of fabric and surveying the expanse of scarred flesh as though it were a steak dinner.
"Hmm, not quite as immortal as you'd like them all to believe, are you?" the Joker mused, pressing his fingers against the purplest and most recent of his scars. Bruce sucked in a small, instinctive breath as he felt pain throb from the area. The Joker went eerily still for a moment, and the pressure on the injury let up.
Then there was real pain. Lancing, red pain that made Bruce trap a cry behind his teeth. The Joker had dug one of his long, stained fingernails into one of the small cuts he'd inflicted and twisted. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on not screaming. He was used to taking hits in the heat of battle with adrenaline pounding through his veins, but this cold torture was far too real--he could feel every second of it, and it was impossible to block out.
The Joker moved from wound to wound, sometimes scratching his nails gently against it, sometimes the pads of his fingers, smearing the blood around as though over a canvas. Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something hot, wet, and smooth replace the exploring fingertips; he didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was the Joker's tongue. Bruce barely managed to keep from retching. He had known the Joker took more delight than most in the violence of his crimes, but he hadn't quite expected this.

The Joker took his time, occasionally allowing muffled chuckles to drift up to Bruce's ears as he lapped up the man's life-blood. Bruce could feel him working his way lower and lower, across his abdomen, his stomach... Bruce's jaw clenched. He knew it would come to this, but he hadn't had time to mentally prepare himself, to justify, to compartmentalize, to deny. His mind began rebelling as his body began responding, and he was slowly tearing himself in half. Bruce cursed himself for his weakness, but he just couldn't deal with any more. He felt helpless, childlike--even though he'd been allowed to keep his identity, he felt exposed. And the worst part was that even through the disgust, he couldn't keep denying that it felt amazing. No-one had touched him in such a way for a long time, despite his playboy status. It was true that for a time he had bedded any attractive woman who came his way, but recently he'd been far too occupied. Even when he did pick up a woman, he couldn't get his mind off of the twisted smile, the hideous laugh, the tangled web that the entire city seemed to be trapped in.
"No--!" he choked as he felt the hot breath and probing tongue reach the junction where his leg and hip connected. Just a few more inches and...
The Joker paused in his ministrations and gave a deep chuckle.
"I just want you to enjoy yourself, sweetie-pie," he said, leering and leaning down to plant a large wet kiss on Bruce's lower stomach. Bruce finally opened his eyes, unable to stand not seeing what was being committed upon his body. He discovered that his entire torso was covered with smears of white and red paint, stark slashes of dark blood, and blossoming purple marks where the Joker had sucked upon his skin. The Joker was on his hands and knees, crouching over him like a spider. His face looked decayed; the white paste covering his face was bleeding and smeared, his hair was clinging to his forehead in greasy strands, and his lipstick was almost entirely gone. His scars were crystal clear, no longer obscured by the bright red paint; they stood out pale against his skin, making him look almost...human.
"Besiiiides," the Joker whispered conspiratorially. "The more fun you have, the more fun I'm going to have." With a snicker, the crazed clown leaned down and began biting at Bruce's inner thighs.
Bruce hissed, trying to fight the sensation. This was one fight that he wouldn't allow himself to lose; he wouldn't let the Joker make him enjoy this.
Seconds later, the battle of mind versus body became a hell of a lot harder.
Bruce failed to close his mouth in time to stifle the groan that was ripped from his throat as the Joker dragged his tongue over Bruce's rapidly filling cock.
"See? Not so bad, is it?" the Joker asked in a disturbingly innocent tone, letting his tongue drop down to flick at the very tip of Bruce's arousal.
"You--sick fuck," Bruce panted, trying to stop his hips from bucking upward.
"Ooooh, temper, Batsy," the Joker purred. "Be careful, you might just snap! And I know how much that would upset you. But don't worry, I'm sure as long as you obey all your little rules, you'll be just fine. Just block it all out of your mind, and then you'll be absolved of any responsibility, right? Hmm, only it seems like Little Batsy is getting hard to ignore, huh? Ah, but we all know how much you loooove a challenge." The Joker smirked and then promptly bent down and engulfed Bruce's entire cock in his mouth.
Bruce nearly shouted aloud, but managed to contort it into a choked moan in his throat. There was no way he would come out of this with his sanity intact. The majority of his mind was completely disgusted with the whole situation, but a small part--the part of him that was still just an ordinary, sex-deprived man--was begging like a dog. And it was becoming increasingly hard to shut that part of him up, particularly when the Joker swallowed around him just like that, undulating his tongue right there, sucking and nipping and oh god, what the hell did he get up to with those henchmen of his, because there was no way he was making this up as he went along. Faintly, Bruce could hear someone moaning repeatedly--deep, echoing moans, fringed with need--and it took his addled brain quite a few seconds to realize that they were coming from his own mouth.
Abruptly, the Joker stopped everything, and Bruce had to bite his lip to keep himself from protesting loudly.
"Ah ah, can't let you have all the fun, can I?" the Joker said, waggling a blood-stained finger. With all the grace of a rabid dog, the Joker hitched himself up on Bruce's body until he was poised over Bruce's aching length. Without any preamble or--much to Bruce's horror--any kind of lubrication, the Joker lowered himself inch by burning inch onto Bruce's cock. The guttural groan that spewed from the Joker's mouth nearly made Bruce snap. It scared him. He suddenly completely understood the man he was dealing with. He could see just how deep his madness went. If he'd had the use of his arms, Bruce would have thrown the man off and ran, because he suddenly had to come to terms with the fact that the only way that the Joker could be stopped was by death. But now Bruce was completely at the man's mercy, and all he could do was cower and moan as he battled the pleasure.
Deep, throaty moans and half-breathless laughter flowed in a schizophrenic stream from the Joker's red lips. His make-up was beginning to ooze like oil and rotten milk, dripping down the constantly moving column of his throat. His hair swung with each brutal bounce, clinging to his neck, his face. The hardest thing for Bruce to ignore was the unmistakable tent that the Joker's little skirt had become. The Joker, always quick to exploit Bruce's every weakness, noticed his fixation and promptly milked it for all it was worth. He ran his hand from his chest all the way down to the prominent bulge and began rubbing his palm obscenely along his erection through the cloth.
Bruce finally managed to tear his gaze away, but the lack of visual reception only made the rest of his senses magnify. He could hear every rhythmic grunt from the Joker's throat, every wet smack of skin against skin; he could smell the acrid combination of blood, paint, and sex; and, of course, the hardest to ignore--he could feel every hot jolt of pleasure as the Joker came down on him. Suddenly there were fingers gripping his jaw, digging into the thick rubber of his mask and dragging his face back forward.
"Look--at--me," the Joker commanded, his void-black eyes boring into Bruce's, holding his gaze as effectively as if he'd been hypnotized.
Bruce just stopped trying. He held Joker's gaze without even attempting to resist. He had given up all thought of escaping with his dignity intact--his new plan was just to get it over with as soon as he possibly could, no matter how much he might accidentally enjoy himself in the process.
Finally able to latch onto a concrete justification, Bruce gave himself over entirely. He began matching the Joker's thrusts, forcing himself even harder and deeper into his captor. The Joker gave a moan that was slightly different from his earlier over-the-top theatrics; it was involuntary, raw, and breathless, and it made Bruce throb.
There were no taunts now, no back-and-forth animosity, just breathless snatches of laughter, unrestrained moans, and harsh panting.
Bruce could feel himself quickly sweeping towards the brink, and from the amount of moisture leaking through the fabric of the Joker's skirt where he was still palming himself, it looked like he wouldn't last much longer either--Bruce tried to ignore the fact that that knowledge was only bringing him to the edge faster.
Without warning, the Joker leaned down and paused scant inches from Bruce's face, as though about to kiss him, but instead he bestowed a gnawing, sucking, bite onto Bruce's lower lip. The hot tang of blood overwhelmed Bruce's taste buds once again, but this time he decided that he wasn't going to be only on the receiving end. With a grunt of effort, he dislodged the Joker's teeth by jerking back painfully, then coming forward at lightning speed to capture the Joker's mouth in a biting kiss worthy of a cobra.
Bruce of course knew that the Joker derived enjoyment of pain at least on some level--it had been painfully clear during his interrogation. But he hadn't imagined just how much it would affect him in this situation. The Joker's deep moans suddenly became high-pitched, muffled squeals, his movements became even more jerky and erratic than before, and Batman felt a sticky warmth spill onto his lower stomach. He was taken by surprise at this reaction--at least, that's how he would later justify the fact that he came immediately after witnessing it.
There were several blissfully blank seconds.
Bruce was very disappointed when he had to think again.
The Joker had collapsed forward onto Bruce's chest, his frame rattling with deep, panting breaths. After a moment, he sat back up and gracelessly dismounted, landing on the floor with unsteady feet and adjusting his nurse uniform, clearly untroubled by the brand-new stain on the front of the skirt.
"See? Wasn't so bad, was it?" he said with a sly grin. "I dare say you even enjoyed it, if the pain I'm gonna feel next time I sit down is any judge."
Bruce scowled and found himself extremely grateful for the mask that hid the shame burning in his cheeks.
"Okay, I played your little game," he growled. "Now untie me."
"Untie you? Who said anything about that?" the Joker asked innocently, rocking back on his heels. He gave a high giggle and retrieved the detonator from his pocket. "The deal was that I wouldn't blow this whole place to kingdom come with both of us inside it. I never said anything about letting you goooo."
Bruce groaned. He should have known the psychopath would twist things around.
"I also never said anything about not blowing this place up after we've gotten outside," the Joker said, winking maliciously. "So if you want me to stay a man of my word, I'd say you've got about... 30 seconds to wriggle out the window. Tootles, Batsy! It's been oodles of fun!" the Joker said; he then promptly turned and ran out the door, his cackling laughter echoing down the hall the entire way.
Batman sat still for a second, trying to let his brain catch up. But then it was like a switch had been flipped, and he sat straight up and swung his bound legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his heart trying to leap out of his chest. He had no doubt in his mind that the Joker would blow the place, especially now that he'd had his fun. Bruce hopped frantically toward the window, trying not to think about how ridiculous he looked. His entire body ached, and he was painfully aware that he was still naked from neck to knees, covered with blood, make-up, and semen. Reaching the window, he realized that he was still several stories up, and he would have to make a jump of it. Mind racing now, he maneuvered his bound wrists until he was able to press a small button on his belt. A second later, the 'pod appeared and screeched to a halt under his window. He was just barely able to reach the second button, which caused the roof of the 'pod to open up, the sections telescoping back into each other. Taking a deep breath and cursing the Joker with every last fiber of his body, Batman shoved himself out the window.
~
Later, Alfred would say that he was extremely lucky to have gotten away with only a dislocated shoulder. Neither of them talked about the state Alfred found him in when the 'pod auto-drove him home, although the silence was almost more unbearable than words.
From the encounter, Bruce was left with three things: some new scars, some singe marks on the back of the 'pod, and a third thing which came later that same night. It was only hours before the ferry incident[1], and Bruce was racing out of his house when he noticed something... odd. He stopped short and turned, unable to put his finger on it. When he looked down, he saw a small flash of white peeking out from under his doormat. He pulled it out, and found, to his horror, a joker playing card. It had a large kiss mark painted on it, and the message 'Had a great time, but next time how about you buy me dinner?'
Bruce crumpled the card, but stuffed it in his pocket instead of throwing it away. He couldn't say why, but somehow it felt... right.

THE END


1 - I'm not sure if this could have actually happened, even with the messing-up of the timeline. But I'm too lazy to go find a pirated version to go and double-check. XD