Disclaimer: Not mine. DC's. Grumble, grumble.
Warnings: Slash, NSFW, an insane amount of fluff (Ick. Sorry), far too much angst, long, brief one-sided het. Oh and it's unbeta'd, so expect mistakes.

Author's note: I apologise for the length again, I seriously don't know how this keeps happening. This one has several changes in pov, but I couldn't be bothered splitting it up into chapters. It also gets really, really fluffy- sorry about that. Sorry for the het D: This includes character bashing of characters that I really, really like. but it was necessary for the story, so don't baaaw at me :D. This was written fror the KnightVsAnarchy callenge round 2 on LJ, so it's fairly rushed. Reviews make Joker do this face- :3

* * *

It was freezing. Absolutely bitterly freezing. Gotham never took the winter very well and this year was no exception. But as he stood on top of a factory rooftop, exposed to the turbulent weather, the Joker barely noticed the stinging icy grip of the wind. He looked up at the pitch black sky. It wasn't a commonly known fact, but clowns were in fact nocturnal. Oh yes. He had learned very quickly that coming out to play when the sun was peeking out of the clouds was no use- he'd have no playmate. But at night time, well that's when the freaks come out.

The Joker shivered harshly, paying no mind to the wind but instead reacting to the prospect of dancing with his Bat. He was breathing more rapidly and his already face-splitting grin widened to maximum levels, showing off discoloured teeth. This was sure to get Batsy's attention. He'd rigged the factory with 498 bombs- a bomb for every day he'd known his Bat. But that wasn't the end of it, oh no. Once the detonator had been activated, the only way to stop the subsequent explosion was to follow an intricate set of cryptic instructions and play his game. If you win, great! Bombs don't go off. If you lose, the bombs explode and the special surprise the Joker had hidden in the walls would be unleashed upon an unsuspecting city. It was perfect! The clown giggled madly at the plan. He had made sure the Bat had gotten wind of his intentions, to make sure he'd be lured out. And he absolutely had to show up this time. He had to, he had to, he had to.

The Joker felt a quick pang of fear stab in his stomach. Batman wouldn't abandon him again. Not this time. Right? The clown swallowed thickly. He hadn't seen his Bat once, not once since the stranger had come to town. At first he thought maybe he just needed time to think over all of the information that the clown had sent his way when they fought. The speeches on codependency and infinity and all the special stories that the Joker saved for his Bat and the wonderful theory he held that just warmed him to his core. But after three weeks, he started to feel the claws of anxiety grip his flesh. And now, it had been two months. Two fucking months with no appearances from the vigilante. He should've seen the Bat by now and the fact he hadn't was tearing away at his fractured mind. He knew full well Batman was his addiction and not being able to score sent him spiralling into withdrawal. He'd felt a maddened passion sweep over him -he'd do anything to see his other half at this point. Elaborate plans and games were created, random sprees enacted, hell he'd even covered Gotham city hall in pink bubblegum once- but still no Bat. Was it him? Had he done something wrong? The questions ran like an annoyingly catchy song through his thoughts and he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. Have you ever felt only half complete? Unfinished. It's worse than not existing at all and The Joker had spent years like that and it was the most miserable existence there had ever been- until now. Now, he had found his perfect dancing partner, the machete to his gun, the punchline to his joke and he'd lost him again. The fact he knew what it felt like to be whole was rotting away at his insides. He had begun to feel himself slip closer and closer to catatonia until one say he saw a report on TV. A stranger had arrived in his sandbox- stealing jewellery, stealing headlines, stealing his Bat!

Hatred and rage surged through his body. Who the fuck did this whore think she was? Draping herself over his Batman, stealing him from the clown? He'd heard rumours too, and of the less than scrupulous kind. Touches of leather rubbing against kevlar, stolen kisses in dark corners as fake as the bitch's nails. He'd begun to feel the shekels of bitter jealously close in on him. Before all of this, he'd only have to compete with Crane and Baconface for Batsy's attention and sure, they were both nice enough to look at, if you were in to that kind of thing, but neither held exotic curves or a purring voice or a penchant for S&M gear. Then she swooped in and now he was playing alone. He couldn't let this creature suck his Bat into her black hole- no pun intended. He was his. So, he had to try harder. Cause more mayhem, conduct better carnage, hell he'd even schemed. HIM! But he'd do anything to get his dancing partner back from the sharp clutches of those talons. So here he was on that roof. Waiting. And the Bat would come. He had to.

* * *

The Joker's poison green eyes had not moved from the edge of the rooftops for hours. They had been fixed to that spot, waiting for a figure to pounce over the edge and start karate-chopping him into oblivion. But there was nothing. Not a sound. The Joker felt unfamiliar emotions crescendo in his chest and throat. He pulled his jade eyes up to look at the sky, like he'd done earlier. Orange, fiery, blazing, mocking orange. Wetness built up in his eyes, covering the emerald orbs, only to be quelled quickly by eyelids shutting tightly and a low rumble of laughter. The small chuckles rapidly evolved into a full blown laugh riot and it wouldn't stop. Wave after waved of giggles flowed freely out of that painted mouth, burying all of that dirty feeling from outside scrutiny.

Abandoned.

The word sang like a melancholy ballad in his heart and tore it in two. He wanted the sky to bleed, he wanted the world to corrode and for everything in existence to disintegrate leaving nothing but Batman. Teach him a thing or two about being alone. Nothing mattered now. What was the use of playing battleship alone. He had no-one to sink. He couldn't even bring himself to push the button on his detonator. It would be pointless. An explosion doesn't look so good in daylight and what's a firework display with no one to watch it?

Slowly he pushed himself up, still laughing, and wandered away from the building. Around the corner, a purple Chevrolet was parked, waiting for its master. A white face popped out of the blackened window and regarded the unhappy clown with a grieved expression.

'Mr J, puddin'. What's wrong?' a high-pitched voice squeaked. The Joker shuddered. He should have known his goons would've brought his fan girl along. The former Doctor was infatuated with the madman and insisted on morphing herself into a feminine pseudo-version of him. Harley Quinn. She was cute. Bouncy blonde hair, lovely round eyes and a bea-utiful face. But it was all aesthetics. It meant nothing to the Joker. He'd been avoiding her advances none-too-tactfully, threatening to fill her mouth with bullets, or chop her arm off so she could use it as a phallic instrument in place of himself, but she had just giggled. Even when he'd savagely lay into her, she'd laugh and then moan and soon the Joker would be laughing too, forgetting about his rage and just indulging her in a fit of giggles. That's why he tolerated her. She provided him with a distraction. She appeared not long after the Bat had disappeared and her outbursts amused him. Besides she had spunk and wasn't afraid to embrace chaos. In his therapy sessions with her, he had made sure she'd gotten ahead of the curve, or almost there anyway, and now she'd begun to spread anarchy with him. But sweet Buddha on a roller coaster, she was annoying!

She would never leave him alone, she was like the punchline to a really bad Joke that he couldn't get out of his brain. She was forever present, twittering on about how right she was for the Joker, how perfectly they matched and about destiny and fate. Now, the Joker liked to think he was a patient man, but there's only so much a person can take before they snap. And snap he did! Several times. But then everything would dissolve into manic laughter, as it always did, and the viscous circle would start once more and somewhere in his mind he pondered on whether he was stuck with this idiot in his car. He yanked open the door and plonked himself inside.
'Drive', he commanded with a growl and the girl immediately started the car and sped off and he wondered how long it would be until he'd kill her.

* * *

An hour or so later, he was standing over Harley who was lying on a filthy bed in a rotten motel room. His vision was blinded by a maddened rage and he was punching her, kicking, scratching and biting her, laughing all the while. Deep crimson leaked from the wounds he was inflicting on her, dark purple splotches appearing across her pale skin. And she just lay there! Perfectly still, aside from the writhing and arches of the back as she curled into the pain. She soaked everything he had up, moaning and whining in ecstasy. And he felt more empty than he did before. But still, he'd carry on. Swinging his arms up and crashing them down, fists collided with snowy flesh, decorating it scarlet as shiny black material ripped and tore, revealing blonde hair. He felt nothing. Obviously no pity, no remorse, no anger towards her, no love, he didn't even find this amusing. But laughter dribbled out regardless until salty liquid squeezed through tightly shut eyelids and his stomach muscles ached and then she was arching and shuddering as she thrashed about underneath him. She cried out his name in worship, signalling her orgasm.

He wasn't surprised. He wasn't disgusted or intrigued. Nothing inside him moved. He was broken. Hollow.

Later, on the ten o'clock morning news, there were reports of a massacre at a local motel. It was seemingly random; the police discovered no motives. Just the actions of someone lacking ties to this world with a grudge against the vermin that walk it.

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The process of putting on his suit was one of the most exhilarating experiences Bruce had ever had. Panels clicking into place, sliding on gloves, piecing together equipment, slipping on his cape and then finally donning his mask. Some may say that this was his true face- all kevlar, impenetrable, cold and stern. A manifestation of his soul. All Bruce knew was that when he made the transition each night from Bruce Wayne, billionaire airhead to Gotham's dark protector, he felt pleasant surges like a current of energy run through his body. He'd feel his thoughts change, his emotions still and his persona alter. It was an absolute rush and it never got old, never got tired. No matter how often he'd do it, every night was fresh, new and exciting. Sometimes he'd dread going out and facing criminals (as well as facing himself) but the actual process of becoming his alter ego was amazing. It felt like switching lives with someone, something, free. Something dark and primal yet something morally strong and right. Yes, this feeling was one of the things that made this whole thing so much easier.

Another was the feeling of entering the fresh night air. It called to him like a siren's song, luring him out of his cave so he could swim through it, high in the sky. As each gush of air would whoosh past him, he'd feel on top of the world. Alive. Free.

And it's incomparable. When he'd soar in the black sky or whip past the people of the ground on his way to make a difference, it felt like there was a million soft hands in the air, helping him stay there, guiding him. He stood on top of Wayne Tower after he'd grappled up there. He often started his patrols in this manner since Wayne Tower was one of the highest points in the city and as he launched himself off of it, it meant he could sustain his glide, thereby meaning he could scan the surrounding are for longer and potentially stop more crime. Plus, if he was honest, it was really freaking fun. There was nothing quite like dressing up as a monster and gliding around a city you felt was yours and protecting it from scum. It was just wonderful.

As he stood contemplating this, he heard a scream follow by a shot, aswell as distant sires that Bruce knew would do little good. Crime levels had risen again recently, grime and filth building up as its cleaner was otherwise engaged. He'd been very...distracted lately. His attentions stolen by another seemingly more pressing issue. The Cat.

She'd stormed her way into his life, dabbling in darkness, acting the criminal but still remaining sheltered by good. She'd never killed, never tortured she was nothing like the rest of the scum he'd fought. Nothing like-
And at first she was a welcome distraction. The introduction of a new face in Gotham's rogue gallery provided Bruce with a lot of work; trying to predict her next move, scrambling to stay ahead of her, grabbing any means of stopping her exploits. It was hard work and meant his mind was less likely to wander to thoughts of him.

Before Catwoman had arrived in town, he had found himself fighting the clown almost nightly. He was always engaging him, stopping his numerous crazy plots, listening to those ramblings of his intently whilst feigning disinterest and watching the incompetent police department cart him off to Arkham only for the painted man to escape a few hours later. And it would start all over again. But what had begun to worry Bruce was that he'd started to look forward to seeing the Joker. He wanted to watch his elaborate plans, which were in reality just mere coincidences due to his penchant for chaos, unfold. Wanted to hear him blab on and on. But more than anything, he had found himself relishing in the touches as they fought because it had seemed like the quick punches and slashes of knives were just the base cover for something much more profound. To spill blood, to bruise skin was so inane, but the underlying meaning was rich with metaphors that made Bruce's body blaze. Including the process of becoming Batman and gliding through the crisp night air, Bruce had never felt more alive than when he fought the Joker. It was more skilled, more like art than any tango, foxtrot or piece of ballet. In a terrifyingly real way, it was beautiful. And it was unnerving. He had felt the grips of obsession begin to claw at him and he wasn't that inclined to fight them off. And it petrified him.

So when this new enemy came along, he had jumped at the diversion, but then she kept appearing. Everywhere. Every single night for the past two months he'd seen her at least once. Sometimes she'd rob a store of shiny items, sometimes she'd stop a mugging and proceed to lecture the mugee. Sometimes she'd drop a less that subtle flirtatious hint at Bruce's feet and would press lightly against him. And he would have been rather flattered by her attentions, but the thing was, she was taking up all of his time. When he wasn't cleaning up after the mess she'd leave behind or trying to foil her robbery attempts, he was trying to figure out a way of removing himself from her overbearing presence without hurting her feelings. Time consuming didn't even cut it. Crime had surged in his times of distraction and not just petty crime either, but bigger villains, even the Joker had started to act more often and he couldn't even be out there to deal with it. After a while, he had found himself actually missing the clown. Just last night he hadn't been able to stop The Joker from murdering several people at a motel due to Catwoman's antics and he'd felt annoyance subside and anger set in. It wasn't just because he couldn't save those people either, but also because the leather-clad woman had stopped him from seeing the Joker for two months. Two months!

It was starting to take it's toll on Bruce. He'd find himself wondering where the clown was, what he was up to. A couple of alarming times his mind skimmed over whether or not the maniac was okay and he'd caught himself and groaned because it was just wrong. The safety of his nemesis certainly wasn't a priority of his and he'd scold himself for even thinking of him. But in the end he'd be longing to see the lunatic. But then Catwoman would trigger the alarm of some high-tech jewellers and he'd have to swoop in a save the day, leaving another night void of greasepaint.

And what made it worse was the new girl. A stranger who had appeared recently and everywhere the Joker went, the lamb was sure to go. Always hanging off his arms

'Like a parasite', Bruce had thought scathingly. She wore a red and black spandex catsuit with a matching jesters hat, a black eye mask and slathered white greasepaint over a pale face and a black smile. She was fashioned after the Joker's own persona, but Bruce had decided it was no where near as original. Or sincere. He knew that no matter how sick the Joker's reasoning was, at least he was born out of chaos and that meant something to him. It wasn't just an image change due to a sick infatuation of the mentally disturbed. Bruce had actually scoffed when he'd heard her name; Harley Quinn. How... deplorable. He'd have thought the Joker would have disposed of such a cheap imitation instantly, but he was wrong.

The stranger was kept around for some obscure reason and soon almost every incident in which the Joker appeared, involved the mad woman in some way. She would hold his guns and film his threat- her awful, shrill voice droning on in the background- and she'd move closer to him and place bold touches on the clown. Bruce had started to feel the itching sense of rivalry develop within him. People had began to talk about the Joker's 'girlfriend', having seen her caress the psychopath and drape herself over him- a seemingly suicidal move. Bruce just couldn't understand how his enemy could possibly respond to such a fraud, nothing but an obsessed young fool with no ideals or meaning. Not like the two of them. What did he see in the ex-doctor? Bruce had found himself lying awake at night, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and annoyance as he wondered about the nature of their relationship.

Did the clown act the good mental patient and tell the former psychiatrist things? Did they ever just hang out and watch a movie like normal people? Did she know what he looked like underneath the makeup and hair dye? That one always forced low grumbles out of his throat. She had no right! She wasn't a part of their performance. She was just a groupie. And yet there she was, every night that Bruce couldn't get to his clown, she'd be there, taking his place. They would run across his city, creating chaos together and Bruce would feel curiously alone. It was stupid, he knew that. He shouldn't want the villain's company but the fact that this little hussy was latching onto him made Bruce feel uncomfortable. Possessiveness would swell inside of him and he just didn't want the Joker to be with that woman. He didn' belong with her.

Bruce thought that since he had missed the clown last night, he would find the Joker tonight, and they'd fight once more and all of these building emotions or whatever they were would be quelled and he would remind the Joker just why he didn't belong to Harley. So, he had set off, throwing himself off Wayne Tower and landing gracefully on the roof of an office block, hoping to engage his enemy. But as he heard the promising crunch of gravel, he'd turned as instead of being greeted by a picture of pure, undiluted anarchy, a curvaceous woman clad in a one suit stood in front of him, hips cocked out slightly.

'Hello handsome', she purred at him and he wanted to scream in frustration. This routine was becoming so tired. He just wanted to leave and find his counterpart so he could remove him from the insufferable Quinn. He didn't have time to waste with the Cat. Her full lips pouted suggestfully, followed by the upturning of a corner of her mouth in a smirk. It's so unlike the Joker's smile. Even his smallest smiles have more feeling behind them and ,for someone lacking in human emotions, that was quite the feat. Her smirks and ghosts of smiles did nothing to move Bruce. They were so insincere, so meaningless. And he did like Catwoman, for what it's worth, but this was just getting old. She had begun to walk towards Bruce, swaying her hips at him as he just stared longingly into the night sky behind her.

'Fancy seeing you out here', she whispered seductively as she approached him. As her slender forearms weaved themselves around the Kevlar covered neck of the Bat, Bruce remained the picture of stoicism, the scene having played out too many times to illicit a reaction from him. Her touches had once been intriguing but were becoming frankly annoying now that they had lost their thrill. This wasn't exciting anymore, it was a nuisance. The thief had begun to press her body into Bruce's, no doubt attempting to arouse him.

'What's wrong, Batman?' she murmured, 'You seem quite tonight'. She smirked again as she ran a leather gloved hand along his broad chest. Bruce fought the urge to role his eyes.
'I don't have time for this', he growled, feeling annoyance begin to slip into his body, mixing with the frustration. The night was quickly slipping away once more and there was so much to be done. He couldn't afford to deal with Catwoman.

'Well then we'll just have to hurry it along, won't we?' she breathed. Bruce made a muffled squeak of a protest as full pink lips covered his own. Catwoman pushed herself firmly against Bruce, who was doing his best to stop his arms from flailing at the side of him. Everything inside of him was screaming at him to shove her away and bolt it. It wasn't that she was a bad kisser, on the contrary- her lips were plump and warm and she knew how to move them very well- but there was just nothing there. Bruce couldn't even will his mouth to respond. It just felt wrong.

A warm, sniping tongue lapped at the seam of his mouth, trying to force its way in, and Bruce decided enough was enough. Placing his hands on the Cat's shoulders, he pushed her away from him lightly, trying hard not to offend her or piss her off. He had seen her angry, and it was pretty damn scary. However, as he looked into her dull, green eyes, he found them to appear quite tranquil, mixed with an undercurrent of lust. She regarded Bruce's stunned face through heavy lids and brought a hand up to caress his mask.

'You felt that, didn't you?', she whispered into his face, 'I could feel you shivver'. Bruce didn't know what specific 'feeling' she was alluding to, but all he had felt was the a niggling inside of him that he was betraying something. And it wasn't pleasant. Right now, he was just thanking the stars for Catwoman's inability to not talk constantly which meant that he didn't have to contribute to a conversation- something which would be very hard to accomplish with a brain that resembled jello. His thoughts and rain processes weren't returning quite as quickly as he'd have liked. He didn't really know why he was so shocked at the actions- they had certainly been foreshadowed enough- but he just felt unsettled. He should've felt something towards the beautiful, feisty woman who was throwing herself at him. Hell, if this was a few years ago, he probably would've responded in a heartbeat. But so many things had changed since then. He could feel nothing there at all.

'Batman', Catwoman said huskily, dragging him out of his thoughts as she attempted to capture his blue orbs in what he thought she assumed was an alluring stare. She seemed so self assured.
'Have you ever felt more alive?'. Her question was rhetorical; she believed that she already held the knowledge of Bruce's answer. Bruce could see in her eyes that her body was practically buzzing with sensations. She sighed deeply and brought her head in to rest on an armoured chest, nuzzling against the cold plates. Bruce still hadn't moved an inch.
'Oh, Batman', she sighed deeply,'I've never felt like that before. What a kiss!'. She was absolutely gushing now as Bruce formulated a plan to politely excuse himself whilst not hurting her feelings.

'Even when we first met, we were perfect strangers, but I just knew!', she moved her face back up to look in the eyes of the flustered dark knight, as she smiled softly. 'We are meant to be. We're so alike, you and I. We're not like the rest of them. We belong in the shadows. Together.' This was so, so wrong. Those words had been said to him in another guise before and when he had heard them, he had felt truth ring in his chest. He'd felt alive. In the dark corners of his mind, he'd heard the meaning behind the waterfall of words and he had agreed. Now he felt cheated. Here those words sounded so clichéd and false. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Catwoman's eyes were sparkling now and she moved forward as if to capture his lips again in another empty kiss, but she paused just before they touched, ghosting over his mouth.
'We complete each other', she breathed before slamming her mouth hard against Bruce's. Aqua eyes sprang open and alarm bells were going off in every corner of his mind.

No,no,no,no,no,no!

He felt movement surge back into his muscles as his fight or flight response kicked in. He pushed the woman away, panic rocking like thrashing waves inside of him, and all but stumbled backwards. He held his arms out in front of him in a manner which he hoped read 'Stay the hell away'. Catwoman's face flickered from shock to rage to amusement and she sauntered towards the retreating vigilante slowly.

'Oh, so you wanna pretend?' she giggled, cocking her head to the side, almost patronisingly. 'I prefer a challenge anyway'. Bruce heard as her voice became husky and low and recognised the muscles in her thighs shift in such a way that he knew she was going to ponce. Literally pounce. In a flash of a whipping cape, he was running. Throwing himself off the top of the building, he left a confused feline without giving her a chance to question him.

Her words rattles around in his head. They had sounded more disturbing than the rasping, choking noise of a dying man. More twisted than the sound of a chainsaw hacking into vulnerable flesh. They didn't belong there. He never should have heard those words spill out of a low, breathy feminine voice. It was like a bad cover of a classic song. When they came from a nasal, high pitched, very much masculine mouth, they made him bubble with an amalgam of feeling. He had felt needed. Here, they were baron lies and he had to get away. It was slightly childish, and he couldn't help but recall the same feeling whilst running away from girls on the playground at recess because they had cooties, but he couldn't be near this woman right now. He had to find his arch foe. He had a feeling that these sensation would simply evaporate once they connected again. And god, he needed that now more and ever.

However, as the dark form retreated into the blackness, in a shadowed, darkness drenched corner of a rooftop across from where a bewildered Cat stood, wide emerald eyes blazed, burning with hatred and glossy with stinging tears. To look upon this creature, remodelled under the desires of betrayal, you would see the absolute personification of raw, murderous fury.

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Saliva was flying through the air as an inhuman screech rattled the environment. The Joker was livid. He was snarling and thrashing as he pulled at his grimy, curly hair. Pure anger swamped him unlike any he'd ever felt. This was why the Bat had abandoned him? For this whore!? He'd heard all those rumours but he had never really bought into them. Never trusted the words of nobodies that his Bat could... No. Because his Bat knew. The Joker had been sure of it. It was dormant and lying in wait in his mind, but Batman just had to know! It had been hacking away at the Joker's remaining sanity since they had first met in a shower of broken glass, flying sweethearts and blistering chaos and the notion that the Bat couldn't actually feel it too was something The Joker couldn't even begin to entertain. But he'd seen him. Kissing that BDSM reject. At night time! In their time. The clown literally gagged, no exaggeration present. Physical sickness swirled inside.

Salty wetness ran down his face and he cackled wildly before it stopped abruptly and hatched out into a scream. It was savage and animalistic- the howl of a dying beast and as it echoed through the air, it chilled all those who could hear it to the bone. No laughter would come. All that remained was bitter, seething rage.

So he watched the leathered form leave and shadowed her until she came to an inky alley. Springing out from his hiding place, he attacked, anger flowing like a tsunami within him. Nothing but a satisfying crimson made from Cat juice would quell it. With his favourite crow bar, he struck her repeatedly in his enraged state. None of her fancy moves nor her enhanced senses could prepare her for an attack of this degree. It was brutal. Nothing about this madman appeared human, instead resembling the ferocious embodiment of chaos that he claimed to be. Wild and uncontainable

In no time at all, she was unconscious. He stood seething over her, his breathing ragged and deep. He fumbled for a phone, resisting the urge to take his knife and end the bitch now. No, this had to be done right. After all, it was about sending a m-
'Harley!', he snarled into the device, barking out a command to his hench wench to come and pick him and his... guest up. They had work to do.

* * *

An hour or so later, he was still towering over the inanimate body, only now they had moved to a more intimate location- a dark, dank warehouse in the meat-packing district. The Cat had been strapped down to a metal chair by some of his goons. He hadn't wanted to touch her, as silly as it may sound. She was a living disease to him. Absolute filth. And well, he hadn't had his shots yet. He couldn't bare to look at her and yet couldn't help but stare, the way one watches a car accident with intrigue. He blinked as he saw he eyeballs move underneath the heavily decorates eyelids, waking up. Soon dirty seaweed eyes came view, She furrowed her brow, then upon seeing who her attacker had been, she hissed. How cliché.

'What's the matter, kitty?' he asked, disguising his rage with a child's voice, though it still scorched in his eyes,' Clown got your tongue?'. The question was bitter, spat out and he couldn't even pretend to giggle.
'Let me go!', she snarled, thrashing around which earned a 'tisk-tisk' noise from the painted man.
'Oh, so rude!', he chided, indignantly, 'And after all the trouble I went through to get you here, too.' Finding her attempts at escaping futile, Catwoman settled for glaring at the twisted clown, who's eyes were alight with mania.
'Don't you like my company, fatcat?', he sneered. 'You must prefer Batman's'. The growl was deep and cacophonous, echoing harshly about the baron room. 'You seem to spend enough time with him.' His fingers twitched madly for a knife. No, no. Not yet. Catwoman scoffed.
'Well he is a total freak, unlike you' she spat. As white hot, blind rage took him over once more, he allowed his fist to collide with her pretty, little face.
'WRONG!', he barked, holding her jaw in his hand, shaking her head, 'He's .Me'. The Cat laughed at him, ridicule prevalent, as blood trickled out of her mouth. He stood up.

'We were just fine until you came along. Our dances were well rehearsed but always...fun. And I could tell he was starting to get it.,' his voice choked off. His eyes stared into the wall, remembering. He blinked once, twice, then turned around.
'Then you, you little home-wrecker, you came along and stole him like one of your shiny bracelets', he raved, spit flying at the Cat, 'He was mine!'. His voice boomed through the metal room, reverberating, echoing. His head was spinning, screaming more than usual. He rested it against a pillar and brought his jade eyes back to look at his hostage.

'You can't have him', he sneered ,'I won't let you.' Catwoman's face flickered with comprehension and her blood splashed mouth pulled up into a smirk.
'Y'know, I heard so much about you, clown' she began, her voice jeering,'The creepy, crazy clown who's going to destroy the city!' She regarded her fellow outlaw with an almost pitying glance. 'So dangerous, so unpredictable. 'A force of chaos', people say. I'd never have guessed you were just a fag with a schoolgirl crush on my bat!'

It wasn't the fact she'd called him a 'fag'- in fact the homophobic remark had almost made him snigger. It wasn't surprising that this bitch subscribed to such base, ignorant theories. Hell, he had even let the 'school crush' remark slide. But what had him flying across the room, knife in the air, striking the woman madly, was the last phrase. 'My bat'.

Her bat?

Everything he'd been feeling recently catapulted out of him and whooshed through the hole it created like an avalanche and suddenly the disgusting Cat had a knife sticking out her upper arm. It would've been her head, had he not diverted his aim at the last second, not wanting to spoil the show. The feline's shrill shriek was satisfying enough for now. Watching blood ooze out from the wound he had created on the fowl beast gave him a pleasure boost, and he should be cackling right now. Instead, he regarded the whining woman with a sick fascination.

He knelt beside her and tore the knife out from her, looking on with disgust as he saw all her dirty blood contaminating his beautiful blade. Wiping it on her shiny suit, he looked into her eyes.
'He is not yours', he growled quietly before getting up and leaving the cold room. His fangirl stood at the door with an expression of glee plastered on her face.

'Mr J, that was awesome!', she squealed, making a clapping motion,'I wish you'd have cut the skanky whore a bit more, though. I'd have loved to watch her bleed out'. He turned to face the girl, expression grim.
'Harley', he snarled, watching with satisfaction as she winced, 'I need you to get the Bat for me'. He raised his eyebrows in a manner that said 'You had better fucking understand' and turned back to his guest.
'But how do I-' Harley began before a very loud 'JUST DO IT!!' cut her off. Squeaking in fear, she yelped a meek 'Yes, boss' and scurried off to formulate a plan, leaving the Joker to play some more

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Gliding through the inky air, Bruce's heart was thudding in his chest. The was supposed to be the relaxing part, but he felt like he was running away. Those wrong words laced every last one of his thoughts. He couldn't shake these feelings that were chasing him. As irrational as it was, he felt practically raped. Of course, not physically. But everything he'd known since he'd donned his cape and cowl rested on the twisted and reluctant bond he had with the psychopathic clown. And with that simple phrase, Catwoman had perverted everything it meant. When the Joker had said it, it was enriched in meaning, now it was nothing. A nonchalant phrase said in order to secure a kiss. He shivered.

He positively had to see his enemy. He needed something familiar, and as much as he hated to admit it, when he was Batman the most familiar thing he had was the Joker. The constant thing in his nights. Everything else was a variable, but not this man. He was guaranteed to be there in some form. Maybe they wouldn't fight every night, maybe he'd simply see a flash of purple, or the evidence of his presence. Sometimes, it would just be his thoughts flickering to the maniac, as he contemplated their 'connection'. Maybe he'd get the word that the clown had escaped Arkham and the sinking feeling of dread decorated by excitement would fill his body. But no matter the guise in which it would manifest, the Joker would always make an appearance. Until she'd come along and slipped into his nights and the clown suddenly had stopped showing up. Or he'd miss him by a millisecond. He had been tolerating the separation until now, but what had transpired tonight changed everything. It wasn't his brain deciding this, but ever cell in his body that ached to feel the madman, the part of him roaring inside for it's counterpart, the parts that felt they were lacking. And he couldn't go another night without seeing the Joker.

So he was running, flying, swooping all across the city, scoring every dark alley and cesspool of crime for some sign of the Joker, but so far he'd come across nothing. He began to feel desperate. Never before would he have thought he'd be seeking out the clown to simply see him, but he was, and the fact he couldn't find him was pouring a mixture of annoyance and fear into his veins. It was pivotal to his mental state that he locate the insane man tonight. He needed to make everything normal again, forget the Cat's words and start over so he could finally start fighting crime properly once more. He certainly couldn't do that in this stupor he was in. He jumped over a short distance between two buildings and looked up. An odd-looking bat-signal lit up the sky. It was messy, sticking out in odd places and he knew instantly it wasn't coming from Gordon. It was coming from the completely wrong direction, the meat packing district. Quirking an eyebrow under the cowl, he debated whether or not to carry on searching for his foe or to answer the botched bat-signal. With a frustrated huff, he knew what he had to do. Someone was calling out for him, and although something about this was screaming 'trap', this is why he existed. People depended on him now. He couldn't let them down. So, turning around he drew out his grapple gun and started to head towards the meat packing district.

As he neared the location of the light, he realised something was very wrong. Even through the darkness, he could see that what made up the Bat was flesh coloured, dosed with blood. Dropping down in front of it, he felt bile surge in his throat. On top of a large searchlight, around two dozen severed human hands were arranged in such away that it projected a sloppy Bat into the sky. Whoever had done this was absolutely deranged beyond redemption.

'Well, if it isn't The Ratman', a shrill, southern voice came from behind him. Whirling around he came face to face with the stranger that had taken it upon herself to attach herself firmly to the Joker's side since he'd last seen the madman.
'Quinn', He growled, utter disgust apparent on his face. This creature in front of him was an absolute mockery of everything the Joker stood for, granted that wasn't much, but he believed in anarchy. Harley believed in nothing aside from her infatuation with the clown. Bruce really didn't want to pinpoint it as jealously, because that just tasted silly on his tongue, but the fact this pretender got to see his arch enemy everyday when he'd not had any contact with him for months truthfully was getting to Bruce.

'You've got a lot of 'splaining to do, mister', she scolded him, wagging her finger, 'Mr J's been really down lately over something you've done'. The jester's voice deepened darkly as anger tinted her tone. 'And now he's unhappy and I can't fix it. My poor puddin'.' Before Bruce could stop it a loud, snarling growl rumbled in his chest and leaked out of his mouth.
'He is not yours,' he bellowed, shocking even himself at the possessive edge it had to it. A look of surprise washed over Harley's features before she regained composure and placed a sneer there instead.

'Like hell he isn't!', she shrieked. 'We've got a connection him and me. I understand him. People think he's an evil, awful psychopath- but he's just a lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics. (1) He needs me- we're perfect together'. The way her eyes had gotten buttery and how her voice adopted that gushing-tone made him feel sick. She was just a child. A naive, young child. She shouldn't be playing with the big boys in the city. The Joker had indeed fractured her mind well. Bruce glanced at the pile of severed limbs close to him. Okay, maybe 'child' was a poor description. Moving his eyes back to the lunatic, he saw that the loving look she'd held had slipped and instead anger was pasted over her pasty features.

'And now you've done something to him,' Harley screamed, insanity evident, 'We were happy! And now he doesn't laugh so much no more.' Bruce felt cold. There was something fundamentally wrong with that picture. Birds flew, fish swam and Jokers laughed. Maybe Harley had reason to look so worried. 'So once he's gotten rid of you, everything will be fine again.' Rid of him? Bruce practically snorted. Did the stupid woman really believe the Joker was going to kill him. She really didn't understand anything. Then again, she'd seen a lot more of the clown than he had recently. He felt a pang of irrational guilt. Maybe the Joker had changed in their time apart. No, it was impossible. What they both were was eternal. Forces and objects. He'd heard all about it before, and it's truth had chilled Bruce. But right now he was clinging to it. These strangers had entered the picture and everything was different. Any sense of normality (or as normal as a masked vigilante and a homicidal clown could be) was coveted.

'You think he even misses you?' she laughed cynically.' He doesn't need you, Bat! He's mine now!!' Bad choice of words.
'HE ISNOTYOURS!!', Bruce roared, his voice more wild than he'd ever heard it and he charged at the madwoman, fuelled by vexation and landed a hard punch on the flat of her nose. The woman slumped onto the floor and Bruce felt no pity. She was a criminal, a murderer and she was stomping all over his connection with the clown. And it pissed him off. Greatly.

Moving across to the 'roof access' door, he entered the warehouse. Suddenly he was struck with the thought that the Joker was inside and felt an unstable excitement. The prospect of fighting the clown made his chest hum and his face flush but he couldn't help but replay Quinn's words through his brain. Maybe the Joker really was going to try to kill him this time. He didn't know just how much he'd changed in their time apart, everything could be different. At his core, he couldn't believe this, but then how much could he gamble based on his instincts? Could he potentially walk in to danger relying on his ambiguous, temperamental bond with his arch foe? Sighing, he supposed he'd have to as he clambered down the stairs and entered a large, vast room.

Scanning the environment, he found the room was pretty much empty save for a few oil drums and crates. Moving slowly toward the barrels, he heard muffled moans. As he moved past a large crate, he saw Catwoman, tied to a chair and bleeding profusely out of a wound near her shoulder. Striding over to her quickly, he began to scramble to untie the bonds, forgetting to mind his surroundings. From behind another crate, the Joker jumped out and began beating Bruce fiercely with a crowbar. Having not expected the attack, Bruce stumbled on the floor, tripping up and falling down. As he looked up at the Joker, he felt his breath hitch. The man looked tired, warn out but most obvious he was seething. Anger was practically dripping off of him. The look in those fierce green eyes was startling. He'd never seen a look akin to that in those curiously alluring orbs before, and it frankly chilled him to the bone. Harley was right. The Joker was going to kill him. He scrambled to get up but the crow bar kept coming down, relentless. And when Bruce realised there was no laughter, no smiles, he gave up. He'd never felt so out of bounds before. This wasn't his Joker. Or if it was, everything they embodied had been ripped apart.

But as Bruce prepared for his fate, the blows stop coming and metal clanged against the cold floor. He looked up to see the Joker staring at him, rage still present but not as potent. It was mixed with hurt. And that stung more. Bruce was absolutely positive the clown didn't feel. That he couldn't be hurt. But there it was, plain as day, floating in beacons of jade.

'Saving her? Why am I not surprised?' The Joker hissed, still no smile. Bruce picked himself up, trying to stop concern showing on his face.
'What are you talking about, Joker?' God, it felt good to say his name, 'What's this about?' The maniac whirled around to face him.
'I saw you!!', he all but screeched, 'With her paws all over you. What did you think was going to happen, Batman? That I was just going to lay around and let her steal you?!' Bruce was dumbfounded. What was the clown talking about? Paws all over him? Aaah! The kiss.

Oh, fuck.

This was all because of that stolen kiss. Bruce looked up to the Joker's face again. He was pissed. But more than that, now he could see the hints of jealousy lying underneath. Thinking it over, he remembered just how he felt when Harley had merely insinuated that she and the Joker were partners. It had made him sick with an anger that he really knew was bitter jealously. If he'd seen them kissing, who knows how enraged he'd be. The maniac had grown quiet and was looking at Bruce like he'd just stolen his lollipop.

'I waited', he said in a small voice and Bruce felt everything shatter. 'I waited and waited you never came. Everything was perfect, I made it all just right and you never came.' The rage was returning in his eyes and his voice regaining it's edge. 'BECAUSE YOU WERE WITH HER!' And suddenly Bruce understood. Everything was clear. Why the clown was mad, why they both felt the the viscous jaws of jealousy close in on them, why he'd felt enraged at Harley, why he'd missed the clown. The heavy clouds dissolved and he could see. He stepped toward the Joker.
'I'm here now', he said softly, hoping to show his understanding. No such luck.
'FOR HER! YOU'RE HERE FOR HER!', he bellowed, 'WELL TAKE A GOOD LOOK BATMAN, BECAUSE SHE'S TAKING A PERMANENT CATNAP!'. There was no humour evident in his voice and he whipped around and ran at the hostage, knife held high, ready to strike and...

'You complete me.' A whisper, barely audible but enough to make the Joker still in his rage, knife still in the air, stop. Suddenly everything was silent. Balancing on a uncomfortable edge. Briefly glancing at Catwoman, her eyes were squinted, lips upturned, delight evident. Obviously she thought that his comment was directed at her. But his thoughts weren't with the Cat right now.

'What?' A meek reply came from the man with his back to Bruce. The vigilante stepped closer and the Joker hesitantly turned around to face him. Moving his eyes up to his enemy's, he tried to find the words. God, this was hard. How do you tell you arch foe that everything they'd ever told you concerning your mutual relationship was right. Swallowing hard, he tried to speak.

'You were right. I didn't know that we... but in the past two months, I've started to realise we do have a... connection.', He walked up to the murderer.' You complete me'. This time it was louder and he made sure that the Joker could see it clearly in his eyes. A loud 'WHAT!?' echoed through the room, coming from Catwoman's direction, but neither criminal nor vigilante payed it any mind. The Joker's eyebrows pulled together tightly.
'You're just trying to protect her', he snarled and tried to move towards the tied up woman once more, but an armoured hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Both men gasped at the contact. The first in months, and oh boy they were screwed.

'No Joker, listen to me', he pleaded, 'I get it, okay? All of it. Those things you spoke about, I understand. I don't necessarily agree with it all, but all I know is', fuck this was hard,'I've missed you.' Bruce's voice broke slightly, which sounded absolutely ridiculous with the rough voice of Batman. 'But if you kill her now, I can't-' Deep breaths. 'Just let her go. I'll stay here if you just let her go. It'll be just you and me, I promise.' Bruce saw the Joker shudder at his words, eyes as wide as saucers and he looking strikingly, scarily innocent. Reluctantly, the clown turned back to his hostage and cut the ropes with a glare. Instantly, the Cat lunged forward, knocking him off his feet and holding her claws up to his neck.

'Doesn't feel good to be helpless, does it freak?' she spat, digging her nails in slightly, drawing blood. Bruce shot over to the two and dragged the thief off of the murderer and shoved her away. The Joker's eyes were disbelieving as Bruce leant over him and picked him up from the floor.

'So this is what you've chosen, Batman?' Catwoman sneered, 'or should I call you Batfag? You know, you two deserve each other.' Sensing that The Joker's now latent rage was beginning to return tenfold, he held an arm out in front of the clown and moved his eyes up to Catwoman's.
'Just go', Bruce murmured, feeling slightly angry himself.
'Oh don't worry, I'm out of here', she rasped, looking absolutely disgusted and with that she danced out of the room. And they were alone. No more strangers or new faces. Just them. As it was. As it should've been.

Bruce turned to face the painted man, feeling awkward. Now the danger had dissipated and the excitement of the moment had gone, he felt uncomfortable. Batman certainly wasn't known for being open about his feelings. This was new, uncharted territory and he wasn't sure how to proceed. Apparently the clown had made that decision for him because as soon as he'd blinked, gloved hands were on his face, curiously gentle, like he was afraid that his Bat would disappear again if he touched too hard. Bruce found his arms wrapping themselves around The Joker's waist. A simple gesture that was meant to say 'I'm here'. Astonishment painted itself over the clown's face and he all but melted into the touch.

'I thought you'd left me,' The Joker whispered and Bruce's resolve vanished. The Cat, Harley, none of them mattered. He was here. They were here. And as he closed the difference between their mouths he just hoped that the Joker knew that he wasn't going anywhere. They were destined to do this forever.

As their lips touched, each man moaned in delight. It was new, wrong and just wonderful. This was how it should've been. What was missing when Catwoman had kissed him was here in abundance. Electricity. That's the only thing he could attribute it to. It was like he'd just been electrocuted, frazzled alive and it was the absolute epitome of perfection. The feeling of those painted lips covering his own was more unreal than he could possibly imagine. He knew full well it wasn't supposed to be good at all, that he should be punching the man in front of him, not kissing him. A part of him wondered if this was a crime, but mostly he didn't give a damn. Two fucking months he'd not seen The Joker for and he craved any contact with the madman, and if he was honest, the fact they weren't fighting made it all the more sweet. But the Joker was cold, like he'd been sick. Bruce pulled away. He saw a worried look on the face in front of his own as the man started to speak.

'Let me guess, that didn't mean anything?' he quizzed 'You hate me. I'm scum. Blah, blah, blah, you never want to see me again?' Bruce smiled lightly. Stupid, paranoid clown. He pulled his cape around the crazed murderer and enveloped him in a kiss that put the last one to shame. They didn't want to waste anything, they'd spent too long not seeing each other, and when you go incomplete for that long, you become desperate to be whole. Now that they were together, they couldn't possibly think of not touching for the remainder of this glorious period. Who knew how brief it was going to be.

Bruce felt a tongue trace his lips for the second time tonight, and this time he obliged, opening up to it's sorcery. He felt The Joker's hands come up to his neck, twirling themselves around it and pulling his Bat closer into their kiss. Moaning as a diabolic tongue tasted his own, he fought to remain dominant. It would be so easy to just fall under the Joker's whims, what with the way he moved that wet muscle. And his taste was just incredible. Greasepaint, cinnamon and strawberries. And the thought was repulsive. It should be. He didn't want to even think about what this mouth had done in the past, but he had never felt so intoxicated in his thirty one and a half years. It wasn't helping that the Joker's scent was filling his nostrils, tickelling them and coaxing out soft growls and deep moans. The greasepaint- a scent he'd often taken home with him- mixed with gasoline and something earthy. He smelt savage, just like he was. It was the embodiment of him and Bruce couldn't get enough. He just knew that this scent, smell, aroma, whatever was something that would haunt his dreams. He smiled against the Joker's eternal grin.

The clown shivered and groaned into the kiss, the sound bouncing into Bruce's mouth, tickling his lips. Bruce gasped and ,feeling bold, he allowed his tongue to glide over the scar he felt inside of that talented mount and he found that he felt absolutely no repulsion like you'd imagine. The difference in tecture added something extra and Bruce knew this was a sensation unique to the Joker and he loved it. The Joker's hands flew all over him, trying to get some purchase on the solid outfit. Whining in annoyance, he settled for shoving his hips forward and thrusting slowly.

Not expecting the sudden rush of feeling downstairs, Bruce let out less than manly sounds of surprise, but these quickly dissolved into deep moans. The kevlar was thick, but he could feel the weight of his hips. And anyway just the thought that the Joker wanted him in that way was making him harden. Returning the grinding motion, he pulled the Joker tighter against him beneath the cape and began nibbling on his lip, gasping every so often. He traced a small scar on The Joker's bottom lip with his tongue and was struck with a memory. Pulling back slightly, he nudged the Joker's face so that it tilted backwards and regarded three small scars on the clown's chin curiously. Yes, he'd deserved them and no, Bruce didn't any regret for doing it, but he wanted to show his foe that the past didn't matter right now. He was still royally pissed about everything that had happened, how could he not be? And he doubted that he could ever truly forgive this man for what he'd done to this city, to him, but he looked at the scars marking the slighter man and just wanted all of it to go away. So, he brought his face down and placed small kisses over the marks, allowing his tongue to slide over them soothingly. The Joker stilled his ministrations below and gasped. Bruce wondered momentarily if he'd done the wrong thing, but was quickly reassured by a breathy moan and a renewed vigour of hip thrusting.

Bruce could feel the Joker's skin start to radiate and felt childish triumph hit him as he realized he'd succeeded in warming the man up -just like all of the clichés said. He captured those sinful lips again, twirling his tongue inside, mixing saliva. Raw passion passed between them and they knew where this was going. But could he? Kissing chaos was one thing, but could he literally 'sleep with the enemy?' Yes, he'd now acknowleged the fact they were indeed two halves of a very screwed up whole, but did that mean more for them? Were things the same still or irrevocably different?

This was the mid point, time out. They could stop this now and start their battles again. Chasing, fighting, arresting, repeating (and probably avoiding bitter Cats now, too) or they could change the song. Start on a new, level playing field and dance their tango to a new tune and see where it took them. Bruce liked to think it was the lust brought on by a fervent body rubbing against his own that clouded his judgement, but honestly he already knew in his mind what to do.

Stepping back, he pulled the cape back from the shorter man, trying not to smirk at how pathetic he looked with red smeared everywhere on his face as he wined like a sad puppy at the loss of contact.
'If we're going to take this further', Bruce murmured, and they both knew he wasn't just talking about sex, 'You have a right to know'. He brought his hands up to the cowl and doing what Catwoman had been striving to get him to do, he yanked off the mask and let it fall to the floor. The handsome face of a billionaire came into view as Bruce shook his head, freeing his dark locks. He smiled warmly at the startled madman who didn't look as shocked as he'd expected.

'Why did you do that?' he squeaked, gesturing to the forgotten mark on the floor. Bruce frowned, feeling slightly pissed and slightly foolish. He'd just revealed his identity to his worst enemy who now looked as if someone had just peed in their Cheerios. Dread seeped through his body. He had just placed an unprecedented amount of trust into an escaped mental patient's hands and neglected to think of how he would react. And the Clown looked absolutely insulted. He'd not only endangered himself and his reputation, but Alfred too! Oh, how could he be so stupid? He had to come up with a plan quickly and get the hell out of there.

Seeing Bruce's worried look, the Joker quickly approached the gorgeous man, who stiffened at the movement.
'Listen, I wanted to see. I just didn't think it was an option at this point', he said softly- a little too softly for a insane psychopath,'Don't look so damn worried. Your secret's safe with me, Bats'. Bruce had to stifle a sigh of relief but couldn't stop the lazy smile from appearing on his unmasked face. His eyes moved over the Joker's face and noted his features. They were completely relaxed and the green eyes looked almost privately smug. Bruce quirked an eyebrow.

'You don't seem very shocked', he noted with a slanted smirk. The Joker smiled lightly for the first time tonight and Bruce felt a weight he didn't know was there lift off of him.
'Bats, you're not exactly discreet you know. You drop clues everywhere, anyone with half a brain cell could figure it out. Hell, I spent an entire day trying to convince Schiff that Bruce Wayne wasn't the Batman.' he sniggered at the memory, 'I would've shot him too, if he wasn't so damn adorable. Someone's got to protect your identity, afterall'. Bruce couldn't keep the grin off his face.
'You know, you're quite the smart ass, clown' he mock scolded, pulling his enemy back towards him again.
'Yeah, but you love me for it', the Joker giggled, and he'd never have though that would be a sound he would feel relieved to hear, and the distance between them closed and this time they both went in with an initiative.

* * *

They reached the newly restored Wayne Manor in what must've been record time- ten minutes tops- and, after Bruce had shed his suit and studiously avoiding Alfred, they clambered up the stairs, Bruce guiding the Joker with his hand. Once they made it to Bruce's bedroom, they were attacking each other; mouths joining in bruising kisses, hands groping wildly at scorching bodies, ripping off clothes. Shoes were kicked across the room and buttons popped open, scattering in a dirty downpour and quickly they were completely nude. Breathing deeply, they each regarded the other with a wanton expression, drinking in every last detail of their bodies, savouring the vision in front of them.

The first thing Bruce noticed was how tanned, or rather sun kissed, the Joker actually was. He'd naturally assumed the man to be pale. His form was also a surprise. He was lithe and yet athletically muscled with subtle abs and toned arms. And he had so many scars. They littered his whole body, the majority on his chest. Some were pink and shallow, others brown, deep and jagged. It was breathtaking. Bruce felt the overwhelming urge to touch, to taste every last one.

Moving his eyes down, his gaze fixed itself onto the Joker's cock, which was standing fully erect, leaking pre-cum from the head and just begging to be touched. He'd never had thought that the sight of another man's dick could have the power to arouse him, but there it was. He was absolutely painfully hard. The idea that he'd done that to the Joker, put him in that state merely through their kisses, was making his own arousal throb with need. The Joker's cock was about the same size as his own; a touch larger than average with a generous amount of girth and if he'd stopped to think about it, he would've been ashamed of the fact that his mouth actually watered. He noticed that the base of the clown's dick had a sparse covering of wispy blond hair and found himself wondering whether or not the carpet matched the drapes. He'd never imagined the Joker as a blond before, but the thought pleased him enormously for some reason.

Capturing each other's gaze once more, they each saw their own look of absolute want mirrored there. They lunged forward simultaneously, colliding like universes. As their tongues slid together, Bruce couldn't stop his hand from travelling down and grabbing the other's cock in his fist. He had planned to go slowly and drag it out for the other, but need was coursing through him. The need to touch, the need to feel. It was maddening and there was nothing he could do but indulge in it. And it felt good. To hold his enemy's pounding flesh in his hands, pleasuring it in slow strokes. It was magnificent. Bruce cried out in unexpected pleasure and bucked his hips as he felt his attentions returned. His breath hitched and the enormity of this whole thing was swimming in the atmosphere. They were in the realms of sex now. He was officially having sex with the Joker. If rage, shame or regret were lurking in his body, he certainly couldn't feel them. He couldn't summon them even if he wanted to.

Swirling his thumb over the head in a manner he used on himself, he proceeded to stroke the Joker's cock lightly to the base. Leaning in, he attached his mouth to the Joker's neck and sucked and bit at the warm flesh there as he let his hand guide itself over the shaft with an increased vigour and another moved down to cup his balls.

The Joker wailed in pleasure and Bruce wanted more and more of those noises, wondering just how many he could coax from the menace. Walking him towards the bed, he pushed him lightly so them man could crawl backwards onto the sheets, so as not to break their kiss. When their cocks touched Bruce moaned so loudly, he had to pause for a second to make sure he hadn't woken Alfred up. He found his face buried in the Joker's neck as their hips gyrated, causing delicious friction between their cocks. Bruce's hands slid over the clown's back, relishing the bumps and scars he could feel. Leaning up, he brought his hands around to glide across an erect nipple. The man underneath him arched and moaned once more, causing Bruce to shiver. Those noises were like audible aphrodisiacs to the playboy and he soaked them up.

Bruce licked a trail from the Joker's neck to his chest and swirled the tip of his tongue over the small bud seeking out more sounds and he was rewarded. The Joker began to writhe madly, hips bucking feverishly and his hands grabbed onto Bruce's film, tanned ass, squeezing hard. This was a torturous heaven. Smirking, Bruce carried on his trail, lapping at the others body, tasting the salty skin, and before he knew it, he was sprawled out on the bottom of the bed, licked around his enemy's groin, lingering for a moment, much to the other's frustration. Obviously, he'd never done this with a man before, but he honesty couldn't remember wanting anything quite so much in his life. He wanted to taste the Joker in his mouth- to have him thrash and wriggle and curse. For him to spill onto his tongue. To know he'd done that to him. And, oh, it was such a burning desire.

Slowly bending down, he purposefully breathed out warm air onto the hard member inches away from his face, eliciting a satisfying shudder from the smaller man. Tentatively, he let his tongue flick out and lick at the thick shaft.
'Holy fuck', the Joker cried in a half moan, half scream. Smiling lecherously, he lengthened his licks until he was all out tracing veins along the length of the member and bringing his mouth up to tease the sensitive slit. The pre cum was bitter and salty, but he had tasted his own seed before and it wasn't bad, so this was no shock. Actually, its flavour mixed with the taste of sweat and the faint hints of blood and spice was pretty much driving Bruce wild. It was unlike anything. He liked giving head to a woman and bringing them to completion that way, but he'd never liked the texture. But this was just simply amazing.

Feeling a new sense of appreciation for the task at hand, he moved his mouth over the head, sucking slightly before swallowing the entire thing whole, fighting hard against his gag reflex. No, he wouldn't pussy out of this- he wanted it to be really fucking good for his clown. His clown. Had his mouth not been otherwise engaged, he'd have smiled warmly at this, his body buzzing in approval.

His,his,his.

As his throat muscles contracted and relaxed, he began to bob his head up and down, letting his tongue massage the flesh in his mouth. He wished he could see the Joker's face, but the maniac was lying back, white knuckled-hands gripping the metal bars of the headboard. Bruce let the throbbing dick slide out of his mouth and continued to pump it with his fist, as he let his mouth move over the Joker's balls, sucking lightly. The olive haired man thrashed violently, rasping out Bruce's name like it was a dirty word and Bruce felt his own arousal twitch in excitement. But he had no time for that; he had to make sure this was perfect.

Abandoning his sack, he placed his mouth back over the straining member and hummed against it as he moved his head. He genuinely did like the sensation of sucking off his worst enemy, or whatever he was now. He supposed that the tabloids and the gossiping elite would actually be correct when they called him a 'cocksucker' now, but he didn't care the slightest bit. He fucking loved this. Going by the noises, which had gotten higher in pitch and much louder, he guessed the Joker was nearing orgasm and picked up the speed as he prepared to take his load deep into his mouth.

'Stop, stop, stop!' the Joker yelled, sitting up and pushing Bruce away. Nervousness sneaked into Bruce's system
'What's wrong?' he asked, bolting up into a sitting position. The clown looked up at him through green curls and smiled as he reached for Bruce's face with his hand.
'I don't want to yet', he murmured, 'I'm going to sound like a total girl now, but I want to come when you're inside of me'. Bruce stared at the man in front of him, unblinking. It took a few seconds for understanding to grace his brain and his eyes widened at the same time as his cock twitched. He had honestly, hand on heart, not been expecting anything like that. He'd been so caught up in seeking out the Joker's pleasure, that thoughts of penetration hadn't even crossed his mind. But honestly, there wasn't another notion in existence that was more arousing to him at this point. He felt light headed.

Smiling, he covered that ruined, and yet perfect, mouth in a passionate lip lock, hoping the Joker could taste his elation. Not breaking the kiss, Bruce reached over into his drawers and pulled out a thin bottle of lube he used with his dates though, honestly, he hadn't slept with any of them since Natasha a while back. He hadn't felt the need to. All of his sexual urges were channelled into his aggression that he utilised during his night time crusade. And frankly his hand was just as good as any of the fake women he took out. But nothing he could do himsefl could compare to this.

Slicking up his fingers, he let them travel south as they kissed, and slide over the Joker's entrance. He wasn't completely sure how to go about this, but had a general idea. Pressing one finger in, he watched The Joker's face for any signs of discomfort. He knew the criminal was the epitome of a masochist, and though he did certainly want to fuck the man now that the idea had been suggested, his thoughts were still very much focused on the other and he wanted this to be primarily about pleasure. They'd given each other more than enough pain, all kinds of it, out there. In here, it should be more sheltered. Finding no hints of affliction, he began to move the finger about until he felt the muscles relax enough to allow a second finger. He watched as the Joker's face changed from tolerance to slight pleasure and then as it melted into absolute ecstasy as he moved over that famed spot inside, which Bruce had honestly believed was a myth. But unless the Joker was fantastic at faking pleasure, it was definitely there.

'Bats, Bats, Bats', the Joker panted, face screwing up, 'Fuck. Please just more'. At this point, Bruce probably would've done anything his counterpart asked of him, and since it was something they each shared a tremendous desire for, he wasn't exactly about to refuse. Lathering on a fair amount of liquid, he slowly withdrew his fingers from the wanton man and aligned the head of his pounding cock against the slick entrance and began to push slowly in.

Each man let out a short, low moan before holding their breath until the entire head was past the tight ring of muscle. Bruce exhaled and glanced down at the Joker's face and was startled to find those eyes boring into him with a look of awe. Reaching for a smaller hand, he felt warmth gush in the pit of his stomach as their fingers interlaced and he pushed in the rest of the way. Gripping each other's hands tightly, they stared at each other panting heavily, saying so much with their eyes.

Bruce felt delirious. He was inside of the Joker, his mortal enemy, and it was just glorious. The heat, the slick muscles, the tightness but most of all, the fact that they slid so easily together, fitting seamlessly and it was absolutely, utterly earth shattering.

After they'd both reclaimed their minds and Bruce could feel the muscles surrounding him ease and adjust, he moved out and slammed back in, hard. The Joker wrapped his legs around his back, gasping at every thrust and looking so tranquil that it startled Bruce, who was still cradling his hand in his own, clinging to it like it was an anchor to reality. He tried to angle his movements so that he hit the Joker's prostate head on and as the criminal's eyes rolled backwards into his head and he gave a moan, closer to a scream, he decided he must have succeeded. Making sure to hit that spot every time, he reached between them and grabbed the neglected arousal. At the contact, the clown all but howled in ecstasy, crying out 'Bruce' like a prayer.

Bruce leaned down to capture the criminal's lips and he just knew this was the ultimate. He thought back to all the other women that he'd slept with. All the clinger-ons and airheads with boobs bigger than brains, he thought back to the girls at Princeton smart and friendly, but frankly boring. He thought back to Rachel, sweet, wonderful Rachel. And he disregarded them all. Not one of them made him feel remotely close to this. The tightening of the muscle, the yelping of his name, the hand in his- it was absolutely impeccable. And if he'd had any doubts before they were completely dispersed now. This man was as close to a soul mate as Bruce would ever get.

He sobbed out a moan into his lover's mouth, and sweet fuck that felt good. Lover. One word that would rip everything they knew apart from the inside and mould it into something new. Better? Worse? They couldn't know right now, so they'd just let it devour them, because there was nothing else. He rested his head against a a sweat sclicked forehead. A lot of the greasepaint had rubbed off and Bruce could see human skin. He wondered what the man looked like underneath, but didn't want to push it. He had taken off his mask because he'd felt ready to and he wanted the Joker to do it when he was ready, too.

The Joker had started to match his thrusts, bucking his hips perfectly in-sync and ,sensing his need, Bruce sped up his strokes. A string of curses were pulled out of a scarred, ruby mouth and Bruce let his teeth graze over a tan neck and bit harshly. This finally sent the Joker flying over the edge as he spilled into Bruce's talented hands. Bruce watched the face of his lover tighten in absolution as his hips tossed wildly, shouting out Bruce's name. It was the most intensely beautiful thing he'd ever seen and ,dear Odin, this man was gorgeous. He wanted to devour him, to have him. The Joker's internal muscles spasmed as he came, sending Bruce to his peak in merely one more thrust, squeezing the hand in his tightly. He came hard and long, deep inside the Joker with a loud moan of his name. Bruce's whole being tingled with completion He slumped over his satisfied lover, who's arm wrapped around his back, the other hand still intertwined with Bruce's. After their erratic breathing returned to a semi-normal level, Bruce withdrew. They both didn't appreciate the loss, so as Bruce flounced back onto the bed, he pulled the Joker to him and covered them with the quilt. As the clown buried his neck against Bruce's chest, he kissed his curly hair and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, hoping that the Joker wouldn't leave as he slept.

After two long, torturous months, they had joined together in such a powerful collision that Bruce had forgotten everything- all the morals, principals, reservations- it had all disappeared and even if it was just for tonight, Bruce felt ecstatic that he'd found this. Those two months, though they were nightmarish, were absolutely worth it because now he knew that those strangers who had charged in and crashed their party and almost tore everything apart had little effect on them in the long run. They had been dealt with, but the two of them had played on once again and the game would start over, only now, everyone was clear about who the main players were.

* * *

Bruce was sat at his desk at Wayne Enterprises, reading a devastatingly boring report on accounts, when there was a buzz on his intercom. It had been two, long wonderful months since that night. They had carried on fighting at night on the rooftops of their city, not giving anything away about their day time activities. Well, except for the odd sly smirk or a quick touch of bodies, or a hand closing around an unsuspecting ass, but they were discreet. No-one would guess that between the slaughter of innocents, multiple arrests and titanic battles Batman and Joker were lovers. Sometimes their lust would spill out into their fights and it wouldn't stay contained in the passionate clashes of fists and knives and instead they'd move into a scummy alleyway and their bodies would join, quick and harsh. Under the open, dark sky, it wasn't slow and loving, it was absolutely brutal and each of them loved it. When they were like that, it was solely about force, domination and lastly release. There were no caresses, no words, only hard, biting kisses and they'd part instantly without so much as a backwards glance, knowing that in a few hours, they'd be in each other's arms, softly touching their new wounds and kissing slowly. And the early morning and day time meetings were just as good. They'd even progressed to the point where they could just sit and talk about nothing and everything. And once, they'd actually watched a film for a whole afternoon, not really interested but both just basking in the presence of the other. And it may just be love, but they weren't ready to talk about that yet. Instead, Bruce would gladly accept the love making, tangled in sheets and lusty, raw fucks in filthy streets. Perfect.

'Mr Wayne, there's a Mr Raymond MacIntyre to see you', came a pleasant voice from his desk. Raymond...? It didn't ring any bells, but he welcomed any form of distraction from this ridiculously tiring pile of paperwork.
'Okay, send him in', he replied and seconds later, the door opened and a stranger walked in.

Wow.

He was tall, tanned and dressed in a simple black suit with a deep purple dress shirt, the jacked unbuttoned. Long, curly golden-blond hair framed an absolutely gorgeous face consisting of soft looking full, cherry-red lips, a rounded nose with an adorable dusting of light freckles and familiar sparkly jade eyes. Bruce was positively beaming! Finally.

In the past two months, he'd been waiting patiently to see the Joker unmasked, but had told himself over and over that he wasn't going to demand it. But curiosity was itching away at him and he just had to know. And now here he was, standing in front of him smiling pleasantly, hands in pockets and he was the most beautiful creature Bruce had ever layed eyes upon. Using all of his will power not to run over there and attack the stranger, also known as his lover, he gave him an incredulous glance.

'Raymond MacKintire?' he questioned sarcastically. The Joker giggled softly, absolutely no mania coming through.
'It was the name of a solicitor's on a billboard that I saw on the way here', he confessed with a sly grin, 'Does it suit me?' Bruce snorted and stared at the man in front of him some more. Incredible.

Screw it.

He pounced up and all but charged at the man, enveloping him in his arms, kissing him on the mouth and then all over his face; his freckled nose, his latex covered cheeks, his dimples, his clean forehead, his soft curls. Everything. He finally felt that he had the whole package now. He had seen the entirety of the person in front of him. Nothing was withheld and every part of him responded with an elated, full body buzzing sensation. Truly, wholly complete.

'Thank you', he whispered into the other's mouth and pulled back to look into his emerald beacons. The Joker smiled widely, clearly relieved at Bruce's reaction and buried his head against Bruce's neck. He had been planning to blow up a fire station tonight, but something told him that he'd been doing something so much more fun. And it wasn't that much of a loss in comparison, was it? They had each other. It didn't matter how often they'd beat each other to an absolute bloody pulp, or if Bruce got pissed at the Joker and threw him in Arkham, giving them both a few days to stew before they'd literally run back to each other. Nothing could make them falter. Every so often, they would run into a sneaky Cat with a sly tongue and a talent for making sniping comments- who Bruce had discovered was the beautiful Selina Kyle- or an upset, disbelieving (now apparently lesbian) ex-doctor who still hadn't given up hope of a reunion. And now there were new strangers popping up everywhere, aswell. A crazed man with a delirious love for the works of Lewis Carol, a woman obsessed with the environment and a self proclaimed 'Riddler' and more and more and more. But now, they knew from experience that these pretenders meant nothing. These moments in here and their other lives out there, were the only things of any importance. Call them selfish, foolish, arrogant, whatever, but this is how they wanted it. Just them. Forever.

(1) This line was taken from 'Mad Love'.