Behind Insanity

.6.

The Star

The Star Card represents faith, feelings of great expectations, and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It is a moment of tranquility, a period of calm, and a time for returning favors...

The Joker's eyes snapped open, and he awoke to find himself in very alien surroundings. He was laying nude under a warm blanket, on what could very well be the softest mattress in the whole world. He sat up slowly, his eyes curiously studying the neat, well embellished room before they came to rest on the sleeping man beside him. A grin crept across his face as the memories from last night flooded back into his mind.

The whole thing was rather hard for even him to believe. Bruce—the Batman had had sex with him, and done so willingly. The Joker would have thought the whole thing was a dream if he wasn't still sore from it. He bit back a giggle as he leaned closer to Bruce, observing him as he slept peacefully and tried to think of an interesting and funny way to wake him. Then suddenly, he came to the realization that, with Bruce asleep, there was no one stopping him from exploring the Wayne Mansion. His grin widened at the thought of being able to run around the giant house and touch everything like a toddler in an antique store with no one to stop him.

Quietly, he slipped out of the large bed and scouted the room out again. He walked over to Bruce's dresser, opening it slowly, and grabbed the first pair of pants he saw and a belt to keep them from falling off his slender hips. He then looked on top of the dresser, spotting several picture frames. Most of them were of this handsome man, his beautiful blond-haired wife, and a little boy, all smiling and laughing—looking like the ideal, happy family. There was one picture, however, that caught his eye. It was of the little boy again, slightly older, standing beside an older-looking man who had his hand on his shoulder. They were both standing on the steps of the mansion, dressed in black, with hints of sadness in their eyes. Curiously, the Joker reached out to grab it, and accidentally knocked it over. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see the noise woke Bruce up. Nothing; he barely even stirred. Even still, the Joker took that as his cue to leave the bedroom.

Barefoot and shirtless, he snuck out of the room and down the hallway, poking his head through some of the rooms as he went by. Using what little he remembered from last night of Bruce leading him into the mansion and up to his bathroom, the Joker eventually managed to backtrack his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He hadn't had a bite to eat since that sandwich two days ago, and was beginning to grow sick with hunger.

Stepping into the kitchen, the Joker immediately started rummaging through the drawers, at this point not caring how much noise he made, until he found the knife drawer. Jack pot. Knives were more valuable than gold to the Joker, and without at least one on his person at all times, he felt as though he were missing a limb. He carefully picked out the sharpest looking one, stainless steal of course, and slid it into his back pocket for safekeeping.

Now armed, he finally zoned in on the fridge. He opened it and peered inside for anything appetizing, then suddenly frowned. Even though the fridge itself was huge, all that was inside was two cartons of eggs, a gallon of low fat milk, a few packages of cold cuts, orange juice, grapefruit juice, tomato juice, whole wheat bread, and some protein shakes. The Joker clicked his tongue. All health food; no wonder Bruce was in such great shape. He shook his head and leaned into the needlessly oversized fridge, grabbed the cold cuts and began shoving slices of ham and turkey into his mouth. He then grabbed the carton of tomato juice and began drinking it straight from the bottle. Red juice messily dribbled down his chin and down his naked chest.

"...Master Wayne?"

The Joker suddenly paused, hearing a familiar voice. Slowly, he poked his head out from behind the fridge door, hand sliding into his back pocket to grip the hilt of the kitchen knife. Standing at the entrance to the kitchen was an old man, the same one from the photograph upstairs, except his was whiter and his skin was more wrinkly. The Joker just stared at him for a moment, surprised to see another human being other than Bruce in the mansion.

Without the painted face, at first, Alfred didn't recognize the strange young man standing before him who had been raiding their fridge. But it didn't take long before his old eyes recognized the strange markings on the man's cheeks were scars. His eyes widened in alarm.

Wiping the juice from his chin, the Joker smirked, taking a few steps towards him. 'Oh, a playmate...' "And who... prey tell are you?"

Alfred stood his ground even as the monster approached him. "You... What have you done?" He asked in a soft, but stern voice eying the crimson liquid smeared all over the killer's mouth.

The question made the Joker chuckle. "...Nothin'." He grinned, pulling the kitchen knife from his pocket, and tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other in a threatening matter. "Hm... Oh! I know that voice. You must be the old stiff I talked to a few nights ago... the one who kept threatening me." He licked his lips. "Hey listen, wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Joker!"

The Joker heard Bruce's voice rumble from the other side of the kitchen, and quickly spun around, hiding the knife behind his back. "Heh heh heh... good morning, Brucey.... sleep well?" He grinned innocently.

Bruce wore a turtleneck sweater to hide the scratches from last night. There was still a cut on his lip from the Joker biting it, but it didn't really look like a bite mark so he didn't worry too much about it. Glaring, he stalked across the kitchen towards the Joker. "Drop the knife." He ordered with a frown.

"Hmph. Lighten up, Brucey." The Joker raised his hands, and to Alfred's surprise, obediently let the knife slip from his grasp and plummet to the floor with a loud clang. "I wasn't really going to do anything to him... probably."

Bruce did not seem amused by this. He spoke slowly, in a very low voice, "Alfred is my butler, my oldest, most trust worthy friend, and the only family I have left. If you ever so much as threaten him again, you'll regret it."

"Will I now?" The Joker flashed him a mischievous look.

Bruce dodged the look and instead turned to the butler. "Alfred, we need to talk...," he glanced at the Joker from the corner of his eye, "alone."

"I should hope so, sir." Alfred frowned. He seemed pretty upset, and for good reason. The last thing he expected to find this morning was a shirtless Joker stealing all their food from the refrigerator. With a sigh, he followed Bruce out of the kitchen. "Alright, there better be a pretty damn good explanation for this." He motioned his head towards the Joker, who was going through all the cabinets in search of better food.

"Alfred..." Bruce began, trying to gather his thoughts as he spoke, "...he's been beaten, arrested, and threatened, and so far none of that has worked. Brute force doesn't work on a guy like him, in fact, it's been making him worse." He watched as the Joker pulled a box of crackers off one of the shelves and began shoveling handfuls of them into his mouth. "I want to try a different approach..."

Alfred furrowed his brows and crossed his arms over his chest. "I read the paper this morning... another guard was killed last night... Bruce, how many more people have to die before you realize that this man cannot be helped?"

Bruce lowered his head. He still felt responsible for those murders, and was beginning to second guess himself again. 'Why do you want to help him so much?' He thought as he glanced back at the Joker, who was licking crumbs off his fingers. 'Because of some sick obsession?' The Joker set the box down and returned to the fridge. He grabbed one of Bruce's protein shakes, examined it closely, opened it, and sniffed it before he curiously took a sip. 'Because you don't have the guts to kill him?' The clown grimaced and stuck his tongue out in disgust. He looked both ways before sneaking the can back into the fridge. 'No... That's why... I want to help him because...''

"Alfred...." Bruce looked back up at him with a sudden, new found confidence. "What I was like after my parents died?"

Alfred blinked, surprised at the question. "Quiet, withdrawn, angry with the world, and specifically with the man who took your parents away from you. Before Joe Chill was assassinated, you were completely obsessed with revenge. Don't mind me asking, but what's that got to do with anything, sir?"

Bruce lowered his voice. "...I never told you this before... and to be honest, I'm still ashamed of it... but on the day I went to Chill's trial... I....I had a gun in my pocket..."

"Youwhat?!" Alfred's raised his voice, his eyes widening in shock. Across the kitchen, the Joker heard the outburst, and turned his head towards them with a puzzled look.

Bruce continued in a whisper, "I was going to kill him myself, but Falcone's man beat me to it...When Rachel found out she told me that my father would have been ashamed of me. She told me... to look beyond my own pain, that I just was a coward with a gun, and that justice is about more than revenge. Those words inspired me... to become the man I am today..."

The old butler shook his head again, trying to take it all in at once. "I can't believe that you..."

Bruce sighed. "Alfred... if my parents' murderer hadn't been assassinated... if Rachel hadn't have set me straight... if I didn't have you around to guide me... What kind of man would I have become?"

"Like... him?" The butler motioned to the Joker, who was now drinking from the carton of orange juice. "Don't tell me you actually see yourself in him..." He thought living with a crime-fighting vigilante was hard enough, he could not imagine living with a murderer.

"Listen... All I'm saying is that I don't know why he is the way he is, but obviously he's got a lot of skeletons in his closet. I'd bet my fortune that he's been through much worse than I have, but without someone like you or Rachel to help him through it." He placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Look, I'm not asking you to feel sorry for him or anything... I'll ask I for is a little time. If we don't see any improvement in the next week or so, I'll admit I'm just acting foolish and turn him back into Arkham... after I clean it up."

For the life of him, Alfred still could not understand why Bruce was so intent on defending the maniac. Though he did bring up some pretty good points, it all seemed so unlike Bruce to forgive such a deranged killer so easily. "...You really think you can help him?"

"He trusts me. He knows that I won't kill him or turn him in, and he won't leave here because, even though he won't admit it, he's afraid of the mob."

Alfred thought it over a moment. The Joker did listen to Bruce when he dropped the knife instead of holding him hostage. Maybe this was actually crazy enough to work. "Alright... I'll give you the benefit of the doubt... but I still think you've completely lost your mind." He smiled faintly.

"Good enough." Bruce smiled back and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Alfred. I won't disappoint you."

As Bruce turned to head back into the kitchen, Alfred suddenly remembered something. "Sir, I know this isn't a very appropriate time to bring this up—I'm sure you've got enough things to worry about this moment, but I just thought I should remind you that the Gotham General Hospital Fundraiser is coming up this week..."

Bruce winced. "Don't suppose we can postpone that, can we?" Gotham General was the hospital the Joker blew up. No one was killed in the explosion, but it still didn't sit right with Bruce to host a fundraiser while he was keeping the man responsible in his home.

"No we cannot."

Bruce nodded and sighed. "Of course not," he mumbled. "Alright, I can't worry about that right now. I have to have a talk with him now," he said before he entered the kitchen. He walked over to the Joker, frowning as he swallowed the last of the orange juice. "Use a glass next time."

The Joker licked his lips and smirked. "What's the matter, afraid of my germs?"

"No, but Alfred probably is." Bruce muttered as he took the carton away from him and tossed it in the garbage. Suddenly, he winced and held his side in pain. "I need talk to you upstairs... Follow me." Slowly, he headed out of the kitchen, mentally cursing himself with each step he took. 'Not good...'

The Joker tilted his head as Bruce walked out of the kitchen. He followed after him, shooting Alfred a devilish grin from across the kitchen as he passed by. Once they were upstairs, and safely back in Bruce's room, the Joker jumped onto the bed and stretched out on it as if he owned it. "So, tell me... how did it go?"

"How did what go?" Bruce asked absentmindedly as he went into his closet and pulled out a first-aid kit.

"Your chat with the butler...," The Joker replied, though he now cared more about what Bruce was doing, rather than what the old butler had to say about him. When Bruce turned around, and started back toward the bed, the Joker noticed a rather large, dark stain forming on his sweater.

Bruce sat down on the side of the bed, his back facing the other. "Good I guess," he winced, "I convinced Alfred to let you stay in the mansion..." Slowly, he pulled off his sweater, revealing a blood-soaked bandage he had wrapped around his wound last night as a temporary fix. Between... everything that happened last night, cleaning up the bathroom, and carrying the Joker to bed, Bruce was far too tired to stitch the wound back up, and made the mistake of putting it off till morning. 'My own fault...'

The first thing that caught the Joker's eyes were the long red scratches that ran down Bruce's neck, shoulders, and upper back. Then, he noticed the wound that was not inflicted by him and frowned. He remembered that night, how Batman had stood between him and a hail of gunfire. Though his armor managed to deflect most of the bullets, one was able to sneak in between the plates; it was a miracle he hadn't been killed or seriously injured. "Why'd you do that?" The Joker found himself asking out loud. He slid off the bed, and circled around the bed so that he was standing in front of Bruce.

"I thought it would be better than locking you up in the cave... You don't seem to like cold, dark, enclosed spaces..." Bruce mumbled as he unwound the dirty bandages from his torso, revealing the bloody gash. He then opened the kit, and began carefully trying to thread a needle with sutures. But every time he tried, his hands would shake, making him miss the needle hole.

The Joker shook his head, eying the newly exposed wound. "No, I mean...why did you—Oh will you just let me do it already?!" He grumbled as he watched Bruce struggle to thread the impatient, he reached out and snatched the needle out of his hands, and threaded it on the first try with ease. "Ta-da! I may not be able to fight or fly around like you do, but at least I can thread a damn needle..."

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, alright, you beat me there. Now, can I have it back before I bleed to death?" He held his hand out, waiting.

"I want to do it." The Joker suddenly frowned.

"What?" Bruce blinked in disbelief. "Do you even know how?"

The Joker started giggling. "C'mon, do I look like the kind of guy who goes to the hospital every time he gets scuffed up? You should know that me and hospitals don't mix very well." He reached into the kit and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, to help stop the bleeding, and poured it onto a small cloth. "I've stitched myself up lots of times! I know what I'm doing.... probably more than you do." He grinned as he pressed the dampened cloth to the open wound.

Bruce winced at the sting. He knew that maybe this wasn't such a good idea to allow a psychotic serial killer stitch up his wounds, but he knew that the Joker wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Instead, he sighed and braced himself for the horrible pain that was sure to come. "Just be careful... and don't forget to disinfect the needle..."

"I know, I know." The Joker rolled his eyes and grabbed small bottle of rubbing alcohol. Messily, he doused the needle and thread with it before he knelt down on the floor between Bruce's legs. Lightly, he placed his middle and index fingers on both sides of the wound, carefully aligning the skin, as if it were fabric, before he slowly began meticulously stitching him up. 'Hm... if only I brought my nurse outfit,' he mused.

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt nearly as much as Bruce expected it to. For a guy who got off on inflicting pain on others, the Joker certainly had a delicate touch when he wanted to. Bruce relaxed a little, leaning back slightly. He looked down at the Joker, observing him as he worked and blushed, trying to ignore the suggestive position they were in.

"So," The Joker looked up at him when he was almost finished, "just how much does ol' Al, the butler, know about what happened last night, hm?"

Bruce frowned suddenly, and looked away. He had been trying to push that thought out of his mind all morning. "I'd rather not talk about last night...—OW!" He cringed when he felt the Joker abruptly stab the needle into him

"Why not?" The Joker glared up at him, growling as he painfully twisted the needle around inside his wound. His lips twitched into a cruel smirk. "Oh I get it... You just don't want to admit that you finally lost control and fucked me. That's it, isn't it? ...Isn't it!?" When there was no rely, he suddenly yanked the the needle out of him, and cleaned the blood off with his tongue, all while keeping eye contact with Bruce.

Bruce tensed at the pain when the needle was ripped from him, but made no effort to move. He honestly didn't know what exactly came over him last night. He felt confused and sick with guilt every time he thought about it. "Joker, I don't. want. to talk about it right now." He met the Joker's gaze, frowning. "I don't know why... that happened last night... I need more time to think it over..."

"HA!" The Joker laughed in his face. "You're only saying that because you can't come up with an excuse." He placed his hands on Bruce's thighs, grinning madly up at him. "You're a pervert—a sexual deviant. Sickos like me turn you on; Face it, Brucey, you want me;... So, in a way, that makes you worse than I am—"

"Shut up!" Bruce snarled and shoved him away.

The Joker began giggling madly, and moved between his legs again. "Oooo—Did I hit a nerve? Hm?" With a smirk, he suddenly grabbed Bruce's groin, and began stroking him through his pants. "Don't believe me? I'll prove it to you..." He purred.

Bruce blushed and tried to push him off again, but it was too late; there was already a bulge forming in his pants. "S-stop it! I'm warning you!" He growled as the Joker unzipped his fly.

"You're warning me?" He laughed spitefully. "What are you gonna do, Brucey? Hit me? Go ahead! If you really want to stop me, then hit me, beat me up, make me bleed," the Joker purred again as he pulled his erection out of his pants and squeezed.

"I won't." Bruce shuddered in pleasure at his touch, his arousal pulsing in the other man's grasp. Once again, he found himself unable to stop things before they got out of hand, but still able resist hurting the Joker. "I'm not like you; I don't get off on hurting others..." He muttered and turned his head away, avoiding the lustful look the Joker was giving him.

"You're just like me," The Joker corrected with a playful smirk, "except that I admit that I'm a freak and embrace it." He moved lower, his hand still firmly gripping his shaft. "Maybe you outta lighten up and try it some time," he added before running his tongue along his cock from base to tip. Bruce groaned as the Joker's hot mouth suddenly engulfed his entire length, sucking hard. The Joker gripped his thighs, digging his fingers into the fabric of his pants as bobbed his head up and down, his tongue rubbing against his dick.

Panting, Bruce ran his fingers through his wavy hair, tugging gently, while his other hand gripped the bed sheets. He abandoned all ideas of fighting back, and let himself enjoy the feeling of the Joker sucking him off. He bucked his hips into the Joker's mouth, feeling the knot in his lower stomach tighten. The man below him didn't even gag, even when his cock hit the back of his throat, as though he were used to this. Moaning, the Joker reached under his balls and cupped them, messaging them in his hand. Bruce's head tilted back, a hoarse cry escaping his lips as he hit his peak. He thrusted his hips as he came, spilling his hot seed into the Joker's awaiting mouth.

The Joker swallowed hard, making sure not to miss a drop, then pulled away, licking his lips. Smirking, he climbed up into Bruce's lap and kissed him on the lips. Bruce returned the kiss, tasting his own essence as he forced his tongue into his mouth. The two of them moaned into each other's mouths, their tongues meshing together.

Bruce broke the kiss, and began kissing his way up the Joker's neck, jaw, cheek, stopping when he reached his scars. He lingered for a moment, recalling how horrifying those scars seemed when he first saw them, but he didn't seem to mind them as much now. In fact, Bruce found them almost beautiful in a haunting sort of way. Slowly, he pressed his lips tenderly against the jagged skin.

Eyes widening, the Joker quickly drew his head back in alarm when Bruce kissed the hypersensitive scar tissue. The gesture both startled and frightened him, and even the Joker didn't know why. Perhaps it was because he wasn't used to such tenderness, especially there of all places. He frowned and tried to shift off his lap.

Before he could get up, Bruce placed a hand on his hip, steadying him. "What happened? ...Who did this to you?" He whispered, placing a hand softly to his cheek.

The Joker winced, as if he had been slapped, and turned his head away. "Why the sudden interest?" He growled lowly. "As I recall, I offered to tell you once before, but you didn't feel like listening."

"You were going to blow up two ferries filled with people!" Bruce furrowed his brows.

"Your loss." The Joker shrugged nonchalantly.

Bruce sighed and let go of him. "Fine. Don't tell me..." It became very apparent to him at that moment that he still had a long way to go before he fully won the Joker's trust. Not like he expected it to be an easy task in the first place...

The Joker could sense his disappointment, and he frowned, placing his hands on both sides of Bruce's face. "Cheer up, Brucey..." He suddenly slipped his thumbs into Bruce's mouth, and pulled the man's lips up so it looked as though he was smiling. "It was a joke so cheer up and smile!" He began giggling uncontrollably at the face he forced Bruce to make before he released him. "Ehehehehe... but seriously," he said as he started to calm down, "I'll tell you some other time. Wouldn't want to spoil the mood." The only time the Joker ever brought up the origin of his scars was when he was about to make a particularly gruesome kill, like what he did to Gambol, what he was going to do to Rachel, the two ferries, and even to Alfred a few moments ago if he rubbed him the wrong way. Whether it was just a nonsensical habit, or his own little way of coping with his past, that memory was just enough to make him more sadistic than usual, so naturally, it didn't sit right with him to bring it up to someone he had no intention of hurting.

"No, I... suppose we wouldn't." Bruce sat there, dumbfounded and rubbing his cheek. 'He sure dodged that one...' He could tell by the way the Joker was acting that the subject really bothered him, and so he decided to just let it go for now.

After a moment of awkward silence, the Joker wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and smirked. "So, Brucey... what do you intend on doing with me, hm?"

"Well, I could show you to your new room..." Bruce muttered.

The Joker arched his brow; obviously not the answer he was expecting. "Is it a room or is it another storage room?" He grumbled, sliding off his lap.

"Don't worry," Bruce reassured with a slight smile, "you'll like it."

To Be Continued...

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(A/N): Holy crap, six chapters already and I'm still alive... I must really love this pairing~ Heh, sorry if this chapter is a bit less eventful than other chapters, but I thought it was important to include some lengthy conversations, especially between Bruce and Alfred. There was an awful lot of chitchat in this one, but I hope you all still enjoyed it :)

By the way, nothing says I love you more than stitching up someone's wounds then jabbing a needle into said wound when they refuse to talk about the hot bathroom sex you had the night before :D

Anyway, as usual, your feedback is adored and appreciated!