The dew that covered the tall grass glistened in the brilliant ivory moonlight. Bruce had to drag himself up the ridiculous amount of grass to reach the boarded up back door that led to the run-down church, as there didn't seem to be a path. If there was one, the grass had obviously grown over the path. Soon, he reached the door, and charged into it. It immediately gave way from his weight, and part of the door broke off the hinges. He stumbled inside at first, but quickly regained his composure and opened the large doors that led to the bigger part of the church. A huge stature of a crucified Jesus Christ was located at the front-center of the room. He began to uneasily walk down the rows, chills already descending his spine.

The church smelled of dust and mold. Moss from outside covered the stained glass windows and it was just as freezing as it was outside. He could see his breath when he exhaled. His head began to throb as he walked down the large aisle, forgetting where he was. Images, sounds, colors, and other things began to race through his mind, and stared at the large statue before him.

He was eight again. His knees were fragile and shaky as he was accompanied by Alfred to walk down the same aisle he was in now, cowering into him as all his father's friends and associates stared him down. It was unnerving to him, and it made him have that pre-vomit feeling in his gut. But he continued to walk, Alfred sending reassuring smiles down at him. Finally, he reached the coffin, and his past, present, and future stared up at him. His father. The bullet wounds appeared to be cleaned up, and his eyes were closed.

He snapped out of his daze, annoyed that he had even thought of such thoughts and such emotion. He was disgusted by himself. To attempt to think, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. The cowl was on, and even if it wasn't his rubbing would've been useless. He sighed, and the silence was deafening. No, he didn't know why he'd chosen this over spending Christmas Eve with Alfred, warm and cozy inside his heated penthouse, sipping expensive alcoholic beverages and laughing. He hadn't been here since he was eight. He hadn't visited his father's grave since he was eight. It just felt good to be reminded of his parents.

He didn't know why he was shivering. After his midnight escapades, he should've been used to the cold by now. But, these were his emotions seeping through the cold and unemotional person who Batman was and who Bruce Wayne had become. He hated them. They were how Rachel was torn away from him. They were how Harvey had died. After what had happened two years ago, he vowed not to let the emotions soak through ever again. However, there they were, coming back once again. It was only temporary, but he hated being vulnerable, even if there was no one with him.

He heard heavy footsteps on carpet approaching him from the back of the church. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. They can't see you like this. He slowly turned. The same, ghostly pale face that haunted his nightmares and the same Glasgow Grin he saw in the mirror looked back at him, although clad in different attire than usual: a black cravat with a white tunic beneath it, and matching pants and shoes. It fit snugly to his body. He stepped toward Batman, who immediately tried wiping all traces of emotion off his face. But he seemed to notice everything, because he smirked at him as he stood before him.

"What are you doing here?" He growled. The Joker snickered.

"I'm here to keep ya company, Batsy! No one should be alone to celebrate Christmas, as you seem to be!" The Joker replied, and patted Batman on the shoulder. The taller man gave him a dirty look, and he giggled.

"Who did you have to kill to get that outfit?" Batman eyed the Joker up and down, studying the priest's outfit.

"I uh, didn't have to kill anyone, my lovely." The Joker looked beside him, where Batman was still staring at the statue of Jesus. It was odd standing beside his adversary like they were good ol' friends, without any sort of fight breaking out between them. The Joker looked back at the statue which Batman seemed to be staring intently at, and folded his hands behind his back.

"Who was it?" The Joker asked, seeming to know everything, which startled Bruce. Bruce inhaled sharply.

"My parents." He replied quietly. The Joker nodded, and they stood there for a few moments. A mutual, almost comforting silence hung over the two, and Batman crossed his arms over his chest. The Joker watched every movement he made, which unnerved him (although he'd never admit it). Batman suddenly turned and began to walk down the aisle, the Joker at his heels in an instant.

"Where are you going, beautiful?" He asked.

"Consider this my Christmas present to you." Batman replied, and the Joker's heart skipped a beat when Batman neared the door. That was… odd. But, the Joker dismissed this, and he was bent on making Batman stay with him here. He tackled him from behind, and they both crashed to the floor. Batman punched him sharply in the jaw, and in the instant where the Joker was distracted by the pain, Batman rolled over and kicked him. The Joker's shrill laughter pierced his eardrums, and the clown jumped on top of him again, a punch flying across his jaw and the clown jumping on his lap. Batman grabbed him by the hips to throw him off his lap, but their eyes caught each other's.

Time stopped. For that one, intense moment, the only thing that existed in the world was the other man, and the unknown force that pulled them closer. It was the same unknown force that made Bruce's hands gravitate towards the Joker's hair. It was the same force that made the Joker grab Batman by the ears of the cowl and pull his closer. The heat that permeated from the uncovered skin of Batman's cowl—his lips—was too attractive. The heat that permeated from the Joker's body was too irresistible. It was as if all emotions and thoughts and intentions that raced through Bruce's mind were set to a halt, it was as if they all seemed to disappear. And, for once, the Joker was serious, lost in the intensity and complexity of this moment with him.

When their lips softly connected, there was nothing besides the sparks flying through them, simultaneously shocking them both at once. The kiss did not seem romantic. It was ferocious, violent, and a fight for dominance like all their fights seemed to be. But, this wasn't a fight. This was a moment mixed with all sorts of things: lust, anger, hate, grief, and so much more. He could taste it in the clown's mouth, on his tongue.

The kiss lasted for about a minute. Not that the Joker was counting.

As they forced themselves to pull away, spit lingered, and the thin line of their intermixed saliva broke apart on the Joker's lips. The Joker stared at him, his eyes seemingly darker with lust for the man before him. He would do anything to make him scream with ecstasy. He wanted Batman to scream his name, scream for him, scream into the darkness and hold onto him like he was his life.

He never usually had sex. When he did, it was to see the people before him break at something as petty and small and temporary as sex. He hadn't had any sort of sexual attraction in God only knows how long (he couldn't even remember the last time he did), but he was sure his painfully hard erection in his pants was for his Bruce-Bat.

The Joker was on Batman and Batman was on him within the same second, and the Joker grabbed Batman to pull him on top of him and smashed his lips against his. Batman moved his lips from the Joker's mouth to his neck, and the Joker wanted soft hair to touch or pull on or something. As Batman suckled and bit on the Joker's neck, already leaving brightly colored hickies in his path, the Joker wrapped his fingers around the ears of Batman's cowl, longing for something soft to wrap his fingers in.

"Uh, Brucey—" The Joker said, and Batman froze. How the fuck did he know that?

"I'm not stupid. Only a rich billionaire can afford that sexy little suit of yours. And Bruce Wayne ascends a boat with the Russian ballet at the same time Batman goes to Hong Kong to get Mr. Lau. I might be insane, but I am neither blind nor dumb." Bruce was surprised at how intelligent the Joker sounded. English lessons as a kid and describing what grammar was to a classroom full of students were somewhere distant in his mind. However, they did not link up, but he didn't care.

"I'd suggest taking the cowl off. Otherwise, it'll uh, get in the way." The Joker advised. Bruce sat for a moment, contemplating whether he should peel off the only layer of protection he had from the Joker. The Joker stared at him hungrily, and he knew that if he didn't take it off the Joker would cut it off. So, Bruce pulled the cowl over his head, and it came off with a plop!, and in an instant the Joker was attacking his lips and straddling him. His hands were tangled in Bruce's soft, sweet-smelling hair.

Bruce really was perfection in its purest form. He had perfect pink lips, rosy cheeks, brilliant blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a perfectly chiseled body. He seemed to be made by God and sent down from Heaven.

However, the Joker did not believe in such preposterous things as God, and even if he did Bruce wasn't his angel. No. He was too perfect to be an angel.

He could taste the purity matching with the corruption on his tongue. He could feel his other half combing with him to make a whole. He felt different and complete, for once. Bruce gently ran his fingers through the Joker's hair, and even though the Joker wanted to bat away the affection and cut Bruce's face open and give him scars to match his… he couldn't. As much as he hated to admit it, he adored it. He adored everything in that moment. His hands roamed the armor covering Bruce's body, trying to find some way to take it off, and he was prepared to cut it up.

"We should probably go somewhere more… comfortable for this." Bruce suggested awkwardly, not believing that this was actually happening. He was going to make love to his arch-enemy. It was… unreal, or so it seemed to Bruce when the Joker reluctantly got off him and extended a gloved hand to help him up. Bruce grabbed it tightly, and was pulled to his feet. The Joker seemed to refuse to let him go, and they began to walk, ironically, down the aisle, in-step and at the same rhythm with each other. It was as if they were in a high school marching band, walking with their feet perfectly in-time and perfectly in-step[1].

Soon, they reached their destination. They were in a room with an old-looking mattress that touched the floor. The room was illuminated by the pale moonlight shining in through the open window, chilling the room. Batman studied the room. The mattress looked disgusting. He didn't want the Joker or him to be having sex on that. But the Joker's arms wrapped around his body in an almost intimate way, and he wrapped his arms around the Joker, one hand in his hair and one hand on the small of his back. The Joker's face was buried in the crook of his neck.

It was a moment of intensity again. There were so many things wrapped into this embrace that both of them could hardly take it. Bruce took it a lot better than the Joker did, who was so overwhelmed that he was shaking in Bruce's arms. Like a child in need. Bruce's possessiveness of the clown like he was his own child immediately and instinctively kicked in, and he held the Joker' tighter to his body, nuzzling his nose in his hair. The sparks that flew between during every touch between them were undeniable now. The Joker looked up at Bruce with a combination of admiration and lust apparent in his eyes.

Bruce lifted a hand to the Joker's face, and the Joker suddenly seemed to snap out of whatever daze he'd been in a few moments ago, because he smashed his lips against Bruce's and slammed him against the wall. Immediately, Bruce began to return the ferocity in the Joker's kisses, and he relished the taste of anarchy and madness on his tongue. The taste of the Joker was odd and unique, and his kisses were unlike any other person's whom he had encountered.

The Joker's body pressed and rubbed against his, the Joker groaning loudly into his mouth as the armor rubbed into all the right places. Bruce realized just how hard he'd become during every kiss he had shared with the Joker, and he could even feel how swollen the Joker was beneath his purple pinstriped pants. Bruce grabbed the Joker and switched places, now slamming him against the wall. A whimper escaped the Joker, and Bruce's heart skipped a beat. The psychopathic clown maniac before him had… whimpered.

In the back of his mind, he thought this was adorable. But he obviously wasn't going to say it aloud.

Bruce lowered his face to the Joker's neck, and began to unbutton his cravat at a maniacally fast pace, hasty to get the clown's clothes off his body. And the Joker began to unhook the wires and hooks on Batman's chest that attached the armor to his body. Soon, plates of Batman's armor began to fall to the floor, as well as the Joker's clothes. The fabric of the Kevlar was stripped from the shoulders down, and soon both men were naked before each other.

The Joker seemed to be bashful about his nakedness. He hadn't felt so exposed and naked before. He hated seeming weak and vulnerable before Batman. And that's what everyone was when they were naked, no matter how strong you may be. But, Batman was also naked and vulnerable—without the damn mask—before him as well. Batman rubbed hard circles on the tight muscles on his shoulders, and the Joker immediately loosened to his touch.

The Joker grabbed Bruce by the head and smashed his lips against his, wanting to feel the skin connect to his. But, the sensation of the other man's warm bare skin against his was exhilarating. The Joker could hardly contain it. It thrilled him to have the other man so close and naked and as stripped to the vermin that was humanity as they both could possibly get.

Bruce's and Joker's tongues wrestled in their mouths, fighting for dominance. It would always be a never-ending conflict between them. Even in the deepest moments of passion they could possibly have, they would always fight. It was the dynamic, unstoppable cycle the Joker always talked about, Bruce began to realize as he was pulled down by the Joker, onto the squeaky, old mattress that lay on the floor. They began to kiss longer and more hungrily, savoring the taste of each other. The kiss was ravenous and it tasted of sex.

Bruce moved his face from the Joker's and to his neck, then his collarbone. The Joker groaned, and tangled his hands in Bruce's soft, sweaty hair. He smelled of soap and some sort of exquisite, expensive cologne. His skin was soft beneath his fingertips. He was clean, pristine, and beautiful. He liked to destroy beautiful things…

But the damage was apparent in bruises and grooves from scars that covered his body. Bruce winced when he touched the pain-sensitive areas, but knew he couldn't stop the Joker from examining the scars and bruises that came from his midnight escapades around Gotham. The Joker's nails caressed his beaten back, and Bruce moaned in a combination of pleasure and pain, chills descending his spine. The Joker began to roll his hips against Bruce's, closing his eyes and letting them roll to the back of his head as the pleasure struck him. Bruce groaned once again, and grinded against the Joker in return. He moved his head lower, and took an erect nipple into his mouth. He held it between his teeth, and sucked on it and licked it with his tongue until it turned red. The Joker groaned, and Bruce did the same to the other, neglected nipple.

The Joker desperately wanted that mouth to be around a different part of his body. But, he knew he couldn't be vulnerable and submissive like this. He was the Joker, for fuck's sakes! Even if everything the Joker was doing was absolutely driving him insane with arousal and desire and lust, he still couldn't just give in. Batman should be screaming his name, not the other way around.

He let out an animalistic growl, tearing Bruce away from his body and pinning him to the bed beneath them, gnawing and devouring the other's man's lips. And Batman grabbed him by his face, smashing him even harder against him. The Joker tore away from him, most of his make-up smeared all over Bruce's face at this point, and he moved his lips to his chest, doing the same thing Bruce had but in a much rougher manner. He bit and sucked roughly on the hard nipples that stuck out on Bruce's chest, causing a few cries of pain and pleasure to escape him. This motivated the Joker further, and caused his penis to grow twice it's normal size. He moved his face lower, to Bruce's pelvic area, spreading quick kisses to the area while slowly, torturously, moving his mouth lower.

His tongue slowly slid down the full length of Bruce, and the other man could've cried from delight, but he held it in when Joker began to tease the head with his tongue, quickly withdrawing his mouth from him. Bruce let out a quiet whimper, and the Joker smirked cockily up at him. But Bruce looked absolutely desperate—he was so hard he was purple. The Joker forced Bruce down his throat. He almost choked when hips thrusted in his face, but he quickly regained composure and began to move up and down Bruce, never fully taking him out of his mouth. His tongue focused on the back and the head of Bruce's cock, giving quick and unpredictable ministrations to random areas. Bruce jumped and moaned loudly, tangling his fingers in the Joker's oily, greenish blonde hair, tugging him upwards.

White hot daggers of pleasure began to shoot up Bruce's spine. It soon grew more intense, and fierier. His groans got louder and louder, until his body began to shake, and he could tell there was an impending climax on the way.

"Joker…" He groaned loudly. The clown's ears perked at the use of his name, and Bruce's mind disintegrated, he was brought into a mind-shattering orgasm.

It was honestly the most beautiful sight the Joker had ever seen. Bruce's screams were almost completely Gibberish, besides the occasional shouting of his name. He was completely vulnerable and powerless before him. The mere thought of doing anything to hurt him was unforgivable. When he had sex, he stabbed the victims in the heart as the entered the best orgasm they'd ever had in their lives. But he couldn't even think of doing that to his Bat. It was the twisted love and devotion he had for the man before him that both shocked and pleased him. They could keep doing this forever, and he knew he'd never get bored.

And that was all the fun.

He soon realized that Bruce's climax was over. He swallowed the bitter taste of come that filled his mouth, and looked at his Bruce with a lust-filled gaze. Bruce gripped the Joker by the hair, and looked down, realizing his private quarters were now covered in the greasepaint that distorted the Joker's face. The Joker and Bruce stared at each other for a moment, the lust in their eyes mirroring the others, until the Joker finally urged for Bruce to turn over.

It was happening.

And there was no stopping it.

The thought didn't unnerve Bruce in the least, which was unbelievable. He was quite calm about it, and the Joker seemed to be so excited he could've jumped out of his skin. Bruce got on his knees, and his heart began to race when he heard the Joker spit into his hand.

"Darling, we don't have any…" His voice trailed off, and Bruce knew what he was talking about. He would have to go through with this without any sort of preparation. He knew it would be painful. But, the connection had to be made. They would be intertwining as one. They were about to be committing the deepest act of connection and love… But there was no love. There was only a mixture of lust, anger, hatred, and confusion.

The Joker was going to hate-fuck his enemy, and he'd enjoy it. And he would make Brucey enjoy it as well.

He thrusted his full girth into Bruce, and there was a new fiery sensation of the nerves on his anus. It was horrible, horrible pain. He could feel blood begin to pour from him. But, the Joker continued to thrust, slow at first, but gradually picking up speed. Eventually, Bruce felt the orgasmic pleasure build up in him. However, when the Joker hit his prostate, he began to thrust in time with the Joker.

"You're mine, Bruce… Y-You're mine. No one else's." The Joker grunted in his ear, and let out a gasp as he reached closer to his climax. Bruce groaned, not being able to concentrate because the mixture of pain and pleasure was so intoxicating. Pain and pleasure became one in his mind. The Joker dug his nails into his back, leaving bloody marks as he went.

"Whose are you?" The Joker shouted.

"Yours." Bruce groaned.

"WHOSE?" The Joker literally screamed. Bruce moaned loudly.

"Y-Yours." Bruce heard the Joker cry out loudly, and felt something wet inside him. He didn't know whether it was his blood or the Joker's semen, but all he could feel was himself releasing onto the sheets, and entering a rocky state of Nirvana with the Joker.

They both had no idea what they were saying. All they knew was that the Batman was there, and the Joker was there. Nothing else. Not the cold that surrounded them. Not the creepy glow from the moonlight, and not the chaotic mess of clothes, armor, and Kevlar that were scattered amongst the floor near them. They only knew each other in those moments.

Soon, their orgasms ended. The Joker pulled himself out of Bruce, and Bruce collapsed onto his back and onto the sheets, the Joker collapsing on top of him and leaning his head on his chest. Greasepaint, sweat, blood, and hickies covered the both of them. Bruce unconsciously stroked the Joker's hair with shaky hands, still signaling he was a bit shaky from the mind-shattering orgasm he'd experienced not even a minute ago. The Joker giggled, and laid his head against Bruce's heart. It had a healthy, slow beat to it that could've lulled him to sleep.

"That was… amazing!" The Joker chuckled.

Bruce obviously did not want to respond.

"Merry Christmas, Batsy…" The Joker whispered, and the two enemies lay with each other, covered in blood and semen. They eventually lost track of time. But, deep in their minds, they knew they'd have to don the cowl and the greasepaint once again, and go back to being the people who they'd always be.

But, for now, they stayed in bliss. Not sleeping, and not fully awake. They were more alive than they'd ever been before.

I will not describe to you how hard this was to write by Christmas. PWP isn't really my thing. I have to get better sexy writing skills to continue doing this. . But here's my first B/J porn! lol. Don't be too hard on me in the review!

Happy Christmahanukwanza! =D

PS: A very, very brief part of this story links to my pre-Joker story, Crazy Boy, where Jack/Joker was an English teacher to high school students before he snapped. You don't have to read it. It's just a thing I snuck in there. xD

PPS: Reviews are a writer's best Christmas gift. Just sayin'. xD

Hope you enjoyed!

-A