Disclaimer: Strictly for entertainment purposes. No Profitting, I promise.
Prompt from a past round Knight Vs Anarchy from the LJ Community: "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." -The Dark Knight
Warnings: Colorful language, some m/m action, and plot-induced OOCness

Summary: The little things you do for that special someone.
A/N: Just a little something I think the Joker would view as the enemy. This is probably the closest thing I'll come to fluff for this couple. Feedback is not only loved but craved.

It started off with an innocent enough comment.

Lounging like the penthouse cat at the foot of Brucey's bed, on his back and sucking on a wedge of lemon with such zealous he'd be jealous of the fat slice if it were anyone else administering such talent upon it. With gray half-lidded eyes, the crescent cut yellow skin masked his teeth as his tongue toyed with the tart flesh. Scarred cheeks hollowing in a steady rhythm and obnoxious slurps tearing from his red-stained lips.

"Disgusting." He glanced up from his empty thoughts to the half-dressed brunet crossing the large room to the mirror. The disapproving look the handsome billionaire fixed upon him as he fiddled with his tie drew enough interest for the clown to quirk an eyebrow and show off a lemon-wedge smile. This only further repulsed his audience. "If you were hungry, I could ask Alfred to make you something."

Only a shrug in response, then a slew of full-hearted sucking till the last of the sour juices drained down his throat and he pulled the lemon from his suction with a messy pop. "Besides the joy of being poisoned, where's the sport in that? No, no, I prefer stealing from Jeeves' tea-making. Should he really be, uh drinking on the job?"

"Regardless…" Bruce had to suppress a grin: Pictures of the old man settling down with a fresh brew and a homicidal clown tip-toeing to jack some lemon flitted across his forethoughts. Months ago it would have disturbed him; now it only served as the norm. "You shouldn't be eating them like that- or at all really."

"Oh-- and why not?" A teasing tone rolled from his sour-soaked tongue. His eyes narrowed and scrutinized the fruit's translucent flesh, flattened and torn.

"Well because for one it's gross-"

"Says the man that feasts upon snails and fish eggs."

Bruce shot him a glare to match the clown's wide as saucers, innocent eyes. "You're stereotyping."

"Am I? I recall such items being served at the last Wayne gala," he replied with nonchalance, sitting up and straightening his collar. "Simple tastes, 'member? My excuse for leading such a bad life." [1]

"It's not right to suck on lemons like that because," the vigilante disguised in a crisp tuxedo plowed forward with a bite to his voice. "It eats away the enamel of your teeth."

Seconds passed of the green-haired gentleman only observing his lover's reflection tug and knot the tie into a sharp bow. Tonguing the small scar in the middle of his bottom lip, he eventually countered with a soft murmur, "I would care… why?"

Slipping on his dress jacket and doing the few buttons, the billionaire shrugged. "Not asking you to. Just pointing out how ridiculous your smiling is going to look in a couple years when you have no teeth." He checked himself out once more in the full length mirror, slicking his hair back, then crossed to his companion's spot on the bed. "Be back in a couple hours - try not to burn the place down."

"You didn't say anything about other places," the clown quipped in a mild tone. His grin lacking its devious curl, as his Bat bid him farewell with a brush of lips against his white-furrowed forehead and left for some champagne-fueled waste of time.

The clown sat there for some time mulling over the Bat's words and inquisitively sucking and running his tongue along his teeth. They're not-not that bad, are they? His bared canines appeared worn and pale yellow in the bathroom mirror under a sixty watt glow. His head tilted every which way as if they'd change at some unexpected angle. The white smeared across his face really highlighted their discoloration.

"Hmmmm…" His tongue flopped out, red and swollen: Taste buds raw and still recovering from the stinging effects of lemon. Juices dry and sticky having dribbled down his chin.

"How ridiculous your smiling is going to look in a couple years when you have no teeth."

No teeth…

Needless to say, the clown prince begrudgingly picked up a toothbrush that night… Brucey's to be exact.

Hands splayed across a bare chest, heaving under the hard licks on six pack abs. The clown's wicked tongue trailing a hot path down, down, down…

"Joker, Joker, wait, hold on a sec." It took all of the brunet's will power to pull away from the clown's rough ministrations.

Hazy-eyed and jaw unhinged, said man dangled his tongue over the other man's rigid flesh and cocked his head.

"What-why?"

The billionaire's tan flushed crimson. "It's… the make up."

"What about my face?"

The grit of the other man's teeth -now looking whiter and more healthy these days- sent Bruce's heart into spasms. The man's fangs being so close to such an important appendage. Highly irrational though, the clown cared for it too much. Yet it was the Joker…

"The paint just gets everywhere."

"Awww… Brucey…" His snarl relaxed into a Cheshire grin, planting his elbows on either side of the other's thighs. "You look so cute in my colors though." He reached forward and ran a thumb along the white shadow and red slash that had rubbed off on Batsy's lips, his jaw, his neck, his gorgeous chest, and down, down, down…

"I know you think so but Alfred…"

"Jeeves?" His black-rimmed eyes bugged slightly. "What about your English muffin?"

"He's- he's really having a hard time with this, with-us…"

"Jealousy does have that effect on people," the jester replied in a bored manner. Cupping his scarred cheek and lightly dragging a ragged nail up and down Brucey's length; the sensation sent zings of pleasure up the brunet's spine, cock twitching.

"I mean, Alfred... he shouldn't have to see evidence-"

"Honestly I'd think the Brit wants to get into your pants the way he's cock-blocking me. Now come on, Bats, I'm flagging down here." All this mindless conversation really was depreciating his erection. So his lover hadn't taken one breath before his hand circled around the base, and his dulled ruby lips wrapped around the scarlet tip, tongue darting out to tease the dripping wet slit. There, that should shut him up.

In actuality, Bruce didn't need that breath: All the air in his lungs rushing out in one drawn out groan. The suction and liquid fire trailing down his length turning his mind to mush. His fingers moved on their own accord to tangle in those greasy green strands. All he could focus on were those sinful lips pressed tight around him and that cursed tongue kneading him to the edge. Pressure crushing his skull, he was forgetting to breathe again.

Finally the blessed second came when the clown prince came up for air and- "I'mnotBatmanallthetime," gushed from the painful loss of wonderful suction.

Lips bruised and shiny, the clown eyed his prey with a bemused expression. "Huh?"

Slowly recovering -slicked with sweat- he pushed up on his elbows to stare down at his nemesis. "What-I mean is," he panted, "That I-take off my-mask when I'm-here."

"Your point-tuh?"

"I'd like for you... to do the same." Cool air chilled his lungs and feverish skin. Never before had the billionaire felt so foolish than lying vulnerable under the madman -his lover- and asking for something so simple that he's been wrestling to bring up to the other man for weeks. He'd started now though, and by God he was going to get what he wanted. "It's um, it's only fair," he added, sensing the flat out "No" waiting to be flourished on the other side of those raw lips.

"You and your fairness," the jester spat with clear distaste. He didn't move from his spot though, instead investing his efforts on picking at the crimson comforter strewn like a rumpled slug on the other half of the large bed. On the surface it wasn't too much to ask, just a little soap and water. "How come this is, uh, such an issue now, hmmm?"

It's been; I've just been too nervous to mention it. "… will you just do it when you're here with me?"

Previously sprawled on all fours and looming over his brunet's lower half, he sat back on his heels and studied the man's so serious expression. Brucey wasn't kidding, huh? The clown crossed his arms over his flat chest and quirked an eyebrow. "And what if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, well…" Bruce released a heavy sigh, the one that's been pent up for ages since the silly idea of the harlequin taking down the few defenses -the same Batman has done- that would set them as equals took firm root in his mind. "Then I- I have work to do." He sat up and moved from the bed in one fluid motion; hard on forgotten and reaching for his discarded boxer shorts.

The clown chewed on the inside of his warped cheek with all the fervor of a sulking child. Dark eyes narrowed into slits and slid to every article of clothing the other man was stripped of after work. I have work to do. More work? Who'da thought Bats could be such a bitch? To be withholding sex like a spiteful woman. This was one game he did not care to play…

The taste of his Bat was still on his pallet, salty musk and absolutely delicious.
Damnit he had to have more.
A growl rumbled deep in his throat and crept up -increasing in volume- till he felt as if he would burst from the wanting.

"Fffine!" he barked like a vicious animal at the sight of muscular arms slipping through Armani sleeves.

Bruce tapered down the satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turned on his heel and faced the seething beast in his bedroom. A mask of mild shock fixed upon his face.

Slivers of exposed face burning, the jester stormed over to where his Bat stood and brought their noses nearly touching. Dilated black burning holes into confident brown. A crooked, skeletal finger jabbed the vigilante in the heart of his unbuttoned shirt. "I'll do it, but I get to fuck you," he hissed.

Pausing a moment to make sure his point was made, he stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Hey, you done in there yet?" the billionaire's smooth voice was muffled behind the locked cherry wood door.

"Don't. Rush. Me," was the snarled reply. Streams of emerald to chartreuse splashing the sides of the immaculate basin and spiraling down the drain. Stained fingers tangled and scrubbing to wash away another ingredient to his clownish appearance.

"I'm not, but remember the reservation's for seven."

"Oh, what-you don't own that restaurant?" The blasting static of water camouflaged his throaty hisses and scattered curses.

Reservations, another stupid ploy at order. Bats just had to insist. "I'm not going anywhere without reservations."[2] The spoiled brat. Clipped nails scratched in vain at this scalp. A half bottle of shampoo lay oozing on the counter. The tap had run cold minutes ago with fungus green suds still clinging to his hairline. The freezing blast hiding the already there headache. Enough was on his mind as it was without the Bat throwing this curve ball and insisting to go out to dinner, meaning no hats and he'd have to wash his hair.

Wasn't it enough he was showering every other day?

He flipped his head back, spraying the mirror and everything else within proximity. Cool droplets stung his eyes -squinting- as water soaked the back of his neck and clogged his ears. Fucking hate that. Green-tinted palms wiped at his eyes.

A mop of dirty blond -darker now from being wet- was the first and only thing about his reflection that captured his attention. His lack of paint was to be ignored and unwillingly something he got used to, but Brucey liked it so much, telling him he was so beautiful at the most peculiar times, like after sex for example. The clown could deal with it when he came home to his Bat though; he would have to.

More knocking. Where's my knife. I'm going to cut 'im. Flicking the lock, he flung the door open, ready to cold cock Gotham's hero. Brucey being so smart knew to back up several steps in case of attack. Good for you, Batsy, that I'm not in the mood. Thoughts like that terrified him. "Done. Ready." Water drenched the back and shoulders of his white t-shirt.

"You're going out like that?" the billionaire questioned in dark slacks and an equally black dress shirt. Did anyone teach him there were other colors in the rainbow?

"Yeah, what of it? I just want to go and get this over with."

A pitying smile split Bruce's lips. "Do you not want to go out with me that much?"

"But whyyy though?" he basically whined. "The Clown Prince at a fancy restaurant with Gotham's first son? I think the Batman is getting a tad careless."

"Not careless. Batman just hasn't had much to worry over lately, and I want to go out with someone I want to be with."

Because that someone has been stuck home with you -giggling, fucking, eating pizza, and watching bad movies, things that make my stomach flip-flop- every night for the past week and a half. No one's out there to set the fire or get a few laughs in your precious city. Of course there's nothing to worry about!

Too distracted with his thoughts, it was too easy for the billionaire to pull the wet t-shirt over his head and use the dry bottom half to scrunch clumps of dripping hair and gather the excess moisture.

The clown stared at him in earnest. Why do you this, Batsy?

Finished, Bruce grinned and tossed it on the bed. Alfred would take care of it; he was sure the old butler would only be too happy to finally clean the master bedroom since its two occupants would be gone for the evening. His eyes roamed over the smooth planes of pearly skin stretched over lean muscle, old as well as new scars dabbed here and there. His clown was gorgeous, and he was only too happy to finally have a glimpse at the man he once was - possibly even still is deep down. That notion was too exciting to bear. "Oh." His face lit up, a new strange habit of his. Holding up a finger with a secretive smile, he dashed to the walk-in closet and disappeared for a moment. Some rustling until he strolled out holding something behind his back.

A sick squirming in his stomach told the clown this surprise would be something he'd hate himself for liking. He kept his expression apprehensive and eyes curious.

Bruce held out the gift on a hanger: A plum button-up tucked inside a black blazer. "… I figured you'd look weird with my clothes hanging off you, and your clothes being too obvious…" Blood bubbled under his skin's surface. The shocked expression on his lover's face making him doubt this token of affection. (It just wasn't them.) "I, um, uh… there're pants too." He motioned absently behind him. "Wasn't sure of the size though…"

"Thought Jeeves has an eye for these things."

A coy smile reached the brunet's once upon a time dead eyes. "No, I got 'em myself," he said proudly.

"Oh…" A foreign sensation consumed his chest and hindered his breathing. Eyes wilting. "I, uh, I suppose I'll change then…" He gingerly took the shirt and jacket from their hanger and slowly put them on.

"Before you do that…"

He paused with only a plum sleeve pulled on.

Bruce visibly flinched before he said a word, face tensed and a hand idly scratching the back of his head in a simulation of casual conversation. "You... erm, have to cover up your scars… there's some latex in the medicine cabinet."

A pale hand fisted purple fabric. The jester's body eerily still: Not a twitch, blink, or tongue swipe along lips. Without the black paint, his irises turned out to be a warm hazel that twinkled with every genuine smile. The only smile on his face now was etched in dark pink, lips terse and thin. He glared at his other half, wanting to scream and beat him till he was a sack of bruised and bleeding lumpy flesh. Something stopped him though from doing just that. He'd rather throw himself at the wall than do that. Another terrifying thought.

Bruce looked as helpless as he felt. With anyone else and any other subject, he could handle. He knew the scars would be a challenge. They truly didn't bother him, at least not anymore. Many times having traced them with his lips and tongue. They simply were another unique detail that created the Joker. The reality of their situation though just wouldn't allow that kind of openness in public.

Silence strangled the air between them, each waiting for the first punch to be thrown. For once the Batman prayed it wouldn't come to that: All he wanted was a normal night out with this man that he's sure is ready to kill him.

"Joker…" he started, taking a small step forward with arms open and disarmed. "It's not my choice. Please can we go somewhere without attracting attention? I want to go out and be seen with you."

The clown had covered his scars many times before for work and play-related issues; each time without a hitch. His anger drained a little, realizing the big deal: I'd be doing it for him. And that bothered him more than the face paint, the clothes, or his boring blond hair. Moments ago he was sure his Bat was trying to change him -as if he were ashamed of him!- with his innocent comments and charming smiles, but judging from his pained expression he knew the idea agonized Brucey also.

Tension mounted -the dirty blond rolling words around in his mouth- until it broke with a hiss of air and he nodded. "For you," he muttered and left Bruce to deal with his plummeting pulse.

All this for an over-priced dinner.

The Joker had to get away though, even if it was just to the bathroom.

Something bad was happening to the Clown Prince of Crime, because
1)The Bat came out of that without a scratch;
And 2) The Joker almost told him that he loved him. [3]

[1] Based off a quote by Oscar Wilde
[2] Come on people, American Psycho!
[3] "I Almost Told You That I Loved You," by Papa Roach (a very good Batman/Joker song)