overlithe (overlithe) wrote in batmanjoker, @ 2009-05-03 02:43:00 |
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Current mood: | exhausted |
Entry tags: | author: thanks_to_god, chaptered story: yellow spots, fanfic, knight vs anarchy round 8, rating: nc17, team knight |
Team Knight - Round 8 - Yellow spots, chapter 6 [fanfiction] - Changes
Original poster: thanks_to_god
Hello everyone =D The new chapter's here aand i also started naming them.
Maybe dear mods would put my story under the story tag? Or give me an athor tag? Please-please =]
Oh and i still don't have a beta - so who's interested, please, contact me :)
Title: Yellow spots
Pairing: Batman(Bruce)/Joker
Rating: NC-17 for grafic sex and language
Words: 3050
Warnings: slash, violence, sexual content
Disclaimer: don't own anything
Summary: Something happens with the Joker, something that may change his life forever.
Chapter 6.
Changes.
Joker steps into the kitchen for the first time, moving unsteadily because his body is still weak. He looks around the large room and sees the huge windows letting in all the light from the outside.
He leans on the counter, breathing heavily because it’s still too much of moving for him. His knees are shaking with exertion and he absent-mindedly pulls up the slithered down jeans Bruce gave him even though they are too big for him as is the shirt.
Everything is quiet around him, too quiet, and there’s some uneasy disturbing feeling in the air, something is wrong –
He turns around sharply and sees Bruce in the doorway; apparently just from another party judging by the expensive tuxedo he’s wearing. There’s something in the Bruce’s expression, his eyes, or his lips – something scary, something that isn’t supposed to be there, something bad.
“Hello Jack” Bruce says with a smug smirk and his voice is ringing in the Joker’s head. He gasps.
“Wha- What did you- How did you-” He stammers, shocked at hearing the name he considered to be lost long time ago. He himself made sure no one would be able to find out, he buried all of his previous persona deep down, so no one can know, so how the hell did Bruce –
“What? Are you afraid of me?” Bruce purrs, stepping closer to the Joker, making him back away automatically. There’s an awful smirk on the billionaire’s face and that gleam in his darkened eyes that make Joker wince. “You can’t be serious! It is you, after all, who’s been lusting after me for God only knows how much time, isn’t it, huh?” Bruce hisses, his face now only inches away from the Joker’s.
Joker pants, too afraid, too excited, too ashamed, all these feelings mixing inside of him. Bruce leans closer to him, his lips almost touching the clown’s earlobe. Joker feels the sparks of arousal at the almost-touch.
“Come on, Jackie boy, I know you want it” Bruce whispers in his ear, hot breath against his skin makes Joker squirm. He finds himself pinned between Bruce’s body and the wall somehow, though he clearly remembers he was standing by the counter few minutes ago. Bruce’s one hand grabs both of the Joker’s wrists in a death grip and pins them to the wall above the clown’s head while the other hand slides down, slowly, until it reaches an obvious bulge in Joker’s jeans. “You want it, you enjoy it, you slut” Bruce whispers in his ear, his large palm covers Joker’s erection and pats it slightly, earning a small moan from the quivering man.
It turns him on immensely, even though he doesn’t like any bit of the bondage part he has to play nor the humiliating things Bruce’s saying to him, but the fact it is Bruce, Batman doing this to him arouses him momentarily. He feels the man’s hand make its way under the Joker’s underwear and grab his cock, icy cold palm against the hot hard flesh makes him let out the last air left in his lungs. He moans louder this time as the hand in his pants begins to jerk him off. Bruce’s lips are on his neck suddenly as Bruce bites deep on his soft skin, hard enough to draw blood there. The billionaire’s hand is stroking his rock hard cock, sending waves of incredible pleasure through him. He lets out a whimper through his barely parted lips, feeling Bruce placing wet aggressive kisses down his neck and going down to his collarbone, then to his chest, tearing apart his shirt in process. There’re sharp sounds of buttons flying around and hitting the floor, bouncing in all possible directions.
Joker moans and groans, shuddering and trembling against Bruce. The vigilante bites on the smaller man’s nipple hard, sucking it, circling it with his tongue, the hand stroking Joker’s cock all the while.
“You scum, you horny little slut” Bruce repeats over and over again, his voice muffled against the clown’s chest as Bruce licks the scarred skin, leaving the wet trails here and there. The Joker is so hard it hurts him, the desire to be touched is unbearable and he rushes his hips forward, desperate to get any friction.
“Please” he moans quietly, the similarity of the situation makes him wince. Just like that it was with his captor what seems like an eternity ago. The hand on his cock withdraws.
“Please what?” Bruce sing songs, evil smirk on his face as he back away, looking at the Joker up and down.
“Please, touch me” he begs, the pre-cum dripping from his cock, making the material wet. “Please, Bruce”
“Aw, our Jackie boy is begging to be fucked again, isn’t he?” Bruce jeers, his cold hand roaming all over the Joker’s body, the other holding his wrists again. “Aren’t you a slut after that, hmm? You so like to be insulted and humiliated –“
“No” the Joker breathes, barely able to stand on his weak knees, trembling with desire. “I don’t like it, I don’t, I just –“
“Then, maybe I should go away?” Bruce suggests, slowly stepping back, his steps noiseless.
“NO!” the clown cries, aware of how pathetic he is. “Please, just let me… let me come”
“You come only when I tell you to” he hears and then there’s a myriad of sensations as Bruce slips his finger inside him, moving it inside, but Joker doesn’t feel pain, only pleasure, such mind-blowing pleasure that he can’t keep silent.
“Bruce… oh Bruce, please” He pants, one hand still jerking him off while the other is now fingering him. He feels like he’s gonna explode. “Please, B- Bruce… please”
“I am not Bruce” the man drawls, looking Joker in the eyes, and the clown can see the black depths instead Bruce’s hazel warm eyes.
He doesn’t have time to think over the words he hears.
“You’re nothing more than a filthy slut” Bruce snaps, repulsion in his voice and there’re two fingers now in his ass, but Joker can’t take it any longer.
“Bruce, Bruce, please…”
“I’m not Bruce”
“Joker!”
“Please”
“JOKER!”
He wakes up with a start, cold sweat covering his body, erection obvious even under the blanket. Bruce is sitting on his bed, worried, look of concern in his eyes, his hand on the clown’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. Something wet runs down his right cheek and Joker blinks few times, realizing with embarrassment he’s crying.
“I wasn’t asleep and I heard your screaming, so…” Bruce mumbles, his voice trailing off.
“So what?” Joker snaps, burning with shame and wondering whether or not Brice had noticed his arousal. “You just couldn’t stay away without playing a hero, could you?!”
He doesn’t know what induces him to vent his fury and annoyance upon Bruce, he doesn’t think about it. But he sees Bruce’s eyes harden.
“Well, excuse me, I should’ve lie in bed and listen to your wails! Sorry for caring about you!” Bruce shots back, fuming, his eyes expressing all the injustice of being blamed for doing a good thing, a tiny hint of hurt in his voice and that only increases Joker’s rage. He’s just so fucking tired of being like this, helpless and vulnerable, at someone’s mercy.
This can’t go on like that.
“Oh no, you didn’t care - you simply couldn’t leave me alone, no, no! You needed to see me like this, to feel you power over me, to think that poor little Joker is like a puppy you sheltered so you can fix me until I fit your idealistic form!”
His erection has withered already and he can look at things more clear-headed now. He regrets his words almost immediately as he sees Bruce stand up, burning with rage and fury. He stays like that, breathing heavily and looking somewhere past Joker, probably thinking over the clown’s words. His expression changes to simple hurt and… disappointment.
Bruce closes his eyes, sighing and rubbing his nose wearily.
“You’re right, Joker, stupid of me to hope that… anything has changed.” Bruce murmurs, his expression as if a he’s a man who had been working hard for a long time to get salary only to find he’s been deceived and there’s no such one. Bruce makes his way to the door, not looking back once and walks out of the room, shutting the door tightly.
Oh shit, fuck, fucking shit! God, he’s sick of it, he’s sick of all that cheap drama, his position, he can’t do this anymore!
This can’t go on like that.
He can’t go on like that.
It’s like being locked in a box with his own fears that torture him to no end. He needs to get out of it, to breathe in some fresh air, to put these two weeks he spent in the dark room somewhere in the farthest closet of his mind and lock it there. Otherwise it would swallow him whole.
It would swallow him if he stays in that room for any longer.
He needs to move on from this and try to go back to his usual self. He’s already got back his killing desire, so that’s a start.
But most of all, Joker needs to find a sick bastard and kill him. But before he would torture him and make him feel everything.
He just doesn’t know where to start.
Joker sits on the bed and struggles to stand up. He puts on the clothes Bruce brought to him few hours ago, knowing he would want to get up, and Joker is immediately reminded of his dream or better to say, his nightmare.
He doesn’t want to think about it because it makes him embarrassed as hell and burn with shame at getting hard in spite of the words Bruce was telling him. Or it wasn’t Bruce? Whatever, just Bruce or Bruce embodying the sick captor, he should not have turned on at that. But he has.
He staggers to the door, rejoicing at Bruce’s unwarranted trustfulness that led him to leave the Joker in completely unguarded room. He pushes the door slightly, looking out to see whether there’s the butler somewhere around. Bruce must have left to his office by now, so there’s only him and Alfred the butler.
He smirks. Bruce made it too easy for him.
He knows he can’t kill the butler because it would break Bruce completely and probably break Batman too, and he can’t risk that. He’s already hurt Bruce enough, and the disturbing feeling just doesn’t let Joker to do it again. He doesn’t want to analyze the feeling; it’s easier to just do whatever his senses tells him to.
He slinks to the kitchen, turning around every thirty seconds, not wanting to be found by the old man, because even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s afraid of the man. But who wouldn’t after hearing all this shit about mental punishment?!
Joker collects the kitchen knives carefully and places them in his jeans pocket, trying to have as much as possible. Satisfied with the result, he quietly makes his way out of the room where he guesses the exit should be. He can’t of course leave through the main entrance, so he tries to find another one, less noticeable.
He’s surprised at how easy it turned out to be. He walks through the door outside, breathing in the air hungrily. The smells, the sounds just make his head explode, not used to so much information at once. He’s overwhelmed by these feeling, something not distant to freedom, real freedom and God damn him if he was gonna loose it for the sake of anybody. He inhales again and again, it was so long, so fucking long since he just breathed the air and enjoyed the simple action as much as he does now. He licks his lips, biting on the lower lip, considering the way he’s now to go. The wind blows through his hair, making it harder for him to concentrate and he slowly begins to walk forward, away from the
He doesn’t know where he goes. He certainly can’t – doesn’t want to – go to his apartment where he’d been… kidnapped. The word feels wrong and ridiculous on his tongue, not fitting in.
Stolen. Not exactly a proper word but it’s the first he’s come up with.
He’s smirking as he goes through the empty alley, feeling fear but not letting it overcome him.
First of all, he needs his make-up.
Bruce can’t concentrate on his work no matter how hard he tries. He ends up throwing all his papers on the floor and punching his table irritably. Bruce leans back in his chair, defeated, his body aches and he feels like shrinking into a ball and crying. He buries his face in his hands and his fingers press his closed eyes until he see stars.
Joker was right, absolutely right. And so was Alfred from the very beginning. He was just stupid to hope that… to hope for the better, because it can’t be good whenever it concerns the Joker. Bruce is just a fool.
What did he expect? That Joker would suddenly become normal sane person who forgot how to kill and they would live happily ever after? Bruce screws his eyes shut. Yes, that was exactly what he hoped for.
He wants to cry at the thought that all his hopes crashed into nothing and the Joker is who he is, the psychopathic mass murderer, and he can’t do anything about it, but he wanted, God, oh how he wanted to believe -
All this situation with suddenly back from dead Harvey Dent who most likely turned out to be a sick violator and Bruce doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to sink in this world of crimes and investigations again.
All he wants and needs is just some sleep.
Please, God, oh please.
He doesn’t notice himself lean his forehead against the cold wood of his table, closing his eyes and hearing his pulse in his temples, until he hears a voice from the door.
“Do you need a pillow, sir? I’m sure I can manage that”
The voice is high-pitched and girlish, and Bruce is so surprised to hear female voice in his office that it drives him to lift his head and look at his visitor.
There’s a petite red-headed woman standing by the door, load of papers and folds in her hands. She looks at him with amused expression on her face, her blue eyes staring at him her lips pressed into a thin line. She looks about twenty five, not older.
He doesn’t know this woman but he somehow feels he’s already seen her somewhere. He frowns, calculating, but fails. He asks her then politely:
“Excuse me, who are you?”
The woman looks terribly insulted and he’d be ashamed if he cared. But he’s too tired now to deal with it.
“Actually, I work here as your secretary for three months already. Sir” She says with indignation, glaring at Bruce, and now he is ashamed.
How could that be he hasn’t notice the same woman who’s working for him for three months now, seeing her face everyday?
He’d like to blame it on his insomnia.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry” Bruce tries to apologize but fails miserably. He can’t even remember her name. He looks at her with plea.
“Molly Lewis” she answers on his unspoken question and her face softens, seeing he really is sincere.
“Yes, Molly, thank you, I would love to have a pillow, if you can manage” He says, putting his head on the table again and from the corner of his mind he hears as if through the curtain the sounds of her heels against the floor.
He’s fast asleep when Molly Lewis returns with a large pillow and a blanket in her hands.
“I want you to know that I’m gonna find each one of you until I have some… uh, way to Harvey Dent” Joker sing songs, smirking, his knife in the Maroni’s man’s mouth and he feels powerful and strong for the first time for God knows how many days, weeks. He’s back, almost his entire self is back, leaving no space his fears and panic. It’s like being addicted to the drug and not being able to use it for a while and when you finally get it the drug feels twice incredible. He knows he’ll kill this guy know, he needs it, he needs it so much his hands are trembling with desire. He bounces on his feet with mirth, licking his lips and grinning like crazy as he sees the man’s terrified face. “I want you to get the message to your… uh, people that I won’t stop until I have Dent on his… hmm, knees”
And he cuts the man’s mouth from ear to ear before stabbing him with his knife over and over again until the guy’s dead. He kills him, smearing blood all over his hands, feeling euphoria swallow him whole, the killing finally puts the last lost part of him to its place because this, this is who he is and no matter how hard Bruce would want to fix him, this is part of Joker, without it, he’s not himself.
He dances around the body, blood all over the Joker’s face and hands and he tells himself he’s not afraid anymore.
He tells himself he doesn’t miss Bruce, his sitting on the edge of the clown’s bed, telling the Joker about his work day and the clown would just listen.
He tells himself he doesn’t miss those moments.
And he almost, almost believes it.
“Oopsies” He exclaims, stopping abruptly. “Now, how am I gonna make him deliver the message, hmm?” He kicks the body several times, humming some song and not really remembering the lyrics. “Well, I believe this itself is great of a message”
And before he retires he leaves a Joker card there with some words on it.
Please, comment, i'm worrying sick about your opinions, so please be nice :)