Not Done Yet

A/N: I guess I haven’t set up the timeline on this. It’s before TDK. I would really love more reviews—pretty please?? ; ) Let me know if you like or don’t…suggestions? Thanks!

Seditionary


Bruce Wayne met Rachel Dawes for dinner; now that she was involved with Harvey Dent, they hardly saw each other anymore, although they managed to maintain their close friendship through phone calls and emails.

“So, Bruce, I understand you’re taking an interest in the Joker’s case. What in the world has gotten into you? That man is a monster, everyone knows he should have been given the death penalty. I mean, people have died….”

“Rachel…the Joker is a very sick individual. If Arkham can regain some of what it’s lost over the last few years by successfully treating him, that will be a huge benefit for the entire city of Gotham. And, no matter what your opinion of him may be, he is a human being. He deserves competent psychiatric care, at least, and, apparently, he’s not going to get it without some outside intervention.”

“But, Bruce, what if it doesn’t work? Aren’t you afraid your good name will be dragged through the dirt along with Arkham’s? I just think you’re taking a really big risk, and I hate to see that…”

“I appreciate your concern, Rachel, but I know what I’m doing. You know, giving money to big charitable organizations is important, but sometimes doing good comes down to one person, one situation…I feel this is something I need to do. I’m sorry if I’m not explaining myself very well…”

“Well…I can’t say I really understand. But, you’ve obviously thought it over very seriously, so I guess I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” laughed Bruce.

* * *

Bruce’s next visit to see the Joker would take place in his new room on one of the upper floors. He was once again led to the area by a security officer, but their route was through a corridor brightened by the sun streaming through high, barred windows; the walls were a light shade of blue and there was a day room, where patients could spend a few hours playing board games or watching TV among other human beings.

The guard opened the door, and Bruce stepped in. The Joker was slumped with his back to the wall, splay-legged, on his bed, arms listlessly at his sides, chin on his chest, like a discarded rag doll. He sat up slightly and cocked his head at Bruce’s entrance; then he pursed his scarred lips, and shot a narrow-eyed glare at Bruce.

For the first time, Bruce was seeing him as a “normal” man, without makeup or purple suit. Without straight jacket or restraints. Wearing orange hospital scrubs, blondish-brown hair clean, with only a faint hint of green dye, bruises faded, he was actually quite handsome. Except for the severe scarring. And the manic look in his laser eyes….

And, there was no mistaking the voice.

“Bruce Wayne, you fucking prick. What have you goddamn done to me, you cock-sucking son-of-a-bitch bastard?” The malevolent tone came straight from hell.

“Nice to see you, too, Joker. And, you’re welcome.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to thank you?” He laughed, a short, bitter chuckle. “For what? They won’t let me use my make up, they put me in these piece-of-shit polyester rags, make me sit around with those goddamn re-tards in the day room, and want me to make fucking clay ashtrays…fucking hell, I don’t even smoke. You miserable, fucking bastard.”

“You’re supposed to be getting better.”

“I’ll tell you what’d make me better, a goddamn good fuck’d make me better, but where’ve you been? Huh? You’ve left me here to rot with the cheery nurses and the motherfucking German Nazi doctor…goddamn it, the shit they’re pumping in my veins, I can’t even get pissed any more….”

“You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it right now…”

“Yeah, time for another dose, I imagine….Christ, Bruce, can’t you get me out of here? I just want to go home.”

His rage expended, he slumped back again, his tone turned to a pathetic whine.

“You know, I didn’t mean for them to under-medicate you, either…” said Bruce, dryly.

He took a seat next to the Joker on his bed and pulled him into his arms. The man had no substance on his bones. He lay childishly stiff, refusing to accept Bruce’s overture, but finally turned to him and burrowed into his strength and warmth.

“Why haven’t you been to see me for so long?” he whined.

“It’s only been a week. I talked to the doctor, and he recommended giving you time to get acclimated. I’m sorry it was so long…” He rubbed the younger man’s back comfortingly.

“Ok…I forgive you.” He was suddenly all smiles and grinned up at Bruce. Bruce was amazed at how…innocent…his smile was. Oh, boy, this was going to be a wild ride….

The Joker slipped to the floor, kneeling between Bruce’s legs. He started to unzip Bruce’s trousers, but Bruce caught his hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked firmly.

“Aw, come on, Bruce, let’s play. Don’t be such a tight-ass.” He went back to Bruce’s fly.

Bruce gave in; he supposed the Joker was as much in control of his own mind as he ever was and if he wanted to get friendly, well…ok.

The blow job was incredible, and Bruce moaned as he neared orgasm, but the Joker pulled away, effectively putting a stop to Bruce’s release.

“What the...what’re you doing?”

“Ha ha, I’m not the selfless type, Brucie. Time for some mutual satisfaction…”

He took down his pants and made Bruce move so he could lie down on the bed.

“Come on, Bruce, you know what I like.” He smiled wickedly at him and pulled him on top of himself.

Bruce semi-reluctantly spat in his hand and used the makeshift lube on his still-throbbing erection. He entered the madman with more confidence than he had the last time, and was rewarded with an eager round of obscene encouragement from the Joker, as he arched his back and thrust his skinny hips, hard, against Bruce’s deep thrusts.

Ten minutes later, both men were finished with their frantic coupling, left panting and contentedly clinging to each other on the narrow asylum bed, and some sense of peace came over the Joker.

Medication, shock therapy, talk therapy, art therapy, fuck it all, give me some goddamn good fuck therapy, he thought, snickering to himself as Bruce absently ran his hand through his curly blonde hair. The Joker looked up at his lover and gave him a deep, wicked kiss that sent new spasms of desire through Bruce’s nervous system. But he knew it was almost time for him to leave, and he definitely didn’t want them to be discovered in this condition.

“Get up, get dressed. I’ve got to go.”

The Joker looked at him sulkily. “Yeah, me too…”

“You stay here.”

“Oh, yeah.” He obeyed, pulling his pants on, but staring resentfully at Bruce.

“I’ll come back in a few days. Do what the doctor tells you.” Bruce leaned in to give him a warm kiss. The Joker reluctantly kissed back, then glared balefully at the man he knew to be Batman.

“I liked you better in the stupid cape,” he commented irritably.

“Fine, I’ll swoop in some night and we’ll have a big time.”

“Promises, promises. Next time sneak in some proper lube, my ass hurts.”

“Your own fault, as I recall. But, yeah, ok.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then both cracked a grin.

“ ‘Bye, Bruce. See ya.”

“Bye…Joker. Hey, what’s your real name, anyway?”

“Jack.”

“Jack? Jack what?”

“Just Jack.”

“Good enough, I guess. ‘Bye, Jack.” He hugged him once more and headed out the door.

Bruce Wayne left Arkham, wondering what the hell he’d got himself into.