Not Done Yet

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hey, how’m I doing with this? Reviews deeply appreciated!!


Bruce was headed to Arkham. He’d received a phone call—they were transferring the Joker to a regular room on the third floor. This was a momentous occasion—it meant that the Joker was no longer considered to be a threat to himself or others. Bruce had seen him the week before, and had been pleased with his progress, but even so, he hadn’t expected this. This…this was a big step.

He was taken to the Joker’s room by a regular orderly, not a security guard. The Joker was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading the newspaper. He looked up, raised an eyebrow, and nodded acknowledgement at Bruce.

“The paper sure is boring without my antics, isn’t it? Wow, city manager caught in kickback scheme, ooo, fascinating….”

“Hey, you. Don’t talk like that. They’ll get the idea you need to go back to the sixth floor.”

“Naw…I’m all warm and fuzzy, now. No threat whatsoever, not even to meee…not a suicidal bone left in my body. How ya doin’, Bruce? Miss me, didja?”

Bruce came over to him and put his arms around him, hugging him tightly. The Joker responded with a lukewarm return hug.

“Yes, actually. I was thinking about you a lot. When I heard you’d been moved in here, I was really happy. Sounds like you’re getting well….”

“Oh, yeah. I’m just peachy. Now, would you kindly explain what I’m supposed to do with myself, now that I’m so fucking healthy?” The Joker—Jack—had a resentful expression on his face, and Bruce noticed for the first time a smattering of freckles across his nose. Bruce grinned at him.

“Well, don’t they have things for you to do here?”

“Umm, let’s see, there’s therapy three times a week, daily counseling sessions, group therapy, gotta love that, sitting in the day room, television, yeah, it’s a pretty full schedule. How I find the time to talk to you, I’ll never know.” He flopped hopelessly back onto the bed.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Bruce affectionately ran his hand over the Joker’s leg. He expected some kind of come-on, but Jack continued to lie still, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m not cut out for this, Bruce,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m used to using my brain, my hands…maybe not for socially acceptable purposes, but…I’m not used to doing nothing.” He sighed tiredly.

Bruce lay down next to him and gathered him in his arms.

“You’re recovering from mental illness, that’s not ‘nothing’. You’ve come a long way, an unbelievably long way, and you’ve worked hard to get here. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m a little sanity machine, you bet.”

Bruce looked down at him.

“Do…do you want to make love?” he asked.

Jack looked up at him.

“I…sure, if you want to,” he answered dully.

Bruce frowned at him. This was not like him at all.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…you know, Bruce, I’m not exactly queer. I mean, I like doing it with you and all, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, all this medication…I’m not feeling very sexy, you know?”

Bruce considered that statement.

“Well, I’m not going to force you…” His disappointment was obvious.

“Aw, hey, come on, let’s do it. Maybe you could help me get in the mood, huh?” The Joker smiled, wriggled into a more upright position, and took Bruce’s hand and placed it on his groin. “Please?”

Bruce hadn’t encountered a situation like this ever before, but he gamely slid his hand into Jack’s pants and found his cock lying soft against his leg. He picked it up and tentatively squeezed, then began stroking him, harder and faster. He began to get a weak response. He looked at Jack’s face; his eyes were closed and he wore an expression of concentration and, something else—was it sadness? Bruce leaned over and kissed him lovingly. Whatever was going on with him, wasn’t what Bruce had hoped for.

Jack turned and nestled against his lover. Bruce’s hand felt good, and he wanted to respond to him the way he wanted. But he didn’t feel that urge, that yearning. He just wanted to be held for a while…still, he wanted to please Bruce. Jeeze, he owed him so much…what the hell was a little fuck, anyway?

“It’s ok, Bruce.” He pulled Bruce’s hand away from himself, and took down his hospital pants. He kissed Bruce, and then turned over on his belly.

“Go ahead, hey, did you bring the lube?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I did…but I don’t want to do this if you’re not into it, Jack.” Bruce said quietly.

“No, I am! Come on, babe, do me.” He said it more playfully than sexually, but Bruce decided to take him at his word. He opened his trousers, took out his erection, and lubed himself well. He pulled Jack close to him from behind, and gently inserted a slicked up finger into him, then another, tenderly preparing him for the act that he hoped would be taken as an expression of love, not just raw lust.

Jack moaned, and seemed to like what he was doing; after a while, Bruce asked him, “Ready?” and got a muffled, “Um-hmm.” Jack spread his legs apart, waiting for him to enter him.

Bruce mounted him from the rear, and carefully thrust himself into the slighter man, who gave a low groan and moved into a more comfortable position, raising his ass a little higher to give his lover better access. Bruce’s cock did feel good entering him, and after a while, he began thrusting himself back, as he received Bruce’s thrusts forward. He couldn’t come, though.

Bruce, however, had no trouble in that department, and after driving himself into Jack for a nice, long time, his release flooded deep inside the Arkham inmate. Bruce lay on top of him for a delicious moment before pulling out and engulfing him in his arms, stroking his back, kissing Jack’s neck, wanting Jack to feel pleasure from being with him again.

“Jack…you feel so good to me…are you ok?” he asked worriedly.

“Yeah…I’m fine, Bruce. That was really nice.” He turned to face him, nuzzled Bruce’s cheek and lay happily in his arms. “Don’t let me go, ok?” he asked softly.

“I don’t ever want to let you go.” Bruce admitted, wondering if that was a smart thing to say to a madman, no matter how well medicated he might be.