Life is so much better when you're dead

"So, what's your outlook?" Sofia asked, sucking on a cigarette.

"Well, this spot is pretty convenient, but I doubt they'd take the risk to go with it in here." Bruce moved his head, casing the layout of the restaurant. The renovating crew was still doing some actual work in the main hall since it was only ten in the morning. The Vitis' visit was slated for the evening.

"If I were them, I'd snatch myself all the way to Chicago, correct myself and then nurse myself into well being to get rid of any traces of their malevolence."

"Are they that thoughtful?"

"If they were, they wouldn't be the Vitis. But there's always a possibility, you know. Are you willing to go all the way to Chicago for this?"

"Well, I might. In that case, I'd better take some regular car." Bruce sighed and gave her a careful look. "Listen... Are you absolutely, positively sure they're not intending to straight out kill you?"

"If they were, they wouldn't bother with the whole procession, right? My guess is, aunt Carla wants to personally force me to atone for her sonny's lost finger and dignity. Speaking of which--if they attempt to sever one of my fingers, allow them. Intervene only when I give you a sign or if they go for an entire limb, okay?"

Bruce's eyebrows creased. Her voice seemed to falter a little when she mentioned the amputation possibility. "Aren't you taking this too far?" he asked.

"What? No." Sofia's lips curled up in an unsettling smile. The new, elastic stitches in the corner of her mouth stretched slightly. "We all deserve a little joy in life."

"Joy?"

"Just do what I'm asking of you, please. Pretty please. It's gonna be alright, you'll see."

"I already promised, it just doesn't seem... I don't even know."

"It doesn't seem like a situation that's not going to involve a lot of blood?"

Bruce gave her a reproachful glare. She blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. "So you've seen the place, there's a lot of spots you can perch upon to gauge everything. Get here around six, and it'll go smooth from thence onward," she said, but Bruce still didn't seem convinced. "Look, just go home, prepare yourself. Or go call up your boyfriend. Something. I don't need your spieling nor your disapproving looks. You're spoiling the fun for me. Go away."

Sofia put out her cigarette and raised her eyebrows. She wagged her hand at Bruce, shooing him. The man sighed with resignation and forwarded his steps to the remains of the main entrance, grimacing at the lousy early spring weather as he left the restaurant. Go call up your boyfriend. He would hesitate about calling Joker his friend, let alone something as intimate as this. Although it was probably pretty irrational on his side, given the way things were at the moment. Bruce's teeth clenched. Actually, he was still unsure whether that way things were was about to stretch out in time or if it was going to turn into something even more malicious than it used to be. He was pretty sure of what he wanted, though. Well, maybe not really wanted, but he would appreciate the possibility of actually being able to call him. Just to make sure he hadn't suffocated on his own vomit or anything.

The problem was quite prosaic--he didn't have his number or even knew if he had a regular phone, but he was quite certain a little something he had slipped in Joker's pocket while he was passed out might help overcome it.


♣ ♣ ♣


Joker woke up in his bed, much to his surprise. The events of the other night were an indiscernible blur, but there was an underlying sense of failure, like he hadn't managed to get something very important done. Whatever that might have been, the throbbing headache soon found its way into his attention, claiming all of his thoughts possessively.

His eyelids felt sticky when he attempted to lift them, the endeavor futile at first, but after a few seconds, he successfully fixed his gaze on a bottle of mineral water sitting on the nightstand. His hand lurched out, trying to grab it. Finally, his fingers tightened around it and he lifted it with difficulty. The plastic cap was stubborn, but in the end it gave in to his frantic maneuvers and he tilted the bottle to his mouth, melting into euphoric mush as he felt the cold, soothing stream go down his dry throat.

When the initial thirst was quenched, Joker clenched his eyelids, and slowly the memories of the previous day began to stir his aching state of consciousness. He remembered getting completely shitfaced with Sofia, with that annoying, inhuman little wench who was actually twenty six but looked fourteen and couldn't feel any pain, and who could do more damage than she weighed in one minute. He was waiting. He remembered how he felt. Anxious. Eager for... something. He remembered warmth and softness enveloping him, steady breath against his neck, arms cradling him as his inebriated mind gave in to the comfort. He remembered the scent.

And that was pretty much where he had failed. Because that was it.

Bruce was there, actually holding him. But he had passed out.

He let out an angry sigh through his nose and opened his bloodshot eyes a little. His pupils wandered back to the nightstand, eyeing a box of painkillers left by whoever had extended him the courtesy of hauling him home last night. The pricks of pain coming in excruciating surges every few seconds forced him to reach for the box, and after a few moments of fumbling around it, he excavated two pills which he promptly put in his mouth and swallowed, washing them down with lots of water.

He kept still for a couple more minutes. When he felt the claws of the hangover loosen their grip, he placed his feet carefully on the floor. Someone had taken off his shoes and jacket, but they hadn't gone through the trouble of removing his suspenders which ground into his body during his sleep. He felt the skin on his back sting a little where the clips had been pressing against it. If only his mattress weren't older than dirt and hard as a rock... He was going to have to take care of it at last. He had been meaning to do it for so long now, but everything around him never ceased to be so very distracting.

Same with changing the bed sheets--they were slowly, but inevitably growing too rank to even consider sleeping in them, even for someone with such humble needs like him. A crust of make up, blood, sweat and now also semen just kept on stiffening.

But all of this... maybe later. As always. First things first. Joker tottered to the bathroom, stopped over the toilet, unzipped his pants and relieved himself with a sigh, leaning onwards, his burning forehead propping against the cold, slightly musty tiles. He angled his head so his temple was pressed to the wall, the veins throbbing with agitated blood.

He got undressed clumsily, crawled into the bathtub and turned the faucet, letting the cold water coming from the shower head send him to the verge of a thermal shock. He gasped repeatedly, almost gagging, and adjusted the temperature a little. As the water became less severe, in the end pleasantly warm, he closed his eyes and just sat still, soaking. It wasn't long before he felt a sickening clench in his gut, forcing him to bend over on his fours and retch. The running water washed the mostly liquid contents of his stomach down the drain as he knelt in the tub, panting. When a minute or two had passed, a new wave of nausea wringed his body, and he parted with another portion of bitter fluids.

With the last string of mucus leaving his mouth, Joker felt the overwhelming relief wash over him. He sucked in breath and rolled his eyes, slapping himself twice. A cracking sound resonated inside his skull, but the slight tingling in his cheeks was a pleasant contrast to the blunt pumping in his temples. Distracting, to say the least. He turned off the water and got out of the tub. There was no sight of a towel around. The madman shrugged and paced to the door, grabbing the knob weakly and turning it with some effort. He approached the clothing rack and pulled it away, uncovering a door leading to a closet. He opened it and inhaled the dust.

Inside, there were stashed some things that had already been there when he took over this apartment--a vacuum cleaner, a mop, things, some very old detergents, a stack of porn magazines, more things, towels. He grabbed one and flicked it before drying himself. His eyes rested on the rack, assessing the clothes carefully. Finally, he decided upon some random things and got dressed. For a while, he wondered if he was hungry, but the thought of food made his stomach cavort in his derision, so he ceased to consider the subject any further. His eyes wandered across the room, trying to locate his jacket. It was hanging neatly from the back of the chair, so he approached it and reached inside the pocket, grabbing a pack of cigarettes. He pulled back the lid, hoping to see a yellowing row of cigarette butts, but to his surprise, his gaze met a small piece of thick paper. He took it out of the box, examining the tiny letters.

It was Bruce's card.

With a number scribbled by hand under the printed bullshit.

And it said: "This is my cell phone number".

Nothing else, but that was more than enough.


♣ ♣ ♣


It was late afternoon when Bruce's phone began to ring. He jumped in his chair at the sudden buzzing sound. For the past few hours, he had been busy in his base, oblivious to the world around him, making sure his equipment was in prime condition, researching this and that, the usual. It actually felt good to engage in all of this after such a long recess.

He reached for the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Bruce Wayne," he said absently.

No response on the other side. Just heavy breathing. Actually, no. It sounded more like salacious panting. "Hello?" Still no answer.

Bruce cocked his eyebrow, starting to suspect who it was. "Stop playing."

"What are you wearing right now?" hissed the lustful, raspy voice.

"It depends. What kind of answer would satisfy you?" Bruce leaned back in his chair and smirked. That wasn't exactly his idea of taking a short break from work, but it would do.

"Oh, you dirty, filthy tease." More panting. "You'd better watch out next time you're alone in the parking lot, sugar." The voice took on a predatory tinge. "I can already hear you begging for mercy, I can see that look in your eyes but I know your kind, oh, I know."

"My kind? Care to elaborate?"

"You know what, stop spoiling my fun. You're supposed to start freaking out and threaten to sic the wild pigs on me right now."

Bruce just chuckled, not too sure about how the voice on the other side made him feel--relieved or indeed freaked out. His heart skipped a beat before he decided to ask this one innocent question after a moment of ringing silence.

"So, aside from being disenchanted, how are you?"

"Well, I'm so hungover, sad and lonely. Come over."

"I can't. I have to be at Sofia's in about an hour and a half, and I still need to take care of some things."

"Oh, nice. So, you two reached a mutual agreement?" A slightly disappointed tinge appeared in Joker's voice.

"I guess you could say the same about the two of you." Bruce chuckled silently. "You sure seemed to enjoy yourself at that club yesterday."

"No, I don't think so. She's kind of unnerving. I was just trying to make the time go faster, y'know."

"Yeah. You chose the best way. You passed out."

"That was not my intention, mind you. I wanted to, uh... I don't remember. So, tell me, what kind of engrossing activities has she prepared for you?"

"I'm going to, um... I'm going to watch her get beaten up and intervene when she's on the verge of death."

"Whoa. Now, that sounds like a shindig. Did she come up with it herself?"

"Who else would?"

"See what I mean? We should have eradicated that abomination right at the beginning."

"Really? Look who's talking." Bruce's retort met with an indignant gasp.

"You," Joker hissed with disapproval. "So. Be a doll and come see me when you're done, hm?"

"I'm going to be tired."

"No, no, no. Come. See me. When. You're. Done," he growled quietly. "Or I'll blow up an orphanage."

"Orphanage again? Have you ever actually blown one up? Because this is getting old."

"No. I... I don't know, orphans are just inherently unfunny when they die."

"So, how am I supposed to be alarmed with your threat?"

"Just because I don't feel inclined doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it eventually."

"Alright, I'll come see you."

"Oh, but of course you will."


♣ ♣ ♣


When Bruce arrived at the restaurant in an old looking BMW, the workers had already decided to call it a day. He waited in a safe distance, observing from behind the darkened windows as the last member of the crew left the building. He caught a glimpse of Sofia looking around before she disappeared back inside. As soon as the street emptied completely, he drove the car into a nearby alley. It was already very dark since the sky was strewn with thick clouds, blocking away the last rays of sun. Bruce put on his mask and got out, deciding to enter the restaurant through the back. Sofia was waiting at the door, holding a flask which was probably filled with some kind of alcohol as she looked a bit drunk.

"Hey. How are we tonight?" she asked cordially with a big grin as they entered the dim kitchen.

"Are you drunk or something?" Bruce caught himself adapting the rasp automatically, eliciting a slight chuckle in response.

"Why, yes I am. Quite an occasion tonight, isn't it?"

"Not quite. You're all alone in here?"

"Now that you've dropped by, I have company. No, no, don't get started." Sofia waved her hands in front of her face before Bruce had a chance of saying anything. "We're doing it." She raised the flask to her mouth.

"You don't look very calm about it. Maybe you should reconsider."

"Nonsense. We shall have none of that, son."

"But is it worth it?"

"Worth it?" She dissolved into laughter. "I don't know. It's not like I've got anything better to do. Go crouch in the dark, Wayne. They'll be here any minute now."

"Don't call me that when I'm... you know."

"You actually enjoy it when people call you Batman?" Her laughter grew more unabashed, and she took another ample sip from the flask.

"You never know who might be listening."

"What good would I be if I didn't know who might be listening..." She sighed, waves of giggling still shaking her body every now and then. Bruce cringed. Unnerving.

"Take this." He handed her a small homing device. "Might be useful if they drag you some place distant."

She nodded and put it in her pocket. Bruce turned around to look for an appropriate spot while Sofia left the kitchen, leaving the door slightly open. A faint stream of light slipped inside, indicating she had just put herself on display.

She seated herself at one of the tables, pretending to read into some documents. All that was left to do was waiting. After fifteen minutes, it became apparent the Vitis are not the ones to linger. Bruce could hear two cars park in front of the restaurant, thanks to the device installed in his cowl. Soon enough, he started to pick up bits of conversation.

"...Told you, fucking idiot, what if she left already?"

"Just chill. See? She's there. All alone."

"Jesus. How stupid is she?"

"Just enough," a female voice joined the gnarly male ones. "Go get her, I don't have all night."

A sound of the door opening. Footsteps. Five men entered the building. Bruce kept still, breathing slowly, listening.

"Aah, Johnny. What brings you here?" Sofia chirped, a smile noticeable in her voice. "How's your finger, or rather--how's the lack of it?"

"We're going for a ride tonight, Cousin Dearest."

"Yeah? Where to?"

Sounds of struggle. Someone turned off the light.

"Let go, you fucking-" Sofia's voice suddenly got muffled; they had probably gagged her. Bruce sucked in breath as they left the restaurant. He waited for a couple more minutes in total darkness, catching strands of words and laughter. Finally, he heard the hum of engines as the cars drove away.


♣ ♣ ♣


Sofia found herself in a backseat of some car, squished between Johnny and a nondescript thug. As they took off in some unknown direction, a corpulent, blond woman sitting in the passenger seat turned around and graced her with a wan, condescending smirk.

"Are you scared, little birdie?" she cooed mockingly with a strong accent. "Don't be. I'm you auntie Carla, don't you remember?" Sofia couldn't respond even if she would like to; some rag they had gagged her with successfully prevented her from speaking. "I hear this and that about your recent... behavior and frankly, I'm concerned, my dear, we all are. Did you take the time to think about what your father would have to say on the matter? Hm? I've made the decision to help you out. Show you the right way. This is what families are for, am I right?"

Johnny guffawed and placed a cigar in his mouth, lighting it. "Of course, mother. Now don't you worry, honey, whatever we do, remember we're doing it out of love. Hm? Feel the love yet?" He put out the cigar on her cheek, snickering.

Sofia squirmed, held in place by the nondescript thug, screaming and whimpering. As the cigar was taken away from her face, she gave into spasms and lifted her eyes, now brimming with tears, fixing a half-frightened, half-hateful gaze on her cousin. A smug expression crept on his face. He raised his hand and patted her on the head, his tongue darting out and licking his narrow lips curled up in a foul smile.

"Now, now. Better?"

The girl allowed herself some more spasms and wheezes, feeling shivers wash over her in waves of exhilaration, a mantra of don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh running through her head.


♣ ♣ ♣


Perched upon a steel girder, Bruce observed the situation from above. They had brought her to a secluded place near the docks, some abandoned factory. He tried his best to remain focused on what was going on beneath him, but his eyes kept getting clouded, his vision throbbing in accord with his quickened pulse. Something felt wrong even more than it should, but Sofia's faked screams kept him on the verge of being alert.

From what he could make out of the conversation being had, the Vitis did intend to kill her. Then, maybe dump her body into some acid or incinerate it. Or maybe even make it look like an accident, but before that might happen, they were very eager to give her the time of her life. Bruce could tell she was amused with their diligence, to put it lightly. Amused with how they tore her flesh with serrated knives, broke her bones with steel batons (they had managed open fractures in both her legs and right arm so far), pulled her up by her hair and smashed her against walls. And so on and on. Still, it seemed she hadn't had all the fun she had hoped for yet.

Bruce took a deep breath, his mind slowly clearing. He could feel bile rising in his throat as he watched Carla Viti step on Sofia's leg which was bent in an unnatural angle, letting out a sickly, cracking sound. Something began to build up beneath his skin--the anticipation to strike. He waited, wondering what was stopping him. It's not like he should wait for her sign, it had already gone too far. He knew one thing for sure--he did not enjoy the sight. He did not enjoy their methods nor her thespian talents. He swallowed with difficulty.

Over the past two years as the Joker kept dragging the ugliest parts of Bruce to the surface, he had come to terms with the notion that he actually wasn't what they call a good person, finding more and more aberrations from the norm in himself. He had begun to suspect the worst every time he was confronted with a situation that would severely upset a regular man, both on a moral and aesthetic level. Many times, he had asked himself--why did he really resort to violence, how did he really feel about Joker's violence, his killings, did he actually get off on it...

He used to get off on it for a while--that much he was aware of. It was about the time when the only guilt that he felt was connected to the fact that there was no real guilt left in him. Acting inhuman was rewarding. Freeing. It let him sleep. But when actual acceptance came, when he himself let go and agreed to being a monster... It started to sicken him, the urges dying away, like a child that stops being a nuisance as soon as he realizes no one is paying attention.

He kept looking down, still waiting for the sign or for something he really couldn't precise, but all this loitering effected in was just more bile and a tighter knot in his stomach. He should have been at least indifferent to the sight--after all, he was a self-proclaimed degenerate with an unhealthy obsession for someone who had killed his loved one. He was the man who enjoyed seeing Joker murder petty criminals and would-be rapists in dark alleys because it gave him an excuse to punish him. He was just plain sick, and after two years, he really wanted to believe it--it was a label, something to describe himself with, but lately, even that started to dissolve.

His eyes followed the squat figure of Johnny's as he approached Sofia lying sprawled on the concrete. The man took out a cigar cutter from his pocket. "Now, I have a problem with you not being born a basket case, if you catch my drift," he muttered, the cigar muffling his words a little. "And I'm going to fix my problem piece by piece."

Bruce squinted. There was a severe change in Sofia's expression, noticeable despite bruises and lacerations disfiguring her face. From a forced scrunch it thawed into genuine panic, laced with a huge dose of morbid excitement. Johnny took her hand into his, positioned her pinky finger inside the cutter and, without hesitation, cut it off with a loud snap. Her reaction surely wasn't what anyone would expect as she burst into hysterical laughter, staring at the stump with an intoxicated look in her eyes. That was it. A sign, so to speak.

Bruce lurched down, taking out two men at once, feeling the rancor burn in his veins. The shock value of his entrance style was unfailing as always as it bought him a few seconds before any of them even thought of reaching for a gun.

"That's... the fabled Batman, isn't it?" Carla droned to her son as she began to retreat instinctively, observing her goons slump to the ground like flies, smitten by the powerful and precise blows.

"Indeed, but what the fuck is he doing here?" Johnny hissed and pulled out his gun, shooting repeatedly and missing or grazing the kevlar. Bruce plunged in his direction with a furious growl that literally rendered the man motionless. With the help of skill and luck, he dodged a series of bullets shot in his direction by Carla and managed to knock Johnny out, sending him to the ground and disappearing in the shadows promptly.

Carla tightened the grip over the gun and looked around, anger and fear filling her eyes. Bruce watched her for a few moments, trying to silence the thought that he will never tire of seeing that kind of dread. But this is not what it is all about, after all. It's not supposed to be. He shouldn't stretch this out. He walked up behind her soundlessly and disarmed her with a swift move. She turned around, panicked. No, he will never tire. He basked in her fear, approaching her slowly, baring his teeth in a half-grin, half-snarl. Now, this is what he had really missed. The woman's trembling legs refused to support her any longer, growing limp. She fell on her knees, looking up with a pleading expression.

"Please... Don't- Don't hurt me..." she croaked.

Bruce's eyes didn't waver, taking it all in greedily. He sucked in breath and punched her in the face, a loud sound of her jaw cracking oddly satisfactory on his ears. She fell to the concrete, unconscious, just like the rest of them--apart from Sofia. The girl was far from being passed out, despite the blood loss and God knows what kind of internal contusions she might have acquired. Wheezing softly, she still seemed to admire the bloody remains of her finger.

He paced to her, the knot in his stomach tightening even more at the sight. Sofia looked up, wise enough not to speak, unaware of the state of her insides. Her gaze seemed absent, but she did manage a weak, lopsided smile. For a second, he pondered what it must be like for someone like her, knowing her body is completely ravaged, that there are pieces being cut away from it, but being unable to actually acknowledge it like a normal human being. Maybe he even felt sorry for her in a way, but right now, he was too far gone, soaked in adrenaline. He knelt next to her and dialed the number for an ambulance.


♣ ♣ ♣


Night had already claimed the entire city, providing Bruce with the freezing cold he needed so badly at this particular moment. Hidden in the shadows, he watched police cars and ambulances drive into the decrepit factory one by one, engulfing it in eye wringing throbs of light. The paramedics were at a loss at first, considering for a few moments how they should go about placing Sofia on the stretchers. It seemed that in the end she managed to encourage them to choose the most straightforward way, explaining she wouldn't feel anything whatever they do.

Bruce leaned back against a wall, observing the billowing plumes of air he exhaled. His armor felt slightly loose against his sweat slicked skin, reminding him he really should take better care of himself and his eating habits as of late if he was about to resume his activity as the arbiter of justice. Gordon was there. Bruce followed him with his eyes, being sure he was actually trying to spot him in the darkness, suspecting he was crouching in there somewhere. It had been a while since they as much as exchanged a few words, let alone work together, pool their resources, whatever. Maybe it was better that way.

His mouth was completely dry, and thoughts were squishing into his head, shedding new light on various things. Slightly unpleasant things. Arbiter of justice... His memory wandered way back. He wasn't able to force anymore guilt upon himself, knowing it would take him nowhere, but he did feel some kind of reevaluation was necessary.

The distance between him and Gordon was less than one hundred yards. The distance between him and how things should be played out was immeasurable. What he should do was to go up to him, do something radical, like, for example, disclose the location of Joker, participate in his apprehension and see to it that he is put away for good. Then, something even more rightful, like, maybe revealing the nature of the conflict between Sofia and the Vitis, followed by his leaving the country. Then, spend the rest of his days knowing he did the right thing. That's what he should do.

Bruce sighed.

What he most probably will do is go home, take a shower, tell himself he's not going to see Joker, then he'll think about the orphans and grimace. He'll put a hood over his head, catch a cab and go anyway, consequently condoning each and every murder the madman had ever committed and giving a silent go-ahead to all the ones he might commit in the future. Because he needed to see him.

He felt deeply uncomfortable with that knowledge, anger washing over him as he realized he was helpless. Bruce closed his eyes. If it really were anger, it had a very distinctive shade to it. He drew in cold air. That wasn't the blinding emotion he was used to, with which he had learned to cope by letting it run wild until he was too tired to think about anything. This one made him tense up. It held his throat in a tight grip. It ushered his blood downwards. Bruce tried to swallow.

He needed to see him. Now.


♣ ♣ ♣


It felt completely different now that he actually wasn't exhausted or hungover. He was standing at Joker's door, tense, shaking, unable to move. The feeling that took over him back there now turned into something monstrous, filling him with anxiety he had never experienced before. Bruce had no idea how much time had passed since he arrived, but still, he just couldn't as much as simply lift his hand and knock. Finally, he heard a silent rustle and the sound of the door unlocking. He braced himself when the scant light coming from the inside leaked into the corridor.

"I was wondering if you passed out at the door or something. I heard you coming up." Joker grinned and pulled him inside.

The room looked a little bit different than the last time. Stacks of rubbish seemed to be slightly rearranged, and everything appeared somewhat less dusty. Sewing supplies were scattered across the floor, along with the shirt Joker had torn the buttons off.

"So, how does it feel to come home after a long day at work, to a doting wife who has been waiting for you longingly, darning the garments?"

Bruce smirked weakly, trying to avoid Joker's eyes as he approached him and reached up, cupping his face in his hand, slender fingers clawing a little. Nails grazed against his cheek gently, making him shiver. Joker squinted, beginning to slowly circle around him, the hand smoothing down his jaw. He stopped behind him and wrapped his arms around his neck, brushing his lips against his ear.

"How does it feel, hm...?" he repeated, his voice turning into gravelly whisper. "You... you finally got enough sleep, didn't you...?" The arms hooked around Bruce's throat tightened a little. Joker could tell how quick the other man's pulse was right now and how it just kept going up.

Bruce twitched as he felt soft lips nipping on his earlobe, soon followed by a firm tongue. He tried turning his head away, but Joker held him in an iron grip. It felt too good, only adding to the frenzy that was already in full swing inside of him, turning his nerves into barbed wire. He needed to be close to him. But he wanted something he just was not able to ask for. He couldn't find the words for it. He wasn't even sure of what it was. He jerked again when teeth brushed slowly over the delicate skin. He reached up, trying to pull Joker's arms away, and turned around to face him, his eyes fixed on his madder, pinstriped vest, unable to look up.

"I can't." he said softly. His hands wandered up from Joker's wrists, fingers tightening over the fabric of his shirt as if trying to hold on to it. "I just... I can't." He hanged his head, his jaw clenching. Joker hunched a little and tilted his head, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Finally, he lifted his chin with his index finger, forcing the other man to look at him. Bruce tried not to squirm, sensing danger as he dared to lock his gaze with Joker's. He loosened the grip on his shirt and took a step towards the door, feeling sweat run down his back. Joker didn't react, so he took another step. And another. He caught himself praying for something, but he had no idea what for.

Suddenly, all the tangled thoughts left his mind as he was slammed against the wall and pinned to it by a pair of surprisingly strong arms. Bruce had always known the madman had much more strength than he appeared to have. Back then, he would probably be able to defend himself against Batman's brutality up to some point, if he hadn't actually let him. If he hadn't given in...

"But I can... Oh yes, I can." The jagged nails dug into Bruce's wrists, and he gasped, feeling Joker's hot breath against his neck. "And you... You can't, and yet you're so desperate for it, aren't you?"

What was going on inside Bruce at that moment couldn't be labeled by any word in any existing language. Blood was pumping through his veins so quickly his vision was getting blurred; his muscles twitched, and he tried to push Joker away, only adding to his fury, the scarred lips curling in a snarl. A sudden blow sent Bruce back into the room, making him almost trip on a chair. Joker was next to him in a second and forced him to sit on it, pulling his head back by the hair. Bruce looked up, dazed,

"Sit still." The raspy hissing was distorted by the ringing in his ears. The madman took off Bruce's jacket and t-shirt frantically, exposing his heaving chest. Bruce closed his eyes. He felt the scent of blood and its taste in his mouth, and he was dizzy, but still aware of what was going on. Joker left him for a moment and came back with a handful of something that looked like colorful strips of fabric. Bruce blinked repeatedly, but before he had any chance to make out what it was, Joker was behind him, pulling his arms back and tying his wrists together and then to the chair with something smooth and surprisingly thick. He felt senses come back to him along with strength, and he jerked, trying to free from the ties, but to no avail--the knots only tightened as he struggled. He heard clinking of metal clips and realized he was being held down with a pair of suspenders.

Everything went black when his eyes got covered with a piece of cloth, another piece sliding in between his teeth, tied tightly at the back of his head--the familiar scent indicated they must have been Joker's neckties. Bruce tensed up. He was quivering uncontrollably, and the suspenders were digging into his wrists. He could sense the madman standing behind him, observing. Trying to draw in more air, he heard his own heartbeat loud and clear, the rhythm racing with fearful anticipation. Suddenly, he went rigid. Warm hands traced the line of his neck and shoulders, sliding down his chest, crossing. A soft cheek pressed against his head, and slow breath ghosted through his hair. He hissed as the nails scratched his neck lightly, his skin literally itching and pricking at the contact.

"Gotcha..." Joker purred, still embracing Bruce from behind. He bent slightly and rested his head on the man's shoulder, brushing his lips against his neck gently and pulling away before he leaned in a little more, his tongue darting out and ascending up the throbbing jugular vein in a teasing, languid stroke. Bruce's teeth sank into the fabric, the madman's hot breath making him tingle all over. "Why were you trying to run away from me? Hm?" His voice sounded dangerously saccharine. He paced around Bruce and placed his hands on his hips, smoothing up his sides, the fingers trailing patterns over his trembling skin. Bruce felt Joker's weight press against him when he straddled him, his clothes slightly coarse and irritating against his bare chest.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that... right?" The hands tightened over the nape of his neck. "You're my sunshine, I would never hurt you." The fingers tangled in his hair and closed in a fist. "I would give you as much pain as you want, but I would never hurt you." They yanked harshly, exposing his throat.

Bruce gasped, sharp pain in his scalp being registered as something completely different. A slight relief that came with it was obliterated soon enough with a moist tongue going up his neck lazily, stopping at his lower lip and flicking against it, then sliding down his jaw line without haste, as if savoring the taste of his skin. The fingers caught in his hair made even the shiest attempt at twisting away from the maddeningly soft touch futile. He tried lifting his head up a bit just to get a little more of that comforting stinging, but another hand placed firmly on his neck immobilized him completely. Minute by minute, Bruce dissolved into a twitching mass of nerves, bursting with anguish at the most delicate touch of those warm lips, soaking in blissful anticipation with every promise of a bite, twitching with anger every time Joker wouldn't sink his teeth just a little deeper, denying him the reprieve that came with it, replacing it with tenderness that just drove him insane. He had no idea what was going on with him. Joker seemed to know. He knew all about it, knew what it was stemming from, how to alleviate it. And yet he seemed to revel in all of it, growing more and more fascinated with Bruce's increasingly desperate reactions.

"So, how are you? Must be pretty hard for you now, with all those years you've spent blindfolded..." he said quietly, still bracing his head. His mouth wandered down Bruce's chest, weightless kisses growing more and more intense, gentle touch becoming firmer, insistent. The lips closed around his nipple, sucking, the hot tongue teasing it and tickling until a quiet groan escaped his dried throat. Joker finally let go of his neck and hair, snaking his arms around his torso, not allowing him to pull away. He kissed the reddened nipple gently before he caught it in his teeth, biting down slowly but without the teasing reluctance. Bruce gasped involuntarily, feeling the pressure increase in his head, shutting out every other sensation apart from the overwhelming wave of pleasure exploding in him as the teeth sunk deeper. It ended too quickly. The teeth let go of him, and the warm lips wandered up, sucking gently at his fervid flesh. The fingers clawed over his back, and the nails slowly traced a line along his spine. Bruce arched against Joker with a hiss when they reached the small of his back, scratching lightly. Their hips bucked together for a second, and an onslaught of shivers took over him with the short moment of friction, making him realize just how hard he already was.

"Yeah... You're sitting here, reduced to a quivering mass, completely under the sway of someone like me." Joker dismounted him and took a step back, watching Bruce twitch helplessly. His body was now desperate for any kind of contact. "Someone, who should be put down like a dog, hm? Someone, who caused so many calamities of all sorts and colors, right?" He paced to Bruce's side and bent over him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Someone... who snuffed out so many precious, precious lives..." His other hand began a journey, starting between his collarbones, going all the way down to his lower abdomen, unwilling to go further, smoothing the tense muscles with soft fingertips. "Who killed Rachel," he growled quietly right into Bruce's ear, and the hand suddenly slid down between his thighs, palming his erection in slow, circular motions. Bruce moaned breathlessly. Joker's words were getting to him through a wall of ringing, and his voice was oddly compassionate underneath the coating of mockery, as if his intention wasn't to torment him, but something else... The mention of Rachel's death struck something in him, but strangely enough, there were no traces of anger nor guilt. There was something much darker, something that made him writhe in unbearable pleasure at the madman's touch.

"I killed her and forced you to play tag with me, but you just couldn't find the balance, hm?" Beads of sweat started to emerge on Bruce's skin as the fingers tightened, cupping him, a thumb tracing the tip of his cock through the fabric of his trousers. The arm around his neck pulled him closer to the scarred lips that pressed against his ear. "You thought taking a plunge into depravity would make everything go away... that acceptance would bring you peace..." Joker whispered. "You thought I made you hate yourself, but--you see, that was just another one of your ways of making all the pieces fit. There's more to it than you thought. And you can't take it. You can't fit it anywhere, even though you see it already."

Joker pulled away and reclaimed his place in front of Bruce, his hands resting on the man's knees, spreading his legs slightly as he knelt down between them. His fingers curled over the insides of his thighs, moving upwards but swerving away from his erection, resting on his hipbones. Bruce was on the edge of loosing his mind, unable to control the soft, jagged moans coming out of him when he exhaled. His pants were already slightly damp with precome, making him all the more vulnerable to Joker's hot breath.

"There's something more than madness..." He rested his head on Bruce's thigh, his lips brushing gently against the bulge as he spoke. He paused, kissing it faintly, making the other man hiss. "Something much more excruciating for the likes of us." He kissed him again through the fabric, this time harder. The soft lips parted, and he began to lick along his length, the massaging tongue moving unceasingly, pressing harder when it reached the tip. Bruce groaned--every second was bringing him closer to the release which he didn't want. He wanted something different, something more. He tried to worm away, but in vain; Joker's arms tightened around his waist and pulled him closer to his vile mouth while the fingernails grazed against his lower back, clawing over his ass. The cruel, tingling surges of pleasure just kept exploding in his stomach with every move of the hot tongue, and when he was sure he couldn't take it anymore, the madman suddenly lifted his head, and his fingers loosened their grip. Heaving, Bruce felt his blood slowly calm a little, but Joker's hands placed firmly on his hips kept him alert.

He had no idea how much time had passed before the hands moved to his waistband, unzipping his pants and pulling them down, taking them off along with his socks and shoes. He felt some sort of panic when he realized he was completely defenseless right now, but another part of him boiled in anticipation, hoping for something, waiting.

A gust of air sent a wave of shivers through his body, and all of his muscles tensed up when Joker's tongue ascended up his thigh languidly, stopping just before it was about to reach his groin, changing direction and heading for his hip. Soft hair brushed against his cock for a second, making him almost bite through the fabric. His hips jerked involuntarily, but Joker's hands kept him in place as he kept licking and sucking on the sensitive skin of his lower stomach. Strands of hair ghosted against him teasingly one more time, then again, and again, and he couldn't stop the helpless whimpers coming from his mouth. He stiffened when without any warning the moist tongue snaked around his cock and started massaging it gently inch by inch. Bruce gasped, the threat of release becoming imminent one more time. The lips closed around the tip and sucked while the tongue traced numerous, lazy circles, lapping up the precome. It didn't stop even when Bruce pulled back a little, as much as he could; the mouth followed him, and the grip over his hips grew even stronger. He almost screamed when Joker took him all in and sucked hard while the tongue just kept moving, not wanting to stop even for a second, and he started to loose his mind, finding himself back on the verge, shuddering and moaning without any control--but then, the madman withdrew again.

Joker sat still for a moment, admiring his work. The state Bruce was in literally drove him insane; the sight of his heaving chest, the feel of his twitching muscles, the taste of his sweat, the sound of his moans... He knew that his self-control was reaching its limit inevitably; the clench in his stomach and the maddening heat between his legs screamed at him to take action. He moved his hands up Bruce's thighs one more time, leaving a trail of goose bumps before he slid his arms under him, lifting him up slightly, just enough for him to use his own legs as leverage before he seated himself on the chair with the other man straddling him. He unzipped his pants, reducing the discomfort, and leaned in, their bodies pressing flush together. Bruce could feel his own erection brush against Joker's, and his pulse quickened when the nails dug in his sides promisingly. Joker leaned to the left for a second, picking a small bottle he had prepared earlier from the floor. His breath was faltering. He swallowed with difficulty, poured some lube on his hand and reached between Bruce's legs, his fingers lingering, teasing. The man started to shudder in anticipation at the silent promise, and Joker reveled in his reaction as if it was his sweet reward. Finally, he pushed one finger inside, moving it back and forth lazily, his predatory eyes fixed on him, savoring everything. He entered another finger, noticing with a smirk how Bruce's hips began to rock gently as if of their own accord. Without stopping, Joker pressed his face into the crook of his neck, his other arm snaking around him, squeezing. He inhaled the raw scent, and his lips parted almost without his doing, teeth tightening over the tense muscles, sinking deeper and deeper...

A loud moan stopped him halfway. He pulled away and removed his fingers. His vision started to get blurry, he just couldn't wait anymore. He spread the lotion over his cock and positioned himself, starting to push slowly. Bruce's body arched. His hips pushed back impatiently, but Joker kept him at bay, stretching him, taking his time, burying himself inch by inch. He stopped for a second and closed his eyes. His hands wandered to Bruce's back, clawing. A few more seconds passed, and both of them kept absolutely still, when suddenly, Bruce's mind went completely blank. Something exploded in him with the abrupt thrust of Joker's hips, with his nails scratching deeply, delightfully, his teeth grinding the flesh of his neck and shoulders without mercy, tightening, drawing blood, the growing heat inside of him, the rhythm unfaltering, quickening...

Joker lost himself in the other's scream; his senses were intoxicated with the sweet taste and smell of his blood, with the feel of his body convulsing in pleasure just underneath him, melting against him. His skin was tingling with anguish as there was still the layer of clothes separating them, but he was too far gone to tear them off now--it only made him push and bite with more ferocity, made his groans louder as the heat grew more maddening with each of his moves, with the rising pace, with Bruce's hips bucking against his own greedily, almost desperately.

Something that felt like an electric shock paralyzed Bruce for a split second when he felt a hand tighten over his cock, squeezing it and stroking with accord to the violent thrusts. His hips jerked harder, and the sudden change of angle almost sent him over the verge of sanity, making him scream even louder. The necktie he was gagged with was completely soaked in sweat, blood and saliva. His body gave into spasms when Joker yanked the tie out of his mouth, claiming his mouth viciously, forcing his tongue down his throat, his movements frantic in one second, languid in another, possessive, sucking, devouring him... A surge of vehement emotions mingled with the eruptions of ecstatic pleasure. He was under Joker's control, he was taken care of, he was helpless--and he loved every minute of it, and the madman was giving him more with each second. The release was building up in his entire body, taking its time and blanking out his mind, and it surged as soon as he felt Joker come inside him, when he clung to him as if desperate for purchase. He heard a scream, but he barely recognized his own voice--and soon enough the familiar, warm numbness started to envelop him gently.

Succumbing to the aftershocks, Joker remained motionless, listening to Bruce's gradually slowing heartbeat. It took him a while to gather enough strength to sit upright. Leaning to the side, he reached to the knots still holding the other man in place and began to maneuver around them, freeing him. Bruce's arms fell loosely to his sides, completely numb, red ligature marks emerging on his wrists. Joker's hands wandered to the back of his neck, untied the sodden necktie and threw it aside. His fingers brushed against Bruce's jaw gently before they reached up and removed the blindfold.

They sat still for a while, looking at each other in silence. Slowly, Joker started to feel uneasy under Bruce's stare. It was something he had never seen before. He tucked in his lower lip, the corners of his mouth twitching nervously, and fixed his eyes on the bloody bite marks covering Bruce's neck. His hand reached up as if wanting to touch the red droplets, but he withdrew demurely, hanging his head.

"I... I'll get you something to disinfect it," he said quietly, not making a move.

Bruce couldn't take his eyes off him. As soon as he felt his arms come back to life, he lifted them without thinking, wrapping the madman in a tight embrace, hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder. Joker closed his eyes and let out a jagged sigh, clinging back to him. They just held each other without a word, and neither of them knew how long it lasted.