Dazed and Confused

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, Joker, Nolanverse or DC Comics fandom, and I do not make any money from these writings.

*****
The Joker was being fucked by the Batman. It wasn't the first time; in fact, the Joker had lost count of how many times they had gone at it like this, with him being roughly taken by the bigger man, his body used to brutally gratify the vigilante's dark desires, leaving the clown in a bruised, depleted, thoroughly satiated heap.

This was, however, the first time they'd ever done it in Bruce Wayne's bed. "Quite a step up for the Bat's main squeeze," he thought, amused, feeling the delicious comfort of luxurious cotton sheets and the forgiving softness of the thick mattress cradling his scarred back as the powerful, rhythmic thrusts rocked into him. He was accustomed to having his back and ass, or his palms and knees, viciously ground into tar or asphalt, or even broken glass, as the force of his lover's attentions pummeled him relentlessly into whatever pitiless terrain lay below him when they coupled.

Although, the last few times, the Bat had inexplicably treated him to a cheap motel room, just on the outskirts of downtown Gotham. The first time that had happened, he'd been pretty sure he must be on his way "out," that Batman was giving him the lovely parting gift of being fucked senseless in an actual bed, before hauling him back to Arkham. Or, perhaps he intended to perform some complicated act of perversion on him, one which required equipment to be assembled ahead of time, only to finally throttle him and leave him for dead. He had happily envisioned himself, in spite of the distinctive scars, as just another anonymous, violated body the maid would report, to be buried in a pauper's grave.

Neither had turned out to be the case....

Those fleeting thoughts were derailed as the criminal's legs, comfortably wrapped around the Bat's waist, were suddenly grabbed behind the knees and pushed up and over the big man's shoulders. The Joker's thighs were now being pressed tightly against his chest, gripped in strong hands while Batman labored over him, mercilessly thrusting in harder and deeper, grunting with the effort of maintaining enough traction to get to the speed and high level of friction he so desperately craved.

Earlier, before stripping off their clothes, Batman had grasped the Joker around the neck in an iron arm-lock, dragged him into the Wayne bathroom and forced him to wash the greasepaint off of his face before unceremoniously throwing him onto the bed and yanking his trousers down. But there were still traces of black around the eyes and white in his hairline, and clots of red still embedded in the crevices of the scars, and in some places the colors had blended all together in multi-hued splotches. The effect both annoyed and intrigued the vigilante as he stared down at the chaos in the face of the man with whom he was so furiously copulating, and he paused for a moment as he bit down on the plump, now unpainted lower lip.

The Joker's paint-smeared face was screwed up with his own efforts as he stroked himself hard and fast, working his erection in rhythm with the rapid thrusting of his lover's thick meaty cock as it banged piston-like over his sensitive prostate. The combination of the two driving sensations soon brought him to a crescendo of pleasure that exploded into a mind-blowing orgasm, and elicited a shout followed by a series of gasps, grunts and shrieks as the pleasurable tempest played itself out in the Joker's thin body.

Batman paused briefly to watch the thick semen shooting out of his lover, onto his chest and belly with a few errant streams splashing onto the formerly pristine sheets as well, and, unbeknownst to the Joker, the sight made him smile slightly. He would never admit it to the clown, but he took some pride in making the madman come, and he liked knowing that his animalistic lovemaking actually pleasured the slighter man. He could never relieve himself in this way with anyone else.

The noises the clown made when he reached his release had finally subsided and Batman abruptly pulled out of him with a moist "pop." He growled, "Turn over." Still loopy from his orgasm, the Joker reluctantly obeyed, flopping over onto his stomach, and quickly pulling his knees up under himself as the Bat's big hands grasped his hips, forcing him into the correct angle for re-entry. The Joker's face was uncaringly ground into the fluffy pillow, and he kept his eyes closed as he was again brutally breached by the slick, leaking purple head of Batman's cock. He stifled a gasp of pain, realizing that he was probably torn and bleeding by now, and a nervous giggle erupted as he thought of how hard it would be to walk normally once the Bat ejected him from his bed.

Batman drove himself into the tight channel like a machine, pumping in and out of his lover with no concern for the damage he might be causing to the scrawny clown's slight body. The freak had allowed himself--caused himself--to be placed in this situation again and again and the Bat had no sympathy for, and very little interest in, whatever effects he might suffer as a result. To him, intellectually at least, the body below him was nothing more than a commodity that he could do with as he pleased. If the Joker were to ever protest--ever to allow a plea for leniency to escape his lips, if he ever moaned even a small request for consideration--he supposed he would honor it; but such pleas never came from the clown's scarred mouth and his body certainly presented no resistance to his lover's brutal demands.

So, it was with no thought whatsoever for the pain he might be causing that the Bat continued to plow furiously into his lover's bruised, tender opening, loving the tight, slick velvety sheathing that so hotly enveloped him. He loved the feel of the Joker's warm skin under his hands, loved the sight of him, prone and vulnerable, submissive in this way, taking his cock like a bitch in heat, wanting him, needing him as much as Batman needed the Joker.

In a gesture that was born of sheer testosterone-driven dominance, the dark-haired man drew back one hand and brought it down sharply over the creamy-white flesh of the clown's right buttock, leaving a reddened imprint of his palm behind. The Joker gave out a surprised, but pleased, yelp at the stinging pain, and Bats administered another slap across his left cheek. He repeated the action a few more times.

"Love that, don't you, freak?" he wheezed through gritted teeth. The Joker didn't answer, just continued keening and groaning as the tingling pain received from his lover's hand mingled with the pain and pleasure he was receiving from the relentless thrusting of his cock. Batman soon forgot the delightful distraction afforded by swatting his lover's backside as his need was suddenly sated and he drove himself through the barrier preventing his release and spiraled downward to the other side. Blinding white light and an electric heat overtook him and the big man was wrecked with orgasm, spasms of pleasure roiling through him until he spilled his seed deep inside the clown's naked body.

Batman shuddered as the last little aftershock dissolved away, leaving him limp and wrung out like a dirty dish rag. He pulled his glistening member from the abused channel that had just afforded him so much pleasure, and he rolled over onto his back, panting heavily, eyes closed, only vaguely aware of the smell of sex in the air, the chilliness of the too-large room, the feel of cool sheets and the sound of his lover's ragged breathing.

The Joker opened his eyes, hating the empty feeling he was left with after the hard, velvety phallus was withdrawn from his body, but, hopeful, he turned over and scooted closer to the Bat. He grasped Batman's thickly-muscled upper arm with long, slender, paint-stained fingers and lay his head against the firm shoulder.

This much was usually allowed. No more, not normally, although once the Bat had kissed him afterward. It had been just a brush of lips over his forehead, an absent, unthinking little act. One the clown supposed was left over from what had become the playboy's routine with his many feminine conquests which he simply did by rote, but the Joker had turned it over in his mind again and again, and decided to take it as a gesture of affection for him, just him, whether the Bat meant it as such or not. It hadn't happened since, but he was always hopeful that he might slip up again.

He lay quietly, wondering what would happen tonight, here in the Wayne penthouse apartment. In the early days, the Bat would simply pull up his pants and disappear, leaving the Joker torn and bloody, both from the sex and the fighting, to tend to himself alone. Later, when they'd taken to using a motel room, Bats would lay in the strange bed with him for a time, recovering just as he was doing now, perhaps eventually getting up to use the bathroom to clean up, then coming back to the bed only to sit down and start putting on his clothes. After the first time, he'd said, "Stay if you want. There's another hour on the room," before abruptly turning and walking out, and that had been the extent of their post-coital chatting for the next few times.

Yes, normally, the Bat would simply leave. But here in his own home, there was no place for him to go, meaning, he supposed, that he expected the Joker to get the hell out of there under his own power. "Good luck with that," the jester thought with a grin. He wasn't going anywhere without brute force.

To his dismay, the Bat pulled his arm out of his grasp, but instead of brusquely ordering him to get his clothes on and hit the road as expected, he raised the arm in a welcoming gesture, as though he wanted the clown to fit himself under it. He stared at the man's tranquil face then hesitantly moved closer, resting his head on the muscular chest, tentatively placing his arm over the trim waist. He was prepared for the blast of a fist or to be unceremoniously dumped over the side of the bed, but Batman simply replaced his arm over the green-haired man's shoulders and--to the Joker's amazement--patted him rather affectionately on the back.

The Joker looked up at him, bewildered. He supposed he was probably dreaming, or maybe the Bat had fucked him into a state of hallucination, or maybe he'd had a heart attack and died when he'd come. But he realized he was alive and awake when the Bat said, "Pull up the covers, it's damn cold in here."

Was he actually being allowed to stay the night in Bruce Wayne's bed? He silently did as he was told, pulling the sheet and the downy comforter up and over the two of them, then hastily settling himself back into his warm spot under Batman's arm before it disappeared.

"Good clown," the vigilante muttered approvingly, hoping that he now would be allowed to settle quietly into sleep. But the silence of the room was soon interrupted by the Joker's voice. Never one to leave well enough alone, the newly created sense of entitlement brought about by the warmth and comfort of the big man's body was creating in his oppositional mind an almost irresistible urge to shake things up. He did have a few thoughts to share....

The kind guaranteed to get a rise out of his overly-content bedmate.

"You know, Bats," he mused thoughtfully, "if I was a girl, I'd be so knocked up with your kid by now."

The Batman's eyes flew open. Why...why did he allow himself to put up with someone who could, apropos of nothing, come up with such a disturbing image? Batman knew he should throw him out, but he didn't want to. He had thought about this for a long time, and had decided--he wanted to wake up next to the little bastard for a change. Wanted to enjoy a round of impromptu morning sex, to immediately slide his dick into the still-slippery entrance without bothering to use lube, to look down and see him writhing under him, illuminated by the light of day. And, afterwards, to haul him into the shower and scrub him down, wash his hair and get the damn makeup off properly for once...then to, possibly, even take him downstairs to eat breakfast with him....maybe, all in all, not such a good idea...but, if he would only just shut up, he was willing to leave him be.

"If you want to stay in my bed, take my advice and shut up NOW," he warned sternly.

"I mean, even if we were using some kind of birth control, those eager little sperm-guys of yours would find a way...." the Joker continued, oblivious to the veiled threat.

"I will throw you out," Bats hissed irritably.

"No, really, I can tell, you're a fertile bastard, and as much and as hard as we fuck, you'd be a daddy in no time...."

"Shut...the HELL...up...."

"By now, my belly'd be out to here!" marveled the Joker, holding his hand away from his midsection by about a foot.

"One more WORD and...."

"Seriously, wouldn't you like to have a little bat-clown running around this gigantic penthouse?"

"That's it. Get OUT." Batman made a move toward sitting up, but the twitchy little clown in his arms had already managed to entangle himself around his legs and he couldn't launch himself properly. He didn't really want to expend the effort anyway, and instead focused his disgust into a soul-destroying glare, which was not lost on the Joker.

Sensing he was truly in danger of losing his new-found status as the Bat's overnight guest and bed-mate, the Joker hastily said, "I know, you're right, why dwell on the impossible? Kinda fun to think about, though, huh? Well, goodnight!" He cheekily planted a kiss on Batman's strong jaw and snuggled into him, feigning sleep before his lover was forced to rally enough to make good on his threats.

* * *

The Joker woke up to the fluttering of tiny wings inside his belly. Puzzled, he looked down at himself and saw the shameful bulge. He remembered the still-fresh pain he'd experienced when he fearfully told his parents the news. His mother had been horrified and his father had kicked him out of the house. "Go live with your stud, you whore," he'd shouted when the Joker hung his head and confessed his condition. His mother had sobbed as he turned and headed back to Bruce's car, holding his own emotions in check until they had pulled away and were back on the highway. Then he broke down and cried.

"Don't worry," Bruce had said firmly. "I'll take care of you. Both of you."

"You don't have to," he'd numbly muttered once he gained control of his voice again. "This is my own fault. You don't have to waste your time with me."

"We did this together," said Bruce, taking his hand and squeezing gently. "I don't want to hear that kind of talk anymore. No argument. You'll live with me and we'll have this baby and everything will be fine. We'll be a family. Ok?"

"Ok," he'd finally agreed against his better judgment. He knew the rich playboy had only been having a fling with him and didn't really love him. But, he could stay with him until he figured out what to do....

That had been two months ago, and now, their child was moving inside him. He got up and strode naked to the bathroom to pee. He was grateful the nausea was no longer plaguing him, but now he was tormented instead by a constant need to empty his bladder as the growing little fetus pressed against his internal organs. He cleaned up and turned to leave the bathroom only to see Bruce standing in the doorway, also naked, his hair beautifully tousled, a sleepy look of appreciation on his face.

"You look good pregnant," he said, pointedly staring at the rounded curve of the Joker's stomach.

"Hey--come over here," the clown entreated. Bruce went to him and the Joker took his hand and laid it over the lower part of his protruding belly.

"What?" asked the bigger man, puzzled. But then understanding dawned as he felt the bizarre sensation of something substantial moving under his lover's skin. He looked into the Joker's shining eyes and smiled bigger than he'd ever smiled before.

"I can feel our baby...." he said excitedly. The Joker nodded, and Bruce took him into his arms in a loving, crushing embrace.

"You're going to squash her," the Joker playfully cautioned.

"Her? You're sure?" Bruce asked, amused.

"Yeah! We're going to have a little girl. She'll look just like Rachel!"

"Rachel!?" screamed Bruce, suddenly. "You KILLED Rachel!"

*********

Batman started awake in a sweat and looked down at the Joker, sleeping peacefully in his arms. Surreptitiously, he ran one hand down to the clown's belly, and was both immensely relieved and strangely saddened to find the usual taut, flat flesh he was accustomed to feeling against his own. He pulled his hand back, but the Joker grabbed it and moved it lower, onto his hardening cock.

"Don't tease me, big guy. You wanna fuck or something?" he murmured sleepily.

"I...no, not right now. Go back to sleep."

"Sleep more?" he asked softly as he snuggled closer to his Bat.

"Yes. Sleep more," Bats agreed.

...As if he could.

**********

The End.

A/N: Heh, if you've made it this far, please review!!