Another lil thing I cooked up. :3 This time (barely) featuring a Nolanverse-orientated original character! I was first intending for this to be a oneshot, but now I see potential for more chapters. Should I continue? Any ideas? As usual please read and review!
No Room for Confidentiality
"I love the Batman." Joker wheezed in emphasis, spine curled forward into an insistent lean.
Batman was the other side to his coin, his polar opposite and the force he just couldn't rid himself of. Batman was the symbol of the concepts the Joker tried to disassemble, the dark unwanted representative of true justice. Righteous, fighting the seductive corruption all around him that licked over his Kevlar skin, refusing acceptance or permission from the very civilians he protected. Faithfully devoting his entire self, his body, his mind, to his self proclaimed purpose.
And he was hated. Oh he was hated. A freak in a black animal suit, with themed weapons and a grating voice. A freak among the normal. All that he symbolises is barely given a thought past all of his black mystery. The world desperate to tear his mask away and laugh in relief at the sign of a human face, of that of a man – but like their unrealised opinions of the Joker, they did not dare dismantle such a force. Terrified that such a force could be human.
Both he, the Joker, and the Batman are manifestations of what they represent, fuelled by what they symbolise, standing outside of humanity. While the details of their priorities were different, they are isolated halfsouls having discovered their conflicting, destructive opposite. Like matter and antimatter they surged and clashed, and explosions unfurled at every meet of contact.
They both felt a spectrum of forces when they were in motion with one another. Obsession and despise, fear and joy swamping their veins with adrenaline-riddled energy. Once they began a confrontation, one another were their first priority. Bursts of sensation, pain pleasure flashing behind their eyes and in their throats as they fought. Mind's whirring and flowing to predict and parry and endure.
The Joker loved the Batman. How could it not be love? Infamous for being the most incredible entity to dominate your being, that tears you apart inside but to exhilarate every hurting bit of you. To harass your mind with that significant other, to wind you tight with withdrawal, then spring you loose with overwhelming delight when you meet again. To find every word and movement precious, completing. You need them like a drug – you want to give them up but you would never, for them or for yourself. And to watch their body twist and lurch and work, and feel your insides curl and flutter with excitement and arousal.
If that wasn't love, the Joker didn't know what is. It certainly wasn't that faux romanticising of primal attraction that most people called love.
And oh how the Batman aroused and excited him. His tall, thick body powerful as a shadowed juggernaut, a precise bull. Flexible and rooted, and near impossible to unbalance. Ruthlessly strong, what felt like his whole weight thrown into every lunge and fist. And the ache the Joker received – feeling those rimmed knuckles collide roughly into his many layered flesh, crushing the meat and leaving behind a pigmented bruise. His nemesis acting desperately hard to beat the Joker into submission.
The Batman's unfaltering need for control, to snare his opposite in his hands and not let him slip away. To dominate, to stopper and regulate, to stop this mischievous, incredible being from wreaking havoc upon the people that hate them. To try to grasp the one thing he could not stop or understand.
And the Joker delighted in it. This was Batman's dedication, his obsession.
And Batman was in a state of his own madness. Everyone was crazy, but it took special individuals like the Joker and the Batman to define it. Batman's madness was his desperation to protect Gotham and keep it in order – even if he had to break the rules he worked hard to enforce. That's just crazy! That is, except for that one little rule he had yet to break, or so he said. If Joker could do anything for Batman, he'd like to help him break his one rule, even if he ended up beating the life out of the Joker himself. And what a satisfactory death it would be.
And oh how he saw the conflict swirl in the Batman's dark eyes. The knowing and the continual denial, the torment. The stiffness that ran through his form whenever the Joker complimented him on his similarities. His silences and his attacks screaming his anguish. Shhhhhh, hush little Bat. Joker's going to make it all better.
So far his assistance had been to push the Batman, nudge him in the right direction. Swamp the Bat's mind with an overwhelming pressure, an overbearing weight that strained all of his limits. He tried to drag – push – tug the Bat to the edge, but every time the silly thing thrashed in fury and torment until he could regain some distance. Tough nut.
It never ruined his fun, on the contrary! It left him bountiful room to start over to coax his beloved enemy into acceptance of his own insanity. Or to at least play with his favourite companion.
He knew he was driving him batty – HA! – Probably leaving him restless and anxious in bed, in his cave, wherever he recuperated. Batman sure left him restless in his cot. The Joker twisted his torso, shifting in his seat, at the thought of it. Pining for the blaring sounds of sirens and his Batman's growling baritone, the punishing justice of his enemy's hand. The shock of wind against his body from an explosion, the searing heat that clawed at his skin as the inferno flared up, licking at whatever unfortunate structure he'd chosen.
Pure ecstasy.
What he'd do to be atop a burning building with a furious Bat…..
The Joker's chest rumbled in a dark purr, curled back against his seat, hips shifting in silent beckoning of his enemy. His eyes had already slipped closed, still thinking about his Bat, squirming around in the chair ardently. His nerves were hypersensitive in desire, trying with all his might to conquer sonar and contact the dark knight of Gotham. Draw him right here, goad him, infuriate him, give him reason to get physical.
--
Dr. Charlotte Raese gazed dumbfounded at her patient. Their hour and a half session had never had high hopes, nor had any of the previous sessions, but this was the first time her patient had openly displayed his….seemingly wanton desire for the vigilante, his enemy, the Batman. He had always spoke highly of him in his own twisted way that Dr Raese was getting accustomed to, but never in such a blatant declaration. She was so taken aback by the scene unfolding two metres away in front of her that she forgot to log his behaviour and this new development on the notepad in her hands.
She watched him writhe around, hands cuffed together and guards stationed at the door not far behind his chair, sleep deprived eyes closed and his slim frame twisting languidly in growingly lewd movements. Tearing her gaze away, she concentrated out one more tentative sentence on her notepad before motioning the guards to have the Joker taken back to his cell; there was no point in continuing the session. Even if the Joker came out of his reverie, the situation was just too awkward to be handled with unshakable professionalism.
The guards (Eric Ledman and Jason Hughes) were also deeply perturbed by the display but took the Joker by his upper arms and lifted him from the seat nonetheless, earning a lazy twist in displeasure but the Joker remained distractedly compliant. He was led out of the room with surprisingly a lack of comments, though Dr Raese was doubtful he'd keep completely silent along the journey to his cell.
She tried to concentrate on making some quick notes, before reclining with a soft sigh in her seat, dropping the pad into her lap. The image of moments before was still stuck in her head. The head of her department would have to hear about this.