Disclaimer: I do not own Bats or Joker. But, ye gods, if I did!

Author's Note: The first Batman/Joker piece I ever wrote. Of course, it had to be steamy goodness. If you don't like slash, why exactly are you reading this?

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There's barely any paint left on his scarred face when he's shoved against the wall hard enough to wince between spurts of wild laughter. Most of it's been smeared from one of Batman's favorite past times, throwing the Joker at heavy objects. But a lot of the make-up is smattered on thick black gloves along with his blood.

"It's just one of those nights, huh?" He quips cheerfully, a cackle tail ending the words. He gets a slug across the jaw for his humorous effort.

"Shut up!" The rasp makes the Joker laugh all the more, especially since he knows how much Bats loves him talking.

"Oh..ho, ho, haha, oh, that's rich." A swift kick to the ribs sends Bats back, armor or not and the Joker pounces back into the fray with knife in hand.

Batman was already sporting a bloody nose and a nick on his arm that bled through the Kevlar plates. The Joker wore most of his oozing splits across the cheek and lips. Neither man complains as they continue to slash and throw punches at each other. No, it's just foreplay. A little blood sport between intimate friends is all. The best part was still to come.

When Batman finally disarms him and curls those fists into his lapels, the Joker knows it's almost time. Either they forfeit the game here. The Joker getting carted off to Arkham while Bats goes back to his calmer, if not more boring life. Or they played on. Every meeting they balanced on the edge of this knife.

The Joker laughs and suddenly the masked vigilante pulls back his fist. The madman scrunches his eyes shut like a giddy child in preparation for another hit.

A single heartbeat passes in silence where nothing happens.

Then there was a creak of leather and the Joker purred under the sudden shock of warm, calloused fingers devoid of gloves touching the exposed skin of his cheek, a thumb traveling up to smear the faint black still ringing his closed eyes. The touch works like an on switch, a hard clash of mouths and teeth follows, the coppery tang of blood mixing with the taste of coffee and wine.

Game on! His mind cheers and a giddy giggle filters through the kiss, making Batman press him hard against the wall again. The Joker's fingers scramble for purchase on the armor. He needs this, he'd broken out of Arkham for this high.

The coat and vest are discarded without breaking the feral kiss, a frantic battle of tongues and teeth. The Joker's clever fingers cast aside bits of black armor with hard earned past experience, knowing the single pressure catches and triggers that strip away hard Kevlar so he could get at the marked flesh underneath. His dirty fingers touch tan and scarred skin and he's rewarded with a groan that didn't belong to the Batman, his first reward of the night.

It's only when the checkered shirt is slipped off the Joker's shoulders that the kiss comes to an abrupt halt, leaving both men panting. They stare at each other, intense, calculating , asking.

Then Batman gives his nemesis room, stepping back a little as the Joker pressed his palms against the wall, having lost his gloves somewhere in the tussle. His breathing is erratic as he tilts back his head and exposes a pale throat. It's a rare display of submission that's erotic and lewd at the same time under the circumstances. He only showed it to Bats.

Gentle fingers held the Jokers face still as his own shirt was used to wipe away the grotesque mask, revealing pale flesh and scars that looked less devastating without the lipstick and greasepaint to bring attention to them.

His heart rate kicks up a notch. But when Batman tries to touch his bared face, he smacks it away with a vicious snarl and grasps the sides of the crusaders cowl, jerking the Bat only bare inches away from those twisted lips.

"No touching!" He growls, liquid green eyes darting over the cowl covered face, swirling madness and a frightening clarity that makes them brighter then usual. He can feel Batman's heart thumping under the leather. He smiles.

"Com on Bats," he taunts, licking the corner where Batman's mouth starts to disappear into his mask. "Let Brucie out to play…"he sing-songs into the mans ear, fingers slowly working their way underneath the mask. "I want Bruce." He whines like a child, and he can feel the tension, it's always so hard to work away.

Bruce always has a harder time taking off his mask.

But without any fight the cowl comes off easily, the only resistance in the tension of the Bats mouth as it peels away to a reveal a young man with dark hair and looks to kill for. And the one carding his fingers through those dark locks with eerie tenderness knows best, he's killed to see them before.

When Bruce finally looks at him there isn't anyone to laugh at or taunt. Bruce Wayne's a joke, Batman's easy to bait. But Bruce…no, that was a different story, they didn't have time for jokes because Bruce was never around long. Bruce was allowed to touch.

Their mouths meet again, more urgent and searing now that the masks have fallen. Hands scratching and grasping at bare flesh, touching and pulling closer to any part they could grab hold of. There's always marks, little souvenirs left behind. Not the kind Batman and Joker inflict. These are the reminders that this parallel does exist, that the men under the masks are still in there somewhere and so are their needs.

…And
Down
Down
Down
We
Go…

Bruce makes short work of the belt and zipper before delving a hand inside to grasp him. He whimpers and bucks into the touch as Bruce blazes a trail of nips and bites up the pale throat, half mumbling but never finishing a name against the madman's skin.

That won't do, he'll just have to remind the boy billionaire. "Jack…" he moans, half purrs his own name between the torturous strokes moving up and down his cock as he tries to finish undressing Bruce. "It's Jack."

That's when the floodgates come crashing down and Jack's legs are lifted to wrap around Bruce's hips as he pressed into the wall, cement digging into his bare back. There's no warning or preparation, they don't have time for some pleasantries. And he welcomes the first sweet burn of being invaded, of being made whole. Greenish blond locks falling on a toned shoulder as Jack holds on.

"Jack!" It's whispered harshly in his ear by a needy, honey baritone as they both try to catch their breath. Jack's painful erection trapped between their stomachs. They wait for the burn to subside before a slow rhythm begins to build. Then they move and there's no more room for words, only sound.

Their tempo increases, the sweet orchestrated music of hisses and moans combined with the sweat slick sound of skin grinding against skin. It's a violent and almost obscene union with the pieces of their identities littering the ground around them.

And while a measure of the violence and erratic need of their alter egos remains in the way they fuck against the wall, there is also a strange tenderness that's unique to them. Jack's fingers flexing against Bruce's back in time with each thrust, even as bites down on a vulnerable shoulder, drawing blood. Bruce's hands having a bruising hold on Jack's hips in answer to the bite as his teeth gently worry an earlobe still with a trace of white on it. It's a vicious circle they thrive in.

" More, more…" Jack whimpers, fingers trembling and scrambling over Bruce's waist, reaching down to cup his ass. Urging him in harder, faster, anything. Just more.

Bruce doesn't need much coaxing and his thrusts are soon sending Jack harder against the wall, the rough surface adding a measure of pain to the pleasure. It just makes Jack curl his toes and voice his approval. He's strung so tight now, all it would take…

He hears Bruce growl and a calloused hand reaches between them to grasp Jack's weeping cock. It's enough to make Jack bash his head back against the wall, a chocked howl escaping as lightening spasms shoot through his body. Bruce comes with a guttural growl as he bites down on Jack's neck, gaining a sudden but far from negative yelp in response.

The alley is filled with nothing but heavy breathing for a few minutes as the heat starts to seep away and the two men hold on for the sake of staying warm and to prolong the moment. The city could burn for a few minutes more without them.

Jack started to chuckle, wondering how long he could keep Bruce from reaching for his suit this time? He planned on breaking a personal best tonight as he quieted any protest with a skilled mouth and tongue.

Joker and Bats aren't in right now, feel free to leave a message after the beep

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