WARNINGS: This story contains violence, one-sided slash (or a male/male relationship, weather romantic or purely sexual), implied sadomasicism, and major character death.
The time had come.
Joker knew it. He had woken with the knowledge, opened his eyes and looked outside and known. He was to die this night. His glee tore from his throat and he laughed himself silly. What a marvelous way to start the day.
He is almost anxious. Impatiently, he waits. He is ready for it, aching for it. He wants it, needs it. Now, right now.
Batman appears, seemingly out of thin air, and Joker whoops with joy. "My love!" He says it, screams it, from the rooftops, giggling. "You're late. Naughty."
The Bat looks haggard, and Joker knows why. He is hurting, hurting because of Joker, because of what Joker has done. Many have tried to hurt him, to pain him, but all have failed, all but Joker. Only Joker could do it, only Joker was capable.
No one else understood him like Joker did. No one else ever could.
"You crossed a line, Joker," Batman's voice is rougher than usual, like gravel and broken glass. Joker wonders if it'd feel as lovely against his skin and smiles wide at the thought. He's sure it would. Scratch and burn so, so good.
"There are no lines, Batsy!" Joker yells happily, "No rules!"
"He was just a boy!" Batman yells, suddenly launching himself forward.
Batman tackles Joker. His elbows drag across the rough cement of the parking garage, his head banging against the solid, unyielding surface, as Batman lands atop him. Batman's weight pins him down, Joker's legs spread on either side of Batman's thighs.
Joker moans as Batman's fist connects with his jaw, gasps and wiggles and withers as one blow becomes two and then four and then a dozen. His face aches, swollen and inflamed, and blood is pouring, sharp and metallic, into his mouth from split lips and a broken nose.
It's everything he's ever thought it'd be, every dream become reality. Joker's touching heaven and he arches, twists, begs for more.
The hands that close around his throat feel like brands, as if the skin beneath is searing right through the rubber. Joker throws back his neck in offering and laughs until he's breathless. His lungs and chest burn, a fire ignited within, and Joker shudders and shakes in pleasure, body twitching and muscles trembling as some part of him fights for oxygen.
His vision starts to darken, going gray and then black, until all he can see are the burning, glaring eyes of his Bat. His lips are twisted up into a fierce grin, even as his heart ceases to beat and his body goes limp.
What a fitting way for The Joker to meet his end.
