"So, you think he'll put out tonight, Jacky Boy?" the Riddler teased, giving the Joker's shoulder a hard, bordering-on-offensive shove.
The other villain didn't seem to find this very funny. In fact, even with thee red paint smearing his face into a dark, twisted smile, he looked downright angry. "He doesn't believe in sex before marriage," the Joker explained, almost as if he felt obligated to defend his sensitive lover. "He is a pious, righteous man."
Of course, although the Joker didn't quite understand the negative connotations that went along with these two words, the Riddler picked up on them immediately and let out a soft chuckle. "Yes, indeed. I couldn't have said it better myself, my friend!"
Though the Joker still didn't quite understand what was happening, he could hear that his friend was clearly mocking him – or his lover.
"Enough! Enough out of you, or I'll blow your head off right now! I won't tolerate this! Whatever you're doing, stop!"
"All right, all right! Calm down, J-Man! Listen to some jazz. Have a late. Get laid. Oh wait... ha ha ha! You can't! Because your pussy bat boyfriend won't put out! Not even on Valentine's Day!"
The Joker was silent, but he scowled. "There's nothing wrong with having morals. Besides, it's not all about fucking. We're going to have a good night. He's going to looove his present!" By the end of this statement, the Joker was nearly squealing with excitement.
"I'm not so sure," Eddie mused, staring down at the small cardboard box between them. "If he's so moral and pious-" he stifled a giggle - "then I'm not sure if this is really his, uh... cup of tea, so to speak. But you are right, Jack. Sexual intercourse is not the whole of our existence . . . but it certainly is a lot better than not getting laid at all, isn't it, old friend?"
"I don't find this very funny, Edward. So if you'd knock it the hell off, that would be fucking LOVELY." It was obvious that the Joker was anything but amused. His muscles even started to tense as his face reddened and his hands clenched with anxiety.
"All right, all right! Settle down! There's no need for blow torches! You haven't even finished setting the park up yet. But, hey... seriously, Jack... are you sure about this?" Part of the tone in his voice sounded as though he was baiting his friend, almost as if he knew something the other did not.
"You're toying with me. This isn't a joke!" the villain screamed, throwing down his pile of papers. All over them, scribbles in green and purple crayon. The plannings and schemings of a madman. But, to him, they were hard work. After all – he wasn't really a man with a plan. He just did things and let the chaos swiftly follow. But in any case, it was clear to the Riddler that he was very agitated, and so he sighed, taking off his hat and sitting down on the plastic crate close by.
As he began to sit down, the Joker started to cry, dark black makeup running down his delicate cheeks. "He's going to hate it! He's going to hate me! He'll never talk to me again," Jack sobbed, stomping on the papers that contained his plans for the evening's Valentine's Day celebration. "Who am I kidding? I'm a villain! He could never love me. You were right, Eddie! He's never going to sleep with me because he doesn't want to! He's not even interested in me! We hardly ever see each other, and when we do we're always fighting! He knows how I am. He... He knows... He..." The Joker continued to sob until he finally caught his breath and began his rant again. "He knows I can't be good. We'll never work out. You were right, Eddie! You were right all along. A villain and a hero can never be happy together. We're constantly at odds..."
"Listen, Jacky Boy," the Riddler sighed, avoiding looking into his comrade's eyes at all costs. "I'm going to be really honest with you now. Not because I like you or anything, but just because you're starting to freak me out. I mean, really, Jack, you ought to be taking some sort of..." But he trailed off, and decided it was better not to finish that particular sentence. "Look, honestly... I know the Bat, okay? I mean I don't know that he's got a birthmark on his ass or that his cock is especially large... but I know the guy. He's morally opposed to everything that you stand for. He believes in order and in... in... good." He spat the word like a foul curse.
"But dammit, Jack, I think this is going to scare the poor boy – his giant cock and all. But the fact that he's with you – the fact that he loves you, J-Man – says a lot. It says there's something about you he's intrigued by – and let me tell you something, pal, it ain't your pretty face and sweet personality. It's your raw, edgy need for chaos. Your love of causing trouble. You and I, see... we do it for fun. Ivy? She's angry. (Hot and angry, which is nice... but angry.) But we don't have motives. We do it cause we want to. We do what we do because it's part of who we are. We don't want to hurt people. We just like to watch them squirm and fight for their lives."
Normally, Edward Nigma probably would have chuckled at his own joke, but this night, he understood that his friend needed his guidance. After all, it wasn't like the Joker had anyone else to turn to. "So, really... he likes whatever deep evil naughty thing that you've got buried inside you. Part of him likes the idea of trying to purify you and make you a good little boy, but he also knows it's never going to happen, so that's obviously no fun. What he really likes – what really makes him hard, Jack – is just how fucking badass you really are. And I think this is going to rock him so deep to the core that he won't be able to say no to you. In fact, I think that tonight... tonight, something's going to snap inside the Batman, and he's going to fuck you stupid because of this."
There was a pause before the Joker could react to this, but when he finally opened his mouth to speak, his cheeks were completely red. "What makes you talk like you know all this? You're not so clever as to read his mind – you just think you are."
"No so," Eddie retorted, standing at last and delicately putting on his hat in a methodic, unfeeling movement. "I am an intellectual criminal. It's my job to understand the mind f my opponents. I understand Batman, at least insofar as his reaction to your bran of evil is concerned. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised tonight. But, by all means... if I'm wrong... do let me know." A smile spread over the Riddler's lips; he knew he was right already. Now all he had to do was wait for confirmation of the fact.
The warehouse was empty when the Joker bound his lover's hands with a soft red bandanna and led him gently inside. "I has prezzie, batty-boy!" the Joker giggled. His voice cracked from the sheer strain of the tension. Jack was nervous, and it made his hands shake as he tried to hold on to the wrists of his lover. "Are you ready, my handsome darling? I did this just for you. All for you, Batman..."
"I'm ready already! Let me open my eyes!" Bruce's voice was low and dark. He tried to make it sound as though he was just joking – all in good humor – but it was difficult. The irritation bled through his voice, and hearing this made the villain nervous. Maybe he should just take the hero home and make him dinner like a normal boyfriend. Maybe he should hurry up and get them both out of there before something terrible happened.
For a moment, the Joker hesitated and considered this. The warehouse was cold and dim. The only light in the room was in the form of hundreds of small candles all set perfectly on the floor in the shape of a heart. This part alone had taken the Joker house. His jittery, unsteady hands simply would not hold still long enough to make the line's of the heart smooth. His sparring movements and wandering, troubled mind made it difficult for him to stay focused long enough to actually produce the desired shape. He could never be still without metal in his hands. But he'd gotten it done, and all that was left was let his paramour open his eyes to see his handiwork.
"You can open them now, Brucie," Jack breathed warmly into the hero's ear.
First, the hero saw the candles, a glowing heart of light, and blushed a little. The shock and surprise sent him reeling numbly back a step as he stared at the concrete floor. Clearly, he understood the effort it would have taken the Joker just to be still long enough to finish it. What he saw next was something significantly less pure. In blood – deep, wet, dark lines of it – inside the heart was written a short message. When Bruce took a step closer, the words became "I LOVE YOU" in letters that were messy and scrambled but clear nonetheless. In the very center of the hard, a lump – nearly black – was visible. It was about the size of the Batman's fist, and it was moving.
In the cold, icy air of the concrete warehouse, Bruce's warm breath came out like steam. His eyes, like steel, focused in on the small item as he stepped into the circle and bent down beside it. In the sickening silence, the Batman heard a thump.
The heart was too small to belong to a horse or some larger type of animal but absolutely too large to belong to someone's house pet. It was clear in an instant that it was, indeed, as Bruce feared, a human's beating heart. Entranced and enticed by the item, Bruce Wayne reached down with un-gloved hands and lifted the muscle up closer to his face. He could smell iron and the stench of human suffering, but he could not stop himself. He wondered how his lover had come across this heart, this bold and beating thing, but he could not stop himself. He pondered who it had belonged to, but he could not stop himself. His own heart was beating his chest, rebelling against this inhumane act against nature, but he could not stop himself.
The hero's lips pressed against the beating muscle and warm, rich blood poured over his full lips and down his chin in tiny little drips and rivers of red. Scared of his lover's reaction, the villain knelt down beside the bat and peered into his face. Shocked to find blood there, he fell back on his wrists and looked up at the hero. "Bruce..." But that was all he could say before he found his own lips tasting the sticky, almost-hot liquid as the warm, eager tongue of the costumed superhero forced its way inside his watering mouth.
Before the villain could protest, question, hesitate, or object, he felt the pressure of the hero sliding firmly between his legs. The smooth, hard curves of the suit pressed against his body and forced his back down against the heatless concrete floor beneath them. With what little light the surround candles gave, the Joker watched the hero's muscular shoulders move closer as two strong, heavy arms wrapped around him. When the villain was pressed firmly where the Batman wanted him, one hand slipped out from behind his back and reached between their bodies. With a passion that seemed something close to fury, the Batman tore madman's pinstriped pants right down the middle seam.
The purple material pooled around his knees, but the Batman didn't bother removing the fabric. Instead, he grabbed his lover's wrists. The grip he held was tight enough to leave a long-lasting bruise, but the Joker did not do so much as utter a whimper as he relaxed his muscles and allowed himself to be controlled. The hero firmly pulled his adversary's wrists between this bodies, pressing his grimy hands down between his own legs where he could feel the steady pressure pushing against the protective cup of his uniform.
Without being told or guided, Jack found the zipper and removed the article of clothing. Perfectly in time and without so much as fumbling for a way to support his own weight, the Batman pressed his hips into the space between the Joker's legs. His thighs, Bruce discovered, were tight and muscular from running and dodging the cops so much, and thoughts of the villain's crimes flooded into his mind like cold water from the sea.
He groaned his mind unable to gain control over his body as he thrust tenderly against his lover, his bodies creating friction that provided the only heat besides the tension forming quickly on this cheeks and pooling beneath their undergarments. Those, the Batman reasoned subconsciously, needed to go as well. To the dismay of the Joker, the bat pulled away and pulled the tops of the Joker's boxers down with his fingertips, letting them slide over every inch of skin on the way down until they, too, were pooled around his lover's knees. The Joker did the same for his lover, on his hands were unable to continue south upon arrival in the hero's most treasured depths of intimacy.
When their bodies slid together – slowly and carefully, saving every shiver and sensation – the two moaned – nearly whimpering – in unison. Again, their lips met and shared the blood thy both had tasted, passing the sin back and forth between them. That Valentine's Day, the holiday really did revolve around the heart.