As is probably obvious, I've never been to Miami. I just discovered the song Miami by Foals, and became obsessed with it. Listening to it for hours from about 11pm produced this fic. Unbeta-ed so far. Hope you enjoy it.
The sun had set hours ago, but the city was alight with parties and moonlight and traffic, giving the impression of a never ending early evening. Palm trees dotted everywhere and everything had a pale, bright clarity. It was a long way from Gotham.
He was a long way from Selina for the first time, the first time he was back in his home country since relinquishing his mask. He may not be Bruce Wayne, he'd tossed some fake name at these people the second he'd arrived like an overused joke, and it was business as usual. For fun, he'd introduced himself with a different name to different people. Not too many - this was an intimate party - but enough to satisfy a childish impulse for mild anarchy. Just to tempt fate, he'd told some of them that his first name was Wayne.
He circulated as he always had, flitting between the beautifully decorated tables laden with champagne, the view of Miami constantly in his peripheral as he moved, a pool and heat and shimmering lights, colour and cool, expensive clothes. A very different rooftop from old times. And he had to say, he was almost a little bored.
Bruce, for he still thought of himself as Bruce, was smiling and charming his way around when someone caught his eye. The man in question stood talking with a handful of men Bruce vaguely knew, and there was nothing extraordinary about him at first or second glance. He heard the man introduce himself, and the name was an unfamiliar nothing that left Bruce's brain the minute he heard it.
The man was getting on with people easily enough, but to Bruce he seemed a little bored. Distracted, absent, vague. The former billionaire added adjectives on adjectives as his gaze remained pinned to the man from over his champagne glass, instead of listening to the conversation he was supposed to be a part of. If it was someone from Gotham, as his instinct was unquestionably telling him it was, he should be feeling guarded. Anything but hungry to see more. He couldn't understand it. His mind traced over Gotham. He'd only slept with a handful of men there, and he was sure he remembered them all. He didn't remember this guy like that; he imagined those watching eyes and was sure he would remember.
He had just decided to put it out of his head, thinking nothing useful could come of it, until he noticed the man detach himself from his conversation. He returned their 500-watt glacial smile with something casual, but they didn't seem to notice. Before Bruce could quite process what he was doing, he was following the man out of the crowd and away from the gentle lull of the music. He placed his glass back on the table without looking at what he was doing, and took care not to catch anyone's eyes, gaze trained on the shoulders he was following. There was something unbearably familiar about that gait, the dirty blonde hair, something. He had to know. Something, anything, from that part of his past, coupled with the Miamic surroundings, made it feel as surreal as chasing a dream.
Bruce turned a corner and found himself in an outdoor corridor, lit with the source less power that was Miami's light. The other man was taking his time, so Bruce closed the gap with an easy, quick stride.
"Excuse me," he called, as the man reached another lit, vacant patio near the elevators. The man turned to face him, and Bruce realised his heart was in his mouth. He tried in vain to calm it. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
The other man tilted his head quizzically, and the gesture was maddeningly, tip of his tongue familiar. It made him ache and he had no idea why.
"I don't think so," the man was saying, and the quality of his voice without a crowd to blend in with was so familiar it made him go hot and cold all over with unmistakable déjà vu. The man's eyes changed slightly then, clearly reading the reaction in his face.
"Sorry," Bruce heard himself saying, conjuring up a nice half-smile just in case he was crazy and this was just some guy. "But I definitely know you from somewhere."
The smile that followed this was friendly, if a little humouring.
"Gotham," Bruce elaborated, unable to resist. His heart was mounting uncontrollably. He hadn't heard a word of the Joker since having him locked up in Gotham. Even Selina had known nothing of him during Bane's reign. He had been presumed dead or escaped or well locked up. And now...was it surgery or some kind of make up? It was flawless, whatever it was. And was he up to something here, or did he have a new life, same as Bruce? There was no way of telling.
He was still smiling, amused. "When? Where?"
On all the rooftops, in the back alleys, he wanted to say. He wondered if the Joker was playing him or if he genuinely hadn't realised.
"A long time ago, I guess. I've left Gotham now. I'm retired."
It was a clumsy, insignificant way of putting it, but his tone was laced with meaning and his eyes bored into the Joker's as he spoke, so much so that the clown couldn't fail to pick up on it. Sure enough, his eyes widened and a subtle change came over his demeanour. He seemed to be holding his breath as he looked Bruce up and down, eyes flicking to his face once for permission before his hands darted out, lifting Bruce's shirt up to his pectorals. Bruce's breath drew in sharply as the Joker took in the scars covering his torso. Satisfied, he dropped it after a moment, and met Bruce's gaze with an unreadable expression. If Bruce had to guess, he'd say there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. Confirming his suspicions, a corner of the Jokers mouth quirked up as he waited for Bruce to speak first.
Without giving it any thought, Bruce grabbed him by the waist and lunged into a kiss. The Joker clearly hasn't been expecting it. His breath stopped in his throat, and Bruce was able to push him back up against the balcony wall in one easy motion. He felt the other man give into it at once, muscles uncurling, letting the wall support his back. It was a sweet kiss, far from soft, but at the same time incongruent from the brutality of their past. And it felt like they'd done it hundreds of times. He tasted the Joker's scars from the inside.
He drew back slowly without letting go, and the Joker breathed and opened his eyes. His arms had found their way to Bruce's waist above his own. His pulse had rocketed, but he felt strangely calm. His hand reached for the Joker's cheek, thumbing where the scar should be.
"Careful." The Joker licked his lips, leaning out of the touch slightly. His eyes were dancing the way they used to. "I have to get out of here too, y'know."
His smile grew as Bruce just stared at him, took in every change, and pulled him forward by the neck for another kiss. It felt languid, despite his thudding heart, in line with the slow, sweeping heat of Miami. They rearranged their legs to press together more comfortably, and Bruce only realised he was hard as he felt the Joker was. As those hands clung back to him, he couldn't think of Selina, let alone Gotham, or anything that should stop him. He didn't know now long they were there for, him pushing the Joker against the wall with everything he had, where anyone could come out of the party and assume they were just two normal guys about to end the night in a hotel room.
He broke off at this thought. It was more appropriate to do this in the open, on a rooftop, but that clearly wasn't on the table anymore. The Joker was looking at him with dark, unringed eyes, unreadable as ever, waiting. It struck Bruce that he could take the Joker to another party, out for dinner, to the beach, and no-one would be any the wiser. He felt an unaccountable urge to laugh.
The Joker shifted then, deliberately angling their weight together, with a shade of impatience in his eyes.
He could walk away right now, without another word, and he knew the Joker wouldn't try to stop him. This would be hard enough to live with, going back to Selina's laughing enquiries of whether he'd had any nice holiday romances, Selina and Rachel's memory and everything everyone had done for him. It would be more than enough to eat away at him without going any further.
But he considered that option with the same cursory attention he would now give to attractive women that weren't Selina, for his mind was made up. He knew this from the secret animal part of himself that had allowed him to recognise the Joker in the first place.
The hotel room was at once a relief and a restriction; it felt too civilised. It was airy, beautiful, colour-coordinated, air conditioned with a view of palmy Miami's beach. It was inappropriate, the concept of a hotel room, cheap and ordinary. The Joker kissed him insistently, hands on Bruce's shoulders, guiding him towards the bed. Bruce noticed the time on the glowing clock in an absent sort of way, noticed it was 2am when it still felt like 10pm. That about summed up Miami for him.
The Joker undid Bruce's shirt with something resembling his old energy, and had barely finished when Bruce took over, sliding the Joker's expensive looking clothes from his body, until they were naked against the fashionably threadbare, cool sheets.
The Joker had let his lips brush against Bruce's abdomen as he moved down his body, undressing him, but he was only teasing him. He moved back up to kiss Bruce, who raised his hand to the blonde hair, soft and normal enough to run through his fingers. He thumbed the Joker's scars again, harder than before, and scraped away whatever it was that covered the scars up. The Joker kissed him harder then, and Bruce's fist went back to his hair. He wasn't surprised when the Joker flipped him onto his back, biting him while jerking him off and laughing around his skin. When the Joker went down on him, he barely had the sense of mind to scrabble in the bedside drawer for lube.
The joker looked up when he heard what he was doing, and snatched the tub off him. He thought he might come right there, unable to wait, as the Joker hastily prepared him. The former clown entered him almost too soon after, before he felt adjusted, but Bruce arched up to meet his thrust anyway, eyes closing with it. The Joker was barely able to wait, scarcely giving Bruce a minute before he had to move in a hard, unforgiving g rhythm that had him sighing in relief. Bruce's hands clawed into his back, needing him nearer, needing more. The Joker fisted his hair as he complied, driving harder and whimpering his old name.
Bruce found himself whispering in a worn voice, "there's so much I want to ask you."
He could feel the Joker smiling in the dark. "You're the one that's back from the dead."
He hummed in agreement, carding a hand through the Joker's tamed hair. His body felt over sensitive and primal, while his mind felt a curious satisfaction at confirmation at what he knew all along; that they were both crazy, if that were the word, in the same way. He felt understood. The simple pleasure of this was wonderful.
His hand ghosted up the Joker's back, he took the hint and shifted, more then ready to let Bruce have his turn. Bruce cupped the Joker's face in his hands, in a parody of romance, and felt the grinning scars beneath his fingers. In his hands, the Joker grinned for real to match and said his name on a sigh, his old name. And then Bruce was on him again, and they descended into something even better than the old push and pull of their fights.
xxx
Bruce woke around 1pm without saying anything. The Joker lay awake beside him, he could tell, but hadn't moved. The room was almost painfully bright, and some of the shimmering light on the Miami waves reflected on his walls. Bruce contemplated this until the Joker got up with a mutter and disappeared into the bathroom. After a few moments, the patter of the shower could be heard. Bruce hauled himself into a sitting position and picked up the phone. On autopilot, he ordered brunch, getting extra in case the Joker would want some, although he was fairly certain that he wouldn't. On hanging up, he found his laptop and began to click through emails mindlessly. He felt strangely calm. It was only when he heard the water shut off that he began to feel uneasy.
It took him a moment to realise why. He was waiting for, expecting, the Joker to emerge in his make-up, his old make-up, grinning and crowing, "Surprise, Batman!" And going into the hall to cut down a few chandeliers and maybe kill a maid. To entice Batman out. Just because he could. Because last night had been a dream and there was no way on Earth he could expect anything else.
But then the bathroom door opened and the Joker was there, dressed and handsome and as normal looking as last night. Bruce let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and quickly dropped his gaze back to the laptop.
"There's food I ordered," he said to the screen. "If you want some."
The Joker didn't say anything, forcing Bruce to eventually look up. He didn't look hostile, though. Bruce was expecting judgement, ridicule, some sort of twisted assessment of his new life. What he didn't expect was an embrace.
"I don't know what to say to you," the Joker mused into his hair, light words incongruous to his clinging, and Bruce was reminded again that he was nothing short of insane. "Except that I don't regret anything, I guess."
Bruce didn't know whether that was intended to cause him pain or not. He couldn't tell if the Joker was amused. He gave a single nod.
The Joker straightened and looked at Bruce, waiting for anything he had to say. Nothing came. It felt like an anti-climax when he left.
Bruce was half waiting for alarms, or screams, or gunshots, and couldn't decide if he felt hollow or relieved when none came. He stared out of the window for a moment, drumming his fingers on the laptop edge. He emailed a few photos of Miami to Selina, suddenly missing her. He ate his food when it came, and checked his flight times for the following day.