Summary: Joker appreciates his weapon.
So I actually did write another fic. Just one more stanza to go before I have a complete set. This story is, erm, I don't even know what it is. And I think of it as set before the Joker ever meets the Batman…sort of an initial screening (what? Another pun?) and reaction.
Note: This story was supposed to be the first one posted. I only just wrote it yesterday, though. If I can, I will put it in the correct order.
Disclaimer is on the 'first chapter'.
Rated M for violence, cursing, and adult themes with a weapon
What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
That is circling all round the sun
What a beautiful dream
That could flash on the screen
In a blink of an eye and be gone from me
Soft and sweet
Let me hold it close and keep it here with me, me
"And tonight on the news, local crime is down 35% as the elusive Batman continues his…" Click. "But is this Batman someone we should be looking up to? What kind of city…" Click. "We can't deny that when that light is on in the sky…" Click. "Exclusively tonight we have a picture of the Ba…" Click. Wait, what? Click. "…as seen from an eyewitness's cell phone. Stay tuned for the exclusive photo when we return from these messages."
The Joker can't help himself. He leans forward in his dry rotted La-Z-Boy, plants his feet on the ground, and laces his fingers together excitedly, placing his elbows on his knees and planting his chin on top. The tiny, fuzzy television begins to shake violently through the commercials. Odd. The crazed man looks down at the ground to see if there is an earthquake, only to find his knees jiggling in pent up excitement, rattling his arms and head in the process.
"Ahahaheehaha," his laugh is loud and screeching, and lasts for several minutes. The only thing to bring him back down is the announcement that the show is starting again. Two smiling figures look at him with their glassy eyes and white teeth. He wonders how long it takes those two things to look like that, and bets that he could pull out their eyes and teeth in a shorter time. He's pretty good like that.
"You can see it here tonight, folks. For the first time ever, an eyewitness has been able to get a picture of the infamous Batman!" the female smiles, looking at Joker through the screen and then back at her partner. The pair's eyes meet, and then the male is looking at Joker. "Now as we show this, remember that it was night when the photo was taken on a low quality phone camera…"
And his voice is drifting off behind Joker's psyche because the picture is taking up the entire screen. It's grainy and fuzzy and blurred. The Batman was obviously on the move when this shot was snapped. But his face is just visible and his jaw is strong and set and unsmiling. And his eyes are flashing and bright against the black makeup surrounding them.
And Joker's in love.
Well, not love love. But there's a spark. He figures he should be pissed. Here is a man who's obviously as fucked up as he is, if not more so, stealing his limelight and action. The Jester has been scanning channels all evening trying to find any headlines about himself, and all he's heard and seen is Batman this and Batman that. And yes, he's a little pissed. He'll need to go out and meet this Batman, and soon.
But just look at him. It's magnificent, really. What kind of crazy world would gift wrap and deliver a perfect juxtaposition to him, the Joker? And Joker really loves gifts. Especially dangerous ones. And this man is dangerous. Takes one to know one, you see. But a completely different kind of dangerous. Batman is hurting people, but only a certain kind of people. People similar to the Joker in varying degrees.
And Joker wants to hurt the Batman. He suspects that he will feel no greater pleasure than to put his hands on that dark, shadowy, masked man. Yes, he needs to meet him. But how? He's been pulling jobs in this city for weeks and has never seen the vigilante. It's time to get creative. It's time to perform…
He leans back in his fading chair once more and crosses one leg over the other, pulling his gun from his pocket for easier leverage and feeling the weight of it on his hand. Weapons always help him think. The picture is gone from the screen and the voices are droning on again. He pulls the trigger and the flag pops out, hanging limply from its pole. Bang. Another pull of the trigger and it's speared into the center of the sparking screen. Ah, that's better.
Now surrounded with darkness and silence, Joker takes on the task more fully. He brings his gun filled hand up to the side of his head to lean against it. He'd have to arrange a foolproof way to get the Bat to meet him, but how? He scratches his chin with the barrel of the gun and lets his mind go blank at the feel of the cold metal against his chin. His tongue swipes out to wet his lips and he's greeted with the shock of the cold metal taste of his weapon.
His weapon.
That's it! He needs to announce his crimes! Like his gun announces its shots. He would voice his next crime over the radio. That would be good; obscure but insistent. Like the Batman.
The Prince nuzzles his gun in appreciation for its assistance and smells the earthy, zangy smell of powder and metal and death. His tongue swipes out again in reaction to his elevated heartbeat and touches the tip of the barrel again. Hmmm. He lets his tongue run around the entire entrance of the barrel before running languidly down the entire length of the metal pipe and back up again. Without thought, he engulfs the entire entrance of the weapon into his mouth to moisten it.
He closes his eyes and sees a grainy dark figure with flashing eyes similar to his own, but different.
The barrel is wet; saliva is escaping his lips' seal and running down the weapon and his own chin. He pushes the weapon further into his mouth to catch up the loosed liquid, and the sight at the tip catches the back of his throat, causing him to gag. He pulls it back out and to the tip again on reflex, but draws it back into his mouth again out of spite. The gun forgot that he likes it rough. Gagging him won't deter what's coming to it. He laughs from the back of his throat, a growling, rumbling sound that travels up the shaft of the weapon and tickles his lips.
The sensation finally forces him to drop the weapon to his lap until the strange tingling disappears. He's huffing and frustrated and excited, and as soon as the feeling is gone he shoves the gun's barrel back down his throat and snaps his eyes closed until it hurts, and he's pumping the gun in and out of his mouth, back and forth over his tongue, into and out of his throat. And he doesn't gag again. No. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice and I'll cut your eyes out and make you wear them as earrings.
His jaw is hurting from the violence of the motions and his teeth are rattling from the contact with the metal, but his gun is so close. He can feel it. It's going to cum any second now. Hell, it just cocked. Pride swells in him as his finger slowly presses against the trigger of his weapon.
"Boss, you wanted to…"
Joker's eyes fly open and he's staring at his henchman wildly, angrily. The gun's still in his mouth, but his finger moves away from the trigger and warm but cooling spit is dribbling down the handle and into his grip. It smells even more metallic now. His gun is angry.
Bang.
Joker slumps back into his chair and eyes the dead man disapprovingly. He wanted to get the gun off, not some nameless, useless henchman. Oh well. Passion is passion. And something is tickling at the back of his brain. On impulse, he leaps out of his chair and saunters over to the corpse. Blood is pooling and seems to be dripping through the floorboards already. He won't be bothered again. His crew seems to shy away on evenings when blood rains down on their beds.
An outstretched arm clasps a crumpled bit of paper. The madman snatches it up and peers at the scrawled handwriting:
Friday 18th: 9 pm
Gotham City Radio Tower
Mic, copper wire, cotton balls
Oh yeah. He's already formed this plan last night. His guy was here to give the confirmation list with required materials. He even knows what his crime is going to be. It's all ready. He turns an appreciative eye towards his guy and tips his hat. "Great job, Freddie. You're going places; I can tell! Ahahahheehahahaheehaha…"
Downstairs a man fumbles over to his bed and upturns his rough blanket. There's a puddle of blood where his chest would be on the lumpy mattress. He warily eyes the ceiling; blood is dripping regularly. "Goddammit…" he mumbles, and grabs his pillow to stomp off to another corner to sleep.
Ba Bum Ba Boosh! lol. So this features a little less Bat, but I think that's okay in this instance. Oh Joker, you really need to write down your important dates on a calendar, like me. As the saying goes, smarter not harder.
And I make no apologies for my gun masturbation (or is it?)! This is what I wrote; can you imagine what goes on in my head? hahaha I wanted Bats to be holding the gun, but he doesn't approve of guns, so I had to go another route. I like it.
One possible story left. Will I actually write it?