Chapter two.
Longing.
Five months had passed and Bruce still felt an enormous weight on him. Talking to Joker's grave had only made the pain worsen, seeing that he was actually gone, he wasn't coming back, he'd never see him again.
At the beginning of the fifth month Tim came to Bruce, and the two talked.
The young man, with a little help from doctor Mahogany, had persuaded Bruce to come down to the batcave, as part of his recovery, so that he could use some of the equipment to help stretch his leg out.
.
Tim smiled as Bruce reached the last step of the stairs, "There you go, fine."
Bruce looked around the cave, the mere sight making his stomach twitch anxiously.
He had to use all his self-control to keep his eyes away from the area dedicated to Joker, fearing that he would burst into tears at seeing it.
He began the short walk to the exercise area, suddenly he felt a harsh whoosh of air come past him, almost knocking him over.
Wally came to a halt a few feet away, his red and yellow uniform clean and bright on him, a new set, again.
"Hi, Batman!" Wally said, looking the older man up and down, sensing his unease, he frowned gently, "Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you."
Bruce forced a small smile onto his face, "No, it's ok. What are you doing here?"
Wally shrugged, "I'm waiting for Dick, he said he was having a little bit of trouble since the Arkham breakout an-"
"Wait, what? What breakout?" Bruce said sternly, looking between Wally and Tim.
Tim brought his hand to his arm, rubbing it gently to calm himself, "Earlier this week. We didn't want to put any pressure on you, we didn't want you to rush yourself, so we didn't tell you."
Bruce frowned, anger leaping in him, "So you've been calling other heroes in? You've been inviting metas-" he pointed to Wally, "-into my city? You know how much they rile the inmates, that's probably why there was a breakout!"
Tim frowned, looking to the floor as Bruce bellowed at him, "Bruce that's… There's a new gang. They broke everyone out of Arkham."
Bruce walked towards the computer, "What gang, who's in charge?"
"They're calling themselves 'The Jokers'." Wally said bluntly, not realising the effect it may have on Bruce's mood.
Bruce felt his stomach drop with a mixture of anger and sadness, "What…?" he growled gently, turning and glaring at Wally.
"I'm sorry, Bruce…" Tim whispered, "We didn't want to upset you…"
"Joker imitators?" Bruce said quietly.
Wally nodded, "…Yeah. They dress up like him and imitate his crime pattern."
Bruce frowned, "Joker didn't have a crime pattern."
Wally gave a small chuckle, "Exactly."
Bruce's eyes turned back to Tim, "Show me them."
"Bruce I don't think that's-"
"Tim! Now."
Tim walked briskly to the computer and pulled up a file, sensing Bruce's tone; filled with anger and… violence…
The teen narrowed his eyes in a sad frown as Bruce looked up at the screen, the older man feeling his heartbeat appear in his throat as he read.
"This is disgusting…" Bruce said softly, voice aching, the corners of his mouth drooping.
Wally nodded, walking to Bruce's side "They've killed 11 people now, injured 28."
Bruce pulled up some footage and watched, his frown deepening every second:
Three men dressed as Joker, letting out loud and faked cackles of laughter, smashing the glass window of a local shop, one of the men pulled out a gun and shot the shop keeper in the arm, the old man screaming as blood exploded from the wound.
The three men emptied the till into a bag, grabbing some sweets from the counter as they ran from the place.
One of them stopped, placing a Dictaphone on the floor and pressing play, then running off.
The Dictaphone played a loop of Joker's laughter.
The loud, booming, mocking laugh.
The laugh that would fill Bruce's mind with a buzz of electricity that would echo through his body, making his hairs stand on end.
…But this time it didn't…
A bastardised incomplete version of his voice.
Bruce felt tears come to his eyes, he tried not to let them show, but he couldn't stop the tortured moan that came through his lips.
"Bruce," Tim said gently, "Are you ok?"
"That's not right…" Bruce said weakly, "I've got to stop them… it's not right."
Tim frowned, "Bruce, you're in too much of a state. Alfred was ok with you coming down here to use the equipment, but you can't go out yet."
Bruce took several deep breaths, feeling the anger and sadness swell in him. He wanted to go, he wanted to stop them, he needed to stop them! He couldn't let them do this to Joker's image! He couldn't let them defile the memory of the man he loved!
"I have to go!" Bruce said loudly, arbitrarily violent.
"Bruce," Wally said warningly, "You know you will be no help out there… Think about it. You're not anywhere near full strength and you can barely run. You need to recover."
Bruce swallowed hard. He knew Wally was right.
He remembered one time, years ago, when he had tried to go back after breaking his back. 2 and a half years, and still he had been weak, Joker knew this, he could tell, and he had used it to his full advantage…
He couldn't risk something like that again…
"Fine…"
…
Bruce had some of the weights moved upstairs, determined now to return to his physical peak. So he could stop those people using Joker's image as they were.
He had just finished an hour of exercise. He could feel his muscles aching. He had not felt that in so long…
It would be worth it, this wait, all this work.
He could stop these… this new gang. Free Joker's name from them.
He slammed his fist against the cushion on his bed; the name should not be associated with them.
They didn't know him.
They'd never even seen him.
They'd never heard his booming laugh, Never seen his emerald green eyes, never heard the silky sweet voice, felt the warm and gentle touch of his hand as it…
Bruce screwed his eyes shut. Stop it. It wasn't right to think about him like that.
When he had had the opportunity to, when Joker was alive, Bruce had done all he could to not think like that. Now he was dead, Bruce was doing all he could to stop himself thinking like that. But for different reasons all together.
It was so hard…
To have such urges, just not be able to show them in any way.
He wanted to be able to remember the feel of Joker's skin against his, the mal-formed lips touching his…
Bruce bit his lip, digging his canine into his flesh. Stop it. Stop it now.
But it had felt so good…
He could remember Joker's voice… he could imagine it now, and it felt so real.
He would tell him, if he were here, he would tell Bruce to 'loosen up', 'relax'…
The pinch on Bruce's lip loosened, and his hand moved down, across his chest.
'You're too serious about everything' Bruce could almost hear it as his hand reached his navel, and he took gentle grip on himself. 'You need to relax, Batsy…'
He let the voice fill his mind, the image of him, he had spent so long rejecting his want, he couldn't anymore.
It had felt so good, being with Joker… his ruby lips had been so soft, kissing down his chest, nibbling on his skin.
'Let me help…'
He let his mind orchestrate the words, though Joker had never said them, and they seemed so real.
He could still recall the man's white skin, so soft and warm, the feeling of it against him.
He ran his hand up and down his length, pressuring his fingers gently against his shaft as he let his mind create the image of Joker's naked body leaning over him.
The gentle titters of excited laughter that had come from his lips as he moved down Bruce's body, Bruce could almost hear them now, he let out a tiny noise of imitation, trying to make it seem more real.
His hand began moving quicker as he thought of Joker's mouth moving on him, the clowns laughter quelled by the large object in his mouth, replaced with gentle moans and grunts.
If Joker were here.
Fuck… it would be perfect.
To be in him, just one last time, uninhibited, nothing held back, nothing to regret. The way he wished it could be, the way it should have been.
Joker's touch had had this odd way of making him forget how much he detested it, he had ended up enjoying it just as much, but he wished he had entered the situation with the same gusto. Maybe he wouldn't have this pit in his stomach now.
He pressured his fingers along himself, trying to make it feel more realistic, how he remembered it, trying to keeping the image in his head, keeping it vivid.
"Joker…" he said in a breath as he continued to pump at himself, the images filling his head, the noises so loud, so real. His breath hitched as his movements grew more violent, tension steadily growing in him.
He repeated the gentle grunts and chuckles in his mind, focusing on the imagined white skin… so perfect…
He wanted it to be real, he had never wanted anything more in his life. It felt so real, his mind making Joker move for him; the white skinned body arching and quivering at his intruding touch. The noises he made like music.
Fuck…
Joker's screamed laughs, so loud with pleasure.
'Fuck…'
Bruce's breath hitched as he tugged on himself, part of him wanted to stop; this was wrong, but he simply didn't care anymore, he'd waited too long to feel this, to be uninhibited.
He wanted it to be real.
Please.
Please.
Be real.
Let this one thing, this one wish…
The grunts, the moans, the soft and longing titters.
Oh fuck… yes…
Bruce felt his muscles spasm, and his white cream drip from him, he let out a gentle grunt. And suddenly the image was gone, and Bruce was left with nothing, only the soft ebbing of an empty orgasm.
He raised a hand to his forehead and pinched his brow.
Why couldn't it be real?
He wanted it so badly.
He felt so alone.
I hope you liked it.
Please review.
I also uploaded a piece on my DA (same username) of a version for this that I started to write, but decided against, the piece is called 'After Prove Me Right. The Plot I Won't Be Using'