Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight or Batman.
Chapter Two: Joker
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We've never done this before.
He's a little on edge, I can tell. It's funny—you would think he would expect something like this to happen. But I suppose even Batman has his, ah, blond moments.
I have to admit I'm a little tense myself. It's a powerful moment for us, after all. The game's got new rules, and I'm fine with making…adjustments.
Slowly, Batman reaches up and takes hold of the mask, and for a moment I almost think he'll hit me. Not that…not that that would be a bad thing. No, no, even if he does smack me around, the mask'll be gone one way or the other.
"Well?" I ask, crossing my arms and cocking my head to one side, wetting my lips. "You're not a coward, are ya?"
That does it.
He takes the mask off—finally—and I hum at the slicked-back dark hair he shows me. I take a good-sized chunk of hair and pull—not enough to snap his neck, of course, but certainly enough to get a reaction.
"Ah," I whisper, as my free hand rests over his heart. "Good."
I can feel his heart beating quicker already, knowing that he knows what's going to happen—or what may happen.
"Next time," I purr, letting go of him and turning toward my bag of goodies, "you're going to arrive on time, aren't you, Batsy?"
"If will if you do."
I pull out one of my favorite toys—bought only a few months ago at one of Gotham's seediest stores—and smack it against my palm, admiring its weight, power…possibilities.
"Sure, sure." I shrug and get to work.
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Our "relationship" isn't safe, or kind, or loving. It's lethal and painful and sticky, and while he won't admit it, Batsy likes it that way.
He likes the control, I'm sure, the way it can go both ways.
Sometimes it'll be me on the floor of that dingy apartment, laughing my ass off (no pun intended) and getting rug burn as he puts all the force he can into whatever he's doing (I'm usually not exactly coherent at the time, so whatever he does is whatever he does), making me scream. I like it that way too—there's a certain way he does it, see, it's like he can't decide to kill me or keep me for the next round.
He's gentle sometimes, too. He'll bring me to whatever soft thing's nearby at the time—bed, couch, whatever—and takes things slow, takes the time to look and taste. It's not too bad, I guess, but it's still not quite my style. I prefer things…flashier. More intense, y'know?
Of course, once he's looked at everything, everything goes to hell again. And I love it, because in my mind, the best way to get away from everything is through chaos.
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Batsy groans and digs his nails into his palms, pretending none of this matters.
Oh, but it does. I know it does, because he's able to let go this way. He's able to forget who I've killed, who he's let die, and how humiliating this whole situation would be for him if not for that forgetfulness.
But I can't have him forget. Oh, no, I want him…here.
"Y'know, if people lifted up the blinds, they could see us. You…me. 'Course, they wouldn't know who it was. They'd just see me and some poor bastard getting their kicks."
Crack.
I giggle as little cuts appear on his palms, coating his fingernails in the most erotic red.
"But maybe they would recognize you. What then, Batsy? Maybe you're some high-up politician…or a lawyer…or a policeman. Is that why you like this so much? A kinda, uh, stress relief?"
He groans again as I bite his ear—not hard enough to draw blood, but close enough.
"…What does it matter…Joker?"
I giggle at that, letting go of his ear and stepping back again. "Oh, it matters, Batsy. It matters…because you and me, we're stuck like this. Forever."
