Bruce took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

The Joker narrowed his eyes. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Would you slash my tires if I did?" Bruce retorted.

"Tires, throats...tomato, to-mah-to." The Joker said with a casual wave of his hand.

The mention of killing brought the dire situation back into focus. Sometimes it was far too easy to fall into an almost familiar sort of banter with the madman.

"Follow me." Bruce demanded, turning on his heel and exiting the room, his shoulder blades itching with the anticipation of a knife.

He didn't want to have this conversation with The Joker—didn't ever want to speak to him again—but he would be damned if he had it in his bedroom after what the other man had done on his own bed.

"Ooo! Do I get a touuuur?" The Joker asked, falling into step behind him.

"You're about to get a broken bone if you don't shut up." Bruce growled in his Batman voice.

Maybe his arm. Or some part of his face? The jaw or nose perhaps. But why limit himself to just one? Why not all of the above?

Then Bruce noticed The Joker wasn't following him anymore. He whirled around, hand instinctively reaching for the bat-a-rang tucked in the back of his waistband, but The Joker had merely been distracted by one of the paintings adorning the hall.

And he was currently touching the paint directly with his fingers, which almost definitely hadn't been washed since he—

Bruce desperately and immediately shut down that train of thought.

"What did I tell you about touching things?!" He snarled.

The Joker turned around with a leering grin and started to make a gesture with his hand, but Bruce grabbed the offending appendage and used it to drag the clown down the stairs behind him.

It wasn't until they reached the kitchen that he realized to an outsider, it may seem as if the two men were holding hands. And when he checked behind him, he saw that The Joker was smiling in a dreamy way that was only slightly psychotic.

He immediately let go, not that The Joker cooperated by doing the same. In the end, he was forced to peel the other man's hand off of his own, the aforementioned man instantly going into a sulk.

Bruce pulled out a bar stool that sat in front of a counter island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sit."

The Joker obeyed with all the petulance of a naughty child.

"We clearly need to establish some ground rules." Bruce said, crossing his arms.

"But I haaaaaate rules." The Joker whined.

"And I hate you, but you just keep popping up, now don't you?" Bruce snapped.

The Joker pressed his scarred lips together and seemed to struggle with something for a moment before speaking again.

"As a show of good faith, I won't even make a dirty joke about that." He finally announced.

Bruce's first impulse was to backhand him off the stool, but even Batman recognized that as a bit too harsh. Plus, he was intrigued by the first part of the clown's sentence, and he wanted to see how far he could push this so-called "good faith."

"No matter how many security systems I put in place, I doubt I'll ever be able to keep you out-"

Bruce was interrupted by a giggle, which he forced himself to wait out. Once The Joker had calmed down, he continued.

"So the first rule is that you don't harm Alfred in any way. At all. Ever." He said, the last word a trademark Batman snarl.

The Joker actually stopped smiling and sat up straight. "I know."

Bruce just stared at him.

"Contrary to what you may think I don't want you to hate me. Well," The Joker paused and snickered. "...a bit of angry sex wouldn't hurt—actually, it probably would, but in a reeeeeally good way."

He had to stop and clear his throat to keep from laughing at Bruce's outraged expression.

"No no no no. I want you to love me. And none of that ponies and rainbow shit. I want real love, the kind that bleeds."

The Joker closed his eyes in an ecstatic expression, and Bruce fought the urge to vomit. He was fairly certain abstract concepts couldn't bleed, and even if they could, associating love and bleeding was probably the reason The Joker ended up in Arkham in the first place.

But if the madman's twisted form of love kept Alfred safe, then so be it. In fact, it might help keep a lot of other people safe too.

First things first though.

"Second rule." Bruce continued as if he had never even heard The Joker's almost declaration of love. "You do not enter mine or Alfred's bedroom or the batcave."

The Joker appeared to consider. "Fine, but if you have a place to get away from me, then I want a place to wait you out."

"No."

"Then I'll just lurk outside your bedroom door and listen to you sleep." The Joker shrugged.

Bruce grimaced. "Fine. You can have a spare guest bedroom."

"That no one else can enter." The Joker interjected.

"I will enter any room in my house whe—"

"Yeah, sure. And Alfred can clean and do-" The Joker made another one of his random hand gestures. "-butler things. But I will not have some floozie from your shower of cunts staying in my room."

"Then they'll stay in mine." Bruce replied.

"You fuck her, I kill her." The Joker gave another blasé shrug.

"Is that what your thing with Rachael is?" Bruce asked.

The Joker slouched back down into his sulk. "Fucking pug-faced bitch."

Bruce let out a harsh sigh, bordering on a snarl. "Fine."

The Joker sat up as if pulled by strings. "I can kill Rachael?"

"No!" Bruce glared at him. "You can have a room that's only yours. And if you promise to leave Rachael alone, I'll...stop dating."

It wasn't as if he cared about any of the women, and if celibacy was the price for Rachael's safety, it was worth it.

Which perhaps didn't say too many complimentary things about the current state of Bruce's sex life, but he pushed that thought aside.

"No sleeping around either."

"Fine."

Now it was time for the big issue.

"Going to tell me to stop killing?" The Joker asked before Bruce could say anything. "Because I'm actually late for a thing at a place with some people soooooo...we can just ah, ne-go-tiate later."

The drawl was back, and so was the mad gleam in The Joker's eyes when he stood up. Bruce moved in front of him to stop him from leaving.

"What makes you think you're in any position to negotiate?" Bruce growled down at the slightly shorter man.

The Joker looked genuinely shocked. "Why, Batsy. Because you need me of course."

Bruce scowled. "I don't need you in any way, shape, or form. If anything, I need you out of my life."

The Joker drew himself up to his full height, which Bruce noted with annoyance was precariously close to his own.

"You'll see."

Before Bruce could process The Joker's ominous whisper, the madman had already attacked his lips with his own scarred mouth. But before he could punch him off like the last time, The Joker had already drawn away and retreated to the other side of the kitchen.

"Don't you worry your pre-tt-y little head, Brucy-boy." The Joker purred. "I'll take the back way out. God forbid the press catch Gotham's scourge doing the walk of shame out of your mansion."

With that and a maniacal cackle, The Joker finally left.

Bruce sagged against the counter and tried to convince himself that he was only putting up with the madman's antics for the good of Gotham, that the strange obsession the clown had with him would pass, that he didn't really want to break his one rule, even if his mouth now tasted like lipstick and shame.

"Oh, and Brucy? You got a little something." The Joker said, popping his head back in the kitchen doorway and motioning to the side of his cheek with a thumb.

"OUT!" Bruce roared.

A/n: This is the second update for tonight, to make up for the lack of one last week. The prompt for next Friday will be "Silence" where The Joker makes good on his implied threat...which also nicely coincides with my other Batman/Joker story, "The Prince and the Pauper."

It's a DC/Marvel crossover where Loki and The Joker conspire together to win the respective affections of Thor and Batman.

Since they coincide so nicely, I might update them both at once, depending on what my muse gives me.