Disclaimer(s): M/M slash (run if you fear it); bat/madman lovin'; I don't own Bats or the Joker, but either one of them are welcome to own me. Ahem.
A/N: First: Uber amounts of apologies for taking ages & ages & ages to update this. My muses were..dead. I'm pretty sure they attempted to resurrect, only to keel over again on me. That & life being uber busy = no writey. So I'm sorry, please put down the torches and pitchforks!
I realise this is probably way OOC, but I don't do dialogue as well as some writers. Plus I dig the whole Dom!Bats thing, & the whole 'I said shut up so you don't speak' scenario. Ahem.
Before the shivering madman had time to protest, the Bat was on his feet, pulling the smaller man up with him. Throwing the cape around them both once more (for a breeze had kicked up, blowing snow across the ground and chilling them in the process) he guided them through the drifts.
"Where we going, Bats?" he heard the muffled words from the figure practically wrapped around his side, "'m not going back to Arkham.." "Be quiet," he muttered, uncertain if the clown heard him but not caring. He led them through the cold and snow, to the closest building. He had the Tumbler, but it was a quarter mile away. He inspected the building - it was an old laundry mat, now out of business. Satisfied that it was, in all likelihood empty, he slipped something from the utility belt. Within minutes, he had the lock picked. He opened the door and shoved the Joker into the semi-dark building and out of the cold, following behind. The interior of the building was only slightly warmer than the night outside, but it kept out the chilling wind. After closing and locking the door behind him, he turned to face the bane of his existence.
The clown had shrugged off his wet overcoat and tossed it on a nearby faux leather chair, battered from age and use, and was peering around the front room they were in. Said room was lit slightly by the glare of the streetlights outside the large plate glass windows. It was filled with rows of laundering equipment. Rows of dryers lined the walls, and two rows of washing machines ran down the center of the room. "We gonna do, uh, laaundry?" the clown glanced back at him to shoot him a smirk, "How.. domestic."
"I told you to be quiet," the Bat strode forward, halting inches from the Joker. The painted man raised his brows, his low chuckle echoing in the spacious room. "So dominant.." he began with a grin. The smile vanished as the Bat shoved him back against the nearest set of washing machines, pinning him with his body.
"Don't make me repeat myself," the Bat's voice was low, his lips near the other's ear. He felt yet another shiver run through the other man as his teeth nipped his earlobe. "We play the game my way this time." He pulled back to peer down at the Joker's face; the clown was staring at him wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. He seemed about to speak, hesitated, remained silent. Batman reached his hand up to trail his thumb along the smaller man's lower lip, dipping in between the parted lips, tracing the outline of his mouth. He traced up along the scars etching the other's face, and the clown cringed a bit, averted his green gaze. He giggled, suddenly and softly, lips twitching into a half-smile before growing serious again. "Wanna-" he began, voice cracking at the end of the word.
"No," the Bat interrupted, twining his free hand in the man's green hair, "I don't want to know how you got them. I don't care. Shut up, Joker." Their eyes locked; another soft giggle, but otherwise the man complied. Batman was a bit surprised, very little seemed to shut up the bundle of energy that was the Joker. Even now, he trembled against him, hands twitching against his Kevlar, eyes darting to and fro. The Bat thought perhaps he was about to take flight; he wasn't ready for that to happen. He tightened his hold in the man's green locks, trailing his other hand down the front of his shirt. He attempted to undo the top button of the shirt, but his gloves made it awkward. It made the clown giggle yet again, eyes settling on him finally. After several attempts, he let out a frustrated growl. He took hold of the shirt and jerked it - buttons went flying and the shirt fell open. Their gazes locked, and he found himself fascinated once again by the man's eyes. His eyes returned to the clown's face, watching as his tongue shot out to lick his lips. He lowered his head and caught that mouth with his own, letting his hand slide inside the smaller man's shirt, along his side.
At his touch, the Joker jerked suddenly, tried to squirm away. He pulled back a bit, and the man whispered against his mouth, "Y-your hands are c-cold.." He growled, captured the madman's mouth again, shoved him back hard against the machines behind them.
When his mouth moved down the man's pale throat, the Joker tilted his head to allow better access. He bit down, teeth bruising the soft flesh. The clown purred and arched hard against him, hands running up his back to urge him closer. He felt the man's leg wrap around his own, hips arching, and he lifted the lithe figure to set him on the washing machine behind them. He pulled away long enough to jerk his gauntlets off, tossed them onto the nearby machines, before moving back in to reclaim his control over the smaller man. He wanted to feel the man, and not through layers of leather and Kevlar.
The Joker shivered beneath him -cold, or something else?- as the Bat's fingers deftly shoved the shirt off his shoulders and arms, baring his torso. His eyes drank in the sight of the man, half-naked and scarred. The hunger that was overwhelming him at the sight was a bit disconcerting. He had a sudden and intense need to possess the madman, control him. There was something empowering about having chaos embodied beneath his fingers, trembling and pressing against him and making those soft little sounds of pleasure as his fingers explored, scratched, marked his flesh. It was those little sounds of pleasure doing him in, bit by bit. He had to remind himself to hang onto his self-control when his fingers slipped below the man's waist and a low, purring moan sounded from the Joker's throat.
He was in over his head here.
His eyes flitted to the Joker's face as he slid a hand up to the man's throat, tightened his grip to cut off his air. He watched, fascinated, as the clown leaned forward a bit, pushing into the hand grasping his throat, hips arching against his exploring fingers. He easily undid the smaller man's pants, slipped his fingers beneath the material. Releasing his hold on the Joker's throat, his hand moved down to slide beneath the other's ass. He lifted him slightly and the man's legs wrapped around his waist. He couldn't quite manage to stifle his groan as the madman's teeth sank into the flesh of his neck, hands sliding up his back. He sat the smaller man back down on the washing machine, sliding his pants and boxers (not briefs) down off his hips as he did so.
His hand found the man's hard cock and he brushed his fingers over it, lightly, teasing. The Joker gasped softly against his throat, thrust against him, eager for more. His fingers explored the length of it, trailed back up to the head to trace a slow circle with his thumb. The clown's teeth loosed from his throat as he threw his head back eyes closed, and made a sound that was part purr, part growl. He pushed against the Bat's hand wantonly, one hand on the dark knight's shoulder, the other gripping the back of his neck. Holding on.
"I should stop," the Bat murmured, eyes on the madman's face. He gripped the Joker's cock in his hand, gave it a light stroke, as he spoke the words.
"Nooo. No no no.." the Joker raised his head and opened his eyes to meet his gaze, "Not now, don't stop now.."
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" he gave the man's cock another stroke, then two. The other whimpered quietly, dropped his head forward to rest it against the Bat's chest. His breath came out in soft pants as the dark knight began to stroke him steadily. Batman's own body was tense, his cock hard beneath his armor. The man's whimper, the tremors that racked his lean body, only increased his own arousal. His free arm slid around the man's waist and hips, pulling him closer as he stroked. The man's legs wrapped around his hips, hands clutching him, body tensing. The Bat leaned in to bite down on the clown's exposed throat, and the Joker came suddenly, arching hard against the knight as he did.
His strokes slowed as the madman spent himself, breathing ragged and rapid. The clown fell against him, clung to him, forehead resting against his chest. The Bat remained motionless for several long moments, finally moving to reach over and snatch up the Joker's discarded shirt. He wiped his hand clean, his other arm still wrapped around the Joker's hips. The smaller man remained unmoving, and he took a deep breath, then titled his head to glance down at the madman. He stared a moment, brow raised, before a low laugh of disbelief escaped his lips. The Joker's eyes were closed, head resting against the Kevlar-plated chest, breathing steadying.
He was asleep.