When streams of blood and sweat run together into one violent, passionate body of water, the river seems to boil. It was so with Batman and his joker.
At last, he had conquered his worst fear: chaos. He had taken it, claimed it, and made it his own. Though fear may have been clawing at his insides, trying to destroy any corruptible part of him like a white blood cell attacks and destroys a virus, he kept his resolve. His conscience, however, had been swept up in the river and carried off somewhere downstream. The moment the man heard his own name, he know that the dam he had built to keep corruption at bay had cracked, shattered, and crumbled at the feet of his opponent.
Perhaps if he had been prepared, he could have handled the break in small doses. However, this was not the case, and when the rush came, it overtook him completely. In conquering his fear, he had, in turn, been conquered. Chaos rushed in and crashed down upon his shoulders; He could feel the weight of it pressing him close to the one thing that repulsed him the most.
"Bruce...Brucie..."
His eyes had been fixed, focused, ready. Now he was just seeing spots. They bubbled before him, adding more to his confusion. What was in his head and what was real? He found himself asking that question far more often than not. When his gentle brown eyes - ones that seemed to contradict his superhero identity - locked onto the source of the noise, the rest of him blurred out of focus. He felt his knees go weak, and then contract suddenly in one quick, tense moment. All of this took place in the split second before the joker's next utterance.
"...I love you..."
The Joker hadn't missed a beat, but Batman had. As if he wasn't falling through layers of self consciousness already, his stomach decided to lurch forward, bringing the rest of him along. Their bodies were even closer, and when skin pressed against skin, Batman's heart skipped a beat. At first, he was silent, simply absorbing as his own dirt-smudged fingernails dug into the flesh of the joker's upper shoulder blades.
When his mind finally regained consciousness - for it had shut itself off moments before, upon hearing its own name - Bruce slid himself up a little further and tucked himself neatly between the villain's thighs. With every breath either took, the bare skin of their torsos touched and Bruce could feel their hips pressing together - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel.