•Agents of Chaos•
•(When A Clown Gets Cuddled)•

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Set directly after the last one; so Loki still pissed and the Joker's still... well, Joker. ;D

Enjoy! X

•When Clown A Gets Cuddled•

"Note to self," muttered the Clown Prince of Crime, as he pinched the bridge of his nose with deft fingers, closing his hollowed eyes whilst giving a exasperated sigh, "...never let him drink, again."

Loki curled his colt-like limbs around the waist of his partner (in crime), snaking into the clown's side whilst omitting a dragged sigh of blissful contempt. The Joker stiffened his angular jaw, inhaling sharply, as he visibly tensed the entirety of his being. However, the God payed no heed - lost in his affections - and proceeded to nestle his head of silken, ebony tresses into the painted man's protruding ribs, like a love-struck cat. He all but purred against him.

The sight made the Joker feel quite nauseous. He was merely a kicked puppy to him... or - given the current circumstances - more like a bitch in the heat.

He closed his eyes - to compose himself, more than anything - and swallowed his poison, for now.

Suddenly, those same, piercing eyes flashed open, holding a flicker of fear. The silence was shattered by those dreaded words, that never failed in clamping his chest in a fist of ice; a frozen heart which then circulated a callous, coldness though every course of his anatomy. A confounded utter of delightful deceit that always ended in disaster:

"I love you."

The words were slightly slurred - due to their inebriated speaker - but were sincere, none-the-less.

However, the clown rolled his darkened eyes with unadulterated impatience. He gave an exaggerated sigh - heavily infused with boredom - as he pondered upon Loki's sentimentally with bitter contempt:

"Is that supposed to be funny, darling?"

His voice smooth - words fluttering with an air of eerie softness - his tone was almost... charming. Then again, the man truly was the humanisation of charisma... Well, give or take a few psychotic tendencies. It was a remarkable pity that the Joker was, really, a conniving bastard.

Loki, suddenly, retreated from his languid embrace; retracting his lanky limbs, swiftly from the man's slender waist. He gaped at him - with glazed eyes of jade - with an air of betrayal, an expression of confusion and hurt etched into his elven features. Joker regarded it cripplingly pathetic... if not slightly adorable.

The God, suddenly, retaliated with injured defiance:

"Yes, I do! How could you say that? Master Joker, I do love you."

(God, he did love it when he called him that; just a pity it wasn't quite within the context the Joker desired... but we'll not dwell on that.)

Then the painted man's veil of impassiveness betrayed him; for Loki's words were saturated with such compassion and honesty... he might have actually believed them.

He returned the porcelain prince's gaze and - momentarily - abandoned his sarcastic facade. His eyes entities of their own, as they swam with a tender affection that seemed to be seasoned with pity. He gave a saddened smile - teased with his grotesque mutilations - as he replied with a solemn softness:

"You're drunk. You don't love me, puddin'."

Loki maintained his expression of bewilderment, his retort almost immediate:

"Why not?"

Joker couldn't stop the playful curl of his lips; the exaggerated pout of the deity's pale, pink lips was comically juvenile. He sighed wearily, nipping Loki's pointed chin between a paint-stained thumb and index finger. He adopted the tone of a withered parent trying to explain a complicated concept to an uncomprehending child. He chuckled and continued - slowly - spelling out each word:

"You're only sayin' that 'cause nobody else is listening. You don't know what love is, anymore, sweetheart."

He felt a small pool of guilt churn within the pit of his gut, as his kicked puppy visibly flinched from the sting of his words. However, then Loki's expression shifted into something more solemn, more mature; his intense stare unyielding as he enquired, cooly:

"Do you?"

Well, he had him there.

The Joker ignored the twist of pain, concealed within the depth of his chest and - instead - smiled at the God, playfully:

"As matter of fact..." - the clown proclaimed with an air of pride - "...I do."

Loki stared at him, quite incredulous. Then his glassy eyes - still reddened with tears - widened in fear, as the clown burst into an eerie fit of giggles. He did that a lot... and Loki would be forever left to wonder just what was quite, so funny. The clown denoted the God's confusion and - in a tone thick with madness - delivered the punchline:

"Love's just a joke."

Silence.

Loki started, violently, as another round of laughter escaped that horrifying mask of decay. The laughter was relentless, manic; it seemed to depict a much deeper, more macabre form of insanity Loki had never seen before.

It killed him to admit it, but this mortal terrified him.

He simply didn't understand the man; a code he just couldn't decipher. Why did he laugh? Why did revel within morphing all of life's occurrences and happenings into nothing more than a joke? What was so fun—

Then it happened; a strange sensation awoke inside the God.

He started to laugh, too.

He began to accompany the clown, cackling in unison; the derelict apartment became saturated with manic delirium. Tears of hilarity rolled down each pale facade, as they cradled their, now, aching ribs, shoulders practically spasming in laughter.

Then something quite unexpected occurred, regarding both parties; the laughter - all-but-squeals of hysteria - shifted into another form of emotion. The frantic breaths - nearing hyperventilation - became more burdened and pained, their tears of joy became tainted, somewhat.

Yes, the clown and God - whilst positioned on the moth-eaten sofa in a "couple-like" manner - started to cry. The laughter began to blend into uncontrollable sobs.

They, sort of, clung to each other, clawing at their garish attires. They remained trapped within their tableau of travesty, for quite some time. Suddenly, the devastated God - still hopelessly drunk - gasped his lament:

"W-why... does no one love us, M-m-master Joker?"

The clown froze - tears ceasing, temporarily - as the God shuddered within his rigid embrace. His hugging skills still had not improved within the past hour. He pulled away from the frail deity and gave him a tender smile... Well, it might have been tender had his ragged scars not spoiled its innocence: they proved a constant reminder that he really was just a madman, the same way Loki was just a liar.

"Well, no one loves a homicidal fuck-up with Daddy issues, do they?" The clown chuckled, softly, which invoked a weak smile from Loki.

The God stared into the clown's darkened eyes and grew quite lost within their entity; miniature vortexes of inexplicable demons, no one would ever know. The thought completely intrigued him.

"But, hey..." - the Joker chimed, suddenly, snapping Loki from his revery - "...at least we've got each other, right?"

"Yes." Loki replied, contentedly, as he slumped languidly into the couch; all of this 'emotional outlet of repressed issues' was utterly exhausting.

Yeah, at least they had each other. It was hardly love - neither of them had the capacity for that - but at least it was something.

'Yes.' The God pondered with a whimsical smile, as he stared at the rotting ceiling, '...at least it's something.'