Dear Darkest Knight
May Eve prompt(s): Batman : Batman losing his temper. Any xover you want, or none.
*So, The Dark Knight left the Joker hanging, and the Batman on the run – well, well, who do you think the police have in custody, whom claims that the Batman completes him?*
Reruns upon rerun, it was all so boring.
"Where is Batman?" And that question no longer gave the Joker the giggles, which the Joker was both alarmed and disappointed by. His eyes were drawn to the scene of the Batman hitting his own head on the table.
Of the contained violence, the control: it gave the Joker the shivers. Here was darkness and danger – and it was all his to explore, to take, to manipulate. They didn't even see it (or, really, care), that by being good the Batman was doing himself harm. Everyone else knew the Batman was bad, everyone - but the Batman.
If only they would let him out of his cage.
"You really, really want to know?" The Joker sung, and then snickered.
"Yes!" It was snarled, meaty flesh hitting the table top, sickeningly.
"Then let me go, and I guarantee – he'll come to me – to us. It's like drawing flies with honey and vinegar – he, being a criminal, doesn't really want to fight crime, he's just making a very public name for himself – but me? Well he just can't resist!" The Joker had gestured between the police and himself, as if they had something in common. Indeed they did, both were criminal: one legally corrupt, one…not bound by laws. That is what the Joker wanted the Batman to be, unbound, freed.
"Who is the Batman?" The Joker wiggled forward as if to tell a secret. On the screen, he was shoved against a wall, the Batman pinning him there. Just a little, he shivered in want. The Joker wanted to see the Batman, to touch, to taunt, to tease. It was all so much…fun, bringing out the bad in Batman was what he lived for, now – and when the Batman really was bad, when the Joker had succeeded? Oh, but it would be glorious – and what fools he would make of the good people and police of Gotham.
They wouldn't even know, until it was far, far too late – that the Joker had finally made a worthy friend.
"Bruce Wayne." The Joker says, with a grim grin. He giggles, as the police rush about to bring in the prince of Gotham.
"You'll never touch him, all that wealth, that power – can you imagine? He wants more then to be a mere business man, he wants what I have to offer." This Joker warns, as he sits back and waits.
Waits for the police to bring the Batman to his knees – the Joker had meant it, being a man of his word, when he had said he'd share a cell with Batman – or not go to Arkham at all.
Sure enough, Bruce Wayne, with his pretty boy looks and his dark eyes is sitting in the Joker's cell. Within half a hour, at that - the Joker is a little bit impressed with how easy it was, to get the people to betray their protector.
"You are all making a mistake." Bruce says, eying the Joker uneasily. The Joker, with the eyes of Gotham's finest upon him, behaves: wiggling and waiting.
"Mr. Wayne, we don't think you are the Batman, but surely you must see that the Batman's tools can only be funded by someone like you." Bruce sits back and looks at the ceiling, sighing.
"I'm not the wealthiest man in the world, there are richer men, and those – some worse men then me." All of which is a fact that none do dare deny. Bruce Wayne, if these men or women invaded Gotham, would be the first to know. Would have to be alright with it.
"The Joker named you." Commissioner Jim Gordon says, watching Bruce. He, unlike the Joker, doesn't know – and disbelieves.
"All of Gotham knows my name." That is very true, even those who have never heard of the Batman, or the Joker, know the name of Bruce Wayne.
"All the same, we'll wait and hold you overnight." As if that will prove anything - the Batman, unlike the police force, never kept a tight schedule….
"Do I have to…share a cell… with him?" Bruce Wayne is clearly disgusted, or the disdain would not drip from his words so. The Joker rubs his hands together, delighted at the show of proof, that Bruce Wayne shows feelings for him, where the Batman hides all behind his mask. Even if these feelings are not quite what he would like, they are something to work with.
"He has no weapons, and there is no safer place." Then in the heart of Gotham's temporary police headquarters: the Joker snickers, remembering an explosion from within. That will be nothing compared to what he will do next.
"Right..." Bruce Wayne says, doubtfully. They think that they do a rich man a favor, keeping him away from the riff-raff and rabble: not, yet, letting those fine long hands get dirty. Yet Bruce Wayne knows criminals in ways they never will. The Joker can't wait, and wiggles forward.
"Won't harm a hair on his head..." The Joker purrs the words, and Bruce Wayne narrows his eyes at him, a warning to keep his distance. It's the unspoken or else that makes the Joker grin, reckless and wild. It's a threat that the Joker intends to direct at the proper people – all of Gotham will feel that burning fury.
The lights go out, the day police have left the building as night shift descends, and cameras are watched behind locked doors.
"You'll have to get us out." The Joker purrs and Batman's dark eyes flick to him. Batman's eyes, though out from under a mask. It's most disorienting, but delightful.
"I'll get out, come morning; you'll be staying right here." Bruce Wayne is ever aware of the red-lit camera eyes, though the Joker doesn't give a damn.
"Oh, no Bats – it doesn't work that way. I'll sing myself free – and you don't dare let me do that." The Joker, after all, is a force of his own will to master and tame. Like time, but the Batman – this boy Bruce Wayne, is an immovable object – he will always, always be there. Even if he died, his power – his wealth, another would take it up, take up the name of Batman, for good or evil.
The Joker delights in it, and giggles.
"What then do you think I will do?" The Joker straddles Bruce's waist, those thighs, and trails a finger down a chest that is quickly indrawn in surprise. Without mask or black body armor, this is as bare as it gets, as naked as the Batman can be, where Batman ends and Bruce Wayne begins, the weakness is right here: in front of him.
"Escape - I think being a hunter is much more in your nature then being hunted, then being a mere decoy of Dent's deeds. You are so much more, so much greater then him - I think it's driving you mad…just a little bit?" The Joker leans down to whisper those words in Bruce's ear. Batman hears him.
Joker's fingers press into that slender throat, offered up to him – to the world, for the taking – like a sacrificial victim. The Batman didn't know what he was offering playing at being hunted – how easy it is, for the hunter to become truly hunted. All for the Joker's taking, all that Batman offered – and more….for Bruce is at his mercy - the Joker, of course, has no mercy – save for himself, and Batman.
"Yes." It's a growl that grumbles out of Bruce's chest, the heart of him, where Batman speaks. Bruce's eyes are bright and wide, surprised. He really shouldn't be, as the Joker did warn Batman and Bruce both – the Joker is nothing without Batman, and Batman can be Batman without the Joker, but not without Bruce.
To save Bruce – well, the Batman would save the Joker – and damn Gotham to kingdom come.
The Joker's kiss feeds the flame of madness within that Batman brings out in Bruce Wayne.