If Only To Keep You From Distraction

by mellowlesbiananxiety

There's a new villain catching Batman's attention and Jerome does not like to share. Luckily for him, Batman's already in a mood.

There's a new villain on the scene. Great White Shark aka Warren White. He's…eh, who cares. Jerome doesn't.

But he's distracting the Bat. His Bat. Jerome wants the Bat to focus on him.

Warren White and his goons are robbing some charity event, Jerome watching through the window from a fire escape, grin wild and eager. Tonight's going to end in someone dying. It won't be Jerome. Probably. 50-50 really, but who's counting.

Jerome drops down the fire escape, stumbling on the ground below before slipping through a backdoor. White's got a goon there, but he's new, inexperienced just like his employer. The goon freezes and Jerome wastes no time pulling out a gun, pressing it to his forehead and hearing it bang through his skull, gore scattering against the wall behind.

White's smiling as his plan goes accordingly. Smiles are great and all, but this brat thinks he's the shit when he isn't even the fart. Or whatever the new saying is. Jerome cackled at it so he's pretty sure it's funny. Well, it's funny if he says it is so it is funny.

Anyway, the guards are already dead by White's goons' hands, and there's plenty of time before the cops, or Batman, show. Oh, how he hopes Bats shows. It's been almost a week since he's seen him last.

While his goons collect valuables from the patrons, Warren lounges up on stage, grinning with jagged teeth, leering at some posh prick.

Jerome pulls out a knife, stage curtain ruffling as he walks out from behind them. He grabs a goon round the mouth, effectively muffling him while pulling him close to slit his throat. The red makes him look much better and Jerome slathers his hands in it. He picks up the goons' gun and strolls over to another, shooting him point-blank through the head and letting out a little cackle as he does so.

Eyes are on Jerome now, what remains alive of the event's benefactors as well as a single goon. White is so unprepared, only bringing four to a party. The Bat could easily take him down.

Jerome struts over to the stage and bows, gun still raised, now pointed at White, "Thank you, thank you. I am so glad to be here." He grins at White.

The small-time crook pales visibly at the sight of Jerome. There's calculation on the no-name's face, probably trying to get out of this. Everyone and their mother (some of them intimately if ya catch his drift) knows Jerome, one of Gotham's two famous Jokers. No one wants to get caught between them, and blah blah blah. Point is, he knows that Jerome is the more volatile twin. Everyone does. White answers warily, not yet resigned to his fate—they're going to have to fix that—tone almost questioning, "Thank you for coming."

Jerome snorts a laugh, gun unwavering. He lets his face droop dramatically, frowning in feigned sadness, "Oh come now, no need to be so scared." Jerome pauses to pat the crook on the shoulder with his fist, still holding his gun tight, "I'm just here for a little fun, nothing bad's gonna happen. Play nice, now."

It's a blatant lie, and a visible chill passes through White. Everyone in the room knows that White's going to die tonight, except apparently, White himself. White straightens, feigns confidence, a feeble attempt to match Jerome's grin as he engages, "A little fun, eh? I'm down to play nice."

Jerome idly plays with the gun in his hand, twirling it round, "Good lad, good lad. Now, just one little question, how d'ya feel about Bats?"

"Bats?" White pauses, thought plain on his face, you never know with Jerome, that's one of those unspoken rules in interacting with him, gotta be careful or your brains'll go splat. It's amusing to know even newbies like this one know to take caution around him, "They're…irritating?" He seems to think Jerome's silence is approval, continuing more confidently, "Always gettin' in your way at night."

Jerome laughs at his answer, plopping on the stage next to the standing crook, gun raised loosely and leaning back with his other arm propping him, "Right, the bats are damn irritating. But, no, no, I'm talking uppercase, about The Batman: Freak of the Night himself, tell me 'bout him."

White throws a glance at a standing light fixture a few feet away, poorly plotting an escape. He even starts shuffling towards it, failing his attempt to be casual about it. He gets an F for effort. "Batman's...also annoying I suppose. Do-gooder, that should get you killed in Gotham. Ain't sure how he's survived doin this, but sure as shit scared of someone who did. Push comes to shove, though, I'll take him."

He raises his eyebrows at White's answer, the audacity of these newbies, "You think you can take on the Batman? You? You really think you're somethin', huh?" Confidence is great and all, but only when it's earned. White has not earned it.

White's clearly panicking, aware that Jerome's patience is wearing thin—not that he had much in the first place—trigger-happy finger tapping happy trigger, "He's let other, lesser men get away. I can do it too."

Jerome laughs heartily at that statement, pretending it was the funniest thing he's heard in his life, "Other, lesser men? Like me, you mean?" Obviously not intended that way, but some people need to learn how to pick their words, yeesh. "You really think you're better than me? Really?"

Jerome pauses only to scoff, "What makes you think you're so special? Baby's first robbery was so successful that ya started thinking far too highly of yourself when you're just a nobody in the end." Jerome looks him up and down, disbelief plastered onto his face like every other expression he wears, "Pathetic."

Jerome's done with this. Someone this stupid shouldn't be able to avoid the Bat. Probably couldn't avoid a child throwing a candy grenade. Definitely won't be able to avoid a bullet. It grates on his nerves that he even has to be here. He drops his theatrical tone, gun aimed at White's head, "Do you honestly think you're anything more than a little worm? You're nothing. You're a speck of dirt on the bottom of the Bat's boots. He's kicked rocks more interesting than you. Doubt he'd even need to look at you to make you piss your pants."

White spits at Jerome's shoes, "And you think you're better than me? At least I've never gotten caught by the Batman."

"Wrong answer." is the last thing White hears.

Jerome squeezes the trigger, the malicious glee that comes with killing absent this time. This kill is cold, methodical, a shot ringing out through the silent hall, leaving White a hole between the eyes.

A thud and Jerome lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, turning it into a psychotic laugh as he looks down at the body, "Ugh, you're annoying. Y'know, I really can't understand how anyone could think you a threat. Just another leech..."

He kicks it, "God damn, the Bat really has been scraping the bottom of the barrel for a challenge lately, this was even easier than the last guy!"

"I haven't seen him in a week," Another kick and the body rolls, "and you got his attention?"

Jerome doesn't know if he's going for another kick or about to shoot the body again, but the gun is out of his hand in less than a heartbeat, knocked to the ground by what he suspects is a Batarang.

He looks up and there's Batman, just standing there, a few feet from the body of the already-deceased crook, stoic as ever under the cowl. His eyes are blank white under the mask, but Jerome can imagine them narrowing as he steps closer, staring at him.

Jerome's all smiles once again, directed at the bat as he leans against the stage behind him. He waves with his now free hand, still covered in blood, completely at ease, "Batsy!" he coos, grinning cheekily.

Batman steps towards Jerome are slow and measured, presence imposing even in the well-lit venue. Jerome is more than happy for the time to appreciate his costumed figure properly. He rarely has the chance to do so. If only the armor weren't necessary, he'd love to have more to go off than his imagination.

Batman leaves a foot between them. Normally he'd only have a few inches of height on the clown but with Jerome sitting, Batman towers over him. It's not a bad feeling.

"Valeska." Batman's voice is low and steady, but Jerome can imagine a smile in his acknowledgement despite clear evidence of the opposite. So, it's a hidden smile only in his head. What's reality worth, anyway.

Jerome rolls his eyes, "Ah, c'mon Batsy, ya gotta know my name by now! Don't be mad, don't be mad. I didn't do anything that bad! He was robbin' these poor innocent folks anyway; I just offed him before he could!" Jerome laughs. "So, I actually did ya a nice little favor if you think about it."

Batman clenches his jaw, fists following suit. Oh how Jerome hopes he'll snap and punch him.

Batman's not one for words but Jerome knows how the conversation would go, has gone. Batman would tell him, have faith in the justice system, he imagines a gruff Batman wagging a finger, that's not how justice works, Jerome, blah blah blah.

Jerome laughs again, finding Batman's seriousness amusing, "Oh come now, Batsy-boy, that 'justice system' is so weak! You know it is, you've seen it! It's like slapping a rabid dog on the wrist and saying 'I'm disappointed in you. Don't do it again'!" Jerome makes a Jim-Gordon-face—that he's sure Batman knows exactly who he's imitating, they know each other too well for the joke to pass over his head and Jerome can almost imagine a smile on the Bat's face at the joke. He drops the face, smile back in place as he points out, "GCPD's too corrupt to help anyway."

Batman huffs, and Jerome can see the answer on his face. He's pleasantly surprised that Batman verbalizes it anyway.

"Killing doesn't make you better than the GCPD, Jerome," Batman points out, voice controlled. "You can't go around acting as judge, jury, and executioner. You're not qualified to be any of the three."

Batman could be his judge, jury, and executioner, Jerome only hopes Batman would kill him with his bare hands.

Jerome grins cheekily, this is why he killed him, this is why he keeps coming out here. He's still able to rile up Batman, the great Batman and it is such fun. "Relax, Batsy," he laughs. "I'm not about to go on a spree. That's for later." He winks, "I'm only cleanin' house. Not so different, what I'm doing and what you do every night." A pause, "Minus the whole 'bat' thing, of course. That's a look that only works for you and boy does it work well." He punctures the compliment with an up and down flicker of the eyes, taking in Batman's figure.

Batman scowls, face narrowed as Jerome can tell. There's that fire that Jerome knows and loves. The comparison really ticks the Bat off, he can tell. Bats needs to know he's better than Jerome and his blood boils at the thought of otherwise.

"It's not the same and you know it," he snaps, voice strained, the mask of stoic Batman slipping under his irritation, "I don't kill. I catch criminals. I bring them to justice, not end their lives."

Jerome loves this, loves these small arguments with his favorite Bat, loves when he's lucky enough to get under his skin, "Okay, okay," he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Sure, Batman, you catch those criminals and hand them over to Jim-boy and the rest of the GCPD, and they'll let 'em off so they can go and do it all over again." Jerome leans closer, smile unwavering, "I mean, how many people have you caught only for them to get out of jail and go out later to do the same damn thing? How many criminals are killing people right now because you won't make it permanent?"

Batman grits his teeth, clearly angry and frustrated. He closes the little distance left, unwilling to back down from this contest, armored cowl pressing against Jerome's forehead. Batman stares down at him. "There's always another way," he growls, "I won't stoop to your level. I won't kill. I won't abandon my principles. And I won't let you twist me."

Batman pushes against him and Jerome lets his hands fall behind him on either side so he can lean back as Batman leans them against it with his proximity. Jerome subtly pockets a stray bullet casing on the stage behind him, sharp things always come in use later.

Jerome chuckles, undeterred by Batman's intimidation tactic, a little turned on by it if anything. Oh to kiss the anger off that face would be bliss. He smirks up at the Bat, satisfied. "Oh, loosen up, Batsy," he teases. "So serious! We're practically doing the same thing, just different methods. That's all. 'Sides, your whole, I-don't-kill thing? Totally just a cover for the weight of all the blood on your hands, and darlin'," Jerome resists the Bat's pushing, leaning his head up to emphasize his point, "there is so much of it."

There's pity, somewhere in the back of Jerome's mind for Batman. Probably. But pitying Batman will only lead to avoidance from one or the other and Jerome needs Batman like he needs air. Well, more. He only needs air sometimes.

Batman's arms are bent at his sides, ready to subdue Jerome at a moment's notice. Jerome starts to reach out with one of his own before he's flattened against the stage, Batman's arm against his chest, the other bent at his side. Jerome continues his movement, reaching his hand out to press his bare, bloodied palm to Batman's gloved one near his waist. It's sticky and coppery and Batman's disgust is evident but there's something else there, something darker, "See? Just like me."

The press of hands is warm and fresh, a contrast to Batman's cold stormy. Jerome can see the way he longs for it.

"We are not alike," Batman grits out, a threatened bearing of teeth.

Jerome tilts his head up a little, all smiles as their breaths mix. He intertwines their fingers, holding Batman's hand with his own. There's disgust in the Bat but there's something buried there. Even without it, covering Batman in the evidence of his misdeeds is satisfying enough. "Oh, Bats. We're alike in more ways than you think...You know it, deep down."

Batman's grip on Jerome's hand is loose, contrasting to the arm bruising against his chest. There's a war waging in Batman's head, there always is. Jerome would love to know every last detail of it. Batman glares down at Jerome, sneer on his face. "No." he denies, voice fierce and certain.

"No?" Jerome's grin hurts at this point, tearing at his scars moreso than usual but the moment is worth everything. He is so glad that fool tried to encroach on his turf. His turf being fights with Batman, of course.

He chuckles, raising his eyebrows dramatically, "So stubborn. They're all scared of us. You're the big bad bat, and I'm the clown, but they fear us both." He doesn't look away for evidence, anyone left alive had fled at the entrance of the Bat, maybe even evacuated by the Bat while Jerome was unaware of his presence. "I can tell just lookin' at you...Or should I say, how you're looking at me. You love it."

Batman grips Jerome's hand tightens, fingers closing in a reciprocation of Jerome's own holding of his hand. It is a grasping of hands like Batman's holding on for life and a press of an arm against Jerome's chest like he wants to take it as well. Jerome enjoys the pain that he causes the Bat and enjoys the pain that the Bat causes him in turn.

The Bat looks like he's about to say something when he backs away, hand to ear to listen to the radio on his Batsuit. Presumably Jim Gordon calling about Jerome's little distraction.

As the Bats' radio crackles inaudible to Jerome, Jerome lets out a small snicker, "Ooh, trouble afoot, Batsy? Maybe you should go and take care of that 'problem'. We can't have those inmates causing trouble, can we?"

"You planned this." Batman concludes, obvious enough and wow, he sure is talkative tonight.Why?

"Guilty as charged. I make noise, you come running." Jerome would raise his hands again in mock surrender but one's...occupied at the moment.

Batman pauses a moment, probably trying to figure out how to stop Jerome and his distraction before his frown disappears into his form of a smile, that being a flat expression with a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, a barely-there uptick of lips, "You're coming with me."

Jerome raises an eyebrow in surprise. He's only briefly tempted to fight, the idea of going with Batman stomping out the alternative with ease. A wide grin on his face, his eyes crinkle and eyebrows narrow with mischief. "Taking me for a ride, Batsy?"

Batman remains silent, unamused by Jerome's comment, the dismissal on his tongue unnecessary when they both know what he'd say. He does not voice it anyway this time, Jerome only disappointed a moment. Batman straightens, pulling Jerome with him and quickly twisting the offending hand behind his back, pushing Jerome up in front of him, stumbling ahead.

Jerome laughs as he's pushed along by Batman, enjoyment on his face clear as the setting sun above them, "Aww, don't act like you're not enjoying yourself too, Batsy. We both know you love spending time with me."

"Shut up," Batman leads them out the front, hall emptied of people other than those dead on the floor. Batman leads Jerome to the Batmobile, opens the car door and bends Jerome over. Excitement tingles through Jerome undiminished by Batman twisting his other arm behind his back to cuff him before shoving Jerome into the backseat, glaring down at him.

Jerome laughs, off-balance but unperturbed by it, "Ooh, roughin' me up now, are we? I like it."

Batman growls in annoyance and closes the door on Jerome with a loud thud. Jerome laughs even louder as he balances onto the seat, hands already twisting to uncuff himself. The bat didn't search him and Jerome wonders why. Did he forget because of all the distraction? Did he think it worth the avoidance of touch in the situation? Or was it truly a perceived lack of time and confidence he could subdue Jerome?

The driver's seat opens, Batman getting in the car and roaring the engine in record time.

Jerome looks around the Batmobile, thinking up another way to rile up the Bat. He feels close to something, right on the edge. Jerome just has to keep pushing. "Fancy car you got here, Batsy! I mean, really fancy." Jerome slides a foot up onto the center console, right next to Batman, "I'll definitely have to borrow it later."

Batman glances at the foot, not commenting, then at Jerome through the rearview mirror. "No," It's cold and blunt. He speeds through the streets of Gotham City, engine roaring as it navigates traffic.

Jerome projects comfortability, lounging in the backseat. He only spares a glance out the window, Gotham's landscape too blurred by the speed to make anything out. "You're no fun, ya know that? Always so serious. Maybe ya should take that stick out of your ass, lighten up a little." After a pause he looks straight into the mirror with a grin and a wink, "Or maybe I should take it out for you?"

Batman's grip on the steering wheel tightens, leather on leather squeaking with noise. He doesn't look back, doesn't respond but his expression is tight, angry, Jerome thinks. The drive is sharp turns in quick succession, car wheels screeching as Jerome fights to keep his balance.

"Keep quiet," comes the order, "We're almost there."

Jerome's never been one to listen, especially when he's clearly getting under the Bat's skin. "Oh c'mon Batsy, just a little fun. Kick back and relax, you've got everything you need. Can't ya let your guard down for even a second?" He sinks back in his seat, a second foot crossing over the first, grin smug. "Seriously, ya should loosen up a little. It's not healthy to hold all that tension in, what would Mama Bat say?" He tuts and after another pointed pause, "I'm more than happy to help."

"I said keep quiet," he repeats, teeth grit. Batman's close to snapping.

Jerome's heart thuds in anticipation as Batman slams down on the gas pedal, engine loud enough to drown conversation in any car other than the one Batman custom built. "Oh, someone's got their little bat panties in a twist. You want me to keep quiet so bad, come back here and make me."

Batman's eyes shoot to the rearview mirror, glaring furiously at Jerome. "Don't. Test. Me." He growls, each word punctuated.

Jerome slides along the back seat, feet locking against the passenger seat to keep his balance as Batman takes a particularly quick turn. He doesn't bother righting himself before continuing. "Or what? What're ya gonna do? Punch me? Beat me? Kill me?" He leans forward, finally done picking himself out of his cuffs with the bullet shell, but keeping his hands behind him to brace himself, a smug grin on his face. "C'mon, you know you wanna..."

Another sharp turn, Jerome would be worried that Batman might crash if he cared. He's forced into the corner of the car's back seat by the momentum, feet falling off the console. "Last warning," Batman growls, "Stop. Talking."

And Batman never learns, does he. Just keeps making the same mistakes that only serve to encourage Jerome. He grins at Batman through the mirror, undeterred. "Oo, you angry? Getting on your nerves, am I? I think I am. You're getting so worked up, it's a good look on you, adorable I'd say. Even better because there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing you could do to stop me, you're powerless. You'll make the same mistakes over and over and over. You've never been able to fix anything and you're never going to be."

Batman takes a quick turn into an alley and slams on the brakes, Jerome crashing into the seat in front of him in painful fashion. The impact's solely on his forehead, leaving an ovular red mark, likely to bruise. He claps, pretense of remaining cuffed forgotten, "Well that was unexpected! Getting impatient, are we?"

Without a word, Batman's out of the car and opening the backdoor. He grabs Jerome by the shirt collar, yanking him out and not bothering to turn before shoving him against the side of the Batmobile, a firm arm back across Jerome's chest where the skin is still bruising in pleasantly painful fashion.

Jerome chuckles, grin unfazed, "Ooooh, getting physical, Batsy? I like it. I like it a lot. You know, if you just wanted to touch me, all you had to do was ask."

Batman's grip on Jerome's collar tightens as he presses him harder, face an inch away as he invades Jerome's space, "I told you to be quiet," he growls. "And I won't tell you again."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be quiet." He mimes zipping his lips, unzipping them not even a second later and continuing in a lilted tone of feigned apology, "It's just so hard to do when you're so much fun to tease. But if you really want me to shut up, you're more than welcome to make me."

Batman's losing control, and they both know it. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Jerome grin widens, "And you do? How many people died because of you? How many people have you let me kill?"

There's a fist crashing into Jerome's stomach, making Jerome gasp as air is forced out of his lungs. It catches him off-guard, as much as he's been goading for it. He can't move with Batman pinning him so he groans, looking up at Batman as he lets his weight sink until all that's holding him up is Batman.

Momentary regret flashes over Batman's face. He growls, justifying, "I warned you."

"You...did." Jerome looks up at Batman, eyes lidded, voice ragged, "But. What can I say? I'm a sucker for punishment."

Batman grips Jerome's collar tighter, pulling him closer to his face, cowl pressing his still-bruising forehead. "You're enjoying this." He snaps, his voice low and cold.

"You bet I am." Jerome's grin widens even further, his eyes gleaming with excitement, "Nothing I could love more, it's a dream come true. A few dreams, actually." He copies Batman in decreasing the space between them, pure delight on his face. "Now c'mon, you can hit me harder than that, can't ya?"

"You're sick."

"All part of the charm! Who would I be if I didn't enjoy a little pain? Only thing that's real, after all. 'Sides," Jerome's grin feels like it's splitting his face at the seams, "You're enjoying it just as much. It's in your eyes. You're just as messed up as I am, Batsy. Admit it."

"I am nothing like you," Batman lifts Jerome against the car, making him gasp in pain as his feet dangle, "I don't enjoy pain. I don't take pleasure in hurting people."

Jerome wheezes before speaking again. "But look at yourself. So satisfied with every punch you land, every bit of hurt you cause." Jerome sends a pointed look at Batman's blood-coated fist, "Deny it all you want but you're getting as much pleasure out of this as I am. You're just holding yourself back. Let go, embrace it. It'll feel so good, I promise."

"Just shut up," Batman snaps, an edge of desperation in his voice.

A sly grin spreads across Jerome's face as he notices Batman wavering. He relishes in the tension in his voice. Jerome leans in even closer, voice low and taunting. "You want me to shut up then make me."

Batman doesn't hold back this time, letting his anger drive his actions. Batman growls and pulls Jerome back and slamming him onto the hood of the Batmobile. The force of the blow makes the clown gasp and wheeze in pain.

"Oh...that's more like it." Jerome looks back up at Batman, a mix of pain and pleasure on his face, "Again. Let it all out."

Batman doesn't say anything, angry—so so angry—breathing heavy and labored. He's lost control, needs to hit Jerome, break him. He pulls Jerome back up by the collar, throwing him to the ground with a yank that thuds loudly. It knocks the wind out of him leaving him coughing, gasping for air, "Ugh...Hit me—hah—harder...you know you want to..."

Batman's punches grow harder, to the shoulder, the chest, each one landing with a satisfying thump and receptive groan. "Fuuuuck...That's it..." Batman's no longer in control, anger and frustration driving his actions. "Don't stop...I can take it..."

An arm's back on Jerome's chest, pinning him to the ground with a reverberating slam, "You enjoying this?"

"More." Jerome moans out and fuck is this doing it for him.

It seems to shock Batman out of the stupor, the man panting above him. Jerome is bloodied, nose running with it, lips grinning with blood coated teeth. He's going to bruise and he's never been good at estimating his injuries, but he might have a cracked rib. The thought fails to make him give a shit. "Again," Jerome gasps out, voice hoarse, "You can do more than that baby."

Batman clenches his fist and looks down at the clown, his cowl swimming in red. That might be Jerome's vision, actually. Batman's rageful either way, "You just can't shut up, can you? Even like this, you keep running your mouth."

"H-Hahaha... you were doing so well shutting me up, what happened? Is the great Batman faltering? Does having me under you make you question yourself?" Jerome would lean up towards him if he could but Batman's strong in pinning him, "Does it excite you, Bats?"

Batman hooks a thumb under Jerome's chin and covers his mouth with a gloved palm. The alley is silent except for matching shaky exhales from each of them, one muffled by the other's hand. Jerome's got more to say but the bloodied hand he brings up does nothing against Batman's iron grip. He tries kicking out with his legs, bucking up, but nothing can move the Batman.

Jerome's at the Batman's mercy and yeah, it's kinda hot. Really hot. But he's just looking at him, not doing anything. Jerome can't even speak, mouth covered by Batman's hand and licking and biting wouldn't do shit to an armored glove. He reaches out both his hands meaning to grab something off him but the Bat just passively pins them above his head, shifting so that their chests meet, the Bat's own replacing the arm that had pinned him. It's a passive movement if the consistency in the Bat's expression is anything to go off.

The passing seconds are maddening. Jerome needs something. Batman thinks for long enough for Jerome to go through the anger, frustration, desperation and stop at acceptance and plan what he'll say next. He'll take it up a notch, bring up-

Batman's grip shifts, palm on his chin and fingers extending around his left chin and cheek. He leaves his thumb softly brushing Jerome's lip, raising to push between his lips, and Jerome fails to find any desire to talk when Batman's giving him more than he's ever asked for. Jerome has no idea what's going on inside Batman's head but he sure as shit ain't complaining.

Batman's thumb traces his teeth, pausing at the scars that edge his lips before taking the cue to pull the skin there a little wider there and, fuck that's perfect. Jerome let out another shuddery groan, gazing up at the Bat. He'd bet the Bat's pupils are blown like his own.

The groan seems to shake Batman out of his stupor, the hand yanking away to pin him down by the arm again, distancing their chests. It's a cold chasm compared to the heat from before.

"Oh. Look at you, so tense." Jerome flexes his hands under Batman's grip, hoping to make the Bat take conscious notice of his restraint, "You confused by little old me? You like having me like this, don't you? Can't decide if you want to punch me or kiss me? Go ahead, I can take either."

Batman squeezes Jerome's wrists in his hand, evidently aware, "You're a lunatic."

"Your favorite lunatic," Jerome can't look anywhere but up at him.

"You're psychotic," There's no heat behind his words anymore, softer than Jerome thought possible for the Bat, "Enjoying this."

If Jerome thinks hard enough, he can feel the heat radiating from Batman's body. All he can do it let out a breathy, "Yeah." in agreement.

"I'm going to shut you up one way or another," Batman arm on his chest is firm as he leans in.

The intensity excites Jerome, how could he want anything more than what Batman's offering. "Promise?"

"Yes." There's only determination behind Bats' statement.

"Then make me already." Jerome's eyes lid with the tension.

Batman's breathing gets heavier, Jerome can imagine the way it would steam off a cold surface. Like the Batmobile. There's a fun idea.

All thoughts halt as Batman closes the little that was left of the distance between them, lips pressing to Jerome's. It's soft, tentative, a chaste press, but there's so much meaning behind it. It only lasts a few seconds before Batman's pulling back, Jerome wanting to follow the movement for more but still pinned from movement.

Jerome huffs in frustration, followed by a demand of, "Again."

Batman crashes his lips back against Jerome's, kiss bruising this time. The contact hurts in just the best way, painful and pleasurable in excess amounts. He wants more more more.

Jerome moans low, a rumble in the back of his throat, head arching back in pleasure. Batman follows it, arm slipping out from between them, quickly replaced by his own chest flush against Jerome's once again. Batman's hand is in Jerome's hair quicker than he can blink, pulling his head back further, making him arch up into the Bat's touch. The Gotham air is freezing against his neck, contrasting to the burning of heat in Batman's touch. It's heavenly.

Then Batman's lips are off his, a whine from Jerome at the loss reciprocated by a low vibration of Batman's throat as he kisses down, a peppering of kisses to trail down to the bared white skin of his throat. Batman kisses like he fights, takes advantage of every opening and pulls Jerome into his orbit. His kisses are open-mouthed, wet against Jerome's neck. He can feel the Bat's teeth against his neck, lips pressed to his pulse, and Jerome wants him to bite.

Jerome knew the Bat would drive him crazy, crazier than he was driven by anything, in just the best ways. He bucks up into the Bat above him, searching for more. So good but it's not enough. Jerome doubts anything ever will be. The feel of the Bat's teeth is taunting him with possibility. Jerome orders, voice shaky with lust and desperation, "Bite me, Bats."

The responding bite is so immediate, Jerome wonders if either of them could refuse the other anything in this moment. Jerome wonders if he'd enjoy the Bat tearing out his throat entirely. Probably. Batman's canines are sharp, but he's not putting enough pressure to break skin, more sucking in of skin and grazing of teeth than flesh tearing. Jerome wants the Bat to break him.

"More," Jerome's breathing is heavy, ragged with need. Each pant of exhilaration is punctuated with a groan, a whine, a noise of pleasure, "Harder."

Batman bites, blood pooling around his canines. He bites like he wants to swallow Jerome's heartbeat whole. Jerome's aroused by the surety that he'll have the indentation of the bite mark, Batman's bite mark, for days to come. A constant reminder. He gasps at the pain of the bite, shudders at the feeling of teeth in his flesh.

Batman's hips drop to cant against Jerome's own, Batsuit protection hard against his own hardness. Jerome wants the thing shredded on the ground next to him, he wants Bats body against his own, no suit to hinder it. "Take it off." He hisses.

"No." Batman refuses, pulling back from his neck. The imprint of his teeth throbs on Jerome's flesh, blood welling in the four spots where his canines tore in. Batman presses the plating against him again. Jerome wishes he could feel his outline, against Jerome's own sensitive cock straining against his fitted suit.

Jerome twists against Batman's hand pinning his own bloodied ones, lets his hips grind up against the cold Kevlar of the Batsuit. He's getting frustrated, even as Batman's flush against him, he's never felt further. It's a power play, Bats has him under him, unfulfilled, waiting for him to beg. Jerome's never been one to give in easy.

"Mngh," He groans out, and it's a herculean feat to keep himself still in the Bats grip, "You can...do better...can't you?"

Batman full-on growls before letting go over Jerome's hair, his head falling to the ground behind with a reverberating thud that makes his teeth clash unpleasantly against each other. The Bat spits on his gloved hand, already slick and sticky with blood, slipping his hand into Jerome's pants, no hesitation as he palms Jerome's aching cock with his hand.

The sound Jerome lets out in surprise is wet, aching in nature, a whimpering inhale of anticipation. He pushes against the length of Batman's hand, needing friction. One touch and Jerome's close, even indirectly Batman's already brought him right to the edge. "Ohh," he groans, drawn-out sound of pleasure, "Yes...Yes...like that."

Batman's fingers loosely grasp Jerome's cock, twitching in his grip. He doesn't hesitate, escalating almost too fast, but Jerome's always been one to go with the flow, happy to keep up. Gloved fingers stroke Jerome's erection, a slow, erratic set of gentle squeezes and releases that make Jerome squirm.

"Gods, Bats. Didn't kno- mmf!" Jerome's compliment, probably—Jerome just lets the words flow, especially when he's too distracted to think like now—is interrupted by Batman kissing him again, lips pressing his own open, biting of his bottom lip too, hungry.

Jerome moans into the kiss, Batman's tongue slipping in, slathering around in the blood and teeth that make up Jerome's mouth. The grip the Bat's hand has on Jerome's hands is tighter, bruising and Jerome is distantly aware of the possibility of his wrist snapping under the pressure. The feeling is background to the increasing speed of strokes on his cock, a chaotic blend of squeezes, releases, stuttering ups and downs. The unpredictability is perfect, Jerome is so close he just- he needs-

Batman bites down harder on his lower lip, pulling in only half of it, hitting that perfect balance between pinching and biting. This and the choking squeeze that Batman gives his cock has him arching up, moans half muffled by the mouth on his own as he cums.

Batman doesn't relent as Jerome shudders under him in pleasure, he keeps that tights squeeze as he strokes Jerome through it. Milking everything until it's too much, and even then, continuing as Jerome's body flattens against the ground, instinct pulling him away from the overstimulation. Jerome's vision swirls in white and red as he whimpers.

It's only the tears that spring to Jerome's eyes that snap Batman out of it. Jerome's breathing is ragged, full-body twitching as Batman pulls a cum-stained gloved hand out of Jerome's pants. Batman's heaving out breaths as well, both are coming off the high of pleasure.

Batman pulls back and stares at Jerome's neck, the prominent teeth-marks there. They feel good, Jerome feels good. It's bliss, it's everything. He wants Batman back, close to him but the Bat's standing, not looking away but still moving away. Jerome's hands are shaking as he uses them to push himself up, a voice screaming in the back of his mind to keep the Bat here, Batman needs to stay.

Jerome's sat up, looking up at Batman, eyes meeting under the mask. He wants to reach out, pull him back down, to feel him again, but something in his gait makes Jerome think any attempts will be met with the Bat fleeing the scene of the crime.

"Mnn," He hums, voice wrecked, evidence of what the Bat did to him that he thoroughly enjoyed, "Bats?" There's a tremor of vulnerability in his voice and he hates it. He's gotten attached.

There's no answer, not a step back nor a lean forward. The only movement in the alley is the billowing of Batman's cape in the breeze. The night isn't silent, there's ambient noise, but even in his cell back in Arkham, the silence never felt this cold, this quiet. The wind is cold. The air is cold. The Bat's empty eyes are cold. His ever-present frown is cold, puffed lips only evident for those looking closely. There's blood on them, on his hands. The ghost of the Bat against him, of him against the bat is cold.

Jerome feels so cold. He doesn't know how to reach Batman this time.

Jerome blinks and the Bat's gone.