TW: Slight NSFW.

If you like this opening scene, I highly recommend reading "Wet Kisses on Dark Knights" by @radiationvibe on AO3. Literally my favorite Batjokes story ever. Hope you enjoy today's chapter!

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Batman breathed hard against Joker's lips, hand pinning his throat against the wall. No matter how much he hurt him, no matter how much he bled, the goddamn clown kept laughing.

            "This isn't a game," growled the Bat, slamming him into the wall. Joker grabbed the other's wrist with both hands, flashing bloody teeth.

            "Y'know, Bats," laughed Joker, breathless, "when you hold me so close like this, I can't tell if you're trying to kiss me or beat me to a pulp."

            The Bat glared, his bared teeth on display beneath his cowl. Joker tipped his head back and exhaled with a grin, eyes trailing down to his mouth. The look on his face was questionable, even suggestive, under the dark of night. If anyone saw them like this, talk would spread like wildfire. Good thing Batman had cornered the clown onto the rooftop of an abandoned building.

            "I suppose that's why you wear your mask like that, huh?" taunted Joker, eyes half-lidded. "Either way—you want me."

            "You don't know what you're talking about."

            "Really?" breathed Joker, a different look crossing his face—one Batman had never seen before. "Or should I call your bluff?"

            "Enough of—"

Joker's hands flew up to grab the sides of Batman's face, and the vigilante reeled back on instinct, thinking it an attack. Their feet scuffed, legs tangled in the movement, and before the Bat could process what was happening, Joker pulled his face forward and kissed him, all adrenaline and blood and hate-fueled passion.

            Damien didn't know what came over him. Between one gasp and the next, his attempts at pushing the Joker away became pulling him closer, brain fogged on the sensations running through him.

It felt just like fighting, kissing the Joker.

But this time, Joker wasn't gloating. He wasn't laughing. The more intense the kiss became, the weaker he went under the Bat's bruising grip. The closer their bodies pressed, the tighter his nails dug into the sides of Batman's cowl, the front of his suit.

It wasn't until Joker's muffled sound of pleasure broke Batman from his trance, and he shoved the clown against the wall, breaking the kiss. Under the half-light, one could mistake the look on Joker's face as hurt. But when his eyes locked onto Batman's, finding his lipstick smeared over the vigilante'smouth, his grin slid back onto his face slowly, delight absorbing his gaze. The laugh that bubbled from deep in his throat made something inside Batman coil tight.

"I can already hear your excuses, Bats," said Joker, his voice wicked. "Quit kidding yourself." His voice crowded around his head, and the edges of his reality began to blur. All he could focus on was Joker's face and his tempting, devastating eyes. Suddenly, something felt off. He didn't remember this part.

"I mean everything to you," echoed Joker's voice around him. He didn't remember him saying that. "The moment I mean nothing to you, that's it. You're done for." Joker's eyes pierced through him, and his expression curled into a snarl. "Isn't that right, Damien?"

The name shocked him awake, and Damien shot out of bed, gasping for breath. He clutched at his bedsheets, the fabric disorienting him, and glanced around, finding his bedroom. No rooftop, no Joker.

No kiss.

Damien's hand ghosted over his lips, and he shut his eyes with a sigh, bowing his head.

Except there was.

Damien buried his face in his hands, the dream—no, the memory—infecting the back of his head.

There was a kiss, and it had happened, and Damien had lost control that night, and he swore it would never happen again. It was the adrenaline, he told himself religiously. It was the fatigue, and the exhaustion from the fight, and the endless days of tension waiting out the Joker's next move.

As a precaution of course, that was the last time he ever wore the original cowl. He redesigned it into the face mask he wore now—same material, black, that wrapped around his head and worked as both a headset and the classic points of his bat ears. He told himself he needed a change of pace, anyway. It wasn't a means to prevent temptation, or anything of the sort. He didn't want to kiss the Joker again. Kissing the Joker was disgusting, and vile, and wrong.

Joker meant nothing to him. He'd been drilling the mantra into his head for the past week, and it seems his subconscious was finally fed up with him. Putting words in the Joker's mouth to spit back at him.

Damien ran his hands over his face and clambered out of bed, his mind occupied as he got dressed. His name still rang in his head.

Joker didn't know his true identity, but the dream still unnerved him. Hearing his name on the Joker's lips... It didn't inspire other thoughts, of course it didn't. But it made him wonder: what if the clown found out?

Damien managed a scoff.

That would never happen.

He made his way into the Batcave and sat before the computer, using any means to distract himself. He pulled up surveillance of Arkham and waited, telling himself this was necessary. If Joker made any move to break Quinn out of Arkham, he'd be the first to stop him.

That was it.

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Murdock lazily traced lines into his tray of slop, blocking out the shouts and cries and laughs of the other inmates having lunch around him.

            He was no stranger to Arkham Asylum. It was like visiting that nasty grandpa every once in a blue moon. You hated the bastard, but he was family, and you just had to spend time with family. It wasn't a home, but it was a place to crash—lack of hospitality and decency aside. That's when Murdock learned a knife could solve almost any of his problems, but that was against the point.

            Murdock gathered slop onto his spoon and flicked it across the table, smiling when it stuck onto the back of Magnum Bane's head. He didn't notice, but other inmates snickered to themselves, growing louder when the villain looked around, clueless to the rise in noise.

            A tray clattered in front of Murdock, and he looked up, finding sharp green eyes and vomit green hair. His face fell flat.

            "Oh great," groaned Murdock, pushing his tray aside. "If it isn't the Joker wannabe."

            "Hey!" barked Anti, and Murdock's eye twitched. God, even his voice hurt. "I don't look an ounce like yer fuckin' clown boyfriend. No offense, but do I look like a lunatic to you?"

Murdock rose a brow and gave him a look. Anti looked like a rag doll made of grasses and rags—scratchy beard, scratchy voice; hair that stuck up in all different angles. Even the scar across his pale neck looked like the workings of a voodoo doll maker.

            Anti waved a hand and plopped down in front of Quinn. "Anyway, I was thinking of breaking out—"

            "Mr. J's breaking me out."

            "—and I wanted to—" Anti stopped, and he blinked, nose scrunching. "Wait, what?"

            Murdock didn't think it was possible, but his glare deepened, spreading to the growing frown on his lips.

            "You're an idiot," he said.

            "Actually," said a woman, squeezing into the seat next to Murdock. Anti's eyes lit up at the sight of her. "You're the idiot."

            "Excuse me?" said Murdock, swiveling his gaze towards her. It was Wilma Isley—infamous Poison Ivy—and even though the prison banned plants completely to keep her contained, she still radiated with the energy of nature.

            "It's been a week, Quinn," said Wilma. She brushed her curls away from her plump, ebony face. "He's not coming to rescue you."

            "Yes, he is," said Murdock stubbornly. "These kinds of things take time. Joker's just planning."

            "Joker's not the type to plan," said Wilma. "He just does what he wants, and he drags you along for the 'fun.' I'm sorry, honey, but you're his last priority."

            The words stabbed Murdock in the chest, and his frown sulked.

            "She's got a point," said Anti.

            "What's the point of you two?" spat Murdock. "You're making this place as dreary as they want us to feel being in here."

            "I'm just telling the truth," said Wilma, shrugging as she stood. Murdock grumbled under his breath and watched her go, eyes lingering on her heavy figure. Anti's face tipped into view, blocking the image of Wilma, and he flashed a toothy grin.

            Murdock groaned and shoved his face in his hands. "What do you want, Anti?"

            "I'm her apprentice, by the way," he said. "If you wanna talk to her some more—"

"Ivy works alone," said Murdock bitterly. "What do you really want, asshole?"

            "Well, I was going to ask if you'd want to help me break out, but then you brought up Joker." He shrugged. "The offer still stands."

            "Yeah, no," said Murdock, sending a sour smile as he stood. "I'm good. Don't talk to me again, yeah? Good? Good. Goodbye."

            "Sheesh," said Anti as Murdock stormed away. "He's more Quinn-y than usual." Anti looked over his shoulder at the table behind him and elbowed Bane in the ribs with a laugh. The villain turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "Magnum, you should be friends with Quinn. You've both got major anger issues."

            Bane's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Anti's head and shoved it into his tray of food, which made cheers sweep over the lunchroom. As the guards shouted over the chaos and the beginning of a food fight, Murdock rolled his eyes and slipped away, heading back to his cell. The roar of laughter and shouting followed him down the dark hallways.

            Joker would break him out, he told himself.

            He always did.

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Joker ran his fingers along shelves of explosives and guns, every weapon spray-painted neon. His revolver pressed against his hip as he paced his lair, gloved hands idly thumbing through his razor-sharp playing cards.

            He had been planning to break Quinn out of Arkham. But only in a way that would get him back alone with the Batman.

It had only been a year ago, but after their first kiss that one fateful night, something in their dynamic had changed. Batman had always roughed Joker up, but his approach had shifted. They were the smallest things, but they stuck out to Joker, especially since he'd always been on the receiving end of his violence.

            He refused to get too close; refused to pin Joker against or beneath him. Even their dialogue, which Joker adored, had shifted. Constant, lengthy taunts thrown back and forth between them became curt, recycled phrases.

            'You're going to Arkham for good;' 'You're delusional,' blah, blah, blah. The Bat had always been one for little words—more the physical type—but he used to humor Joker. String him along, let him think he had the upper hand, and snarked a clever remark when he beat him.

It was a game. It had always been a game. And the moment Joker decided to play different cards, the rules shifted.

            He didn't regret it, of course. Kissing Batman was euphoric—a high he didn't think he'd ever want to chase—but after one taste, he couldn't get enough. It was as addictive as their game of chase, their elaborate fights. And even more addictive was the state of Batman after the fact.

            The first time Joker saw Batman with his new mask, he didn't recognize him. When he realized it was him, satisfaction filled every part of him.

            He'd gotten under the Bat's skin. He'd made him change.

            "What a shame," Joker had taunted, eyes half-lidded. "Hiding that pretty mouth of yours from me. How am I supposed to kiss you again, Batsy?"

            He remembered the first time he stared Batman in the eyes—really looked him in the eyes—because they were exposed with the new mask. And he would never forget the reaction that thrilled through his body—the reaction he still had every time he looked into those eyes now. It felt like being frozen and on fire all at once, your body brimming with the strength of an excitement bottled down for years.

            Joker lifted a card to the light and smiled, anticipation flickering under his skin.

            He would catch the Bat's attention with a bit of a show.

            He just had to get Quinn out of the way first.

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Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love,

Vic xoxo