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“No,” Bruce stated forcefully. “I won't do it. That's the worst idea I ever heard.”
“But it would be so sexy,” the Joker closed his eyes in rapture. “A big black bat across my chest.”
“Claiming my ownership of you?” Bruce raised a wry eyebrow.
“Of course, Bat. You know that. Now I want you to prove it.” The Joker smiled at him.
“I don't prove it by allowing you to sleep in my bed every night, much to the displeasure of my butler, a man who practically raised me?”
“So Jeeves glares when he serves your croissants in the morning. That's not devotion.” Joker pouted.
“He actually includes some for you, so don't discount it. It's hard for him.”
“His feelings don't matter. That is not devotion, as I told you. Something like this, this would prove devotion.” The Joker fluttered his eyelashes and tried to vamp for Bruce.
“And all this because of why?”
“I read it in that book you brought back from your last trip. The woman carved the sign for love on the top of her pubis. She meant it as a secret tribute to her secret lover. The idea had certain appeal to me.”
“I'm sure. You'll remember that the heroine in said novel died because the ink was poisoned. How am I to trust you won't trade Crane for fear toxin “
“Well, then just do the carving. You can use my knife. The cuts don't have to be deep.”
Bruce sighed. This particular argument had been going on for three weeks. It all started when Bruce had gone on a business trip for a couple of days the month before. He had picked up a mystery novel at the airport, a period piece about Edo Japan. He had read half of it on his flight and then lost interest and shoved it in his luggage. The Joker, with his usual propensity for poking, had stumbled upon the novel and it had caught the clown's interest. He actually enjoyed it.
“That novel was really twisted, “ he told Bruce. “The ancient Japanese had sexual practices that would scare even you. But one of the things that they would do was carve the name and signs of love on their bodies. Sometimes the women prostitutes would tattoo names of their lovers on their body. A permanent mark. Devotion. I have scarred you, Bat. You have scarred me. Now it is time for a scar that proves something. “
Bruce being Bruce had mulled it over and something about what the Joker asked did appeal to him. Joker handed him his own knife. It was sharp, but it wouldn't cut too deep. It would do the trick.
“OK, “ Bruce said finally. “Give me the knife.”
He prepared the Joker meticulously, making him shower and then washing his chest with alcohol. Finally, he quickly made the desired cuts.
“Go look in the mirror, “ he told his lover. The Joker went and looked. The look on his face was ecstatic.
“I wish that I had some ink, bat. I would pour the ink in the cuts to make the tattoo's, “ he told Bruce.
“Just like in the novel.”
Bruce was glad that they didn't have any ink. The act of cutting his lover had aroused him. He came up behind his lover in the mirror and touched his fingertips to the oozing scars.
The Joker moaned at the action.
'Bat,” he pleaded.
“Right here?” Bruce asked.
“Yes,” the Joker said, his voice breathy as Bruce prepared him.
“OK, “ said Bruce.
“In your lap, Bat, “ Joker panted. “ So I can see you fucking me in the mirror. “
Bruce set the knife beside him as he eased the Joker on his cock, first using his hands to guide the Joker on him. The fiend begged for him to increase his speed.
Bruce did, looking at them coupling in the mirror. This was something that they had not done before and it was incredibly erotic. Bruce picked up the knife and held it lightly against the Joker's neck. Bruce's other hand gripped the Joker's thigh.
Looking in the mirror, Bruce was aware of how dark he looked. The Joker pulled it out of him, this darkness. He held a knife to the Joker's throat as he pumped himself into his lover, squeezing his thigh.
The Joker, fascinated with the image in the mirror, kept panting,” More, Bat, more, Bat, more, Bat, “ until he slumped against his lover, his body quivering uncontrollably as he shook in orgasm. The Joker's orgasm triggered Bruce's and he mistakenly lightly nicked the Joker's neck as he came.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, as he licked at the blood on his lover's neck.
“The Joker threw him a scornful look.
“Not at all, Bat. “ He looked in the mirror and touched the cuts again, clearly pleased.
He decided that when the time finally came, when his Bat was dead and he was left. That would be how he would go. He would reopen the cuts and pour in poisoned ink, just like the heroine in the novel. Then he would join his Bat again.