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The sun approaches the horizon, slow and steady, disappears bit by bit seeming to merge with the earth. Skies fade to black and so his face also morphs into a darker version of itself, puts on a mask and wraps himself in the same fabric the streets seem to be enveloped in. The warm breeze of a summer night hits his cheek as he stands atop the city, burning bright with all the neon signs; vices advertised in all corners, rough artificial lights that cast sharp shadows. The city never sleeps and still the streets are mostly empty as the bat goes out on patrol. He searches out trouble and, though most times he finds it, tonight seems different. This is one of those rare outings in which Gotham seems almost peaceful, not a single robbery in sight. There have been a few of these nights scattered around. They make the man in the bat suit wonder what his life would have turned out to be like if this was how all nights played out in the city. There may not be any use in wondering, but since he does not have any other pastime as he wanders the night, he lets his mind drift. As his mind jumps thought to thought, so does he, building to building, walking through many rooftops, carefully watching the streets.
As the clock approaches one a.m. it truly seems like this night will pass by without incident. Batman feels a twinge of disappointment as that realisation hits him, even if part of him is relieved. There is internal conflict between continuing to patrol or going back home to rest and he ends up wandering the night without the batsuit for what feels like the first time in his life. Having found out he yearns to walk the streets freely, unattached from both of the characters he has constructed, he follows the urge and ends up in a bar in the outskirts, a place where he's unlikely to be recognised. He feels guilty for skipping out on his job as the city's protector, but there is a force pulling him away, making him stop for just this one night, to go out have fun and damn the consequences just a little while. The venue is filled to the brim, and the light is so very dim. He approaches the counter and asks for a whiskey, the bartender complies as fast as he can and Bruce offers his thanks along with the money. Once he manages to find a free table in a corner of the small and crowded bar it feels great to be just a stranger in the night as he sits in the dark and looks past everything in his line of sight. It feels like he is floating, somewhere far, where the burdens he usually carries just cannot reach him. Suddenly he sees that his glass is empty in his hand, and wonders how long it has been since he started drinking from it; his eyes pierce the glass as if interrogating it but there is no answer, not until he's startled by a man talking right into his ear.
"I can get you another if you want."
He makes his best effort to not jump in his seat and he turns his head to find vibrant green eyes with the longest eyelashes he has ever seen, not a single inch apart from his. The pupils so close and burning right into his own. The voice sounds friendly enough to him, even if the encounter feels eerie and so he responds affirmatively.
"Sure, why not?"
"That's the spirit!"
The answer he receives in a mouthful of air from the man's lungs directly enters his own from sheer closeness, a pair of red lips right next to his. As soon as the sentence ends the mystery man jumps up and skips over to the bar counter in a couple seconds, crossing the faceless crowd with ease, as a hot knife running through butter. And while he talks to the bartender Bruce is left to ponder over the surprisingly pleasant flavour the man has left in his mouth. He doesn't know yet what to make of the encounter, knowing how much of a terrible idea it certainly is to get drunk with a stranger, so he pretends to wonder about this while deciding to ignore the very possible danger; this was Gotham after all, but he was the protector of the city, so he should be ok to protect himself even if slightly under the influence, right? He supposed he would be alright and was too intrigued by the silent yet explosive man who was already coming back to his table. His chance to back out was over the second he spotted the man, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a bright pink drink colourful enough to stand out in the darkness of the bar.
The man was not skipping over (so as to not spill the drinks on the way to the table, presumably) and as he strolled through the crowd the tiny dancing lights go all over him, little dots and sparkles adorning the tall and slender figure. It occurs to Bruce that the environment doesn't fully suit either of them for different reasons and he feels glad he was approached, a loneliness he hadn't been aware of before the stranger talked to him began making itself known. In that moment his eyes were locked on the green jewels of the man as he reached the table, seemingly in slow motion, the contact was even maintained while the man bent slowly to deliberately put down the drinks and sit down right in front of Bruce. His movement was delicate but Bruce was unable to look away from the marble-like orbs to focus on anything else. It was like his whole existence was tied to that contact, as if his only way to reach beyond himself were the eyes of this man. He managed to take a swig from his glass and spew out a sentence just to try and make his staring less obvious while he averted his gaze.
"What kind of fag drink is that?"
It was clearly a sentence he had not put any thought into and his terrible attempt at a diversion was met with a questioning look, immediately followed by a failed attempt at suppressing laughter from his companion. Snippets of a laugh escaped through the smiling lips covered by pale hands, even while slightly muted it was instantly recognizable to Bruce. He almost froze in place as the not-really-stranger kept on involuntarily laughing, as if he had just remembered the funniest joke in the middle of a funeral. By the time the laughing fit stopped Bruce had calmed down a bit with some help from the alcohol, realising the Joker probably wasn't about to do anything nefarious from the way he seemed to actually keep his look and laugh as low-key as possible and the fact they were far from any place worth blowing up. Bruce made his mind up, he had decided to stay, so he would stick by this choice, no matter how senseless or insane that might have made him seem.
"Sorry, I just blurted that out without thinking."
This earned a supressed giggle that sounded far enough from a Joker laugh to make him seem like a different person. Bruce, though not fooled, was slightly impressed.
"Ah, sorry for my manners. It's just too funny! You know-"
The Joker began and was cut off by another short fit of laughter, seemingly unable to contain his mirth. He quickly calmed down and began again, Bruce was starting to get nervous, wondering if the joke would come at the expense of someone's life, as it often did whenever the clown told one.
"You do know, that, ah! that pffft... That this is a gay bar, right?"
Just as he managed to blurt it out he bent over, painfully cracking up. Bruce was left not knowing what to do or how to answer and he chugged down half of his drink. He had not, in fact, noticed that the bar he stepped into, happened to be a gay bar. Dumbfounded, he automatically answered truthfully at the same time as he put his glass down.
"Oh I hadn't realised it was when I went in"
"Ah well, I thought it was obvious enough, with all the rainbow flags, abundance of gay couples et cetera, one could say even the air smells fruity!"
At this Bruce looked around and realised the truth in the Joker's words, there were quite a few pride flags and the men Bruce could see dancing were rubbing into each other in a very non-straight manner. He was confused, had he really been so absent so as to not notice? Had anybody recognised him while he was so deep in thought? The Joker definitely must have, that man was too smart not to see he was standing in front of Bruce fucking Wayne, no matter how dark the place was. But what was the clown prince of crime doing in a shabby gay bar in the outskirts at 2 a.m. on a Thursday? Bruce took another sip.
"So, um... what are *you* doing here tonight?"
Bruce asked, not really knowing what answer he might get, he was feeling worse about this whole situation by the minute and kept drinking until his glass was empty, just as he finished the Joker started talking.
"Well, what would I come here for? To pick up a handsome man, like you, and have some fun"
He winked to emphasize the kind of fun he was in search of and Bruce was intrigued, he was hesitant if the proposition was serious and definitely disgusted by the thought of it. Still, he couldn't help his curiosity, was really the clown that terrified Gotham a pansy that went to gay bars to pick up other men? And in his inquisitive spirit, probably fuelled by the two glasses of whiskey, Bruce awkwardly continued the conversation.
"Oh, um, makes sense I guess. Sorry I just... Actually I've wanted to visit a place like this for a while but, I'm new to this... whole thing, you know?"
The Joker again cackled showing his amusement, he really seemed to be having fun, then once he stopped, he took the first sip from his drink. It was so pink it almost looked red, like his lips. His lips, Bruce became fixated on them and as they moved, the voice coming from within them smooth and seductive.
"I can see you're not used to this, but I can guide you through it, Bruce."
The sensuality, the elegance and the weight of the words caught him off guard, they made him feel something, something dangerously close to arousal or want. There was familiarity, closeness, both of them had their pupils dilate as they stared into each others eyes, slightly leaning forward on the table, every little move the clown in front of him made was so intentional and Bruce was just letting himself go. He was lightheaded, terrified, and yet he was ecstatic and ready to let himself fall into his greatest enemy's arms. He was wordlessly offered him a sip from the other man's glass and he gulped half of the drink right down without even breaking eye contact, still swimming in those widened pupils and sapphire rings. The Joker downed what was left of the drink and stood up, offering Bruce a hand to help him get onto his feet.
"Want to come to the restroom? Or is that something a rich kid like you would not be up for?"
Bruce's eyes widened, he had not expected such an invitation. He thought he would be brought somewhere more private, maybe not the Joker's own home or hideout, but certainly at least an abandoned building. Alas, it was either take or leave and that night he was all about taking. Even though Bruce knew he was being selfish, knew that this was not something anyone should be doing, especially not him. What kind of image was that? The bat vigilante fucking a homicidal clown in the dirty toilet stalls of a gay bar, it was one hell of a bad idea, the worst in a long string of them.
"Well, sure, you said you'd guide me through and I am not about to decline your kind offer."
The Joker burst out laughing again. He was making almost no effort to contain himself this time, and Bruce almost found that ominous laugh cute hearing it so out of context. They were both in such a strange place to be, almost like a dream, and as if floating they both crossed the sea of people in the cramped bar. By the time they got to the stall the Joker had an arm wrapped around Bruce's back and the other one followed suit as soon as he locked the door. Bruce's head was beginning to spin, he was not even properly drunk on alcohol, but the situation itself was intoxicating enough. Adrenaline, alcohol and the Joker's presence itself were making him soar while the clown brought his face closer. The distance between them evaporated and their lips collided, soon opening and giving way to a tangle of tongues. Bruce held on tight to the other man, as if afraid of slipping out of his grasp. They kept on lapping at each others mouths until running out of breath and then the Joker firmly shoved Bruce, forcing him to sit on the toilet. Bruce saw the Joker's piercing gaze travel from his eyes, lowering, until reaching the fly of his pants. He crouched between his legs, holding onto the knees, and giving small pecks all the way down, lipstick smearing on all the clothes the red lips touched. Slowly he undid the trousers in front of him, all the while the billionaire panted with expectation and held onto the toilet seat for dear life. The cock was quickly freed from the constraint of underwear and Bruce could feel the Joker's breath on it. He was already twitching and when his member was engulfed he knew that it would not last long, he was on the verge just by being looked at by the Joker with such lust. The feelings he had denied for so long were now overflowing along with his seed inside his enemy's mouth. Drool slid down his cock and he felt tears forming in his eyes. He had ejaculated the second the Joker's lips wrapped around him, it took such slight touch from the man for him to become undone, how could that be?
"This is wrong" is what Bruce told himself over and over as the other man swallowed the thick white juice. His heartbeat was fast, frantic, almost erratic while he tried to convince himself it was just arousal and anxiety from doing the forbidden. He had to close his eyes the very moment he saw himself reflected in the widened pupils of the clown that was still crouched between his knees, it was one thing to commit the crime and another to have to witness himself after doing it. He was suddenly horrified, disgusted with himself, even more than he had ever been. This went against his ideals, against the concept morality itself and yet he had done it. He was unaware of time's passing as he forcefully kept his eyelids shut and tried to to quiet his mind. By the time he had made his mind up to beat the jester to a pulp he found himself alone in the stall. Though admitting defeat was not his strong suit, there was not much else he could do. Looking at his watch he could see it was already past 4 a.m. and grabbing a last drink he said goodbye to the damned place, begrudgingly heading home.