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She looked gorgeous today. Bruce hated that that was the thought lingering in the forefront of his mind. Not the captives she’d endangered, not the bloody, savage violence she’d relished in, or the bombs she’d set. Just that she’d come prowling out in an open purple suit jacket, the only thing on under it being a lacy green bra, with pants in a darker green hanging low on her hips. Her wild, curly hair a mass of messy ringlets down her back, eyes painted in neon pink and her mouth a bloody slash of red.
And his breath had caught. Not from fear, not from anticipation of the fight. From something else entirely that he didn’t want to name.
And now she was stumbling to the Batmobile, chuckling to herself as he propelled her forward with a firm hand at her back. She plopped into the passenger seat, bringing her cuffed hands up to twirl a curl around her finger. She looked up at him, bottom lip caught coyly between her teeth as he slammed the door shut in her face. He rounded the car in record time to get in on his side, probably to keep her from pressing any buttons in his absence.
He started the Batmobile with a roar, speeding away from the mess of cops and ambulances and toward Arkham. Joker sat in the silence for all of ten seconds before she was drawing in a dramatic breath for a heavy sigh, “Sooo—”
“No,” Bruce cut her off.
“Ah! You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”
“Yes, I do. And the answer is no.”
She huffed, “All I was going to ask was if we could put my music on.” He gave her a side eye. “Nothing else!” She insisted, a smile playing on her lips.
It was silent, his eyes fixed on the road, before he grunted and turned a switch on the console. She laughed giddily at the off kilter tunes that immediately started playing, her favorite Mother Mother album still queued up from the last time Batman caved for her and let her play music on the long ride back to Arkham.
“All my money been a long time spent
On my drugs, on my rent
On my saving philosophy
It goes one in the bank, and the rest for me
It goes, all my troubles on a burning pile~”
Swaying in time with the music, she arched her arms up, tossing her head, feeling the weight of her curls move with her. She laughed and sang along carelessly off-key. Grinning as she noticed Batman tapping a singular finger on the steering wheel to the beat.
He tensed as she suddenly leaned into his space, eyes closed and still singing, resting her head on his armoured shoulder. He held in a sigh as her shackled hands ran down his arm and tugged his hand away from the steering wheel, lacing their fingers together. She drew their hands up, his clasped in both of hers as she sang into them like a microphone and leaned back into her seat. Bruce was fighting a smile at her antics, almost relaxing again despite all she could do with one of his hands trapped in hers.
And then she was dragging his hand along her exposed torso and down the front of her pants. Bruce tensed right back up as she arched her hips up, letting her wetness soak into the pads of his gloves. His fingers twitched involuntarily into the warmth. He scowled over at her.
She looked at him from under hooded eyes, “Come on, Batsy. Don’t you want me?” Joker asked huskily as she guided his fingers along her cunt.
He grunted out a short, “No.” Roughly pulling his hand away, ignoring the way she spasmed and cried out a laugh as his fingers scraped carelessly along her clit.
Her breathing was unsteady as she drew her own hands out of her pants. She crossed her slim wrists over the knee closest to Bruce, handcuffs jangling and catching the light with all the elegance of silver bangles. Her fingertips were glistening in the low light from how she’d pressed his fingers into her, guiding them in just the way she’d tease herself.
Bruce’s hands tightened their grip on the wheel.
Joker tipped head back in a sudden cackle, harsh and loud in the confined cabin. “That’s not what you said last time, now is it?”
Bruce’s jaw knotted as he stayed stubbornly silent. Like she hadn’t willingly sunk to her knees and he hadn’t fucked her face at the first brush of her painted lips over the head of his cock.
“You can’t just pretend our night of passion didn’t happen!” She laughed incredulously, mania seeping into her tone as he ignored her. She leaned closer to him, voice dropping low, almost furious, “You can’t pretend you don’t want me.”
“I want to ruin you,” Bruce growled out, not looking at her. Like if he looked at her, his control would snap.
“And what’s stopping you?” She challenged.
He breathed out sharply through his nose, eyes flicking over to her. Intense, crushing blue met electric green. Joker grinned.
Then Bruce was swerving off the deserted road, swinging down a side street overgrown with trees. She could’ve laughed, they were so close to Arkham and yet he still stopped because despite everything, he wanted her so bad. He screeched to a halt and dragged her from the car by a hand fisted in her long hair.
Joker gasped and moaned, feet scrabbling to stay under her because Batman wasn’t holding her by anything else and wouldn’t care if he pulled her hair from the scalp. Maybe he wanted to. The thought made her dizzy with want.
He pulled her upward, kissing her roughly, a brutal mash of lips and teeth. She hardly had time to reciprocate before he threw her down against the hood. A grunt was punched from her chest as her face slammed into the hot metal. Blood gushed where her teeth cut into her lip, leaving them bared in a bloody smile.
Joker bucked and fought against his grip as he wrestled her cuffed hands above her head. He squeezed with the iron grip of a single hand until the bones of her wrists ground together and she clenched her teeth around a groan, want pooling low between her legs. His body, all hard muscle and armour plating, pressed against her as he growled in her ear, “Stay.”
She couldn’t stop the shiver that wracked her body at the command. The glossy black metal under her face fogged with the heat of her panting breaths. She didn’t move as he pulled back, even as some part of her wanted to see what he’d do to her if she did.
Bruce dragged a heavy hand down her back to her lean, bony ass. Leisurely taking in how her slick had seeped through the fabric of her pants staining it dark. He pressed a thumb into it, grinding against her hole, feeling her clench around nothing as she willingly spread her legs a little. Bruce smirked, dragging his thumb lower and skimming it over her clit.
Joker whined as he pulled away, but something had caught his eye. A streak of black sprawling across her alabaster skin where her jacket had rucked up. He shoved the fabric out of the way, his always alert, sharp brain screeching to a halt with the surge of blinding lust that swept through him. It was his symbol, dark ink peeking up from the line of her pants, resting just below the small of her back and splaying over the little dimples in her back.
His teeth sunk into it before he even registered what he was doing, Joker groaned loudly as he scraped his teeth over the mark, biting roughly. He could smell her sudden surge of slick as she arched.
Bruce pulled back and immediately started jerking her pants off. “You think you can wear my symbol?” He growled. “You think a pervert like you gets that right?”
“I got it for you, darling,” Joker said desperately.
“I think I’ll burn it off you.”
She moaned. “I’m yours! All yours, do what you want. Fuck, please.”
Bruce’s mouth went dry as he saw the green crotchless panties she was wearing, the two thin straps curving around the lines of her ass.
Joker kept talking, a stumbling ramble, “—anything you want. You marking me up would be better than anything someone else put on me. Fuck, please, baby! All I wanted was to have your mark on me! Burn me, only you get to leave marks, I only want you to— Do you want me to kill the guy who saw me, who did it? I’ll do it, I want to do it— I didn’t mean to let someone else claim me, Bats, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Her voice pitched up into a wordless squeal when Bruce suddenly slapped the bare skin of her ass. The pale skin immediately going pink under the harsh leather and metal of his gauntlet. Joker gasped, rapidly kicking her feet in abject glee, giggling like a schoolgirl as he aimed for the sensitive crease where the curve of her ass met her thighs. Bruce’s hand rose and fell until her skin was a vivid shade of red, and there was no way she wouldn’t feel him when she sat down.
Bruce let himself smile as he gave her a minute to reel in her shaking breaths, removing his aching cock from the confines of the armored plating. He didn’t wait for her trembling to stop before hooking his fingers under the straps of her underwear and letting them snap painfully back into place on her reddened skin.
She let out a pained yelp, arching sharply. Bruce gripped her hips, taking advantage of the position, and shoved in. Joker pressed her forehead into the cool, sweatslick metal, moaning at the sudden stretch. He didn’t give her a moment to adjust before he was thrusting the rest of the way in, carving a space for himself inside her. Forcing her to all at once take the length that other women had taken one look at before tapping out.
Her nails screeched over the Batmobile’s hood as she fought to relax through the biting pain. Bruce set a brutal pace, wanting to see scratches in the paint when he got home.
He fucked her rough in a way he never had before. With all the one night stands he had as Brucie Wayne, he was considerate, slow, and thorough. Never able to rush the prep, never being able to take what he wanted. But Joker was already moaning for it, on her toes, arching back into him, trying to keep up with his rapid thrusts. She was perfect, loud and needing, her body welcoming him, clinging and clenching down on him every time he pulled out. The wet sounds between them echoed lewdly into the still night. It only drove him on harder.
Joker was begging almost deliriously, “More, Bats please, need more! Hurt m—”
Bruce grabbed her by the hair again, and slammed her head down into the car with more force than he probably should’ve. The crunch of her nose was nearly drowned out by the force of her moan. Her tongue laved out of her mouth to lap up the blood spurting down her face.
Not letting go of his grip on her sprawl of hair, he pulled her up, until her neck was bared and her back was strung as tight as a bow, arched as far as her body was capable of. Bruce pounded into her. He wanted to break her spine, snap it in half so he could pull her backwards and freely kiss her sharp, red streaked mouth without having to pull out of her deliciously tight hole.
It scared him, how good this felt. But Joker knew, she always knew. The dark craving for the viciousness, the pain, the release. She knew how much he needed this in the shameful corners of his mind.
Joker’s mouth hung open, eyes gazing sightlessly at the batsignal projected on the clouds. The sounds being punched out of her were high and needing and bordering on screams. The pain zinging along her nerve endings crackled like fireworks in her brain. She had never been filled like this. She wanted to look down, see if she could make out the imprint of his cockhead bulging out of her gut every time he bottomed out. But his grip on her hair was unrelenting, the ache in her spine only drawing the coil between her legs tighter. That utter control her Batsy had, the power, the easy dominance, the way for the first time in their relationship he was letting himself completely lose control, and all for her… She knew she was crying, shaking, getting closer the longer Batman used her for his pleasure.
But it was his rough sounds, the desperate grunts, the stuttering of his strong hips that snapped the rising wave of tension in her.
And as she howled her orgasm into the night, Bruce pinned her down with a hand on the back of her neck, crushing her cheek against the hood, as he bent over her, hips snapping as he humped through his own crashing orgasm.
Joker floated, chest aching around her deep, unsteady breaths, the hot grip of leather on the back of her neck grounding in the haze of her afterglow. She whined as he eased back, softening dick slipping out of her. Her hole clenched around nothing.
Bruce gently turned her over, Joker not helping in the slightest, just reclining back comfortably on her back, giving a happy little sigh. He growled in abject want as he saw her front. The scraps of green lace that encircled her hips framed her untrimmed bush perfectly, the mound patchily dyed a vivid rich purple, roots and the hair on her lips showing their natural green. His come slowly seeping from her abused hole.
She sluggishly blinked back to awareness, leaning up on an elbow as Bruce dropped to his knees before her. Hooking her legs around his broad shoulders he dove in ravenously. Joker dropped back onto the hood, gasping, hips jolting as he licked and sucked with a single-minded focus. Her hands flew to his head, gripping the ears of the cowl, the chain of the handcuffs dangling between them. The sloppy sounds of his mouth on her had her eyes rolling back. Shuddering, legs shaking as she curled them around his head, grinding helplessly up into his face, riding the shockwaves of sensation.
He stayed focused on her hole, hardly giving her throbbing clit any attention. It took a while for her to realize the reason for it. He was only eating her out to remove the evidence. His tongue delving in deep sweeps as he sucked and scooped the cum out of her. He wasn’t doing this for her at all. And that was the thought that sent her trembling over the edge again.
Scraped raw, every nerve ending feeling absolutely fried, she twitched and whined in overstimulated pleasure. Batman just tightened his grip on her and kept going, even as she edged over the line into pain and was writhing against the cage of his hold, unable to get away. It was only when he was satisfied that nothing of him was left inside her that he eased away. He gave a single cruel lick to her clit that only made her hiss and try to clamp her legs together.
She watched, aching with desire for more even as her body shook, as Batman stood and tucked himself back in. A simple shift in his armour and he was every inch the immovable Dark Knight again. Only the smear of lipstick across his pink, swollen mouth and her come glistening down his chin cracked the image. Like a discordant note in a familiar song, it was the proof of the man who broke, who was weak only for her, who deep down liked hurting people even as he’d never admit it.
With her, he could be free. Free to cause pain and give punishment and relish in the sounds that she couldn’t keep in as he hurt her. That slice of cruelty in the depths of his darkness matched her own. And he was finally seeing it, letting himself get lost in it. In her.
Bruce braced a knee on the hood beside her as he loomed over her pleasure limp form. Draped over the front of his car, she made no move to stop him as he palmed a batarang. She watched doe-eyed as he brought the sharp tip of a wing to her chest, nothing but trust and adoration in her eyes as she gazed up at him.
Bruce pressed the razor into the delicate skin, his eyes dark and possessive. He watched the blood bead under the tip and began drawing slow, deliberate lines of red into her white skin. She let out rapid little gasps as he carved into her, her mouth stretched into a rapturous smile. Her eyes clenched shut against her will, tears streaking from her lashline, down her temples and soaking into her hair. Blood burbled up from the lines of burning pain on her chest, running in rivulets across her tits, soaking into the light green lace of her bra and pooling at her collarbones. But she didn’t move, letting her Batsy hurt her, claim her, want her.
She only blinked her eyes open when he pulled back. He was looking down at her with a satisfied smile. She wanted to preserve this look in her mind forever, him looking down at her like that.
Her eyes dipped to what he did to her chest. She would have squealed with delight if she were any less awestruck. The lines he cut were puffy, open red slashes, smeared with blood, but they were clean deep lines. Unmistakable. He drew his symbol into her. Carved deep and with careful care, it would scar pink across her chest, vivid and undeniable. And he did this for her. So she would always know who she belonged to. So everyone would.
Joker looked back up at him, “Fuck me again.” She demanded.
Bruce just gave her a low laugh. He dipped his head down and licked a stripe from between her breasts and up over the slices. She hissed in a breath as his tongue caught on them in its slow drag. His mouth came away bloody as he simply said, “No,” and hauled her up.
She wanted to pout at the teasing, or maybe try and force him into a fight that would turn into a fuck, but he looked beautiful with blood on his mouth and the thought that it was her blood he'd wanted to taste before they parted, kept her from doing anything drastic like trying to wrap her shackled hands around his throat to see if he got hard when he was choked. It helped that he let her pull him down for a deep kiss before he forced her to move again.
He led her to the car door again, an echo of their earlier steps, keeping a hand on her back to steady her on her shaky legs rather than to keep her contained now. She wanted to swoon at the care, knowing he would catch her. As the car roared to life and began speeding back on the road to Arkham, Joker reclined back, smiling sunnily despite the fact that Batman was still taking her back to the asylum.
They didn’t cover her wound, made no move to put pressure on it. She reveled in the pain pulsing in time with her heartbeat, the heart that pounded only for him, that beat beneath his symbol now. She let her blood run down her irritated porcelain skin, soaking into the padding of her bra, staining the lace a dark red. The next time she escaped the asylum, she’d be making a pitstop to grab this lingerie set on her way out. It’d made her Batsy snap. No way she was ever losing something so precious.
She hummed along to the next song on the track and said cheerfully, “We should put on Chappell Roan next time! Have you ever listened to her? She’s excellent! Where Mother Mother goes a lot into gender non-conformity and the off-beat exploration and deconstruction of societal conventions, so much of Chappell’s music is about pure queer joy and free expression of sexuality—”
Bruce held in a sigh, subtly tipping the speedometer higher with a press of his foot, knowing how this would go and thankful they’d arrive at the asylum before Joker could get into what he liked to call the "outrage" portion of her excited lecture.