Slash fic: The Games We Play Chapter 3

And after a…rather long wait (sorry!) here is Chapter 3!

Title: The Games We Play
Author: Godell
Rating: R
Warnings: Mind games, sex (of the rough variety), violence, mild BDSM, later references to Joker/Harvey and Joker/Rachel.

Chapter Three: Joker

When I said a long, long time ago that madness was like gravity, I hadn’t yet found out that the phrase didn’t quite apply to Batsy.

No matter how many times I push him, somehow he doesn’t…fall. Not completely. Maybe he’ll stumble. Maybe he’ll have to—to grab hold of something, but he doesn’t fall. He’s a regular knight, just as they all say.

That’s one thing I hate about him.

But there are more things about him that…entertain me.

–

Other times, it’ll be him, like some kind of screwed-up saint, putting that cruel, guilt-ridden mouth of his to good use. I like seeing Batsy that way—still masked, hands tied behind his back, my hand on his shoulder gripping harder with each breath.

Or he’ll lie there. I make him utter simpering bleats like a hooker…as though he really is a hooker. Maybe he is, for all I know.

And I know he likes that, because…it’s in his eyes, see, this look of mindless need. He’ll grab my shoulders hard, and I’ll laugh because, c’mon, it’s the goddamn Batman, the guy who hates me with every drop of blood in his body. I like watching that mouth of his open up in a soundless scream, as he pitches back all loose and mindless on the floor.

Either way, we get what we want.

I guess you could call it…“enemies, with benefits”.

–

I sigh and look at my handiwork, lovingly stroking Batsy’s neck as he sprawls out in front of me.

He’s blindfolded of course, by my own red tie, and the moonlight’s hitting him in just the right way, letting me see the beautiful pattern of welts on his skin that I made, that only I can make. The purplish marks begin between his shoulders (but not on the spine) and end lower, at what I’m sure many a girl (if he has one) treasures. Of course, the way he was carrying on before makes me wonder if “girl” is not…right. After all, the way he looked at Harvey was…

Mmmm.

He’s sweating, as if he’s already out of the game, as if we’re done. But he knows we’re not done.

“Tired already?” I ask, patting his cheek lightly, making it seem like I care. “Bad Batsy, no biscuit.”

He doesn’t answer me at first. Could it be…?

“You know, I don’t want to kill you. Really. Say the safeword anytime.”

“…Shut up…” he growls, and I giggle. He’s alive, at least.

“Are you…done?”

“No idea,” I reply, grinning at the answer Batsy’s already presenting. “I see you’re not.”

I haul him to his feet and go back to the chair. He doesn’t resist, though he would if he could—he can’t see, after all—and only growls a little when I set him down, perching him like a king on a throne.

“Let’s get this over with.”

I grin and crouch down a little, smiling.

“Sure.”

–

I remember the very first time I heard of Batman.

But, see, to me it’s all…blurry. Life is blurry. It’s a—it’s a bad connection. For example: I’ll be putting a smile on a guy’s throat—ah, face—and suddenly I’ll remember how I got my scars, and soon I’m not thinking about the, ah…game, I’m thinking about ancient history. That sort of thing.

Oh, and people’s lives? Inconsequential. After they’ve served their purpose, there’s nothing more I can do with them.

Except for Batsy.

I learned about him from second-rate street rats in town, and then through bigger fish. At first I thought they were…well, being superstitious idiots. But eventually I went to Gotham myself. And there was that bat-shaped light in the sky, telling me everything I needed to know.

It was then I decided “Hey! Why not see if this guy is for real, or if he’s just the exaggerated by-product of drugged-up minds?”

–

I see his teeth flash in the moonlight as his lips draw back into a snarl, and I can feel the heat burning from his eyes even though I can’t see them. I close my eyes and pull those snarling lips toward mine, trying to keep my laughter more, uh, subtle as I feel him wince at the harshness of my hands and lips and oh how very fine I feel as his hands dig into my shoulders so familiarly.

Yes, this is a familiar scene—familiar responses, actions, almost…predictable.

And we can’t have that.

“Just a little longer,” I tell him, sliding one finger underneath the blindfold.

He pulls away. “Don’t—”

His hand reaches blindly out, and I take it and press it firmly back down.

“Relax.”

He growls again, and I roll my eyes and ignore him. This is only a game, and he knows what rules there are. Or what he thinks they are.

He throws his head back and grinds his teeth, and I know it hurts and I love it and everything goes into overdrive and he’s lost his mind as the chair groans and so does he and oh, God that’s a beautiful sound ‘cause that means it’s almost—

He pitches forward, and I pull the tie loose.

Every King needs a…Jester…to keep him humble.

I’ve got to say, I play my part well.

And I’ll keep playing my part well, until all’s said and done, and Batsy gets boring.

I look into those black eyes, watching as his face goes from red to white and back to red.

“You won’t be late again, will you…Bruce?” I taste the name on my tongue, trying to see if it fits. It’s a little less awkward than Batman, but less…playful than Batsy.

I blink and he’s gone, his clothes with him.

Or perhaps he isn’t gone after all.

“Next time, I want to see you without your mask. I won’t come otherwise, no matter what you pull.” His voice is different now, less raspy.

It isn’t bad. Better, actually. He doesn’t sound like a chain smoker this way.

I ask the darkness, “What’s gonna stop me from…tracking you? I have…power…over you now.” I brush my hands on my pants, adjust my tie.

“The fact that it’ll be boring without me.”

Suddenly, I know he’s gone.

And I laugh.