Batman Begins/Dark Knight Soap and Symbiosis

**Disclaimer:**My sex life has a severe lack of gay men. This is where the following plot stems from. Everything else is DC's or Warner Bros'. Suing is really, really mean. Please don't do it!  
**Warnings: **Contains what some may consider bad language, m/m relations, frottage, hand-jobs, mutual masturbation, oral sex and it's unbeta'd.  
**Secret Santa Prompt:**Fic prompt 33- Batman is a neatfreak, so he gives Joker a bath.  
**Summary:**_ 'His oceanic eyes flickered back to the pillow that was now smeared with charcoal black and off-white/grey marks. Oh, and of course the dashes of blood-red lipstick here and there. Bruce cursed silently and his brow once again furrowed in annoyance. He was doing something about this. Today.'_

**Author's notes: **First off, there will be mistakes in this as the majority of it was written between 3 and 5am last night and I haven't got the energy to re-read it again, so it'll have to do. Okay, so Bruce gets a little slutty in places and, while it is a plot device, it's exists more to serve my need for slutty!Bruce. There just isn't enough out there! There's a ton of slutty!Joker fics, but poor Brucey usually has to play the less sexual one. Humour me. ;D It gets fluffy again, I know, I know. But the prompt called for it! Well, that or humour, and I'm not very efficient at writing humour, so I had to go with fluff. _Again._Sorry guys! Also, this is a (long since) established relationship!fic, mainly because it would be a little weird for them to never have had sex and for Bruce to be like 'CHRISTIE, I WANT YOU TO CLEAN YOUR VAGINA.' ;D Also, this looked like it should've been a light hearted fic, but I think I took it into the realms of SRS BZNS at certain points. SORRY! D:

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A soft, sandy glow swam through the velvet curtains of Bruce Wayne's bedroom in his penthouse suite, blanketing the harsh modern furniture in a homely light. The young man's face twitched under the shine and he reluctantly opened tired, cobalt blue eyes which were clouded with a heavy haze as they adjusted to the light. Moving his hand from underneath the warm, white cotton sheets, he swept his soft chocolate locks out of his eyes, adding to the dishevelled effect of his bed-messed hair, and sighed deeply. His muscles, for once, felt deeply relaxed, the aching strain of battles won and lost momentarily absent. He felt completely and deliciously languid; his body melting into the warmth and comfort of the heavenly pliable bed that he'd never really appreciated. The lull of the lithe body curled around his own was also adding to his good mood. The normally bony limbs that would often stick uncomfortably into his side (most likely on purpose) were wrapped around him fluidly, half holding him, half resting on him. And the shared body heat was at just the right temperature that it could easily sooth Bruce back into slumber. That was not a sensation he was used to with the man cradling him. In the few, yet increasingly often, times they'd spent the whole night together, it was an awkward arrangement of limbs and other body parts that didn't want to melt into their corresponding places on the other body, and one of them would become so agitated with the other that they'd order the other man to leave, or leave of their own accord- depending on who it was, of course. But right now, they were actually_holding_ each other.

Bruce had been enveloped in strong arms, the athletic form of his lover pressed against his back, the curve of his spine fitting perfectly against the subtly toned abs. Even their legs were tangled together comfortably and Bruce's hand which was not free was gently, and unconsciously, gripping at the arm wrapped around his waist. He could feel the deep breaths of the man sharing his bed against his neck, the air slightly tickling his bare skin. He took note of the lengthy, peaceful intakes of air, for once undisturbed by shivers or silent moans erupting from the pit of a dark mind which Bruce had only just begun to explore, and probably could never hope to fully understand. It was odd. But not really. He knew how much their... whatever it was had changed. From the moment that his repressed desires had erupted free of his own mental chastity belt and he'd forced his snarling lips onto a pair of shocked, whore-red, ruined ones and then promptly jerked away, mortified, and slinked off into the night, sporting an arrogantly large hard-on, things had begun to slink down the path of no return. And that had been over a year ago. Probably closer to two by now. And the way they had fucked last night was becoming the norm. It was impassioned and yet considerate. Both wanting, no _aching,_to watch the other's pleasure-stricken face screw up as they came in a blaze of emotions and wanton lust. And afterwards, they'd kiss and caress _almost _like actual lovers. _Terrifyingly_ close to being actual lovers. He wasn't even often plagued by his heavy guilt or haunted by ghosts that had no business in commenting on what he had with the man of his nightmares. Not anymore. It had withered under the weight of earth shattering orgasms, and Bruce had found himself grateful of this fact. It meant he didn't have to face the reality that he was pressing his body into death personified every other night. It worked fairly well.

And the crooked force of destruction that lurked in grimy alleyways like they were his living room was so damn _warm._ You'd be forgiven for imagining him to be the human embodiment of liquid nitrogen. Icy and deadly. And it surprised Bruce every time he'd reach out to touch him and his skin would come into contact with soft, heated flesh and not the cool marble he would always expect. And now, in the bed that had slowly shaped and twisted itself into _their_ bed, that body heat just felt like home to the playboy. And what kind of world had it become for Bruce where the Joker felt like home? But it was early in the morning, the sun a fledgling in the new day, and Bruce's mind wasn't fully capable of contemplating over the philosophical aspect of his life, so he let the matter slither from his brain, negativity subsiding and melting under his contentment once again. A small hum left Bruce's throat and his fingers began to stroke at the flesh in his hands without his permission, merely acting upon his body's impulse to touch its mate even when they weren't rutting in a rushed fever. It was only natural. A phrase Bruce had drummed into his brain in the beginning of this affair in order to justify the way his body reacted to the mischievous clown. Stimulus-response. That's all it was. Yep.

But after a while, justifications seemed obsolete. He wasn't a fool by any means, but he'd witnessed the stages he'd progressed through first hand, starting at being compelled to touch by hidden forces, to needing to have, to _wanting _to hold. Resignation had been bitter-sweet, but they both knew just how under they were. It wasn't something that could go away. Each costumed man knew that they were helplessly stuck to the other until either Bruce would snap and finally kill the Joker or the Bat's precious innocents would cave in to their inner pitchfork mob and stone their hero in search of a justified means of quelling their blood-lust. But until those days came, they were both actually quite happy as they were. The angst and doubt came and went periodically, but in the times between, Bruce had come to enjoy basking in his sordid, candid meetings with his enemy. Like they gave him some new warped sense of purpose. And history showed that when Bruce Wayne believed he had purpose, he would wholeheartedly embrace it.

Sighing lightly, he rolled over in the man's arms, driven by some deep rooted urge to look at the person who would often lurk in his every waking thought. And his every sleeping second for that matter. He was greeted with an image of absolute serenity, and felt the breath whoosh out of his lungs, like he'd been kicked full forced in his unarmoured stomach. There were no more than a few sparse inches between his face and the sleeping one of his counterpart and up close he could see every little detail. The muscles buried under the sloppily applied makeup were relaxed, seemingly without tension or pressure and a small, barely there smile played on a set of disfigured cherry red lips. He looked almost fragile. The proverbial wolf was once again projecting innocence and vulnerability- two things that the murderer most certainly never held, but still, the madman looked at ease. And this for some unfathomable reason sent a surge of liquid heat through Bruce's veins and surprisingly, it didn't direct itself to his loins as was his usual experience with such warmth. Instead, it flowed casually around his body, swirling and mixing around in the pit of his stomach spreading a thrill throughout him. When his lips willed him to imitate the expression, he went with it, letting appeasement register all over his handsome face. The Joker really did look fiendishly sweet in his sleep. The expression he held, coupled with the way he clung to Bruce would've made him seem completely harmless, had it not been for the garish makeup and seaweed, stringy hair.

It was always a harsh reminder to Bruce. The ugly, demonic paint which conjured up monstrous images for thousands of people blocked Bruce's gaze from what he knew to be handsome features under there. He'd seen the Joker without his makeup a few sacred times before and the man was certainly a looker. Now, Bruce Wayne wasn't homosexual- there was no other man he felt physical attraction for- but it had registered in his brain immediately that this man was undeniably beautiful. The first time he'd seen him like that, he knew he'd been staring. At first in shock and then in admiration mixed with consideration- the way one would observe art. And finally, inevitably, in lust. The Joker had clearly become uncomfortable under his scrutiny and had initiated a round of almost desperate sex before hurriedly dressing and slipping away into the dusk. Bruce tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed the next time he saw the Joker and his paint was back on. Thicker, it seemed, too.

And, if Bruce was honest, it was becoming a pain. Even before they'd begun to act upon their feeling towards one and other, Bruce had started to feel frustrated when he'd have to scrub at his armour and gloves to remove the traces of greasepaint that would latch onto him during a battle. But now, it was becoming a frequent, very annoying, problem. Not only would he have to scour his armour, but also his mouth, his flesh, his _bedsheets_. Almost daily they'd have to be washed and greasepaint was hard to remove and it wasn't fair on Alfred that he had to not only witness the evidence of his former ward's_... _escapades but that he had to clean up after them too. So, Bruce had taken to cleaning his own bedsheets after these meetings and, while Bruce wasn't dumb, he didn't really have very much experience in the workings of a washing machine. And there had been instances where things didn't quite work the way Bruce had wanted them to and, not wanting to accept defeat, the vigilante persisted in loading in the laundry and all kinds of powders and liquids as he pressed any button he came into contact with- hoping for the best. Needless to say, since the Joker's first stay at Bruce's penthouse, there had been three new washing machines.

Bruce frowned lightly, slight annoyance showing on his face. The psychopath's makeup was currently smeared and botched, some having faded due to sweat, but a large portion was now coating Bruce's previously pristine pillow. He hadn't yet brought it up with the Joker, it seemed minuscule in comparison to the issues they usually fought about, but Bruce was used to everything in his home being _clean._ All the time. Call him petty, but it felt like the Joker had not only stormed into his life and messed it up in a tumble of chaos and ash, but now he seemed hell-bent on messing up Bruce's living quarters too. And it was starting to piss him off. Hygiene was for the most part lost on this man, though he was _very _particular about the cleanliness of his knives after use. He took care of the few possessions he had, but neglected to take care for himself. Bruce had only seen him with clean hair one time, and that was when he had donned the disguise of a human being and went to lengths of revealing curiously soft, sandy blond loose fcurls. But that was for one of his '_missions'- _he'd made sure Bruce knew that they were never plans and never, _ever_ schemes- and since then Bruce doubted the clown had even bathed, only coming into contact with water when it rained or when he got a little too close to the river.

Despite the fact that he'd held that man, kissed him and fucked him countless times since then, Bruce wrinkled his nose up in disgust- as though he'd suddenly got a whiff of the maniac's smell. Truth be told, the psychopath didn't smell _bad_, and if he did, Bruce never noticed. He had a distinctive _scent_ to be sure, but it wasn't necessarily a stench. It was earthy, with maybe a touch of spice, and there was always the underlying hint of gunpowder that just didn't want to leave. Anyway, it wasn't the way the Joker smelled that was the problem, it was just the whole concept of how _filthy_ he was. It reminded Bruce time and time again of how vile the things his lover did were and, though he had resigned himself to these little sessions, the reminders however rare always came with a slap in the face and a punch in the gut. And there was no point even bringing up the issue of his dental hygiene. It was none existent as far as Bruce could tell. Still, he never showed any reluctance when he was pushing his tongue past yellowed teeth and into that venomous mouth he had come to love the taste of. Ever the surprise, there was never anything rotten registering on Bruce's tongue when he kissed the Joker. The first time he'd explored that ruined mouth he'd been too distracted by the pure taste of sin to detect anything more but, after time, he'd come to realise the Joker tasted of nothing more than sugar and toffee. It was curiously intoxicating. But it also confirmed Bruce's suspicions that the Joker had little worry over the health of his teeth, as he clearly gorged himself on sugary food and neglected to brush afterwards.

Sighing, in the manner of an exasperated parent, Bruce rubbed the Joker's bare arm tenderly, watching as the small smile twitched slightly, the smaller man oblivious to his lover's disdainful thoughts in his slumber. Bruce felt queerly guilty for half a second. The maniac had been fairly pleasant as of late- only causing non lethal chaos in occasional bursts of anarchy, being nice to Alfred and providing Bruce with _very_ satisfying sex several times a week. He'd even stopped sending Bruce flowers rigged with laughing gas bombs. He still killed on a regular basis, much to Bruce's hatred, but it was less frequent, less _catastrophic_ now that he had the Batman's attention, and for this, Bruce was grateful. So, when Bruce realised he was curling his lip up at the peacefully sleeping clown despite his semi-good behaviour, he felt a little bad. But then his oceanic eyes flickered back to the pillow that was now smeared with charcoal black and off-white/grey marks. Oh, and of course the dashes of blood-red lipstick here and there. Bruce cursed silently and his brow once again furrowed in annoyance. He was doing something about this. Today.

Carefully, removing the arms that were entwined around him he sat up and flounced out of bed, half in a huff, and half in determination. He was _going_ to get the fiend to bathe today if it killed him. He'd had just about enough of dirty sheets and the feel of greasy hair. For once, he was going to insist that the clown held some semblance of hygiene before he touched him again. And if the Joker refused, well, he'd withhold sex. Okay, he'd _threaten _to. Past experiences from when he still tangoed with denial and rage showed that he wasn't very well equipped when it came to staying away from the clown and his addictive body for lengthy periods of time. But the Joker didn't have to know that. He stalked over to the sunken, marble bathtub that he so rarely used- it was more convenient to grab a quick shower in his makeshift batcave- and placed the ivory coloured plug into the hole. He turned the tap (1) so warm water gushed out of the opening and laced the running water with a honey almond (2) gel. He breathed in the relaxing aromas and closed his eyes listening to the trickling of the water. He wished he had the time to take a bath; it was such a therapeutic experience. He couldn't even begin to fathom how the Joker went without the feel of clean water on his skin. Then again, he couldn't really fathom the Joker.

Letting the deep tub fill, he dangled his hand in the water, testing the temperature and lathering the bubbles. With the introduction of familiar foam, he was always immediately transported back to his childhood and bath-time. His parents would nag and nag at him to bathe, his seven year old self preferring to bask in muddy clothes and dirt ridden hair, but once he got in there, it would be hell to get him back out. Even after the water had gone cold and tinted brown from all the filth he'd dragged in from his back garden, he'd still be in there, playing with ducks and boats, imagining himself to be a merman or a sailor. Things changed, of course, but Bruce always kept his fondness for bath-time. But being a billionaire playboy come costumed vigilante limited his time available for watery shenanigans severely. However, he was _more_ than willing to share the time he did have with the villain still lost to the world in his bed. And the clown would have no say in the matter.

When the deep bath had finally filled to its full capacity, he switched off the polished taps and made his way back to the bedroom where his bane lay. Sitting down on the bed, he once again observed the painted face. The smile that had graced those ruined lips minutes earlier had been replaced with a harsh frown due to the absence of a warm, familiar smelling body. Bruce smirked at the typical reaction. The clown had always smiled the widest when Bruce was around, a fact that either caused Bruce's stomach to flutter with the giddy bashfulness of a twelve year old or served to piss him off immensely. Today, it was the former of the two. Bending down slightly, he placed a rather wet hand onto the Joker's shoulder, watching with close interest as the maniac's facial muscles relaxed immediately at the contact. His thumb rubbed in small circles on the tanned flesh in an area void of scarring or wounds. A rarity on the, what Bruce had to reluctantly admit was the absolutely magnificent, body of his foe. Bruce swallowed, clearing the taste of the morning out of his throat in preparation to speak.

"Joker", he whispered softly, glad he no longer had to disguise his voice in a snarl or a chainsaw-roar, grave tone. The man twitched slightly at the sound of his name, but didn't wake. Sighing, Bruce tried the name a second time, but when no answer came, he changed tactics. Climbing further onto the bed, he moved forward on all fours and bent down so his mouth was next to the Joker's hair-covered ear. Brushing the greasy curls out of the way, he whispered the infamous title of his archenemy-turned-bedmate once more. The man stirred from the bowls of the deep slumber that had claimed him and Bruce seized the opportunity to duck his head in and press light kisses against the tanned neck he found there. The waking man moaned softly and his eyelids flickered open, emerald orbs peering around the surroundings he was becoming used to, the malevolent glint momentarily absent- having been replaced with a sleepy haze. Bruce noticed the change in the psychopath's state immediately, sensing the subtle twitches of his muscles and the difference in his breathing, notifying Bruce that his lover was awake.

"Bats?" the groggy voice whispered, post-slumber confusion still clouding his already fractured mind. Bruce's response was to hum against the skin and apply more pressure in his chaste kisses, eliciting little gasps every so often from the olive-haired man. Bruce placed his mouth over the area he'd been nuzzling and drew the flesh between his teeth, biting lightly as he attempted to fully rouse the Joker. He was balancing awkwardly as he moved his hand up to cup the greasepaint-slicked chin of his nemesis, pulling his head down slightly so that he could lean up and attach his mouth onto the plump, rouge lips. The Joker made an embarrassingly delicate whining sound at the contact, causing the corners of Bruce's mouth to twitch against the kiss. He traced his tongue over the scarred lips, finding them to open instantly, always eager to oblige. In the bedroom, at least. He normally made an effort to always include some semblance of dominance or aggression when their mouths joined, unconsciously needing to assert authority or hatred of sorts, but he allowed this to remain gentle as they explored the other mouth in lazy strokes and licks. Kissing the Joker was different from kissing any other person on the planet. It was always just so much more _alive. _Even with soft, barely there meetings of lips and tongue like this one, Bruce was struck with the notion that no woman's kissing technique was at all similar to _his._ And it wasn't a male thing either, that was something he could be sure of. While he wasn't gay, or even bi for that matter, he'd had forays with other men in his youth, specifically at Princeton, and he'd remembered those instances to be wet, sloppy and hurried. _Nothing_ like the peculiar comfort of the Joker's kisses. He moved up so he was slightly hovering above the Joker and moved his mouth with no urgency against the scarred ones, lapping at the small scar on the bottom lip. The Joker groaned and wrapped his arms around the firm neck that he was used to seeing coated in Kevlar, and absently brought a leg between Bruce's open legs so his knee brushed against Bruce's groin.

The billionaire felt an insistent heat spread down into his loins at the brief friction and reality flooded back to his brain. He had a mission to accomplish; he wasn't here to get his rocks off. Well, he _was, _technically. But there was a more pressing issue at that particular moment. Pulling back, he observed with faint amusing how the Joker's eyes had gained a doe-like quality during their brief kissing session and how the dreamy smile had returned on that callous mouth. The maniac placed a slender hand on Bruce's cheek and rubbed his thumb against the soft lips hiding that million-dollar smile.

"Good morning", the clown purred, his gaze adopting a more familiar hint of mischief, "And what has _you_in such an agreeable mood, hmmm?" While the Joker spoke, Bruce had unthinkingly begun to draw little circles once more with his fingers in the warm flesh below him. Truth be told, despite his double entendre due to his bathing plan, he _was _in a fairly pleasant mood. It felt good to wake up in the Joker's arms, to have the other man open his eyes to gentle kisses, to _act_ like the average couple they would never be. It was closer to pretence than to reality, and they both knew it, but even costumed criminals and anti-heroes were allowed to relax in a dream world for short intervals. He neglected to answer the other wanted man directly, choosing instead to bring his mouth down to a pasty nose briefly before pulling back and clambering out of the bed.

"Get up", he ordered in a tone that suggested while he was being rather agreeable, he meant business. The Joker frowned and made a non committal grunt, before stretching out on the messy bedspread, ungracefully. The playboy strolled over to his closet and scanned through his selection of bath robes. He wasn't quite sure why he had so many, but he supposed they came in handy for events like this. Attempting to locate the least offensive garment in hopes of an easier persuasion, he selected an aubergine-plum mix Jane Woolrich silk dressing gown with deep magenta satin trimming. He assumed it was originally put there by either Alfred or another of his staff with the intended wearer being a female. However, he didn't think that the Joker would mind the implications, and chose it merely for the colour. Exiting the wardrobe, he caught the Joker in the middle of a certainly undainty stretch, the curve of his spine arching like a well strung bow. His manhood showed that even psychotic, homicidal clowns got morning erections and quelled any suspicions the bath robe might cast on his biological sex.

He threw the expensive robe over the taut form, interrupting the muscle pleasing stretch and eliciting a noise that sounded similar to 'Arumph'. The Joker lifted his dazed head and glared at the dressing gown through a mop of green curls before incredulously staring at Bruce. The playboy held his gaze for a few seconds out off stubbornness before sighing and pulling on a black robe of his own.  
"Put it on" he murmured as he closed the ebony tie. The Joker looked at the material with an expression caught between disgust and curiosity and proceeded to pick it up between his fingers.  
"Why?" he asked, an almost childlike defiance in his voice. Bruce would've smirked had he not been so determined to get the clown in that damn bathtub. He sauntered back over to the bed, adopting a purposefully smouldering look in his eyes, one that seemed to delight air headed women and gossip hungry interviewers. He leant over the Joker, secretly pleased as he saw the younger man's eyes widen in anticipation and his breath catch in his thin throat.

"Because I'm asking you to", he whispered, a seductive quality fto his velvet tone. He felt a little silly using such techniques in order to ensure compliance, but still, they seemed to work as the Joker's objections momentarily melted under the honeyed words. He slowly dragged the purple gown over his slender yet muscular form, but declined to wrap it around his body. Though, if he was honest, Bruce was rather pleased by the outcome. He'd gotten the clown to obey for once and he _still_ could subtly gaze upon the alluringly mercurial form of his lover. The Joker was frowning once again, picking at the clothing he had been instructed to don.  
"What's the point in staying the night if you make me get dressed in the morning?" the clown grumbled as he fingered the satin trim with a distant admiration of the colour choices. Bruce adopted a puzzled expression and was about to comment before the Joker continued.

"Where're the benefits, huh?" the clown huffed, a hand moving to his hips, "I thought actually _sleeping_ together meant that morning sex was included as a part of the package deal." His hand reached out to trace Bruce's solid, well built abdomen, frowning as the action was hindered by the Ralph Lauren plush cotton. Bruce smirked at the Joker's grunt of annoyance before climbing fully over the madman's body, pinning him down.

"We won't be dressed for that long" he purred, causing the maniac to grin and giggle quietly before cutting off in a lusty moan as Bruce silenced him with a scorching kiss full of desirable promises. The playboy was embracing the persona he projected to the masses, using the raw sexual energy and appeal it required to lull the madman into a malleable state. Not that Bruce wasn't enjoying the kiss too. Quite the opposite if his awaking arousal was anything to go by. He allowed the lethargic kissing to continue for a short while longer before pulling back and casting the Joker a heated glance as he got up and walked towards the bathroom.  
"Come on", he instructed, obviously indicating that the Joker should follow him. The criminal observed the strange behaviour with an appraising eye, not wholly trusting his lover and his intentions, but feeling himself exceedingly curious about just what it was that the vigilante was up to. As he saw the Bat disappear through a cream door, he scrambled up and followed him, not wanted to be left out of whatever it was.

Bruce instantly felt the heated air of the room now that the steamy water had warmed up the previously cool environment and sighed deeply. He knelt down and dipped his hand into the soothing liquid, frothing the bubbles slightly. He heard the door open and stood up again. Facing the Joker, he felt a removed amusement at the inquisitiveness and the look of apprehension on the painted face and moved towards the bathroom cabinet, taking out a few items and placing them near the tub. He dis-robed and turned back to face the confused fiend as those jade eyes wandered over to the sunken tub and narrowed slightly.

"Um, Brucey? What exactly are you _doing_?" he asked, a slight warning in his voice. Already on the offensive. The vigilante's face remained stoic as he slowly walked over to his enemy.  
"_We're_ going to take a bath", he breathed, hoping that his seductive tone would have a similar effect as it did beforehand. And the Joker's gaze _did_ twinkle a little as he witnessed the heavenly sculpted form of his lover come closer to him, his eyes devouring and admiring the marred flesh, but then he was fighting to remain rebellious.  
"In case you didn't notice, darling, I don't, ah, _care_ much for bathing", his hands flicked out, gesturing to his body as his head tilted in a 'Y's_ee?'_ manner. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent. He placed a hand on either side of the Joker's hips, pulling the clown up against his nude body. He ran his fingers over the silky material, liking the way it felt under his pretentiously moisturised hands and how he could feel the Joker's body heat through the thin garment. His hands moved down to cup the clown's ass, earning a pleasing, unabashed low hum from the smaller body. He brought his mouth down to nibble at an exposed shoulder.

"You've never taken a bath with _me_", he muttered, cringing slightly at his own self-assured tone, praying to all the gods he'd never trusted in that it simply came across as arousing or confident. Apparently, it did. Or if he was making a fool of himself, the Joker didn't let on. Instead, he was seemingly melting into the soft caresses and playful bites. Bruce tried to test his luck, and proceeded to remove the slinky gown from the Joker's shoulders, finding very minimal resistance as it fell to the floor, forgotten. He tugged the madman further into his body, his hands roaming the lithe form, tracing muscles as he let a particularly insistent moan escape his throat when the Joker pounced up and joining their mouths once more. Strong, sinewy arms laced themselves around Bruce's neck and hands layered with the spilled blood of hundreds buried themselves in shiny, model-esque cocoa locks. Almost sinking into lust, Bruce twirled the man around so he could walk him over to the bathtub without breaking their sweet, yet passionate, embrace. Opening one sapphire eye, he guided them safely to the edge of the large tub before pulling back and backing down into the water, not moving his heavy gaze from the Joker's. He could see that the clown's cheeks were flushed even through the white paint and noted that his lips were still slightly puckered and swollen. Bruce offered out a steady hand to the madman, who debated internally before accepting the limb and climbing hesitantly into the warm water.

Bruce experienced a quick moment of petty glee at his victory, and it registered as a huge grin on his handsome face. He sank down fully into the sudsy water, closing his eyes and sighing deeply as the calming wet heat spread across every patch of skin, the little jets in the bottom acting like a thousand tiny massaging hands. Despite his reluctance, the madman smiled lightly in response to Bruce's uncharacteristic show of elation, and copied his best foe as he lowered himself past the bubbles. Bruce's eyes opened and observed the now soaking clown as he gazed expectantly at the bubbles, as if they were an endangered animal he wanted to see perform a trick. The vigilante sat up and moved closer to the madman, spoiling his view of what he'd mentally named 'bubble mountain'. Bruce put his hands on the tub's edge, one on either side of the Joker's shoulder's , and let his legs rise so that he was floating casually just underneath the surface. He captured the green gaze that haunted so many of his dreams and ducked to claim his mouth. The clown happily consented to the action, his hands gripping at Bruce underneath the soapy water as moans filled the steamy room.

The playboy sat up, reluctantly tearing his mouth away from the other's but remembering his objective. He picked up a flannel that he'd previously placed next to the tub, along with some bottles, and soaked it in the foamy water. The Joker knew what to expect, but nonetheless jerked back a little when he felt the soft material touch his face. Bruce wasn't at all surprised. Taking off the mask was always difficult in front of someone else, even if you'd been intifmate with them. After all this time, Bruce still felt apprehension when he took off his cowl in front of the Joker. He smiled apologetically, showing his understanding, but continued his actions, finding the Joker to not fight the touch this time. He wiped at the face he now cradled in his hand, slowly revealing creamy peach skin. He couldn't stop the smile that wanted to burst free from his mouth when he uncovered the few freckles that existed on the Joker's rounded nose, but fought off his urge to kiss them. The black was a little more tough to remove as he didn't want to get soap in his eyes, but after a short while, most of it had been removed, leaving only small stubborn traces. Bruce frowned nervously as he brought the cloth to the Joker's mouth, wanting to remove the crimson smears, but not sure if the scars were painful or too rough to clean. The Joker had finally stopped squirming, as was his first reaction, and was now watching Bruce's dilemma with a cocked eyebrow and faint amusement. Catching the clown's expression, he assumed it was safe to proceed and carefully dragged the flannel across the puckered and ripped skin, surprisingly not flinching at all when he saw the horrendous job someone had done at stitching the wound back up.

Once the Joker's whole face had been uncovered, Bruce lowered the flannel to observe his work. He had known the clown had been a very handsome young man once upon a time, but it never ceased to amaze him just _how_ attractive he was. The jagged scars and the fairly dark circles didn't make a difference, aside from making a statement that this man was _different._ Somewhere in Bruce's fragile psyche, he'd developed a physical attraction to the clown in full regalia; the costume, the paint, the seaweed hair. Just the mere sight of the ghoulish makeup had begun to draw out deep stirrings of arousal within Bruce's body. But without it, he could reconcile with his lust so much more easily. The madman's face was near enough completely beautiful, and _normal_ people were taught to admire beautiful things. So, if he found the sight in front of him to be arousing, it wasn't because of some twisted infatuation and it certainly wasn't to do with vacant notions like 'fate', it was because he was human. But not even Bruce truly bought that.

The playboy picked up the wash cloth once more and lathered it up with bubbles before tenderly running it down the Joker's torso, followed by picking up an arm and spreading the water over the maimed flesh, watching with interest as another colour appeared once some of the dirt and dust disappeared. Before they'd seen each other's bodies, Bruce had believed the man to be very pale in colour and was shocked to discover him to have tanned flesh, but now he was actually _clean_, Bruce could tell it wasn't as brown as he'd thought, more of a sun-kissed peach. He gingerly moved the cloth down to where he knew the other man's arousal stood in waiting for his attentions. Brushing against the erect manhood, he smiled in mischief as the clown leaned his head back against the side of the bathtub, his eyes closing at the same time his mouth opened, releasing a grateful moan. The vigilante used the cloth to stroke the Joker's cock teasingly slow and without much pressure, focusing for now on just cleaning, much to his enemy's frustration. Bruce rubbed tortuously against the length of his dick, moving periodically to his balls and ass hole. The clown shuddered as the cloth moved over his slit, gasping Bruce's name, hoping to spur him on. But Bruce had other ideas. He removed his hand away, causing the madman to groan in annoyance as the playboy focused his attentions on the rest of the gymnast-like body.

Finally happy that the Joker's entire form was all but squeaky clean, he sat back and picked a jug up from the side, filling it with water. The Joker was still glowering at him due to the sudden cessation of his ministrations, but didn't resist when Bruce drew him into his arms, placing a hand over his forehead to block the water from getting in his eyes as he tipped the contents of the jug over the greasy curls. Bruce ignored the clown's mutters and grumbles as he proceeded to massage the dye and filth from the hair he knew to be blond underneath. Picking up a bottle, he squeezed a generous amount of 2-in-1 shampoo onto his hand and lathered some onto the Joker's wet locks, and did the same to his own hair. As he massaged the thick liquid into the clown's dirty hair, Bruce wondered if the dye would even come out or if it was permanent, but after a few minutes the suds were becoming tinted with a lime hue and Bruce could make out hints of wet blond roots. The Joker was still sulking, put seemed to appreciate the way Bruce's fingers were moving across his scalp as he was emitting small purring noises every so often, the circular motions adopting a soporific effect and his heavy eyes drooped. However, he was promptly propelled back to full alertness, when Bruce resumed rinsing his hair with the jug, smirking as the clown jolted in surprise. He continued to wash out all of the soap from the Joker's now blond locks, which were currently flat and sticking to his face, until the water ran clear and there was hardly any green left. Satisfied, he leafnt back to take care of the shampoo in his own hair, massaging his scalp like he'd done to his enemy.

He'd just begun to enjoy the cleansing relaxing sensation when he received a mouthful of hot soapy water. Springing up, he spluttered and coughed, trying to clear his throat as he glared at the maniacally cackling clown, who found the fact he's just _splashed_ the god-damn Batman to be nothing short of hilarious. Bruce growled low in his throat and projected a wall of honey almond scented water towards the whooping madman with his hands. The Joker had been laughing with his eyes squeezed tightly closed and his mouth wide open, so as Bruce's weapon of choice came rushing towards him, it flowed directly into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat on the way down, causing the insane man to join Bruce in his spluttering. The image of the choking, and yet still giggling, clown prompted Bruce to grin with juvenile amusement, chuckling as the Joker recovered and sent a handful of froth flying into the side of Bruce's face. The billionaire scoffed at the action and propelled himself forward so he could grab the clown's hands, which were still trying to grab at the bubbles as either some form of protection or tool, but the laws of physics defied his needs and his hands slipped through the water and he was shoved against the side of the tub, faced with a mock-angry Batman.

"Now, Bats, let's not be hasty here", he giggled and Bruce noticed just how relaxed his face was, even in his joy at the game. Though the clown was more often than not amused at something, his face usually held some kind of tension or grimace, but he could see nothing put contentment on the clean, beautiful face of his enemy. Remembering to keep up his role as the pissed off aggressor, he scowled at the Joker and pressed his wrists harder against the bath wall. With an over-exaggerated look of anger, he forced his groin to meet the psychopath's in the water, neither of them able to hold back the subsequent moan at the familiar sensation as their cocks touched. The Joker tipped his head back in pleasure and Bruce watched as his muscles twitched and his Adam's apple bobbed under the stretched glistening skin, and swung his head down so he could suck at the exposed flesh. His senses soared as he felt the Joker's hard cock twitch next to his, the rigid flesh feeling so fucking _real_ Bruce could barely stand it. His nostrils flared as he sucked in the new scent of the madman, not surprised in the least to discover the smell of gunpowder still lingered despite being perfumed and lathered with honey almond gel.

The murderer's hips jutted forward, lost in pleasure as the sensation of the Batman's hard dick twitching against his coupled with the way the water jets were sending ripples all over his body sucked him into euphoria. He whined and struggled to free his wrists from Bruce's relentless grip, desperate to touch his lover, to pull him closer towards him. Bruce felt the rebellion, but merely strengthened his hold and attached his searching mouth onto his clown's, humming against the pink lips as their tongues collided masterfully. An up thrust of desire hit Bruce and in a matter of seconds he'd hauled a squealing Joker out of the water, sat him on the side of the tub and had taken the tip of his erect member into his mouth. As his mouth came into contact with the pulsing core of the maniac's arousal, he moaned loudly, savouring the taste. The Joker responded to the call with a high, surprised moan of his own, his hands sliding into Bruce's dripping locks like they belonged there. Bruce drew back slightly, lapping at the pre-come leaking from the slit before licking down the length of the shaft, following a prominent vein. He wondered absently where his enthusiasm for giving head to the Joker had spawned from. He remembered doing it for the first time, practically buzzing with unstable excitement and nerves as he tentatively licked at the head. But after some time, the Joker had gotten impatient and yanked his head forward to the point where Bruce had gagged on the thick cock, but after he'd gotten past that, he swallowed his inhibitions and discovered he enjoyed the activity. In fact, it had eventually gotten to the point where the Joker would be sucking him off and he'd feel the urge to reciprocate instantly tingling at the bottom of his spine and he'd upturn the tables so that the Joker was the one sprawled on his back, begging for release.

The Joker tightened his hold on Bruce's hair as the vigilante took the whole member into his mouth, not missing a beat when it hit the back of his throat and diligently fondled his balls with a talented hand. The clown threw his head back in absolute ecstasy as he was fully engulfed in that warm mouth and felt the buzzing of an orgasm begin to build deep inside his stomach. Bruce could hear the man he was orally making love to babble incoherently, lacing the short phrases and moans with obscenities more lewd that late night TV and smirked around the thick girth, knowing he was driving the psychopath further into the depths of insanity. He relished the concept. The bitter, salty taste of the pre-come was filling his mouth, over riding all other senses except his burning arousal, and the idea that he was responsible for putting the clown in _that_state had his pulsing cock throb harder as he fisted it with his free hand. The bathroom felt hotter than it did previously, even though some of the sweltering steam had dispersed, and the aromatic scent in the air was being stealthily replaced with the scent of pure, raw _sex._

His head was bobbing up and down speedily now, however he interchanged between short, quick movements and tortuously long ones every so often, to ensure variety. It was something that he knew drove the clown absolutely _wild, _and he was rewarded for his efforts by louder, more urgent moans spurring him on like the hypnotising charm of an enchantress. The Joker had begun to thrash around violently, the ultimate release merely a few short heartbeats away, looming over him with enticing promise. Still, he was struck with bitter frustration as his hands clawed to reach the Bat's body, only coming into contact with his dark locks. He wanted to touch him, to _feel_ him too. He wasn't selfish. _Nononono._ Not when it came to his Bat. So acting on impulse, the _only _way to act, he pulled his whole body back, his dick leaving Bruce's startled mouth with a 'pop' and scrambled across the marble floor, slipping a few times due to the wetness as he headed for the bedroom. Bruce floated there in the water mouth agape for a few seconds before wiping his lips and emerging from the warm water, seeking answers. He pulled on his forgotten bathrobe, his hair dripping water down his face, and followed the clown back into the bedroom.

The first the he noticed was the cool air. It seemed almost icy compared to the sauna-like room he'd just exited. And he was wearing a thick robe- it must've been a lost worse for the naked clown.  
"_It's his own stupid fault", _Bruce grumbled internally, still slightly perplexed as to why the Joker had left so suddenly. Peering around the room, a thick dread laced with apprehension hit him when he couldn't locate the Joker immediately, and he was just contemplating running around the penthouse after a naked, slithery escaped mental patient when he was attacked from behind by a pair of insistent hands, tearing at his robe. His breath hitched when the wet hands pulled off the damnable thing separating their flesh and the Joker traced his chest from behind, their naked bodies pressed flushed against each other. He could feel the Joker's arousal against his ass and moaned deeply as one hand went down to stroke his still stiff cock. The Joker's ravaged mouth nuzzled Bruce's neck silently requesting he tilt his head back, exposing the flesh for his attentions. Bruce obliged with a gratified hum which turned into a hiss as he felt the clown's teeth dig into his neck, just short of drawing blood. But it was _so_ intensely pleasurable.

"What's with the disappearing act?" he breathed through heated gasps. The clown began to walk him over to the bed without separating their bodies, the awkwardness of the embrace lost in the ecstasy they both felt.  
"Hmmm" the madman murmured into Bruce's wet neck, "I, uh, prefer more _traditional_ surroundings?" he offered before turning Bruce round and gently pushing him so he was sat on the edge of the unmade bed, his legs dangling over the sides. Bruce cast an incredulous look at the maniac as he straddled his legs, a secretive smile plastered across his _finally_ makeup-less face. The Joker's fingers brushed across Bruce's jaw, enjoying the scratching sensation the slight patches of stubble left on his fingertips, as he stared into Bruce's vibrant eyes. The vigilante could _feel _the burn of the impassioned gaze on his own, and his whole body shuddered under the intensity of the mood projected in them. The Joker leaned forward and drew Bruce's bottom lips in between his teeth, sucking lightly, before lurching into the playboy and joining their eager mouths for the umpteenth time that morning. Bruce's hands wandered down the tan back to grip firm peachy globes as he twirled his tongue round in the Joker's heavenly mouth, wondering somewhere in his mind if the clown could taste his own pre-come on Bruce's lips.

Bruce pulled on the Joker's ass so he was brought closer into the billionaire's fiery body, their erections meeting once again, much to their mutual appeasement. One of Bruce's hands found its way to the Joker's wet hair, resting there as he writhed against the Joker's body, the smaller man's hips rocking back and forth. The crafty criminal wove a hand between them to squeeze Bruce's throbbing cock, masterfully running his thumb in circles along the head before bringing his fist down to the base, pumping slowly. The sensations spread like fire on a gunpowder line through Bruce's hungry form and his vision turned white for a heartbeat from the hyper-sensation before he recalled that he had a part to play in this too and reached with his spare hand to the Joker's dick which was still slightly wet and standing at full mast. He gave the member a swift tug and then proceeded to match the speed of the maniac's pumps. He ripped his mouth away from the Joker's and looked into those savagely knowledgeable eyes as they moved against each other. The emerald orbs sent out an image of pure, undiluted worship to Bruce, the sex coated haze not deducting from the meaning in the slightest. It was an image Bruce wanted burned into his psyche for the rest of his existence. The _power_ of that gaze was sizzling through his being, slicing him in two from the inside as acidic heat boiled in his stomach and feelings caught up in a ball at the base of his throat.

Feeling overcome by an onslaught of _want_ mixed with anf edge of rapture, he swivelled the Joker around so he could push him back flat onto the bed, capturing his mouth during the descent, tonguing him with a rejuvenated urgency as his fingers trailed across a broad chest, pinching and teasing the erect nipples he found there. The smaller man was bucking upwards to meet Bruce's hips as their pulsing cocks ground against each other and moaned out Bruce's name like a plea for water from a man wasting away from dehydration. And it was all just so intoxicating. So. Fucking. Intoxicating. And there was nothing Bruce could do, nothing he _wanted_ to do then see it through to the end, and even then he knew he'd be clinging on, no desire whatsoever to leave. But desire to _desire._ That would remain, there were no doubts of that. He would want this man who was moving so enchantingly beneath him every day, every _pulse, _of his life to come. And he would _want_ to want him, for the most part, as well. And yes, they were 'p_retending', _but it was so close, closer than anything Bruce had ever felt to what 'should be'. And so he was grasping at the man, latching onto his every cell, his words, his actions. Him, him, him. He would _burn_ in this man; incinerate himself in his desire, knowing the Joker would follow. Because where would he be without the Joker, and where would the Joker be without him?

Bruce choked back a sob of lust as a firm, freshly washed hand closed around tfheir dicks, stroking them simultaneously as they dancing along the road towards completion. They swallowed each others moans as their pre-come mixed together along their dicks, acting as a natural lube, assisting the Joker's efforts. The billionaire wrapped his own hand around their pounding cocks as he joined in with the clown's pumps, their fingers interlacing instinctively as their palms formed an almost air-tight seal around their arousals.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch and yet not enough. Nothing could quite quench their desire, their passion. Oh, and they'd tried it _all. _But they always wanted more. More of the other. More of their body, their mind, their _life._ It could never be enough until they'd moulded together for eternity, after they'd bled out, bled _into each other. _But until that final moment came, they'd take it all. Anything they could seize between their scratching, ravenous fingers, like vultures. Just for a piece. A tiny, tiny piece. _Give it to me._

_"Give it to me!" _And to an outsider it sounded like a sordid cliché ripped from the intestines of a festering porn star, but the Joker knew exactly what Bruce meant. Knew and identified with it. He understood that need. He was the one who introduced it to Bruce. And so he thrust harder, kissed quicker and held tighter as they moved in unison. They weren't _joined_ this time, because this wasn't about dominance or control this was about them. A _mutual _them. Void of any role other than '_equals' _or '_lovers'_. Yes, Bruce had spent the past hour or so trying to shape the Joker, persuading him to do what _he_wanted, but something in the air had changed once desperation had seized them like a cancer and it had avalanched, piercing both of them. Injecting them with turbulent _feelings_they couldn't have prepared for, even if they'd been hit by them time and time again. Someone had spiked their love making with emotions a long time ago and they were on the verge of OD-ing. And neither cared. Just wanting one more hit. Another sniff. That last fuck.

A hand gripped his back and the Joker dragged his grime-less nails along his spine, raking down, down, down. Wanting the delicious crimson ambrosia to flow. Needing it wet against him like the water had been, washing away his makeup, not his sins. Bruce bucked and moaned, biting the lips he needed, splitting them open in a slicing motion and kissing them shut with an old fashioned tenderness, feeling the way all his senses seemed to weld together, making a patchwork quilt stitched with lightning and blood. And the waves rolled through him like chocolate covered daggers through candle wax skin, propelling him towards an inescapable inferno. Their sweat slicked hands instantaneously picked up the pace, both of them shouting and groaning in so much pleasure it was _painful._ A pain that swept through their bodies like a billion microscopic mouths, kissing every last cell. Fuck, every _atom. _The current swept though them, river rapids flowing with fatal pleasure, dragging them along in it's titanic, roaring waves, launching them into eternity. And all that mattered was that sensation and sharing it with the other.

The Joker's head was yanked back by some invisible force, his eyes screwing up in undeniable ecstasy, letting it take him over as Bruce moved his hand over the madman's need, whilst he did the same for the vigilante. Bruce felt his dick swell to unbelievable proportions as the built up pleasure exploded within his gut sending sparks flying through his bodies and causing stars to supernova behind his eyes. One last stroke sent him flying past the normal levels of orgasmic highs, jutting his hips forward over the Joker's dick, clawing the clown down with him as he sunk into completion. The maniac gave a maddened howl of pleasure as he came with him, though Bruce couldn't be quite sure that he didn't contribute to it, and pearly liquid was spilled over not-so-clean chests and abdomens, a small portion hitting Bruce's chin. Their bodies arched as they rode out their orgasmic rush, hips continuing to move slowly along with lax hands, sending spasm after spasm of aftershocks through their weakened, satisfied beings.

When Bruce could see again and the last wave of raw sensitivity rolled away, he slumped forward resting his forehead on the Joker's heavily expanding chest, listening to the sound of the shallow breaths that the lungs he'd so often wanted to block off produced. His own breathing was laboured as he lifted his head to kiss those maddening lips once more, the urgent need gone for the time being, leaving them with a sense of comfortable wholeness. The Joker let out a breathless giggle, letting Bruce know his state of mind had returned to normal, hurrying Bruce's mental recovery along as he did. Bruce pulled back and rolled over so he was lay next to the Joker, on his back, and arm and leg still sprawled across the slighter man. The sheets previously only sprinkled with traces of makeup were now soaking wet with bathwater, semen and sweat- defying the whole purpose which had driven Bruce to get the Joker to bathe. He turned his head, still dripping with tepid water, to look at the Joker who held a totally placid, satiated smile on his tanned face, which was now glowing with a faint blush that could never be fully appreciated under the thick makeup he wore. And _that _was reason enough for the bath. The Joker swerved his head around and met Bruce's gaze, the older man smiling hazily at him, and brought out a shaky hand to wipe the small drop of his seed off of Bruce's stubbled chin. The vigilante leant down and licked the fluid off the digit instinctively, though there was nothing _erotic,_per se, about the action. It was one of those post-coital 'loving' motions couples, _lovers _made. But they were only '_pretending',_remember? Just pretending.

Joker grinned lethargically, shaking his head in humour as he dropped his hand to the moist sheets, not caring in the least when Bruce's followed and gripped his, absent-mindedly running his thumb over the slick flesh, like he'd done to other parts of his body no more than a few minutes earlier. Bruce watched the giggles shake the clown's chest from the inside with a half-smile.

"What exactly is so funny?" he asked, his voice a little croaky after the ardently intense sex. The madman's emerald eyes shone with humour and _life_ as he licked his lips to impart his joke or whatever had tickled him to Bruce. The blond dipped his head so his chin was resting on his chest in order to look at his torso, which was coated in creamy semen, belonging to both him and his adversary.  
"You, ah, got me all dirty", he smirked up at Bruce, who furrowed his brow in brief confusion before realisation dawned on him as the Joker suddenly jerked forward, his mouth centimetres way from Bruce's. The jade eyes sparked with impishness, and so soon after such mindblowingly overwhelming sex, too. It should've been almost impossible, but the eyes that should technically be out of focus had adopted their usual mischievous streak in a matter of seconds. The maniac would never stop being a conundrum to the vigilante. Still, he found himself smiling back.

"I think I need another bath", the Joker purred against Bruce's lips with a devious edge to his voice, before he pressed his lips against the disbelieving ones of his lover with a snigger. He quickly pulled back with a wink and darted off towards the bathroom, naked and cackling. Bruce felt a twitch in his groin, despite his recent release and his gaze darkened considerably. He heard a whooping yell followed by a very loud splash and groaned as he imagined the state of his previously tidy bathroom.  
"_Fuckin' clown", _he thought with a grin, pinching his nose in abstract incredulity as he debated the pros and cons of accepting another round of whatever had just been. He _was _supposed to be going to work and it was probably a bad idea to overindulge the psychopath. You don't feed a stray cat unless you want it coming back again. And again, and _again_... A second later he was jumping up out of the wet bed and running to join his lover in the lukewarm water. Something told him bath time would become a regular thing in his house once again.

_Fin._

(1) I'm not sure if the word 'tap' is used outside of the UK, so if it's not I _think _you can grasp what I mean. According to Wikipedia, Americans and Canadians are more likely to use the words 'valve', 'faucet' or 'spigot'.  
(2) Oh Bateman, will I _ever _stop referencing you? :3


End file.
