Rating: NC-17, slash, explicit consensual homosexual sex, homosexual and heterosexual rape, bondage, murder, general squick

Archive: With author's permission

Disclaimer: These characters, and the world of Batman in general, are not mine, but rather the property of DC Comics. This story is written for entertainment purposes only, not for any sort of monetary profit.

Words: This is my first foray into the world of writing Batman slash, and it was a lot of fun! I normally write within the Russell Crowe fandom. Though I was partly influenced by the sexual darkness of "Batman" and "Batman Returns," I mostly had the old-style BTAS in mind. I'm not much one for happy endings, or neat conclusions, so be forewarned.

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"He made me what I am. I was just a spoiled little kid when he changed me. I would never have been able to do what I do now. I would never have been able to be what I am now."

Alfred listened calmly, striding through the cave's long shadows, picking up an empty teacup here, a moist handkerchief, there.

"And yet, to destroy him is my fondest wish."

"Dammit, Alfred! I'm supposed to be protecting this city from monsters like him! I am supposed to be strong!"

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "Master Bruce, am I to understand that you believe yourself to be somehow failing in your mission?"

"Forget it, Alfred."

"As you wish, sir." The butler quietly gathered up the things to be washed or discarded, and slipped into the darkness, returning to the main house.

Had he only turned slightly to his left and given the pile of rubbish leaning against the side of the warehouse even the most casual of glances, the Joker would most certainly have noticed one squinting, unblinking eye, glaring at him from a corner of the shadows. But then, Batman wouldn't have waited there had he not been certain that the Joker would never cast such a glance. The clown was too wrapped up in his latest scheme to be overly concerned about his surroundings.

The Caped Crusader watched as the Joker pored over mountains of crumpled graphs and blueprints. He listened to the clown's insane mutterings, punctuated by giggles and sometimes the sharp crack of the Joker slapping his side, overcome with laughter. He observed the way the Joker threw his head back when he laughed, letting the sensation consume his whole body, letting it take him over and fill him so that he had no thoughts, no memories, no plans, nothing but the feeling of gleeful thrill. He saw the Joker sag back into his beaten old chair with a satisfied sigh once the fit of laughter had passed, and sometimes chuckling once or twice at the memory of what had inspired the sensation in the first place.

Disgusting, the way the Joker seemed to have no qualms about losing control. Even in private, Batman would never have conducted himself so loosely, so irresponsibly. After all, he mused to himself, you never know when your enemy might be right there, lurking in the shadows. One had always to be on his guard. Or her guard, for that matter. The Joker propped up one long, lean leg on an empty crate in front of him. A purple robe hung loosely about his body, exposing his smooth chest and his hard, tight stomach. Green boxers covered him but left most of his hairless, white thighs open to view. Again, he laughed, throwing some papers to the floor as he did so.

Air filled his lungs and rushed from his chest with each loud "Ha!", working the muscles in his torso over and over as he roared with amused excitement. Batman slipped quietly from the room, having already seen quite enough.