nsfwcola:

I wrote some Joker diddling himself, enjoy. 

Warnings: Masturbation, choking (mostly self-administered), injury and blood (self-inflicted and otherwise), some exhibitionist/voyeuristic themes.

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Joker swung the locker door shut behind him as quick as possible without slamming it, then half-collapsed into the tight space with both gloved hands clamped tightly over his mouth. The metal creaked and popped under the weight of his shoulders, his shaking legs unwilling to hold his body up any longer without support. But it was the sounds coming from his mouth that he was focused on stifling – sharp greedy breaths attempting to fill his oxygen-deprived lungs quickly, and the high-pitched manic giggles of a kid playing hide-and-seek and having the time of his life.

Oh, it was so hard to keep still and quiet when his whole body was shaking with exertion and barely-suppressed laughter. But the pain, that gave him something to ground himself in – every muscle was pulled taut enough to ache, his side burned where a batarang had sliced through suit and flesh alike, and his throat, well… He could still feel those iron fingers squeezing it tight, a mere hair’s breath away from crushing his larynx like a juice box. It was going to bruise beautifully: he could already feel it swelling like a balloon.

His foot slipped a little in the dripping blood, just enough for the metal tip of his shoe to clink against the hollow door, and he had to wrestle with a new wave of giggles as he scrambled to adjust his position.

His heaving chest quieted only very gradually, but he was patient and persistent – he had to listen, you see, for footsteps, and if he gave himself an inch he’d might as well abandon the attempt to hide entirely.

Silence. No creaking floorboards, no swishy cape flicking around doorframes after its master. When his breathing had slowed enough, Joker removed one hand from his mouth and used it for balance as he peeked out the door vents into the room. If a pair of angry eyes had greeted him he wouldn’t have even been mad – Joker was always willing to give that stick in the mud props for decent comedic timing. But no, just a dusty darkened room, lit by the orangish glow of a streetlamp across the street.

Letting out the tiniest sigh, Joker leaned back, his head coming to rest against a leather jacket that smelled of sawdust and car exhaust and sweat. It reminded him, when Bats had leaned in so close, with his big hands wrapped so tight around his skinny neck, the smell of sweat coming off of him… In the moment Joker had flicked out his tongue quickly over his lips, and could’ve sworn that for a second he’d tasted as well as smelled him…

“Aa-ah…!” His fingers had withdrawn from his mouth to explore the pained and swollen flesh of his neck, almost without him noticing the action. Naughty, hehe. They found a little groove and dipped in rather ungently – a little more cautiously, Joker investigated further. Not a groove, but an area of normal skin beside a big swollen lump. That must have been where His fingers had dug in, before…

A shiver ran through Joker’s whole body as his fingers caressed, prodded and poked at the area, seeing if he could make out a handprint… He hoped there’d be a handprint. If so he’d be holding his chin up higher than usual everywhere he went for the next week, making sure everyone could see Batman’s imprint on his skin…

Biting his lip, Joker let his second hand wander down his stomach, then down the side of his thigh before dipping back up again, making a beeline for the heat that had been growing between his legs all this time.

I really shouldn’t… He scolded himself, one hand wrapping slowly around his throat, trying to match the pattern of swelling, other hand making feather-light teasing circles around his crotch. I can hardly fancy myself a professional if I can’t keep business hours for business… My client may show up any moment!

Rather than act as a deterrent, the somewhat fanciful thought only acted to encourage both hands to apply more pressure, and his eyes closed of their own accord as he stifled a moan. He allowed the fingers at his throat to dig in a little bit, pushing down against the protesting flesh and oh it hurt so good… He let his other set of fingers slide down further to gently push rather obscenely right between his legs, while his palm applied an even steady pressure to the bulge in his suit pants. The pressure and growing wetness was uncomfortable, but also so so good… He wouldn’t do any undressing; it was better like this.

Best keep quiet, it will be no good for my reputation if I’m found in this state! If he snuck right up to me I’d never know, he could even be watching me through the grate right now…

At the thought, Joker pushed his legs apart a little wider – as wide as the confines of the locker would allow – and quickened the pace of his ministrations. The hand around his neck tightened still more and pushed upward, forcing his head back as his eyes rolled behind closed lids. Just like when Bats used his grip to force Joker to look up at him… He was no weakling himself, but that made no difference, with Batman’s iron strength Joker’d might as well be a marionette without his strings in the Bat’s hands…

He was getting close already. The locker was filled with the smell of blood and sweat and arousal, it was intoxicating and delightfully suffocating. His lungs were struggling for air again and deep moans were trying to bubble up from the pit of his throat, it took all the willpower he had left to keep it regulated and quiet – he tasted blood on his lip, but he kept digging his teeth in, the pain focusing him even as it drove him crazy with arousal. The corners of his mouth were drawn up in an insane grin, and in his mind he saw Batman looking down at him, disgusted and enraged and fascinated by his enemy’s obscene desire…

It was then that he heard it: a creaking floorboard. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

And he was so damn close, too.

Going completely still, Joker reduced his breathing to the absolute minimum, and listened. No more noise. It could’ve been a shifting in the building. It could’ve been a rat… Ha, as if. It was always the kind with wings that showed up at just the wrong moment to spoil his fun.

A minute ticked away with nothing more… It wasn’t safe to assume, but. Well. To hell with it, all he needed was another minute.

Holding his breath, not trusting what his windpipe would do with air anymore, he resumed with renewed vigor. Grinding down with his palm, digging into his neck hard enough to create new bruises. A drop of blood escaped his lip and followed gravity until it hung from the tip of his chin. His shoulders heaved and his body shook in its need for air, the world spun and dizziness overtook him, but dammit he was so-

“Mhh!!”

-Fucking finally. Wetness spread through the cloth under his palm, his fingertips clamped down tightly. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer, and just as he reached his peak he dissolved into desperate gasps, slumping into an almost-sitting position with both shoulders compressed painfully by the sides of the locker. Shaking with the exertion and the pain but, more than that, the searing pleasure coursing through his veins, Joker gradually brought his breathing back under control.

The locker creaked as it opened.

Shock and pleasure and sheepish giggling all bubbled up in Joker’s body as his eyes slowly trailed up the dark caped figure, finally ending with Joker’s head craned up to look the silent scowling demon in the eye. He realized that while the most incriminating of his hands had fallen to his knee, the other was still wrapped around his throat.

Letting his feet fall out of the locker as he dropped down to a proper sit, Joker quickly brought his hands together on his lap (not positioned in such an exact way as to be conspicuous, but, carefully enough to hide the worst of the self-inflicted damage to his outfit) and grinned innocently up at Batman.

“Batsy! Fancy meeting you here!”

A few moments later, he was being dragged outside by the back of his suit like some kind of overgrown kitten, hands cuffed behind his back and giggling softly to himself.

If Batman had taken note of the clown’s strangely relaxed and satisfied demeanour, or noticed the wet spot on Joker’s pants, he was doing a very good job of pretending to have seen nothing.