Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s seven in the morning and the sun has just began to rise over the city of Gotham. Alfred is already up and going as it’s Thursday and time to dust off the East wing of the Wayne manor. He stays away from Master Bruce’s bedroom as not to wake him up with his busying although he does have an early meeting at the office in two hours. He should be waking up any time soon either way.

The East wing corridor is spotless however Alfred intends to keep it that way and hoovers away before tackling the china with his pristine white duster.

The corridor leads to many vacant guest rooms that haven’t been used in a long, long time. Alfred leaves the doors to them open to keep the air flowing inside them in order that they wouldn’t become stale smelling.

However, as Alfred finishes with his dusting, he notices one of the bigger guest room doors to be closed. He frowns but reckons it must have simply been a draft that has shut the door. Naturally, he goes to open the door.

What he sees behind it after turning the knob leaves him frozen in his spot.

In the master bed underneath the rich red bedding lies the Joker in flesh snuggling one of Master Bruce’s fluffy pillows in his pale clutch tight asleep.

Alfred swallows and breathes out calm and collected. He closes the door behind him quietly as he leaves for Master Bruce’s bedroom.

He knocks on mahogany door a couple times before entering.

“Alfred? It’s only seven thirty,” Master Bruce says in confusion as he rubs his eyes.

“I am aware, Master Bruce, and I do apologise for waking you so promptly. However, an issue has arisen in one of the guest bedrooms and I believe the matter can be handled much smoother in your more capable hands of this situation,” Alfred tells him and starts dusting of one of the larger vases next to Master Wayne’s dresser.

Master Bruce gets up from the bed and tugs on a shirt and a pair of pants. He could tell what was up from the look on Alfred’s face and from the tone of his voice on the word “issue”. He walks past Alfred and heads for the guest bedrooms. He finds the door that’s closed and enters the room without giving any warning.

The clown is still asleep.

Bruce stalks over to him like approaching a prey instead of a predator, and stops by the side of the bed the Joker has turned his back to. He's breathing heavily, clearly still deeply sleeping. Occasional light snores escape between his bright red lips.

For a second, Bruce simply stands there, not knowing how to proceed. Then he realizes that he’s just watching the Joker sleep now and decides he must wake him.

The clown suddenly whimpers then, frowning in his sleep and burrows deeper into Bruce’s pillow for comfort. The air halts in Bruce’s throat and the words dry out of his mouth.

“Joker?” he suddenly finds himself whispering. The clown doesn’t wake up, of course, but he does roll over on his back and now Bruce has a clear view of his striking pale face. Dark eyelashes fan out over his sharp cheeks and the wild mane of green hair is spilled all over Bruce’s pillows.

The Joker isn’t wearing a shirt. Nor does he have armpit hair, Bruce notices as the clown has thrown his arms over his head and the blanket slipped downwards from his chest. In fact, Bruce can see his nipples now too, and they are beginning to perk up from the cool air of the room.

Goddammit, Bruce can’t do this. He’s just going to wait until the clown wakes up himself.

At nine am, Master Bruce has already cancelled the meeting and dressed himself to the casual nines. He’s drinking his seventh cup of coffee and Alfred is cleaning the already spotless coffee pot in the sink.

“Master Bruce, are you truly certain it is safe to simply let the Joker wake up on his own and only then confront him? Who knows, he might have already awoken and is drawing himself a bath right now,” Alfred questions as he begins to dry the coffee pot and places it back to its original place.

Master Bruce gulps the rest of his black coffee down.

“I’ll go check on him,” he says and leaves the table and the paper he had been reading.

Bruce feels the tension knot the muscles at his knees and climbing up the stairs feels like a feat on his own nevermind whatever is waiting ahead of him. Why did the Joker have to break into his house today? Or rather, the night before. Bruce had important things to do at the office today. He had arranged the meeting himself in response to the cuts the city council had made towards the Gotham Orphanage funds. He wanted to increase the aid the Wayne donations gave them during these difficult times. But here he is. Guarding the Joker in his own house.

Bruce turns the knob slowly this time. Surely, the clown can’t still be asleep.

Well, he may not be asleep but he’s certainly still lying on the bed with his eyes closed. Bruce goes to open the curtains to let the sunshine come through and wash the room with light. The Joker grumbles and throws a hand over his eyes.

“Get up,” Bruce tells him firmly with a stern, precisely annunciating voice. The Joker grumbles again.

“I thought this place was empty. Jeez, you were just on the other side or something? This place is humongous,” the Joker says with an exasperated tone and drags his hand off his face.

Bruce crosses his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here, Joker?” he demands. The clown sighs out long and deep.

“What does it look like, pickle head? I came to sleep before you came in bashing your mouth against my ears, thank you very much. And I was sleeping quite alright for the first time in ages, too!” the Joker exclaims in frustration and then reaches for the thick pillow next to him he looks to have already slept with and hugs it to his chest and presses his cheek against it. “These pillows are amazing!”

The clown’s getting snuggly again. Bruce needs to stop it or he’ll never get him out of his bed. Bruce grips the edge of the blanket and tosses it off the clown in one swift motion but then finds himself just grasping it in the air when he realizes the Joker is in fact wearing nothing at all.

The Joker’s green eyes go wide and his mouth parts as he gapes at Bruce.

“Hey lover boy, don’t you know a thing about modesty? You didn’t even knock on the door before coming in! So rude. One always must knock on a lady’s door before entering,” the clown chastises him and then yanks the blanket back on himself from Bruce’s numb, powerless grip, “or something exactly like this can happen.”

The Joker stares at Bruce from the safety of the bed and hands tucking the blanket up to his chin. Bruce shakes his head to clear it but has to proceed to also turn his back to the clown to retain a stable mind-set about this.

“You need to leave,” Bruce simply states eventually, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

“Um… no. But how about you go and get me a nice bathrobe or a gown, or whatever you rich people wear in the mornings,” the clown responds in turn. Actually that might be a good idea. As Bruce looks around himself, he doesn’t find a single item of clothing of the Joker and wonders where the hell did he chuck his own clothes then? Did he come in naked or did he just throw his clothes in the trash and planned to steal something to wear from Bruce after sleeping?

Bruce goes to the dresser and does happen to find a dressing gown in one of the cabinets. It’s made of dark red silk. Bruce tosses it over to the bed and waits with his back to the Joker until he has slipped it on.

“So shy suddenly…” the man behind him muses to himself.

When Bruce hears the clown standing up from the bed, he turns back around to keep an eye on him. The Joker has tied the gown tight around his tiny waist but has let the too big gown fall off his shoulders leaving them bare as he walks past Bruce to the adjacent bathroom.

“I could use a shower. And something to eat. Have you already had breakfast? I’d love some pancakes!” he asks looking over his naked white shoulder like he doesn’t even try to look seductive and turns on the tap to the bath. Alfred was right, the clown is going to have a bath. 

“Why don’t you just get going already and I won’t call the cops on you, okay? Doesn’t that sound good to you? You don’t want to go back to Arkham, do you?” Bruce tries to reason with him.

The Joker laughs wholeheartedly.

“Oh, Brucie, baby, if you were really going to call the police, you would have already done it when you first came to check on me. Don’t try to fool me. Now go along, tell Alfie that I like to have sprinkles with my pancakes - no syrup!”

The bath fills up quickly and the Joker starts adding all kinds of lotions and bath salts into the hot water like he’s making a rose scented concoction of sorts. Bruce just stands there for a moment staring at the Joker lounges on the edge of the tub, swirling the bubbly water with his hand, a leg crossed over the other so that the gown slips down to reveal a long view of his bare thigh.

The Joker returns his gaze back to Bruce after a moment has passed, long white neck turning and turning, and then smiles at him a little.

“Tea would be nice as well. I’m sure Jeeves is the expert in that so don’t go putting your fingers anywhere they don’t belong now alright,” the clown says with a wink. The robe opens up a slight more.

Bruce turns swiftly around on his heels at that notion and shuts the door behind him before going back to the kitchen.

Still with a pot in hand, Alfred turns on his eyes over his shoulder in surprise when he hears Master Bruce crash back down onto one of the tall chairs around the kitchen island. 

“In the bath already, sir?” Alfred asks dryly having heard the water pipes working beyond the walls by now. Master Bruce sighs long and heavy, burying his face in his hands as he leans on the marble counter in exasperation.

“He wants pancakes,” he mumbles to Alfred. Alfred simply hums to that and fishes the frying pan out of one of the many drawers.

“How convenient. There’s still some batter left in the bowl from earlier. If need be, you can let Mr Joker know they will be done in a jiffy,” Alfred tells him and starts heating up the pan. He hears Master Bruce grumbling behind his back.

“He’s leaving soon, I promise, Alfred,” Bruce says with determination but Alfred knows better than to believe him now. Instead he proceeds making the pancakes and fills up the tea pot with water and a hefty spoonful of black tea leaves. Master Bruce doesn’t need to tell him what to do. After all, it’s not as if this is the first time.

They spend their morning in relative silence after that with Alfred cooking and Bruce reading the paper until the water pipes start making noises again. The clown’s draining the bath, it sounds like.

Bruce leaves the paper on the counter on the sport pages and stands up without another word. He continues upstairs this time with a stern look prepared on his face. This time he does knock although he doesn’t wait for a cue.

The bathroom door is open but the bath is empty. Bruce walks over to the doorway and looks in.

The Joker is wearing Bruce’s robe again but this time properly. That’s not to say that the webbing still isn’t tied tightly around him and showing off the small waist and everything about him. He’s in front of the mirror, leaning his hips against the counter as he looks closely at his reflection to perfect his red lipstick. 

Wait… How does he have lipstick with him yet absolutely no clothes?

With that thought, Bruce’s gaze wonders down his body to the accentuated curve of his lean back and then lower to his…

The Joker grins at Bruce’s baffled but miles away look through the mirror and presses his now blood red lips together for an exaggerated air smooch and then starts putting away his makeup. Only then does Bruce notice the whole arsenal of different makeup and skin care products lining the bathroom sink counter and the purple velvet purse Joker is stuffing them into with practiced ease.

“Hello darling… Breakfast ready?” he asks as he turns around and scrunches up his still slightly wet green curls in his pale hand. Bruce makes space for him when he suddenly strides past him in the doorway with the purple purse still in his clutch which he then compartmentalizes into a drawer in the dresser.

Has that always been there? When has the Joker brought it?

The clown looks at Bruce still waiting for an answer now with a slightly expectant and confused expression. A pale hand tucked into the side of his waist. Bruce nods to him biting his teeth together. He’s yet again not holding his ground. What’s wrong with him?!

“Oh goodie! I’m starving. Did you remember the sprinkles?” the Joker queries as he then starts padding towards the hallway.

“No,” is all Bruce can say in reply. The clown tuts at him playfully with a wag of his bony finger and walks in front of Bruce as they go downstairs.

“And to think that you’re the world’s greatest detective with an attention span and a memory like that…” the Joker muses out loud as he makes his way through the manor’s lavish rooms like it’s his home and always has been.

Bruce can’t deny how striking he looks in the dark red robe with his unique looks against the old but grand interior of the house as his backdrop. But Bruce does try not to think about that.

There’s a steaming stack of round little pancakes served on a plain white plate on the table by glass doors to the terrace with a cup of black tea placed next to it with all the condiments by it ready on a silver platter. Alfred is standing by the table and ready to take out the chair for the clown.

The Joker is all smiles when he sees him.

“Good morning, Alfie! Breakfast smells incredible! You always did make the best black tea,” the Joker says as he sits down in his assigned seat and immediately brings the cup to his lips with a hum of pleasure.

“Good day more like it, Mr J,” Alfred responds within the beat of tucking the chair under the clown’s bottom and then goes back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Bruce looks to him apologetically. The butler keeps his gaze on the dishes.

Bruce sits down to the table as well and watches the clown start carving up the soft pancakes into little triangles. Then he halts, knife and fork stopped mid-motion in the air and looks over to the platter in search of something. There’s only syrup.

“Hey, Jeeves, any chance you’ve got some sprinkles stashed away somewhere in those thousands of cabinets?” the Joker requests and sips some of his tea before plumping two sugar cubes into it and stirring away.

Alfred places the shaker of coloured tiny cylinder shaped sugar in front of the clown, leaning over Bruce in the process causing Bruce to swallow a lump of embarrassment from the whole ordeal and his incapability to take matter into his own hands.

“Thanks, Al. I’m trying to watch my figure, see, and my dietician told me that syrup is a big no-no,” the Joker says while plunking a hefty amount of butter on top of his pancakes as well as a heap of sprinkles. It’s all a joke – the clown’s nearly skeletal. Bruce just wishes he would eat something more nourishing than sugar to keep in motion.

But that wasn’t the point right now. The point was that everyone was just accommodating the madman and Bruce was the one in fault and still doing practically nothing about it except furthering it along. He was missing important appointments for the day and yet he had taken the route to simply suck it all up in favour of the clown’s eccentric moods. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t have to take this. He was Batman for God’s sake! He shouldn’t just have to stare at the Joker’s delicate collarbones peeking from underneath the much too revealing silk robe and wait for his sparkling green hair dry in soft looking waves that reeked of roses. The Batman shouldn’t have to only gaze on while those ruby lips embrace themselves against thin white china and sip elegantly the finely brewed black tea his butler had to specifically prepare for him out of Bruce’s incompetence to handle this surreal situation.

Out of the sudden Bruce slams both of his hands on the table in frustration which effectively catches the clown’s attention finally.

“You listen to me now, Joker and stop this nonsense. Tell me, why were you sleeping in my guest bedroom - were you going to assassinate me in my sleep this morning or perhaps Alfred? Were you going to plant bombs underneath the floors while you were at it? What’s the masterplan behind all of this, Joker? What the hell are you doing here?” Bruce demands looking strictly into the acidic green eyes.

The clown hugs his porcelain cup of tea close to his chest and pouts at Bruce disapprovingly from afar as he leans back in his chair.

“I’m sure Alfred has taught you better than this, Brucie. Wherever are your manners?” he chastises Bruce with a shake of his head before dipping in for another sip of tea. Bruce is left stumped once again but also furious from the lack of proper response. He’s just left sitting there, clenching his fists over the table with Alfred standing straight-backed behind the kitchen counter and holding in a snicker.

And the clown proceeds to eat, driving his fork into a triangle shaped piece of pancake. His red lips swallow around the mouthful slowly, the fork sliding out from between them taking forever.

Bruce’s voice is low, calm and unforgiving this time when he speaks.

“Joker. You tell me now why you’re here or I’m throwing you out this second and taking you to Arkham.”

The Joker puts down the silverware and the looks up at Bruce with an exhausted expression.

“You know, Bruce, you can be really immature sometimes. Highly inconsiderate to asks such things in that tone in the first place and but to also threaten me if I don’t answer? Now that’s just rude,” he says but seems to understand that Bruce is not letting him get away with this behaviour this time.

“But if you must know, well, Harley kicked me out. That’s what happened and I didn’t have a place to go to since nearly everyone else is either locked up in Arkham or Blackgate – thanks to you. So you really don’t have anyone else to blame for this situation but yourself, Bats. I did go out looking for somewhere else to crash but it was a no-can-do because of you so I decided to pay you a little visit instead in redemption.”

Bruce scowls at him.

“That’s right, Batsy. You brought this on yourself,” the Joker says almost happily and digs into another bite of pancake covered in sprinkles and melted butter.

“What about Harley then. The fact that she kicked you out has nothing to do with me,” Bruce retorts crossing his arms over his chest in readied defence. The Joker swirls his fork around as for Bruce not to make a big deal out of it or the situation with Harley is complicated – who knows, the clown does some weird shit all the time, not all of it makes sense even at the best of times.

“Ah, you know that dead-beat tots. Always getting bright ideas around the cabbage lady, and now decided that ‘oh I always hog all the makeup, I always take over the show and I never share the last pizza slice with her’  and ‘that’s just won’t do no more’ and kicked me out. And now weed lady is all up in my business and messing up my house with all her damn vegetables. I couldn’t even manage to save my favourite deck of playing cards before her pet carnivorous planty ate them!” the clown laments before sighing out deeply.

Then he turns to look at Bruce again with a glint in his eyes.

“And that is in fact your fault as well, Bats. If you had managed to catch the redhead last time during all those explosions in the cemetery and put her ass back in Arkham the shitshow, she would have never saved Harley from the fire and become her best amigo and then started to turn Harley into her own personal clown backstabbing zombie and then force her way into my house and cover all of my treasures in soil and mold,” the clown goes on and takes a moment to breathe before continuing, “All would still be well if it weren’t for you, Brucie. So don’t go pointing your pretty little finger at me when it’s your sorry ass you should be picking off the ground and dusting off your cape.”

The Joker stares at Bruce sharply and the crease between his eyebrows turns deeper. Bruce almost wants to gulp down the dryness in his mouth but refrains as it would feel like an admission or definitely look like one in the clown’s attentive eyes.

“So you either get me my house back or I’m staying here for another night, Batsy-boo,” the Joker says and leans back in his chair, this time in relaxation. “And if I am going to stay here, you’d better find us some fancy champagne because I’m ready to bash. And in case you didn’t know it yet, I’m no lightweight,” he warns Bruce with a devilish smirk.

The last pieces of the pancakes disappear in the Joker’s devouring mouth in a single heaping mouthful and the clown stares intensely at Bruce the whole time it takes for him to swallow them. Bruce stands up from the table but support his weight on it and the Joker’s chair with his arms to tower over the clown like he would as Batman. He needs to remind himself that the absence of his suit doesn’t mean that anything about their relationship has changed – no matter what happened last time this happened. He is in control. This is his house.

Bruce’s voice is stern and tough as he looks down at the clown trying to feign that Bruce’s positioning doesn’t do things to him and make it harder for him to act unaffected. Bruce leans even further into the clown’s space, shoulders wide and intimidating, the look on his face uncompromising.

“How about you don’t stay here and I save my fancy champagne for people who deserve it. And how about I don’t help you seize your house because that’s really none of my business and instead get you a single-fare ride to Arkham the shitshow. How about that, how does that sound, Joker?”

The Joker innocently looks up at him, biting the inside of his cheeks and green eyes blown out and wide. The line between his brows has moved horizontally to his forehead as he gives Bruce the puppy-eyes.

“Brucie… why are you being so mean to me? If you don’t want me here, you can just say so and I’ll go, but please don’t depreciate my situation with your irony. You want to know why I don’t have my clothes with me and I have to wear your expansive robe instead?” the Joker asks him caustically which sways Bruce just a little bit. He isn’t so sure he wants to hear the answer.

However, he doesn’t get a say in that.

The Joker stands up vehemently and Bruce has to take a step back and let go of his ground. Bruce hears Alfred quietly leave the room by the sound of the kitchen door closing behind him.

The clown’s lips twist into disgust as he speaks the words.

“I made my way here through the Narrows, Bruce, without a single dime or a knife in my pocket because a giant vine threw me out of the window before I had a chance to even look over my shoulder to see who crashed my door down. That meant that I had nothing to defend myself with but my witty little head and dogged fists, and you know what inevitably happens to a guy like me at three in the morning on the dark streets of the Narrows?”

Bruce ultimately takes another step back when the Joker takes one forward with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

“It’s a good thing I was even left with my pants still somewhat on when all of that was over, although by the time I managed to climb up through your Victorian window, they were nothing but ribbons of purple cloth at my feet. They even took my jacket with them,” he grumbles to himself and looks down to the white and black tiled floor with an honest pout on his face. More than anything else, he seems sad about having lost his jacket.

Bruce is left without words yet again and his whole feeling about the situation has changed.

“But you’re the Joker…?”

The clown turns his gaze back to him from the floor and actually looks confused for a second as he stares at Bruce’s upset expression as if he didn’t understand what was wrong. Then his mouth opens into a round shape as he realizes.

“Oh! Oh, don’t worry, Batsy. They had nothing on me - I snatched a knife from one of them before they could do anything more than strip me. I gutted the whole gang! Well, two of them managed to run away but otherwise I lost nothing but most of my clothes - I am the Joker after all! It was a real mess down there. But anyway, you have nothing to worry about - I’m still all yours, Batsy,” he says with a sleazy wink.

Bruce pushes the clown by the shoulders away from him and turns his back to him with a great big huff.

“God, you’re impossible! You had me think they hurt you, Jay,” Bruce tells him with a thick voice. The clown hurries over to him immediately and wraps his skinny arms around Bruce’s chest immediately, leaning over his back to look at his face.

“Aww, no, darling, I never meant to make you think that! I mean, well, I did want you to understand what a catch I am and you really should be more grateful about having me but no, baby, no, I would never let anyone else touch me but you. Don’t worry, they never had me like that,” the Joker tells him in an urgently comforting voice.

Bruce grabs one of his arms around him and squeezes little but firmly.

“No. That’s… This is not about me, Joker. I just… I just can’t bear to think of you in a situation like that. That there’s even a slim possibility that someone could think to hurt you like that…”

The Joker moves his other hand to cup Bruce’s cheek.

“Hey, shh… It’s okay. I know how to care of myself. I fight off the Batman at least once a week, I know how to handle a couple of street thugs who don’t yet know who exactly the Joker is. I’m happy to let them know honestly! It’s just that that this time it kind of became a close encounter ‘cause I had nothing to defend myself with and there were like four beefy guys and I was really bummed out about getting kicked out through a window by a plant and so I wasn’t keeping an eye out and the first punch came out of nowhere and when they ripped my jacket off, it really sudden…-“

“Stop! Don’t… just don’t. No more,” Bruce cuts him off and then quickly without another thought, wraps his arms around him and presses the clown into his chest causing the Joker gasp in surprise but the noise is muffled by the tight hold. Bruce rests his chin on top of his green head and embraces the overwhelming stench of roses in his nose like it’s the last thing he ever wants to remember.

Then it’s just quiet as requested, just the all-consuming feeling of the Joker burrowing deeper into Bruce’s warmth and gripping onto him like his life depended on it. The red silk is soft under Bruce’s hands but even more then slight spaces of skin revealed underneath it.

“Shall I go prepare the guestroom for another night, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s neutral voice cuts through the haze of relief after a few minutes. Bruce looks over his shoulder to him as the Joker peeps under his arm to the butler as well.

Bruce glances at the clown for a second and then nods to Alfred without the usual look of apology in his eyes.

“Yes, please.”

Alfred nods in return without a twitch in his calm and collected expression and leaves upstairs that second. He will understand. He loves Bruce, and Bruce…

The Joker giggles into Bruce’s chest when the butler has left causing pleasant shudders to run through Bruce’s spine.

“What is it?” Bruce asks looking down although it’s also a highly common occurrence for the clown to get bursts of laughs at any given moment without much reason. Red lips curve up into a wide grin as green eyes sparkle up at Bruce in glee.

“God, you just gotta love good ol’ Alfred. I know I do,” the Joker says with a laugh before nuzzling himself back into Bruce’s warmth. Bruce rests his chin back into the rosy nest of green and has to admit himself, he really lost the fight today.

At least there’s a booby prize waiting for him upstairs.