The Professor's Date (finished)
Jan. 22nd, 2009 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielartanisI dunno, this may be my one and only Joker fic. I wrote so may Maul fics, I never thought I'd be able to write another fanfic in my entire sick life, but I was proven wrong. This has got to be the sickest piece of fiction I've written since my account of Cadmus Pariah's violent upbringing, so I give fair warning to anyone who may be even remotely triggery about anything. Don't read if you think you may be in the least squicked by even the mildest of perversions or the hint thereof. I don't know if this proves I'm a freak, but I think it may indicate that I may have that capacity but, then again, don't we all. So, if you have the stomach for it, enjoy. If not, please no hard feelings.
I guess I should note that my inspirations were, of course, Heath Ledger's devastating portrayal of The Joker, Tim Curry in Clue (I don't know why), Darth Maul (who broke my writer's block a decade ago), and the bevy of serial killers whom I've studied with way too much enthusiasm over the years. Goddess help me and my sick mind.
If you see any typos or obvious grammatical issues, please let me know. I didn't proofread this as it was written rather quickly, and I was afraid that, if I proofread it, I'd be too afraid to post it at all.
The Professor's Date
People dodged out of his way as he trudged down the street, a purple dandy in full clown make-up. But the make-up did not make him appear clownish at all. He was menacing, this one. His smile stretched out in a frightening grimace despite the fact that he chose not to smile at all. Scars marred what could be a simple, handsome face, beginning at each corner of his down-turned mouth and moving upward to create a permanent, painful grin that he had accented with red paint, applied slapdash to perhaps communicate his particular brand of madness.
He was known only as Joker. Sometimes even he failed to remember his real name, lost to him from a time that seemed an aeon ago. Joker fit him well, anyway, so why bother with silly titles given to him without his permission? He preferred to identify himself, to claim his Inner Child, his own personal heritage. That heritage was one of carnage and chaos, something passed on to him by the one who’d given him the scars and drove him mad.
Unconcerned with the herd’s frightened glances, the Joker marched onward to a destination he wasn’t completely certain of. He’d know once he got there. That’s how it usually happened unless he’d concocted a major undertaking like the failed unmasking of the Batman. Just thinking about that botched project made the Joker more homicidal than normal. His right hand fingered the small dagger nestled in his pocket as he contemplated jabbing into a hapless passerby just for the hell of it. But no… The time wasn’t right, wasn’t….ripe. For some reason the old Byrds song rattled around in his head as he walked, “To everything (turn turn turn), there is a season (turn turn turn) and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Of course there was a reason. It was kind of like his theme song. It was his time, his purpose.
Today the Batman was the furthest thing from his mind. Today the Joker craved diversion and release from the day to day drudgery of mayhem. He’d actually run his fingers through his sparse olive hair for the event to be. And. There. She. Was. My event to be, the Joker thought to himself. Standing there across the street, completely unaware of the honour she was about to be given, utterly oblivious to the perfection she carried. Straight mousy brown hair, unwieldy skirt, a mis-matched purse. Obviously a temporary office worker or a librarian in training, Joker observed to himself. Just his type, his perfect type. Bouncing across the street, oblivious of the traffic, the Joker made his way to her.
Standing beside her in silence for a few seconds, the Joker leaned down and whispered, “Hey Sweetness, heard any good jokes lately?”
She looked up at him, first shock and then horror washing across her face. Before she could back away, the Joker pulled the woman against his side, allowing her to feel the knife in his pocket and the erection in his loose pants. “Now now now, don’t be stupid. I know you aren’t, being all bookwormish and such. Just play along and you won’t be sorry. Oh no. You’ll be thrilled beyond your wildest dreams.”
The woman, paralysed, just stared into the clown’s face and he could feel her relax against the hardness of his steel and of his flesh. “Now come along, Sweetness, the sign says “walk” and we don’t want to disobey our sign masters, now do we?” The Clown Prince giggled against her throat and they moved forward, this tense and strange couple.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the front of her vision as they walked.
“Oh, you know who I am. Better question would be, who are you? Tell me your name, sugarlumps.”
The woman swallowed and firmed herself with a resolve she never knew she had before. “You first.”
The Joker swirled his head around to face the woman, all grins and surprise. “Ooh, a spirited one. I looove the ones with spirit, with that special spark that could start a full-blown forest fire at any given minute. I tell you what. Give me the name of your favourite literary hero and that’s who’ll I’ll be for you.”
“Heathcliff.”
The name drifted between them, heavy with meaning, but neither of them could fathom why. The Joker’s eyes rolled upward in thought, framed in the dark kohl that threaded out to his white face.
“Nnnnno….Too heady. It messes with me. Makes me want to hit things. Pick another. Now.” The “now” was more of a threat than anything else.
”R-Rochester, then. Rochester.”
“And you’ll be my Jane, though hardly plain are you. And you aren’t failing me in my belief that your brain is one filled with mighty thought and understanding.” They stopped on the other side of the street where the Joker bowed before her. “I am gratified, m’lady Jane. Now come. A dinner is prepared.”
He took her by the arm and led her into the darkest realms of Gotham, places she didn’t even know existed, nor did she want to. Occasionally, she stole a glance upward, hoping for the Bat sign, hoping that this nightmare would be over soon. Nothing.
“What are you looking for, Lady Jane? It wouldn’t be a winged mammal, now would it?” His grip on her arm tightened, but only a little. “Forget it. He won’t come for the likes of you. What are you, a school marm, a librarian?”
“A professor, actually.”
“English Literature?”
A quiet nod was the only answer he got. He liked the smart ones. His teachers had always lauded him as far above his peers in school. Had it not been for that pesky proclivity toward sociopathy, the Joker would have gone far in the mundane world. But who wanted that? Who wanted to be a genius trapped in a world of knuckledraggers and yes-men? Not he. Not ever.
They finally ended up in a warehouse decorated in all manner of pop culture paraphernalia and strewn with dollar bills, the Washington on each one painted Joker-style. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, shoving her in front of him. In the middle of the warehouse was a rickety wooden table covered with a quaint checkboard-square cloth. Two covered dishes sat there, along with two stemmed glasses and a bottle of wine. “Now, won’t you sit down?”
When she didn’t move, he said, “I insist.” And he pushed her down in a chair. “Don’t move, my not-so-plain Jane, or you’ll end up being plain after all.” He twirled his knife along her cheek more deftly than she would have preferred.
Uncovering the dish, the Joker displayed a roasted chicken leg quarter, wild rice, and Brussels sprouts. The wine was expensive, probably stolen, a white Chardonnay, perhaps even Champagne, but she couldn’t be sure from this distance. The Joker set a fine table, if he were responsible for any of this in the first place, that is.
“We’ll begin with soup,” The Joker said, clapping his hands twice. Immediately a henchman with his head covered with clownish latex appeared with two bowls, a hot kettle, and a ladle. He portioned out a cup of rich vegetable soup before the two diners, then backed away with obvious deference to his leader.
Dipping his spoon in the bowl and bringing the warm broth to his red lips, the Joker sipped with a finesse that belied his uncouth reputation. “Mmmm, yummy. Tuck in, Jane. This could be your last meal, after all.”
Petrified, Jane set to eating the soup, drinking the wine, which was indeed a very classy Champagne, and finishing off her plate of food. Coffee and cheesecake were served afterward by the same latexed clown who’d brought the soup. When the Joker finished his last bite of cheesecake, he stole a sidewise glance at the professor and smiled devilishly.
“Cheesecake: the Devil’s dessert. Unfathomably unhealthy, yet undeniably irresistible. I prefer the thicker New York-style. That fluffy French shit is just foam pretending to be cheesecake, wouldn’t you agree?”
“If it helps me survive this, then yes, I agree,” Jane muttered before she thought to hold her tongue. Surprisingly, the Joker laughed, his chortle one of true mirth instead of the mad giggle he usually shared. He reached over and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her face up to his.
“Clever minx,” he purred, and brought his mouth to her. The kiss was shockingly tender, yet insistent on achieving its particular goal. Jane found herself relax completely under this lingering kiss, feeling the Joker’s tongue softly separate her lips to touch her own and tentatively explore the mysteries of her mouth. She responded, meeting tongue with tongue, relishing the impossibility that Gotham’s greatest criminal could be so deft a kisser. “Now it’s time for the real dessert with a real devil.”
He pulled her up and, by the elbow, led her to an adjacent room. In the room was a small bed and a night stand that held a mirror and jars of face paint ~ white, red, and kohl. Here was where the man behind the mask became the Joker Gotham dreaded so much. The bedclothes were rumpled and obviously unmade for many days. There was nothing particularly special about the room. It was any bachelor’s room, really, save for the decorated dollar bills nailed to the walls with thumb tacks, nails, even pen knives.
“Tell me now, Jane, are you going to fight me? I don’t mind tying you up. In fact, I might prefer it. But it’s really up to you. Either way, it’s going to happen. I’m going to get what I want and, tonight, I want you,” the Joker said, licking his lips quickly and looking at her, his eyes half-lidded.
Before she knew it, Jane responded with a kiss, telling the Clown Prince all he needed to know. He wrapped his arms around her and spun her to the bed where they sat down heavily, still linked in the kiss. The Joker placed a hand on her throat, cutting off just enough air to make Jane struggle a little while he tugged away her clothing with his free hand.
Once she was bare from the waist down, the Joker placed a knee between her thighs and undid his violet pants. She could see nothing of him as he kept her head turned away, her air passage blocked to the point that all Jane could see were black spots and exploding stars. She could feel his skin against hers though, and she could feel his fingers pry open her folds to find her wetness and warmth. His finger played and explored, making Jane wriggle under his special tutelage. The more she struggled, the tighter his grasp was on her throat until she was gasping for every precious breath. The combined sensation drove her over the edge and Jane screamed with the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt.
“That was a lovely performance, Lady Jane,” the Joker whispered in her ear. “I think that now you’re ready for the main course.”
And she felt him enter her. It wasn’t a gentle prodding, but a complete and insistent entry, giving no doubt that he had taken possession of her in an instant. He removed his hand from her throat and turned her face to his. As he began to thrust into her, the full weight of his body on hers, the Joker spoke calmly.
“I do this all the time you know. Date night is what I call it. Lovely ladies grace my lair often, you’re not the first, nor shall you be the last.” He brought his fingers to his mouth, letting his tongue explore the moisture he’d stirred within her. “Mmm, musky and sweet, just the way I like it. All woman with those tale-tell ‘fuck me’ aromas. Well, you’re being fucked properly now, aren’t you Jane? Is your Rochester all that you’d dreamed?”
She looked up at him, studying the expressions on his face as he worked his way as far inside her as he could. He was caught up in the moment of animal desire, his face contorting with every subtle movement, making him utterly irresistible to her. She found herself lost in his painted scars, the bleeding kohl that raccooned his impossibly soft brown eyes. His was a gentle face lost to a madness that seemed completely unfair to her. He could have been one of her classmates or even one of her students, struggling with the ideas and concepts of Byron and Tennyson. But here he was, her rapist and her lover, imposing himself on her receptive presence, spreading his insanity throughout her willing flesh and eager heart.
And then there was stillness. His erection pressed against her, deep within her hungry opening. “Do you love me?” The Joker whispered in her ear, licking her lobe so quickly, Jane was unsure it even happened. She was at a loss for words, and then he pressed harder against her.
“Do you love me?” He insisted, his voice tinged with harshness.
“Yes,” Jane said. And she meant it. Something about him made her love him as must as she felt lust for him. “Yes, I love you.”
His stillness inside her was maddening. She wanted him to move, to finish what he’d started, to spill his pleasure inside her as she pulsed to pull him deeper. But he refrained, frustrating her climax, driving her as mad as he was.
“Then let’s drop this literary bullshit and you tell me your real name.”
“Katherine. It’s Katherine.”
She felt him throb against her inner walls and moaned in spite of herself. “Well, Katherine, hi-dee-ho. I’m….Jack. Do you wanna know how I got these scars?”
The woman beneath him tensed, bringing a thrill from the tip of the Joker’s penis that spanned the whole of his spine. He shivered from the pleasure and anticipation of it all. She failed to answer him, so he took it as a “Why, yes, Jack, I’d love to hear how you got those scars. Do tell!”
“Well…..” The Joker pulled out a small sharp knife from his breast pocket and stuck the point right beneath Katherine’s dainty chin. He lifted his eyes in the deepest of memory, not at all that pleasant. “I was but a teen, unwieldy and gangly in my growth, when I learned the joy of true freedom. It wasn’t just following the rules of the power elite and never testing the strength of the psychic chain around your ankle. No, it was breaking that chain and embracing the nature of creation, the force the surrounds and binds the universe together. That elusive concept we humans like to identify as chaos. So, one night, I leave my parents’ loveless hovel and run off into depthless dark to discover who I was in this gigantic void of assumed meaninglessness. I run and run and run, not paying attention to my inability to breathe to keep up with the speed of my legs or the pounding of my heart. Gotham became my playground, my endless road to the nowhere that would eventually lead to answers to the questions of which I had no verbal conception. Finally, my body gave out to the oxygen deprivation and I found myself in an alleyway, devoid of light, of life. But there was life, you see. There was this man, you see, this large and powerful man, who had no answers for me but one. That answer was pain, you see. Pain and degradation. He kept my thirteen-year-old body for two years, using it for every purpose known to primate perversion. I was sodomised, beaten, cut from head to toe, shaved, photographed, filmed, and…..broken. He stole my purpose and my mind, this very large man. And when I was unable to take more than three cocks in my mouth, he made my mouth…larger, so that I could take as many as was deemed necessary on any particular night in that dark and desolate alley. I loved every minute of it. I smiled all the time after that. And, when the hair grew back too quickly, this man disposed of the trash he’d hoarded for so very long. I’d forgotten my way back home. I’d forgotten my dash for freedom on that night so long ago. But I remembered the concept of freedom, you see. Freedom is having nothing left to lose, dear Katherine who so desperately needed a Heathcliff but, instead found herself a brooding Rochester instead. Freedom is reclaimed life after an eternity of questions and pain. Freedom is death at the moment of sublime pleasure.”
And he came with a final thrust of his cock between Katherine’s legs and of his knife through her throat and into the base of her brain. She writhed beneath him in the throes of passion and death. The Joker relished every glorious movement of her body until she lay still beneath him, blood oozing from around his knife and the creamy juice of pleasure further lubricating his already softening member. This had been a particular enjoyable Date Night for him. Still lying prone upon his lovely lady, he withdrew his knife and carved a perfect smile on her fear-stained face from ear to ear. The Joker surmised that depositing this lovely carcass on the doorstep of the Wayne Manor may raise the ire of Mr. Batman just a tad. Yes, he knew who he was, but publicly being ignorant made that game that much sweeter.
In a couple of days, it’d be time for another date and another tale to conjure to explain these inexplicable scars that seemed to hold the world in thrall. As the song entered his mind, he pulled away from his darling and began to sing the little ditty his mum sang to him a lifetime ago.
Hey nonny ding dong, alang alang alang
Boom ba-doh, ba-doo ba-doodle-ay
Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
(Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin' we'll meet again)
Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)
If only all my precious plans would come true (sh-boom)
If you would let me spend my whole life lovin' you
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
Now every time I look at you
Something is on my mind (dat-dat-dat-dat-dat-duh)
If you do what I want you to
Baby, we'd be so fine!
Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da, sh-boom!
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da
Sh-boom sh-boom Ya-da-da Da-da-da Da-da-da Da, sh-boom!
Every time I look at you
Somethin' is on my mind
If you do what I want you to
Baby, we'd be so fine!
Life could be a dream
If I could take you up in paradise up above
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
(Hello hello again, sh-boom and hopin' we'll meet again) boom sh-boom
Hey nonny ding dong, alang alang alang (sh-boom)
Ba-doh, ba-doo ba-doodle-ay
Life could be a dream
Life could be a dream, sweetheart!
Life could be a dream
If only all my precious plans would come true
If you would let me spend my whole life loving you
Life could be a dream, sweetheart
(dee-oody-ooh, sh-boom, sh-boom)
(dee-oody-ooh, sh-boom, sh-boom)
(dee-oody-ooh, sh-boom, sh-boom)
Sweetheart!!
©Tracy Angelina Evans
Darth Shriek
22 January, 2008
In memory of Heath Ledger, my Prince Conor and the one and only Joker
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 07:50 pm (UTC)I like this. But I don't think I will be able to adequately explain why in terms that make sense. It tickles at a part of my brain that is kind of dark and contains some perverse and sometimes disturbing things.
As per usual, you're writing is amazing. You have a way of taking darker material, skirt that line between unnerving and unpalatable and keep me reading, even if the situation is uncomfortable. And again, you captured the Joker's persona very well. The clown face isn't the disfigurement. It's the psyche inside.
I need to go back and re-read your Maul Fic. I really liked that as well.
Good job honey.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-22 11:18 pm (UTC)Though, I have to admit, I'm not all that disturbed that I'm turned on. I've been turned on by more evil things. It's just what it is.
The fic was really well-written, m'friend. Good job.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-24 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-24 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 02:22 am (UTC)I really liked this, and was glad to see it all in it's finished form! Like I said before, their first kiss is almost as hot as the sex...and more horrific scar stories. IS he telling the truth this time? He always keeps you wondering. For whatever reason, I really like the description of his 'abode', with all the little decorated dollar-bills. Total Jokerness. LOL Poor Katherine though, having this wonderful 'date' with such an amazing lover and then...*sigh*
no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-23 03:23 pm (UTC)http://www.rancidrainbow.com/board/
First, you gotta register. Then PM me through the board right away and tell me to add you to the author's group so you can post new topics. OR, you can add yourself to that group in the user control panel. I set it up this way because I didn't want any of those stupid bots getting in, or people doing OT, non-fic chatter. That's all on the JC board.
I'll make you your own forum for your stories too like the other authors have. They'll be VERY happy to see yours up!
If you have any problems at all, PM me thru here...and BTW, I certainly HOPE you write more Joker stories!!
no subject
Date: 2009-01-24 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-24 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-24 11:56 pm (UTC)I was a bit disappointed in Dark Knight. About 45 minutes of a really fine movie, Heath's performance being of course the highlight. Otherwise to many [yawn] explosions, and too much unintelligible grunting from the wooden Mr Bale. I preferred Iron Man.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-25 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-25 03:27 am (UTC)'Date Night', I love that he calls it that. He knows how to romance the ladies and adds his own twisted spin by evening's end. This story was hot and scary and intense. Just really good. Thanks for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-25 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-26 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-27 08:13 pm (UTC)I'm a perv-ity perv... I got a little bit moist on that one...
Yikes...
no subject
Date: 2009-01-28 05:26 am (UTC)