SHOT OF LOVE

By Batfan60

 

RETURN TO HOMEPAGE: https://www.angelfire.com/super2/batfan60/

 

DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters belong to a giant corporation, not me. This is a work of fan fiction; no infringement intended. I welcome your comments at batfan60@yahoo.com

 

1.

 

As a man about die, the Caped Crusader looked like he was in no mood for a laugh.

 

Still, his lifelong nemesis continued to taunt him. "Come on, Batsy, why so glum? We've been here a million times before: you tied to a chair, and me with the upper hand. I'm about to kill you, and you're about to die. Only this time I'm really going to get away with it. The story has a happy ending. So put on a happy face!"

 

Still groggy from the knockout gas he'd been given sometime earlier, Batman struggled against his bonds. Everything was fuzzy, especially the events of the last few hours. How had he ended up here in the Joker's clutches again?

 

The clown could tell him easily: It all started months ago with the detective's investigation of a wave of horribly mutilated socialites, their faces twisted into unrecognizable gnarls of flesh. Through careful investigation, Batman had discovered that all 35 victims had received botox injections at parties throughout Gotham City four years earlier. Gotham was the first major metropolitan area where the craze had taken root; from there it spread like a virus across the globe: rich and famous women, and a few men, being administered a toxin which entered their bloodstreams, paralyzing their facial tissue and leaving their youthful beauty frozen in place.

 

Or so it had seemed for quite a while. Only now, the first wave of recipients were dropping like flies, their faces contorted into grotesque distortions of human expressions. It was the smiles which had tipped off Batman that the Joker might be behind the crimes, and he'd followed a trail of clues which led him to a cosmetics factory on the outskirts of town.

 

There, the masked manhunter had entered through a fourth-story window -- and found himself face to face with his arch nemesis, who held an oversized powder puff up to Batman's face and blew across its surface. A fine multicolored dust rose up and found its way into the detective's eyes and nostrils. Batman sneezed and wheezed -- mildly at first, and then with increasing severity. As he reached for a batkerchief from his utility belt, he turned away from the Joker for just a second. That was all the time the Clown Prince of Crime needed to bonk his enemy over the head with a comical-looking but still weighty mallet. The unexpected blow soon had Batman sprawled out on the floor, putty in Joker's hands.

 

***

 

2.

 

The utility belt came off first. Joker had encountered its weapons enough times to grow obsessed with it over the years; once he'd even created his own version. Now he held the real thing in his hands. Certain that any booby traps had been neutralized, he carefully studied its contents. Each compartment yielded fresh new secrets about his arch enemy and the way his mind worked. The heavy belt showed signs of age and countless scuffles; it smelled like sweat and leather and a host of unknown chemicals. Now it was little more than a trophy.

 

The Joker placed it on a nearby table, then -- in a flash of inspiration -- picked it up again and strapped it around his own waist. The sensation immediately gave him a hard-on.

 

Batman's silky, flowing cape came next. Joker unfastened its clasps and pulled it away from its wearer's body. He tried to rip it in half with his bare hands, but the material was too strong to tear. Next he doused it with lighter fluid and dropped a match on it, but the damned thing wouldn't burn. "To hell with it," Joker said. "I'll wipe my ass on it after you're dead," he told Batman. "For now, though, maybe I'll try it on for size." The cape enveloped Joker's body.

 

The masked manhunter almost looked naked without it and the belt. The muscles beneath his skintight costume were all the more visible now, his whole body expanding and contracting ever so slightly with each slow, labored breath.

 

Joker stroked his own bulging crotch and addressed his semi-conscious victim. "I'll grant you this, Batsy: You were a motherfucking hunk. Built like a goddam tank. We could have had SO much fun together if you hadn't been such a goodie two-shoes. Of course, I've had plenty of good times with you all these years, in my own special way. I just feel like we've reached a dead end. Our relationship has to change, or die. On second thought, our relationship has to change AND you have to die. But I want you to know, no matter what the afterlife may bring you, that I will always love you." With that, he burst into a screechy, nails-on-chalkboard rendition of the Dolly Parton/Whitney Houston hit, then planted a kiss on Batman's lips.

 

"Come on, Bats. Tell me you love me, too."

 

"Go to hell," Batman mumbled, clearly more awake than he had let on but still too weak to put up any real resistance.

 

"Tisk, tisk," Joker snarled. "Okay, be that way. I just thought we could share a moment of tenderness before the bitter end. Guess not." He reached into his pocket and produced a small but sinister looking hypodermic, which he jabbed directly into the fleshy part of Batman's upper arm. The needle slipped effortlessly through the fabric of the batsuit and penetrated the surprisingly soft flesh underneath.

 

"Let me talk you through what's about to happen, pal. I don't want you to miss a moment of it. Those muscle spasms you're starting to experience right now are going to be pretty bad for several painful minutes -- you'll be shaking as violently as your restraints will allow -- but don't worry, they'll subside … for about half an hour. On the downside, you'll be completely unable to move a single inch of your body during that time, but at least you'll be wide awake so you can watch every single thing I do to you next.

 

"Enjoy that little period of calm as much as you possibly can, bud, because when it's over, the spasms will return, worse than ever. Fortunately, they won't last long this time. But when they end, you'll be … dead as a goddam doornail. Got it? Okay, fasten your seat belt, cuz here we go!"

 

Batman was unable to respond. Exactly as Joker had predicted, his body was now twitching to and fro like a marionette at the mercy of a crazed puppetteer. It was humiliating to lose control of his movement so thoroughly, but that embarassment paled in comparison to the physical agony he was experiencing. The corners of his mouth felt pulled in opposite directions, as if his lips were about to be torn apart.

 

When at last it ended, the Joker held a mirror up to Batman's face. The reflection confirmed what the masked man had suspected: that his lips were now frozen in a monstrous smile, the trademark of so many of Joker's victims in the past. His facial muscles were paralyzed in this gruesome position with no evidence that they would ever again relax.

 

"The transformation has begun, and there's no turning back," Joker announced melodramatically."And now it's time to say goodbye to the last shred of your old self." He unsnapped the button which held Batman's cowl in place and took the ears of the mask in his hands.

 

***

3.

 

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted to find out who's under that mask of yours," the Joker told his victim. Many a night he had lost sleep, envisioning various faces hiding beneath the cowl: sometimes celebrities, sometimes multi-millionaires, sometimes everyday people he'd seen in passing on the street. But even though he'd had at least a dozen opportunities to lift the mask, something always stopped him. Sometimes it was Batman, wriggling away from a trap at the last minute, but just as often the Joker himself had stopped short of completing the task, intentionally bungling the job so Batman could break free and their games could continue. And each time, the mystery only grew more powerful. "I'm just a kid who doesn't want to unwrap that one last Christmas present," Joker said. "It's my little way of keeping the holiday spirit year-round."

 

Even so, life had gotten boring. It was time for a change. "I hope you realize that, in ending your career as a good guy, I'll also be ending mine as a supervillain. Once I know who you are, I'll be losing my whole reason for committing most of my illustrious crimes. But I guess I'm willing to make that sacrifice in order to take things to the next level. I've been stuck for way too long; I'm destined for greatness. It'll be lonely at the top, since you won't be around anymore, but a Joker's gotta do what a Joker's gotta do."

 

Batman was silent, though his eyes screamed angry obscenities at his captor.

 

"I'm  not really sure what I'll do next," Joker continued as if responding to an unseen reporter for People magazine. "I'm thinking of something involving children. You know, giving something back to the community. To the next generation."

 

Batman wanted to resist, but there was nothing he could do. The shot had him absolutely immobilized.

 

The mask came off in slow motion, the tormentor savoring every second of the unveiling. The open half of the cowl passed over the chin … the nose … the cheeks … the eyes … the forehead … the hairline …and then it was gone.

The man beneath it was handsome, or at least as handsome as a man can be when the lower half of his face is frozen into a gruesome smile. His eyelashes and hair were a soft, sandy brown, though matted with perspiration. His brow exuded intelligence and a youthful glow despite years of unimaginable stress. It was the face of a wealthy, privileged man, the kind of guy who'd had every break in life: money, brains, good looks. Joker hated everything he saw with a passion so strong it bordered on infatuation.

 

"Pretty much what I expected, I guess," he said, feeling the inevitable letdown now that the ultimate secret was out of the bag. He held the mask in his hand and studied its interior, still wet with its owner's sweat. On its own, it looked small and unimposing, just a few inches of material. "You know, I've always wondered what life looks like on the other side of this thing."

 

***

 

4.

 

Batman could do nothing, say nothing, as his archenemy fondled the limp mask, positioned it on his own head, and snapped it into place. Joker now wore the stolen utility belt, cape, and cowl over his own trademark costume. Wisps of green hair and smudges of whiteface poked out from beneath the mask as if to desecrate it.

 

"Things are changing fast, Batman," Joker said. "Now it's your turn to walk a mile in my shoes." He wheeled over a tray littered with face paint and clown makeup. The whiteface was first; he lovingly smeared it all over his captive's newly exposed flesh until Batman's face was as pasty as his own. Bright red lipstick and jet-black eyeliner came next, followed by aerosol hair spray in Joker's distinctive shade of green.

 

The mirror returned, and Batman was forced to look upon the job Joker had just completed. Gone was the visage of a world-famous crimefighter; in its place was a near-perfect imitation of Joker's ghoulish face.

 

"Turnabout is fair play," the clown prince of crime cackled, putting down the mirror and studying Batman's expression for any sign of response. "Personally, I think you look gorgeous, loverboy," the Joker said. "Anybody can be a GQ model, but it takes a rare breed to sport this look. In fact, I have just the outfit for your funeral." He motioned to an exact replica of his own duds hanging on a nearby hook.

 

"But enough fun and games. If my calculations are correct, you have just three more minutes of life left in you. Any last words?" There was a long pause. "Oh, of course not. I forgot that my little drugs have robbed you of anything so difficult as speech. Guess I'll just have to deliver your dying monologue myself. God knows I've rehearsed it enough."

 

Draped in the most recognizable elements of the defeated do-gooder's costume,  the Joker stepped completely into the role of his nemesis for a moment, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll get you yet, Joker!" he said in a comical exaggeration of Batman's booming bass. "Crime doesn't pay! Justice will save the day! And blah blah blah."

 

Batman watched this spectacle with evident but inexpressible anger. He let out one last sigh, and then the tremors began again. True to Joker's word, they were ten times more explosive than the last round, and he forced out as many grunts and groans as his paralyzed throat could release. "Annnnnnnn--nnnngggghhhhh--mmmmmmmmm…"

 

A moment later, his head fell to his chest and all signs of breathing ceased. The once-mighty defender of Gotham was stone-cold dead.

 

***

5.

 

Joker held the mirror up to his own face. What he beheld was too good to be true: the cloak and cowl of his worst enemy, now incorporated into his own identity.

 

When he put the mirror down, what he saw was even better: the bane of his existence, stripped of every last secret and slumped lifeless in a chair. It was all over at last, the decades-long battle between two crazed men, and he--the Joker--had won. The fact that he'd done it all single-handedly -- no henchmen, no collaborations with fellow supervillains--made the victory that much sweeter.

 

Victory! He felt a rush stronger than any sensation he had known. He looked down and saw for the first time that his cock was spewing forth a veritable river of spunk. It shot past his pants, onto the cape and down to the floor. He picked up a handful of the sticky substance and rubbed it all over the unmasked face of his deceased foe. The cum mixed with the white paint and created a gooey mess which coated the corpse.

 

Filled with unceasing energy, the Joker reached down and began to jerk himself off. He came again in mere minutes, and once more the spew flowed out of him with ease…

 

"Looks like somebody's having a good time," a voice said.

 

"Huh?" said the Joker, waking up to the cell bars and bunk which composed his familiar grey surroundings.

 

"Thought you were too old for wet dreams, Mr. Joker," said the corrections officer who stood next to his bunk in the cell.

 

"You're never too old to dream," inmate 0005698 replied, wiping the cum from his stained sheets onto his hideous white face like a moisturizer. Only 12 more years till the next parole hearing, and the next chance to make his vision a reality.

 

THE END