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i.
Temporary residence at the Iceberg Lounge isn’t all that out of the ordinary for Joker. He’s usually welcome as long as he keeps to himself and Joker suspects, with a kind of delight that he’s come to associate with this arrangement, that Oswald likes having him around.
It’s during one of those times that Joker wanders downstairs in search of something and runs into an alarming number of familiar faces. Whatever he had in mind is immediately forgotten and replaced by the nagging feeling that he’s walked right into the middle of some sort of event.
Joker doesn’t get invited to anniversaries, birthdays or anything else remotely worth celebrating. It’s a long-standing rule among most people with common sense.
Harley’s there though, chatting up Pam and Selina, so it occurs to Joker he’s been shamelessly betrayed. He walks straight through the ice rink in the middle of the lounge, stumbling over a few penguins, and accosts the nearest waiter.
It’s Harvey Dent’s birthday apparently. To Joker’s knowledge it’s not February nor the second day of any month -- Harvey’s misfortune must run deep. He’s got half a mind to go back upstairs, it would be the sensible thing to do, Harvey’s even less fond of him than the average person.
What Joker does, instead, is pilfer four drinks and plop down on Harvey’s lap as soon as he finds him. He’s not immediately knocked to the floor nor shot to death. Joker concludes the birthday boy must be in a spectacularly good mood.
“I’d have gotten you something nice if you’d only told me, sugar,” Joker says and then pinches Harvey’s good cheek just because he can.
Harvey looks at him and turns right back to what must be a fascinating conversation with Crane, sans Scarecrow attire for the evening and steadily losing points in Joker’s mind for that alone. There’s a chance Harvey’s allowing him this place of honour simply because it’s keeping him somewhat quiet.
Joker deems it appropriate to share none of the drinks he’s brought along and finds himself increasingly giggly as the evening wears on, uncommonly so for anyone who’s not the Joker. It occurs to him Harvey deserves some sort of present.
From where Joker’s sitting there’s nothing more than a hint of the ugly scarring tainting Harvey’s left side. He sort of misses it. Harvey is handsome in a bland sort of way, it’s Two-Face Joker cares about right now.
He wiggles around until he’s effectively blocking Harvey’s view of Crane and kisses him. It’s chaste really and nothing like his own acid-burned skin, though Joker can’t quite tell what he expected. Kissing Harvey is a lot like pressing your lips against a crusted over wound.
Not half bad, Joker decides, not bad at all actually. He’s laughing hysterically as he’s pushed away. It’s probably in his best interest to start running.
ii.
Solomon Grundy is endearingly stupid in a way Joker can’t help but find utterly charming. That’s usually reason enough to invite him along on whatever ill-advised scheme Joker manages to come up with. A huge zombie that seems to want nothing more than to be useful is admittedly irresistible.
Tonight’s heist has been successful only in the sense that they’ve made it back without a trip to Arkham. Joker does always appreciate seeing his Bat, even if he’s hardly been offered more than a few choice words tonight.
Joker kicks open the door to his latest hideout and beckons Grundy inside. Harley’s not around and half his henchmen have been arrested, it’s just the two of them for now. He doesn’t mind, though his nose might be broken and he wants nothing more than to crash on some mattress somewhere. Maybe Arkham would have been nice after all.
He rarely gets tired, certainly not of Batman. Something else has to be at play here, one of those unrecognisable moods he never catches wind of until it’s too late.
Grundy must feel some imperceptible change in the air because next thing Joker knows he’s being lifted up and held tightly against a very solid chest. He doesn’t even consider struggling.
“Grundy hug you,” comes the belated warning.
Joker finds himself smiling, some plan forming in his mind. This is interesting, he’ll give Grundy that much. It’s hardly the first time they’ve hugged but it’s the first time Grundy’s started it. No matter what crisis he might have been heading towards, it’s been quite effectively averted.
As soon as he finds himself back on the ground, Joker gives in to the sudden and impulsive need to distract himself at all costs. He stands on tiptoes and pulls Grundy close until he can successfully press his lips against cold, chapped ones. It takes him a moment or two to realise Grundy’s not kissing back.
Joker pulls back, cold all over. Grundy is just staring at him, hints of blood and lipstick now smeared on his mouth. Joker gets the distinct impression he’s about to end up with much worse than a broken nose. It’s entirely welcome, all things considered.
“Joker kiss?” Grundy asks, tilting his head. It’s adorable. Joker breathes a sigh of relief and considers turning himself in for sheer stupidity.
“Joker kiss,” he agrees all the same time, smiling until he can’t do anything but laugh.
Grundy joins in a second later, loud enough to echo. Joker knows he got ahead of himself a minute ago. He’s startled to realise he’s fine with it. Might as well take all the bone-crushing hugs he can get.
iii.
Eddie just wants to be sure. That’s what he keeps saying and also, apparently, the only reason Joker’s found himself on what seems to be a date. They’re on a rooftop terrace. It’s got fairy lights.
Joker had laughed for five minutes straight until he’d realised Eddie is in possession of no comedic timing or sense of humour. All signs point to Eddie really thinking this is the way to figure out whatever’s been bothering him lately.
That particular thought sends Joker into hysterics again. He’s made several promises not to laugh, all on the way here, though he firmly believes Eddie shouldn’t have counted on that.
“So, whose place is this?” Joker asks as he sits down at the nearest table. It’s coincidentally the only one with candles on it.
“Oh, it’s a restaurant,” Eddie says like that’s not supposed to get Joker giggling uncontrollably. The Riddler took over an entire restaurant for a date with the Joker.
Joker kicks Eddie under the table and then bats his eyelashes at him. Part of him is waiting for Batman to burst in any moment now. Maybe this’ll finally show him what he’s missing out on.
Eddie presses something on the question mark-shaped cane he’s still holding and a terrified waiter brings them a bottle of wine and two glasses. Joker watches it all with a sort of amused fascination.
“Are you finally gonna propose?”
Joker feels like it’s the natural thing to ask. He’s not quite sure he’s ready to settle down yet and Eddie’s a bit on the skinny side, not the kind of guy he usually goes for.
Eddie chokes on his wine and starts coughing every time he tries to answer. Joker is feeling patient enough, it’s the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him in a while.
“No!” he finally chokes out. Eddie’s even more reluctant to get on with the rest of what he has to say. “I was actually wondering whether you could kiss me. I just want to know if I’m interested in--”
“Clowns?” Joker finishes, helpful as ever. He’s not about to refuse an offer of this calibre though, especially not if it’s in the name of science.
Joker springs up from his seat and proceeds to straddle Eddie. There’s no hesitation here, not on his part at least. He plants a sudden kiss on Eddie’s lips, turning open-mouthed and hungry as soon as Eddie stops playing dead.
They slow down after that, trading soft kisses until Joker feels a hand gripping his shoulder. He pulls back, confused.
“Thanks,” Eddie says. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and he looks a little rumpled. Joker grins.
iv.
Joker tends to hate plans. They’re too restrictive for his taste, near constant reminders to stick to the plan are nothing if not stifling. That being said, he rarely takes a detour through Gotham’s not-so-lovely sewers without an actual purpose.
It usually means Joker’s escaped from Arkham and doesn’t have time for anything more showy. This time it’s an entirely noble purpose. He’s going to seduce Killer Croc.
Croc doesn’t like him in any real capacity. Joker thinks they’ve been reluctant allies at best, though he can’t really recall ever working with Croc before.
There is something much too appealing about Croc though, something between the ability to tear Joker apart and those beautiful eyes. He can’t imagine how this hasn’t occurred to him before.
It’s a little bit like navigating his way around a labyrinth in near complete darkness and Joker’s sense of direction isn’t fantastic even when he doesn’t have to walk through murky water for hours on end. He’s determined though and it feels a little bit like victory when he quite literally stumbles into some kind of nest.
Croc’s immense silhouette is curled up somewhere in the middle, among a few tattered blankets haphazardly thrown on the floor. Joker realises, startled, that he must be sleeping.
That’s one thing he never counted on. Joker’s not about to turn back either way, not now. Maybe he can wake Croc up somehow. The sudden image of a Sleeping Beauty-esque story starring the two of them can’t be all bad.
Joker climbs on Croc with little difficulty but it doesn’t seem to do much more than make him stir briefly. A razor-sharp claw instinctively comes to cradle Joker’s face and he nuzzles against it. The scales are rough on his skin and Joker decides instantly that he needs a much closer look.
He slides up until he can comfortably reach Croc’s mouth and leans down. Joker wishes he had thought of reapplying his lipstick earlier but it’s too late for that now.
It starts looking like it might be too late for Joker altogether when Croc opens his great big maw and lunges. Joker yelps and rolls over, barely managing to avoid getting home minus his face. There are scratches on his cheek, Croc’s claw hadn’t turned gentle when he’d woken up, but that seems to be the worst of it.
“Croc, ol’ pal, I just happened to be passing by and, y’know, I thought I’d say hi,” Joker explains, seemingly convinced he can talk his way out of this if he only does it fast enough.
Croc, terrifyingly magnificent as he is, proves sufficiently nice not to get up. He’s just staring.
“Well, hi!” Joker risks pressing a kiss to Croc’s cheek and darts off in the opposite direction.
v.
Mr. Freeze is a tall man, taller than Joker himself on the sole basis of good posture, significantly less skeletal though and that makes all the difference. Mr. Freeze is also, as far as Joker knows, somewhat happily married.
Joker isn’t particularly attracted to Freeze but that very same curiosity that drives at least half of what he does flares up every time he walks by that frosty cell in Arkham. It’s really the only reason he permanently knocks out the two guards outside his own cell and breaks into Freeze’s.
It’s snowing inside and Joker gets to enjoy that for all of two seconds before the cold hits him and he starts hating the flimsy Arkham uniform. Mr. Freeze is standing in the middle of the room, tinted blue and statuesque. Joker closes the door behind him, lest they attract any more attention, and sort of slides further inside. The whole place is frozen.
Joker puts a hand on Freeze’s shoulder to steady himself. It burns and he’s absolutely gleeful. Nora Fries is one lucky lady. Mr. Freeze himself is just looking rather unimpressed, like Joker hanging around here is a completely normal occurrence.
“Can I kiss you?” Joker asks. He knows Freeze appreciates this kind of approach. “I just wanna know how it feels,” he adds.
He can’t actually pry his hand away from where he’s touching Freeze and that can’t be a good sign for any other part of him but Joker ignores it in favour of pouting. That move very rarely works.
“It would be hazardous to your health,” Mr. Freeze says, glancing meaningfully at Joker’s bony hand on his shoulder.
Joker takes that as a yes and leans up to kiss Freeze. He stays like that for a while, moving his lips against Freeze’s until he can’t. Joker’s eyes flutter open, there’s a hint of panic in there.
It only gets worse when he realises his feet aren’t touching the ground. He’s hanging onto Freeze simply because his lips and hands are frozen to him. Joker would laugh if he could.
Mr. Freeze moves in the direction of some sort of emergency button as Joker tries to struggle in vain. He suspects this would hurt a lot more if he actually had any feeling left in his body. Joker mumbles some incomprehensible protests as the button is pressed.
Several guards burst into the room but Joker can’t see much from this position. He can, however, hear that distinct sound of a phone camera and he sighs. This is going to be the talk of the asylum by morning.
vi.
Gotham’s abyss downbelow looks just as welcoming as a punch to the face. Joker wants both. He’s sitting on a gargoyle tonight, legs dangling some 1,000 feet above the city.
It’s one of the thirteen gargoyles plastered all across Wayne Tower because Gotham doesn’t believe in architects in their right mind. He counted them on his way up, it almost helped.
Joker’s spent the better part of the night watching Batman from what he’d call a safe distance. He’s lost track of him now though and he’s getting antsy, that might be why he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone lands next to him. Turning around is a somewhat uncoordinated scramble. One misstep means the end.
“What are you doing here?” Bats asks, as gruff and accusing as ever.
Joker turns back to his brand new best friend and puts his arms around the gargoyle’s neck. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.
“Charlie here won’t tell me,” he says instead, rubbing his forehead against the coarse stone. It does little to ground him. “Why? D’you miss me down there?”
The oversized bat Joker’s dedicated his life to doesn’t actually answer. He has to work a little harder than usual to remain hopeful. In one abrupt movement an arm comes to wrap around his waist and then they’re plunging into the night. Joker doesn’t remember hearing the grappling gun. Maybe this is it.
Disappointingly enough, they land in one of those dismal little alleys Gotham is full of. Joker takes a step back and thrusts his hands in Bats’ face, ready for the patented bat-cuffs.
“What do you want, Joker?” Batman asks, weary.
Joker’s sure there are lot of things he wants, none that come to mind immediately but he could go for one of those cocktails with a little umbrella. He snorts and shakes his head, dusting himself off.
“Sometimes a gal needs to feel wanted.”
“How do I do that?” Batman asks. He’s full of questions tonight but it’s the most Joker’s gotten in so long.
It gets Joker smiling as he tugs at one of the ears on the cowl, not trying to dislodge anything, just suddenly fond. “A kiss every now and again wouldn’t hurt,” he decides.
The cuffs on his wrists are expected -- Joker knows he walked straight into that one -- even if the lips pressing against his own aren’t. It doesn’t last more than a second. Batman kissed him. Joker beams even as he’s dragged to the car. It feels a little bit like something’s finally slid into place.
“I knew you had it in you, Bats,” Joker says, dazed. Batman’s grunt is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.