It's only after the fact that Joker realizes he was expecting a tense, angry rejection. Something involving a curled upper lip and a lot of gritted teeth. And, of course, the silent implication that Joker is a filthy degenerate and the last person on earth he would ever consider letting use him in that manner, and yadda yadda. Do not pass Go, do not collect a Batman. That is, he realizes, what was supposed to happen. Then he would laugh, and the tension would break, and he'd offer some parting jab about Batman's bizarre behavior, and that would be that.
Instead, Bats chose to give him this sidestep. This weak-ass little dodge. The cameras? Really?
A shred of the smugness leaves Joker's eyes, and a hint of searching curiosity replaces it.
What are they doing? What is he doing?
He has the vague sense that he's leaning out over an abyss, tethered only by the thinnest of fraying cords. And if that cord goes...
Frankly, it's exhilarating. For years now, he's danced the same familiar dance with Batman. All the same familiar steps. Always leading toward the same, inevitable, maybe-today-or-maybe-ten-years-from-now end. But now? Now, he hasn't the faintest clue what's going to happen. And dear God, what a rush that is.
He lets Batman take him by the arm. No releasing of the wrist he's holding. No attempting to block or twist. He simply holds Batman's gaze, and keeps hold of the wrist, and lets it happen.
"No. But you do. And with that new tattoo of yours..." He shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. "I just want to take a charming submissive somewhere a little more private. Who could object to that?"
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It's only after the fact that Joker realizes he was expecting a tense, angry rejection. Something involving a curled upper lip and a lot of gritted teeth. And, of course, the silent implication that Joker is a filthy degenerate and the last person on earth he would ever consider letting use him in that manner, and yadda yadda. Do not pass Go, do not collect a Batman. That is, he realizes, what was supposed to happen. Then he would laugh, and the tension would break, and he'd offer some parting jab about Batman's bizarre behavior, and that would be that.
Instead, Bats chose to give him this sidestep. This weak-ass little dodge. The cameras? Really?
A shred of the smugness leaves Joker's eyes, and a hint of searching curiosity replaces it.
What are they doing? What is he doing?
He has the vague sense that he's leaning out over an abyss, tethered only by the thinnest of fraying cords. And if that cord goes...
Frankly, it's exhilarating. For years now, he's danced the same familiar dance with Batman. All the same familiar steps. Always leading toward the same, inevitable, maybe-today-or-maybe-ten-years-from-now end. But now? Now, he hasn't the faintest clue what's going to happen. And dear God, what a rush that is.
He lets Batman take him by the arm. No releasing of the wrist he's holding. No attempting to block or twist. He simply holds Batman's gaze, and keeps hold of the wrist, and lets it happen.
"No. But you do. And with that new tattoo of yours..." He shrugs, the barest twitch of his shoulders. "I just want to take a charming submissive somewhere a little more private. Who could object to that?"