WARNING: This work of fanfiction contains strong sexual content between two men, including mind control/hypnosis themes, footplay, and the Joker... well, being the Joker. If you're not physically, emotionally, and/or legally old enough to handle these concepts, do us both a big favor and press the Back button NOW.

Continuity-wise, this story is set after the Ventriloquist was first sent to Arkham Asylum (i.e., the episode "Read My Lips"), but before Joker stole the Hatter's brainwashing technology and used it to turn several hapless Gotham comedians into supervillains (as seen in "Make 'Em Laugh"). Hey, something must have inspired the Joker to swipe Jervis's schtick, right?

I don't own Batman: the Animated Series. Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. and its license-holding subsidiaries do. Characters and concepts are being used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. Happy Fun Ball is like a raven and a writing desk, though it refuses to explain why.

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Caution: Plays Well With Others
by Apricot the Gerbil


It had almost been too easy, the Mad Hatter thought.

He spread his legs wider.

Two hands immediately grasped onto his hips for balance; Jervis smiled, basking in the sensation of the tongue slathering over his cock licking and sucking away at him all the more forcefully. With a supremely contented sigh, he let his head tip back and rest against the tank of the toilet he sat upon. The panting coming from between his legs grew faster, with slight, whimpered grunts straining their way out between each breath. "You're doing very well," Jervis said, smoothing his hand over the slight wrinkles on his latest pawn's scalp.

The dim light in the asylum bathroom stall still managed to reflect off the Ventriloquist's glasses. He looked up at Jervis from on his knees, giving the Hatter a smile so gleeful that it seemed a mistake upon his worry-lined face. Then down he went again, swishing his tongue in gentle corkscrews around the fat mushroom-bulb head of Jervis's prick.

What a difference a little persuasion made, the Hatter mused to himself. It was impressive how eager Arnold could be with his mouth, once he wasn't using it to mumble apologies. The moan of approval that passed Jervis's lips was far less articulate, but it got the point across just the same.

In truth, the situation itself was what thrilled Jervis most; the exact path Arnold's tongue took on his skin, enjoyable as it was, mattered little. As long as the Hatter's fingers remained fixed upon the pulse of someone else's mind, free to select actions and reactions like so many plucked harpstrings, the limitations placed upon him by the "real world" had neither teeth nor claws. The roles of Narrator and Main Character were as one-- and for however briefly, the story of Jervis Tetch could proceed, the way he knew it was supposed to.

The Ventriloquist chose that moment to drag his teeth right across a tender spot near the tip-- the part already sensitive enough for pleasure to hurt. "Ah. AAH. Lower down!" Jervis yowled, his hands lifting their deathgrip on Arnold's shoulders only once that soft, slick heat moved to lap at his sack instead. "There. Much better," the Hatter said kindly, recovering as quickly as could be expected. At least a wandering jaw was the worst risk he had to face, considering the benefits, he figured. "That's right... The more attention you give it, the better you'll feel."

Arnold's glasses were too thick to allow much insight from his eyes, but if the painful-looking bulge jutting out from the inseam of his trousers was any indication, the Ventriloquist was feeling very good indeed. The Hatter couldn't hide a twinge of jealousy at the sight, in fact... Arnold clearly wasn't what most would call "gifted," but Jervis could tell with one glance that the puppeteer easily trumped his own three-and-a-quarter inches. How disgusting, he thought. With only the briefest hesitation, he raised one foot and gave Arnold's bulge as sharp a stab as he could manage with slippered toes. He caught Arnold halfway through his helium-gasp, before any screams had a chance to escape: "No! That felt wonderful! You loved it!"

The bunched-up crinkles on the Ventriloquist's brow faded with the same speed as they appeared. He sat there, head cocked slightly to one side, looking confused... not writhing in instant bliss, but for a man kicked in the crotch only seconds ago, he seemed rather unconcerned about it.

Jervis felt no need to see what reaction Arnold's brain might finally decide upon. "You love how this feels, too!" he ordered, and kicked again. "And this!" Another kick.

To the control chip's credit, Arnold made no attempt to dodge, and even braced his hands to the floor to better catch the blows without toppling. The anxious murmur-trail familiar to anyone who spent time around him in Arkham still quivered out from the Ventriloquist's lower lip, but the difference in his tone was like hearing the same song in minor and major keys.

Sadly, the novelty of the Hatter's new punching bag wore off somewhere around the eighth smack. If he was causing Arnold any damage, he couldn't tell; the Ventriloquist shrugged off each hit with a delighted squirm and a sigh. He was still erect and ready for more, at least... an impressive feat, the Hatter had to admit, with or without hypnotic suggestion's aid.

Well, thought Jervis, far be it for the Mad Hatter to be charged with landing a fellow Arkham inmate in the hospital over something as uncivilized as size envy. Sliding one foot out from its slipper, he settled it over The Unkillable Boner and gripped at the bulge with his toes. He began kneading his foot along Arnold's erection-- begrudgingly, perhaps, as he doubted the action would do him any good. Still, he was certain not allowing the Ventriloquist a break from his ball-breaking would be a mark of bad sportsmanship, to say the very least.

A feather-soft "oh..." left Arnold's throat. He bowed his head and leaned closer, swaying along with the Hatter's strokes like a boneless marionette.

Curiouser and curiouser, the Mad Hatter mused. With a deepening smirk, he kept scratching his pawn's itch, entranced by the sudden power held in his smallest toe's every flex and wiggle. He slipped off his other shoe and sent both feet exploring without thinking twice... It was intriguing, in an odd sort of way, to feel the Ventriloquist's pulse drumming against his skin as he nudged that warm flesh-bundle this way and that through the fabric.

Soon, it was enough of a distraction that Jervis forgot the Ventriloquist was there at all. It was only after Arnold bucked hard enough to jostle his balance on the toilet seat that the Hatter bothered to look up from where his feet were rubbing. The Ventriloquist's body tensed and tightened with each huff through his teeth, contorting in a helplessly awkward backwards arch.

"Oh...? Are you going to come?" the Hatter asked. When his voice dipped into the same sugared, patronizing tone he used to praise the mice in his neurology lab a lifetime ago, he scarcely realized it. "Are you? Are you?" He squeezed the lump between his feet harder-- and had to chuckle. Arnold shook in place, straining like a young child trying desperately not to wet themselves.

"There, there, old chap. You don't have to hold anything back. Guilt has no power, where we are," Jervis consoled him, and kept his toes moving. This was becoming a fun little challenge, the Hatter thought. "You'll feel so much better, once you let yourself enjoy a nice, big release..."

It took only a few strokes more for Arnold's resistance to melt like butter on a tea-table knife, but it was the wordless sound he made when he came that caught the Hatter's interest most of all. Even considering its context, it sounded completely ridiculous-- a sort of "nyreuugh" noise, one that would sound right at home in the cries of Carroll's mome-raths.

With that, the Ventriloquist collapsed, latching onto the Hatter's leg and clinging to it like a shipwrecked sailor to driftwood. He cushioned his head on his arm, sending thin rivulets of sweat rolling down to pool under his cheek. The most he seemed capable of doing was panting, nudge-rubbing his crotch against Jervis's foot through the last aftershocks, and panting some more.

There were no stains on Arnold's pants, from what Jervis could see... though judging by the telltale runny glide he felt from through the cloth, it couldn't be long before some started blotting to the surface. "Storing up a rather uncomfortable load by now, were we?" he teased. Though the asylum's dress code forbid inmates from wearing headgear, Jervis tipped the brim of a nonexistent top hat to Arnold out of habit. "Pleased to be of service."

The Ventriloquist opened his mouth as if about to reply, then sighed and snuggled farther up on Jervis's thigh instead, still awash in a gasp-reddened glow.

"My, my, my... Just look at that face. That must have felt simply marvelous," the Hatter said. He wondered if his friends, the Walrus and the Carpenter, felt the same swelling of pride when gazing upon the oyster feast they both helped create, knowing it would never have existed without them... Indeed, what were the odds? Not once could Jervis ever recall seeing the Ventriloquist happy. There were plenty of pasted-on smiles and nods to avoid his wooden companion's scorn, or the occasional nervous giggle, but nothing that came close to the full-body grin Arnold had now. That the Hatter could bring joy to this sorry shell of a man-- and, in turn, be shown a side of his fellow inmate so fragile, so unthinkably private, unlocked by his help alone... The feeling was indescribable.

To put it in more concrete terms, Jervis's cock was pounding like a stopped-up fire hose.

He tapped Arnold on the forehead. "If you're quite finished... You were doing wonderfully earlier. Pick up where you left off, please," he said, patting the leg Arnold wasn't sprawled over to refresh his memory.

In ten seconds, it was like they had never paused.

"Yes... Keep going! Almost...!" The Hatter bunched his fingers through the white tuft of hair on the back of Arnold's head. His eyes started to water; he squeezed them shut and grabbed tighter. "Ah-- almost--!"

"What? Almost what? Ooh, the suspense is killing me!"

Jervis stopped death-still at the new voice, every inch of skin on his body feeling as though it had been licked by an icicle. He looked up slowly, praying he'd heard wrong-- that someone else had discovered them. A guard, maybe. Or Two-Face, holding that silly coin of his, scarred side up. No-- Scarecrow. With a whole tank of fear gas. And Killer Croc standing next to him, heaving a giant rock over his head. Please let it be something as easy as that, Jervis thought... or worse, so long as it wasn't that voice.

At first, all he could see was teeth. Teeth, connected to a grin...

...connected to the last person anyone would want to discover watching them at a time like this.

"You!" The way the Hatter said it, it could be a curse word. His hands flew to Arnold's bobbing head, forcing it away and holding it there. "Sit still don't move!" Jervis sputtered to him.

"Me? Where?" The Joker checked over his shoulder fearfully. He composed himself and leaned back against the bathroom wall again, chiding, "Of course it's me! Who did you think it was, the popcorn vendor dropping by?" He glanced to either side of the hall, tapping his foot with brisk impatience. "Though given what goes on back here, that's not a half bad idea..."

Jervis was still fumbling for something to cover himself with. "How long have you been standing there?!" he demanded, and gave up, flopping both arms over his lap instead.

"Oh, long enough to get a gist of the plot," the Joker said, moving only to buff his fingernails against his sleeve. His expression went blank with an ease any poker player in Gotham would kill to have. "Can't say I'm a big fan of the subject matter, but that's the risk you take with performance art, mm?"

"I'd appreciate some privacy," the Hatter managed through gritted molars. "If you haven't noticed, we're a bit busy at the moment."

The Joker's smile spread wide. "Pshaw! Don't mind me, I'm only taking in the show," he said, then nodded to the Ventriloquist. "I've heard of acts where they drink a glass of water, but this is really something!"

The Mad Hatter kept glaring at him, hoping he might force the grinning spectre away with the hate in his eyes alone. The Ventriloquist, however, stayed on his knees, his only movement the machine-steady lifts of his breath.

Like most things, this did not go unnoticed by the Joker. "My, Arnold, you're awfully quiet today. What's the matter? Little Hat got your tongue?" he asked with a smirk. He inched out one hand and snapped his fingers a few times, whistling faintly. "Quick, boy! Timmy's fallen down the old well again!"

"You won't get anything from him." A tinge of smugness melted through Jervis's chilly demeanor. "Right now, he's not even aware of his own name, much less how to respond to you."

"Another control card? Color me surprised." Joker's hands went to his hips; he shook his head as a matron would over an empty cookie jar. "Tisk tisk, Tetchy. And to think, the Arkham boys won't let a cell phone or radio within fifty feet of the front gates anymore because of you! How do you manage to find the parts?"

"Hmn... You make it sound so easy. I barely had enough to piece together a microchip that could send hypnotic pulses to the brain this time, much less anything I can directly command, but... I have my ways," Jervis said. He sighed, scowling down at the limpness between his legs. "Well, my Cheshire-faced fellow, you've managed to completely destroy the mood. Forgive me if I don't applaud."

The Joker feigned a hurt look. "A buzzkill? Moi? Perish the thought!" One hand flew to his brow as he forced a sniffle. "I was only going to ask if I could join in, and you have to go and make me the villain here!"

"Join in?" Jervis echoed, failing to hide his disgust at the idea. "You can't be serious!"

"When have I ever been less than serious?" scoffed the Joker. He strode up to the stall to rest an elbow on its doorless metal frame, studying the Ventriloquist with interest. "Besides, what's the use of knowing someone who can scramble people's brains if I can't take the results out for a test drive now and again? Kick the tires, so to speak."

The Hatter kept both hands crossed over his crotch. "What makes you think I'd let you?" he asked, frowning.

"Funny you should mention it! I seem to recall there's a certain nasty little toy with a gun that would love to find out what you did with his pet voice-box while he was away." The Joker tapped a finger to his chin, miming deep thought. "And of course, there's always Doc Bartholomew... He might appreciate an anonymous tip about your new hypno-trinkets, don't you think?"

The glare continued. "Very well but I'm not done with him yet," the Englishman snapped.

"No need to fret. I've heard of a way we can even share him!" said the clown, hoisting the Ventriloquist's rump off the floor with a tug around his hips. As he inched down the waistband of Arnold's asylum-issue scrubs, the Joker batted thinning green lashes at Jervis and smeared his tongue across his lips like a thick, meaty snake, moaning, "We can stare longingly into each other's eyes while we're at it, and everything!"

The witty retort forming in the Hatter's brain sputtered and died. Not one verse in the entirety of Lewis Carroll's works could help counter the many mental images warring to violate him first. Stammering angrily at the Joker was all he could manage, even as the clown grimaced and jerked his hands away from the Ventriloquist's briefs in disgust. "Good God, man!" Joker choked out. "It's bad enough he lets a block of wood talk for him, but it looks like he's given it wiping duty, too!"

Jervis sneered at him. "Whatever did you expect to find there? Do you think that's where he keeps the magical pink fairy-dragons that fly out while we're asleep, on-- on wings made of glitter...?" he said, raising one hand and flapping it at the Joker like a bird.

The Joker didn't miss a beat. He leaned close to pat the Mad Hatter on the head. "Heavens, no! I'll leave that kind of thinking to you. Who else could know more about fairies, eh, Tetchy m'boy?"

The Hatter's birds-nest of blond hair swung down over his eyes as he bowed his surrender. His voice was lackluster-low, edging wearily past the point of giving a damn: "See here, my good fellow. I'll only be glad to turn him over to you, but unlike him, I've yet to fully enjoy the experience myself, and until I do, I'm not leaving this spot for an instant. So will you kindly allow me the faintest modicum of peace and quiet so I can finish?"

"Tch. That's why our relationship never works, y'know. You're so high-maintenance!" Joker said, shaking his head. "And here I thought all you people had to do was lie back and think of England." Noting the Hatter's souring expression, he shrugged and turned to step a safe few paces out of Jervis's reach. "Still, if it's alone time you need, far be it for dear old Uncle Joker to spoil things. I'll be waiting out here... Have fun cheating on your girlfriend."

His grin was already slinking wider as he spoke, but hearing the Mad Hatter's reaction from behind him was what made it all so perfectly delicious. Jervis positively snarled, sounding even more outraged than the Joker expected: "How DARE you!!"

Joker twirled lazily on the heel of one slipper to face the stall again, knowing his innocent idiot's smirk would enrage his audience all the more. A quip was perched at the tip of his tongue, but the Joker found himself struck speechless, far too amused by the sight before him to push it out.

Jervis stood there, pants pooled around his ankles, his whole body shivering. His face was red from the sheer force of his teeth grinding together. It was stunning, Joker thought, how much moral outrage someone with their cock wag-bobbing in the air from the sudden leap to their feet could manage.

"You think I actually wanted to do this? To settle for him?" the Hatter asked, hissing the questions under his breath like embers spat from a fireplace. "If everyone wasn't hellbent on keeping me locked up here for no good reason, I wouldn't have to! Don't you dare claim my Alice wouldn't understand!" He paused only to jab a finger towards the Ventriloquist, then plowed onward. "I have to make do with somebody while she's gone, and whenever the quacks in white coats try to wean this one away from his puppet, he's the only person here meek enough to say 'sorry' if he's punched in the face! Don't you see? Someone was bound to corner him eventually-- it was only a matter of time! At least I made sure he would enjoy it! ...And Alice isn't some silly girlfriend, you ninny-- we're SOULMATES!"

The Joker finally raised his hands away from either side of his head. "Remind me to pop in some earplugs before I hit that nerve again," he said flatly.

Far from being angered further, Jervis paused, his eyes widening... and he laughed. A quick burst, almost a bark. Then another. And another, the cackles winding together in a sinister-sounding chain. He aimed his pointed finger at the Joker like a sword, his grin a gap-toothed match with his opponent's. "But now... now, you see, I've got some dirt to hold for ransom as well! That little minx of yours, the jester girl-- might you remember her, perchance?" the Mad Hatter jeered. He resettled himself on the toilet with grand, lofty arm-sweeps befitting a king upon a golden throne, taking care to avoid knocking his still-kneeling subject to the floor as he kicked one leg over the other. "Who's cheating on whom, eh, friend?"

The Hatter's smile faltered at the look slowly crossing the Joker's face. Was that a smirk, or a frown? A sneer...? He wasn't sure, but by the time Joker's usual grin returned, the dangerous glint in the clown's eyes left Jervis more uneasy than his pride would ever allow him to admit.

"Au contraire, Mister Happy-Pants," Joker said. His shoulders shook as he spoke, fighting to keep in a giggling fit of his own. "She'll be glad to know you thought of her, but I can assure you... when I tell Harley about this later, the dear girl will laugh herself silly!"

"You're going to tell her?" asked Jervis, squinting at him. "Why?"

The Joker sounded more like his pet hyenas with each passing moment. "Bec-- because it's snrk so-- nyeh heh!-- so funny, of course!"

"Funny? That you would have carnal relations with him?!"

"That's the best part! Personally, I can't stand the loon, but Harley-- she's always had a soft spot for old Gepetto there!" Joker managed between snickers. He stumbled closer, bracing his arms against the stall walls. Looking down at the tiny strip of masking tape behind Arnold's ear, the Joker wiped away a tear, adding, "--And the poor sap never even saw it coming, that's what I'll say to her...!"

"You're speaking nonsense," Jervis muttered.

The laughing stopped, but the Joker's smile gleamed on; his lips resembled a blood-red ribbon stretched taut against his teeth. "Jervy, Jervy, Jervy... Don't you ever listen?" he said, shaking his head. "I never said I was going to use him."

The Mad Hatter heard a quick skrrp of torn tape. He felt the Joker's palm slapping him, and--~*

---

Arnold awoke with a groan.

He sat up from the floor, scrubbing at his forehead with his fingers. He was still in the bathroom... That's right, he'd just finished washing his hands, and... and then what? The Ventriloquist looked around, surprised to find himself back in the same stall as before. The Joker and Mister Tetch were there, too; Joker was raising his hand away from Mister Tetch's neck.

"Oh dear-- oh, my, did I faint? I'm sorry, I--" Arnold stammered, then stopped, distracted by the twinge of something caught in his mouth. Once the intruder was pried loose, he stared at the spittle-frothed blond hair curled between his thumb and forefinger as a cow would regard a downed satellite in its grazing patch. He flicked the mystery-hair aside and apologized again, too busy cursing his impoliteness to wonder why Jervis was staring straight ahead like he couldn't see anything. Or why he didn't seem to mind the Joker standing so close to him, even when Jervis's pants and underwear were lying on the floor... Arnold had always thought of Mister Tetch as being much more private.

The Hatter's lack of pants aside, there was an alarming squishy wetness in the crotch of his own clothes, Arnold realized with a shock. "No... oh gosh!" he whimpered, curling to rest his head against his knees. "I-- it happened again... Please, fellas, don't tell Mister Scarface! He gets awful mad if he finds out I've been--"

The Joker cut him off. "Don't worry your sandpapered little head about it," he said, grinning in that way that made the Ventriloquist sick to his stomach for some reason. "You're free to stick around and watch, if that's your thing. But just so you know, I'm not laying so much as a finger on you. Everybody gets a happy ending today, and I see you've already had yours." Joker paused, then sniffed haughtily at him. "Besides, I always hate getting stuck with sloppy seconds."

Arnold didn't understand, but things usually went easier if he kept quiet and nodded, so that's what he did. When the knock at the bathroom doorway sounded, however, he panicked, fearing he'd given the wrong answer.

"Rec room says someone in here's gettin' noisy," a deep voice called out. "Everything all right back there, or do I need to fire up the thorazine gun?"

Joker's face lit up. He leaned partway out from the stall, saying, "Chaallie! Is that you?" He waved at the security guard, motioning for Arnold to stand up with his other hand. "No hard feelings about the food fight last Friday, right, ol' buddy ol' pal?"

Charles narrowed his eyes at the Joker. His grip around the barrel of the tranquilizer rifle he carried visibly tightened.

"Whoopsie! Ehh, heh heh... Guess elephants never do forget. Sorry for the racket, Charlie-boy. We were having ourselves a little impromptu measuring contest, you see. Jervy here's pouty 'cause he came in last place-- and the loser's got to take the physical challenge!" He smiled at the Ventriloquist, who slunk out from the stall and began shuffling past the short line of urinals on his way to the door. The Joker cackled, adding, "This is going to be the best game of 'Simon Says' ever...!"

The guard grit his teeth. "Dammit, I didn't need to know that!" he shouted over Joker's newest laughing fit. With a gruff "Stay put!" to Arnold, he stalked over to the stall and looked inside.

The Joker stood there, smiling brightly at him, one arm leaning on the Mad Hatter's shoulder. Jervis simply sat on the toilet, staring off into space. Might be drugged, thought Charles... but he wasn't grinning like an idiot, so at least Joker wasn't poisoning the other inmates again.

"I don't know what came over him, Charlie! One minute he's stripping off his drawers and begging me to 'show him a good time'-- whatever that means-- and as soon as he heard you, the poor chap's been scared stiff!" Joker said, shrugging in befuddlement. "Always did peg him for a closet case... But don't you worry, Chazz. I can handle 'im! Joker's a big boy!" He pounded his fist to his chest. "Everything's fine back here, right, Jervy ol' chum?"

The Hatter said nothing.

Without breaking eye contact, Joker elbowed him sharply in the gut.

"Everything is fine back here," Jervis repeated.

The Joker's smile practically sparkled.

Charles's jaw stiffened. He rested his rifle in the crook of one arm and scratched his head with his other hand. Even his sigh sounded tired. "How come you freaks always pull this kinda shit right when my shift's almost done? You plan it that way or somethin'?"

"Why, Charles! I don't know what you're talking about!" Joker replied, looking upset.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it, clown," the guard said. "You got ten minutes 'till the next guy has to deal with whatever the hell you two are up to. I ain't paid enough for this."

"Fabulous! Just remember, you know what they say..." The Joker threw his arms around the Hatter and cuddled his cheek against the Englishman's face, clicking a farewell to Charles with a gun-pointed finger and a smirk for the ages. "Don't ask, don't tell, kapeesh?"

"Whatever," grumbled Charles. He turned to stare down the puppet guy instead. "Okay, sicko, 'nuff playtime for you. Hands where I can see 'em. Let's go," he said, jerking a thumb towards the common room.

Arnold shifted uncomfortably where he stood, mashing crossed arms against his chest. He mumbled something under his breath.

Charles walked up to him and cocked the rifle with two loud snaps. "I ain't kiddin' around, four-eyes. Speak up!"

The Ventriloquist looked mortified, blushing terribly through the sudden coat of sweat on his face. He kept his line of sight glued to the massive gun-muzzle in the guard's hands. "I need, um... some clean underwear, sir," he said. "The doctors said I might get to take Mister Scarface out of his suitcase today, and I don't want him to think I was cheating on him, 'cause I can't remember if I lost the game back there or not, but it feels... kind of sticky, all over, and..." His voice wilted away.

The security guard was silent for a moment, then started walking again, pushing the Ventriloquist with the butt of his gun to get him moving. "You know if I didn't have a court order never to work as a bouncer again, I'd be out of this place in a goddamned second, right?" he asked Arnold.

"I'm very sorry, sir."

"Shut up."

"Yes sir."


-fin-