Author: Robin's Wife

Title: A Whole Spectrum

Summary: Rogues from Arkham Asylum as Heroes in Gotham City, summary isn't much but I hope it's better on the inside.

Chapter One: How Well You Walk Through The Fire

Rating: M

Author's Note: I am so, so sorry for all the spelling errors, I still haven't downloaded Microsoft word onto my laptop, so I have no spell check! Hopefully this all makes enough sense.

She's given up at last and is in the doorway, our doorway.

"Johnny?"

Her voice glimmers meekly, beckoning me from the distraction, Gotham, oh Gotham, why do you keep me from my bewitching wife?

"It's oh so late darling... Could you be finished? Please?"

I do ponder the end. Not exactly the end of the universe as we see it play out but in fact the end of an era, my era as protectorate of this atramentous excuse for a city.

"For tonight, my little bird, I suppose I could be."

My resplendent lover and wife is absolutely stunning when her lips crawl and then run into a full radiant open-mouthed smile. It slips into the chasm of my heart, sinking far down, a weight tied to it to finally let it plump down onto my total adoration for her, and my own heart thus grows tenfold.

"To bed."

She drew to me like a woman made of pure candle light, daunting and hypnotizing in her fluid walk towards me. I devoured her with my sight, scanning, drinking in her hexing pale honey sweet brown eyes.

Lord honey never tasted so sweet. Honey also never slid into my lap, tender, yearning for me. Pressing delicately into me. I dared to press my finger tips, pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb softly then roughly into her slender baby doll waist.

The dark chestnut chair crooned beneath us, oh but would I be able to make it out of this chair. Would he be able to make it out of this chair?

Him.

I could feel him scrape at the dirt walls of his bottomless chasm I pushed him into.

"Johnny..." Her gentle voice interrupted the upturn in my brain.

"My little bird?" I drawled. Her trained ears or perhaps her all seeing eyes told me she'd heard the clawing, or maybe she saw that tell tale glimmer in my own eyes.

"Allow him to come up." Her manicure was beginning to chip, a tentative and thin red tipped finger was writing poetry into my chest.

Deep from within me, yearningly from my diaphragm, he growled. What kind of a man am I? That I let him have his way with her?

I grabbed her little hand and pulled it around my shoulder.

How can I do this to myself? To her? I let the beast inside of me free around her, my small sprite. This is the last time.

As always without a single utterance of a syllable she craned her neck back for me, her hair spilling behind her shoulders into the air, hanging. She was begging him to grab her hair, to own her.

Quitting cold turkey was key. Now, I had to draw him back now. My self-control was somewhere thrown away into the back recesses of my mind. I needed to bide my time, cease looking at her scrumptious golden skin, her neck bare and desperate for a good marking. Something that would ache every time she thought about me, about him.

I felt feverish until the skin on her neck was being rolled beneath my teeth. He could smell her arousal, her need for him, her lust for him. I need to stop myself. I nursed the sharp bite with my tongue, beginning to suck warmly on her neck. I just need...to...stop...

So fucking sexy.

Johnathan was away, and it was finally time for me and Sparrow dear to play.

"Moan for me." I growled.

Her lips parted and a lustful, begging moan came from her. So primal, so full of desire. My lean fingers found her feathery hair and I yanked. Hard. The guttural sound that came from her was delectable. With her neck bare to me my tongue glided down her skin, past her collar bones to finally nibble at the tops of her breast.

The soft rhythmic rise and fall of her breast was transitioning from a tender adagio to accelerando as her arousal built up. I couldn't stop myself if I tried. I could practically smell the sweetness between her legs. Oh, how was I away from her so long?

"Sparrow" I called.

I slid my index finger between her thighs just beginning to skim her wetness.

"Who's my good girl?" I drew my head back to look up at her.

Glittering, yearning brown eyes looked at me. She pressed herself closer to my hand. She never parted her eyes from mine.

"I'm your good girl." She practically gasped.

"Yes, you are." She never expected two fingers to plunge into her.

I love...no. I adore the little "oh" face she makes when I shock her like that.

I take great pride in truly believing I make her eyes slide to the back of her cranium when they're closed when I fuck her with my fingers.

My firm tempo never failed to get her off. Her lower half nudged against me with every in and out motion. She adored me.

"S-Scarecrow!" She whimpered out.

She needed me.

"Scarecrow!" Again.

She worshipped me.

"Scarecrow!" Again.

Bedroom, we need to get to the bedroom.

With her head back and her neck free I sliced my tongue across her neck to the space between her jaw and her jugular and I bit tenderly.

Is it possible for me to even make it to the bedroom?

"God, floor, let's get to the floor." Isn't she just a little sexy mind reader?

To her dismay, I removed my fingers from her core and gripped the backs of her thighs, lifting her up from the chair as I stood. Taking a knee, I lowered her down onto her backside and watched as she submit to me. Beautifully falling back onto the Santos mahogany floor.

I quickly followed her, leaning down against her and just before I could press myself against her lower half I felt her little hands gripping onto my brown dress pants, gripping my waist band and tugging me so I could rub my erection against her. She practically howled in delight.

"Now, now, Sparrow dear. Let me take off my trousers so I can pleasure you correctly." It hurt me just as much as it hurt her to lift my body from hers.

Eyes. Those fucking big amber eyes. Her sweet little hands fell from my waist line. She gazed at me ardently, almost as a second thought she raised both hands above her head and crossed them at her wrist. Such a good little girl. She just knows I enjoy to pin her down.

"Tell me what you're thinking." I began our little word play.

Her eyes fell to my finger tips. I gently toyed with my zipper before pulling it down, slow and steady, slow and steady. I ran my fingers back up the metal of my zipper and pulled the button loose.

"I need you, more than anything, more than air." She let go of a breath of air she'd obviously been holding.

I slipped off my pants and drunk in the wide eyed look at my erection. Adoring, so adoring, just look at her hungrily devouring the sight of me. She truly wanted, no. She truly needed me.

"Tell me who you belong to."

"You." She whispered.

"Who do you crave?"

"You." She whispered.

"And who am I?"

"Scarecrow." She whispered. She bit her lip. "My master."

Oh. So fucking sexy.

(1346 Jester street 11:22 A.M.)

"You can't keep doing this Jon. It's cruel, it's cruel and unusual punishment." Her blonde hair whisked from side to side as she shook her head at me.

"You know half of it isn't me. You also know those bastards deserve it and need I remind you of what your husband does to them, and you're condemning me?!" I was trying not to roar and of course failing.

"Are you joking?! At least it's quick, it's quick and it's done! You draw it out, you torture them Jon. What if Sparrow knew?" She slammed her hands against the table.

"Are you threating me? Harley? Is that what I'm here for? For you to threaten me?" Scarecrow desired nothing more than to put her into her place. Who dares to question him? Who dares to question us?"

Let me out, Johnny boy. Let me play. You're going to sit there and take it? Take it like you did when you were young and pathetic and stupid?

"One day someone is going to make you answer to rules, answer to natural order, Jon. Normal people fear you Jon. The police, the public they want to you to answer. Are you good? Are you really good? The families of those you put in asylums are beginning to wonder." She was away from us now. She's leaning against the kitchen cabinet and her eyes tell me she's starting to plead with us.

"Let them come to my door with pitchforks and fire then. I'm going to keep this city safe, Harley. Safe enough so that the night doesn't bring paranoia with it."

Lifting my cup of coffee, I swirled it a tad before downing the left over quarter. It was a nice house. No, it was a nice home that Harley and Joker had built for themselves.

The red roses outside went beautifully with the olive green color of the entire building. I had to remember that, red roses around the entire property. Rose bushes, Sparrow would ask how big they were, how they smelt.

"Doesn't Sparrow wonder why you're up so late? Doesn't she wonder why you continue to remake new models of fear toxin after fear toxin?" Harley ran a hand through her golden locks.

"Of course she wonders, but unlike you, Joker, Pamela, and even Eddie, she trusts me." I didn't mean to put such a sour casing around my words.

"I didn't bring you here to discipline you, or to insult you. Me and the others worry about you Jon. We love the idea of Sparrow and we all thought you'd even be a little less grim with her and you are. You're a little more James Dean and a lot less the headless horseman. You even have a smile that rivals mine sometimes Doc." The grin wasn't laced with force but did require a gentle nudge of her muscle.

"We know you're not a criminal. We just don't want the general public and the GCPD thinking you could be one someday. Lessen up on the crime and punishment, eh Doc?"

Harley needs to be punished, Johnny-boy.

"I notice you've tried two different approaches with me, Harley. Do you notice they're falling upon death ears?" I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed her, really stared at her with discontent pressed into my pupils.

I stood up now, ready to return to the few crucial hours I had alone with my wife. Time was ticking and I had waisted about an hour and half here discussing morality with Harleen Quinzel. If I wanted theology and morality perhaps I'll take a trip back home to Georgia and dig up my grandmother from her lowly grave sight.

"He's not coming back Jon."

If my back wasn't facing her, she would have noticed my left eye twitch.

"How well you walk through the fire, Harley, how well you walk through the fire."

Author's Note: Who do you all think "He" is? Hope you enjoyed this first chapter, please leave reviews! Your feedback means everything to me!