Haven't done this in a while…wonder if I still got it…
X.x.x.x.X
Her fingers slid over his abdomen, feeling the bumps of his ribs that made her stroke dip and climb. It used to bother her that she could feel every bone in his ribcage, the white skin just a wrapping that somehow couldn't tear. Her Puddin' was a present she desperately wanted to open, fingertips scrambling across the opaque cover, but it was a damn strong shell. Her fingers would work mercilessly, over every bone. She was practically touching the shoulder blade, could imagine what it would feel like. His skin was soft and smooth, but if Harley applied even an ounce of pressure, a hard, stone like bone would make her want him more, more, more.
She remembered the first time he took off his clothes, the cackle he gave as she marveled over him. The museums in Gotham held so many marble statues, but he was whiter, and in her opinion, more defined that the displays. He wasn't as much muscled as he was strong, lanky and bones protruding more than sinew. Every single point of him was abnormally pronounced; pelvis jutting out, and long fingers trying to escape their skin. He looked like a decoration people would buy during Halloween time, a white canvas thrown over the frame, a bit too tight. His face was familiar, but his body was foreign, and terrifying and unnatural and…wrong.
And Harley thought it was the most beautiful thing she had even seen.
His whole body slightly shook; it always slightly shook from the chemical bath, and the malnourished lifestyle he took up after it. But he was shaking even more, and the moll knew it wasn't from fear. He was shivering with want, and she refused to let her mind wonder if he wanted her or her body.
The first time it happened was in an alley. She still got butterflies whenever she walked past it, past the broken bottles and the garbage. She had a permanent scar on the back of her thigh from when he lay her down-he didn't push her, she always told herself he didn't push her-and a broken piece of glass sunk into her skin. She wouldn't allow herself to scream, knew that her Joker was the only thing that would make her scream from now on. Her eyes welled up, and she looked down into the darkness. A tiny puddle of blood formed above the back of her knee. She whimpered, and was rewarded with a smack across the face, and a hissed, "Shut it Harl." She nodded, teary-eyed, and felt a dandelion weed bristle her shoulder.
It was the scariest thing that ever happened to her. Carnival rides, falling down a flight of stairs, passing one of her university classes did not compare. They were in the back of the alley, a thin orange light was twenty feet up, but her Mistah J's body glowed. He was the only thing she could really see, and clung to him to keep her safe-usually from him. He teased her, making her body surge, and stopped to talk about the Dark Knight. It'd always start off with a muttering, and than build, his anxiety and anticipation taken out on her. Oh, he took out everything on her. His anger, his confusion, along with any of the normal human feelings-trust, acceptance, understanding-was pounded away with every pound into her. The Joker didn't dirty talk; he threatened her, called her things unimaginable, pulled her hair. He was so passionate. Only she could open him, make him feel…make him feel human…
His skin was so thin; she was so close to getting inside of him. Harley loved biting him, trying to see if she could open up her present that way. Sometimes he'd let her, but she'd stop if he yelled at her to. These were her Puddin's "therapy" sessions, and he needed to let it all out more than she did.
X.x.x.x.X
Written…because you can now see my ribs! Jesus I'm strange. I don't actually mean Harley wants to see Mistah J's bones and insides…she wants him to open up. Figuratively.