When the Joker met Harley, she was still toeing the line between two lives, more Dr. Quinzel than Harley Quinn. She was still Harleen the first time he saw her naked, and he used her pale body in the way he ached to use her mind, probing and hurting and thoroughly fucking. She shook and wailed beneath him that time, clutching his shoulders and gasping his name, but the romp did little for him. He had never put much weight by sensations of the flesh, had always been more of a personality man himself.
So he waited, watched, and shaped her, and that line waned until one day her dainty heels came down with a crack on Bat's little bird's femur, and just like that she became Harley Quinn. Joker had his laugh then, and the sudden hot wave that rushed through him when Harley's tinkling laughter joined his only made the joke funnier. Harley had tricks, all right, and shit was she beautiful when she slit a man's throat. Now, even without blood and sharp and rust, she had a way of stilling the cackles in Joker's throat, replacing that deranged grin with a hushed, chaotic tremble. Her movements were smooth, slow and foreign in contrast to his fondness for hacking and blowing things up, but she had all his gusto for entertainment. Harley was Eros; restless, brilliant, bursting with female ego, and oh she brought sex to the table, skin-tight, red-white, geometric and just enough bare skin to make it not enough, make his head spin like little numbered balls. It was agonizing pleasure just looking, just tap dancing around each other, and that was too good to be true, all he'd ever wanted.
Oh, but when she worked her slow labor, there was sharp, and there was blood, and there were terrible screams. Joker would sometimes make himself hold back from joining in, because it was worth it to watch her make her statements with a smile on her lips and the most arbitrary of utensils. It was a riotous, belly-shaking sight, it gave him vertigo and made his pants tight and made his eyes flash bright white (made him want to lick that copper from her lips).
But that first time she was Harley Quinn, when she turned to him with blood spattered up and down her front, she had never looked primmer. And "personality" man or not, shit was she beautiful when she dug those nails into him.