The Joker shook his head viciously, clearing his thoughts. Time to shut up now, Voices, Daddy's busy. "You do not run from me, Harley girl." On the negative, he cracked a hand across her face, fingers coming away tacky with greasepaint. "You do not speak out of turn. And you most certainly do not give me those little looks. You don't get angry with me, Princess, not anymore. Got it?"
A fearful nod, lower lip quivering. She was truly scared, in this moment. She feared not just for her safety, but for her life; he could see the last-ditch panic in her eyes, and it fuelled the desire in his stomach. He wanted her. Wanted to fuck and scratch and bite and moan (and hold and kiss and sleep) shut up
"Good. Now, to make sure it sinks in, we're going to have a little lesson. Won't that be fun? You might even be able to whore around, get your grade up. I know you're good at that." He leered down at her, and she made a soft little noise of hurt. "Aw, too far, Harleen?"
An audible sob. Strange, really- the harm that words could do. He could slap her across the face and she would offer up the other cheek fearlessly, if she thought it would make him happy. But hit upon that right combination of epithets, and she could shatter before his eyes. It sometimes took days for her to be fully herself again. That was always such a pain in the ass, trying to coax a smile back into her. (But he does always do it. He doesn't like seeing her sad for too long. Her smile is radiant.) That old children's adage was bullshit after all. Quelle surprise.
And bringing up her name, savouring every syllable, getting up close to her face and tonguing: "Harleen. Frances. Quinzel." always got the strongest flinch out of her, more intense than if he'd just hauled off and punched her. Such a curious little tic, how much she hated being reminded of her old life. (Because it isn't who she is, or because she misses it?) Of course she didn't miss it. She didn't have the capacity to miss it. His hold on her was that strong, at least. She could barely last a day without him; the idea of her fantasizing about her life before him was preposterous. (Then why does he worry about it?) He didn't. He didn't.
"Now, Harley." The Joker practically purred, like he was one of Selina's little mongrels. He really did need to send pest control 'round her place, one of these days. Focus. "You're going to let me do what I want. And if you're very good, you…" Hm. She needed that element of protectiveness, tinged with sexual energy. "You can suck Daddy, hm? Anywhere you'd like." Now that was incentive.
Harley gnawed at her lower lip for a moment- but it was really only a moment. It wasn't often that she was offered the prospect of unlimited touching, after all. A sharp nod, her chin practically hitting the hollow of her throat.
The Joker's smile widened, corners lifting til they threatened to leave his face entirely. Without another word, the gun that had idly rested in his hand was jammed up against Harley's inner thigh. Her squeak at the cold metal turned to a shriek once she realised the source, and he clapped a hand over her mouth with a look of icy anger. The noise stopped; he removed his hand, satisfied. Aw, and she'd even taken care not to get spit on the leather. What a good girl.
"Please don't kill me." Harley whispered, looking up at him with her sad, shiny bunny eyes. There were tears brimming at her lashes, and her face was screwed up tightly, but he knew in that moment that she wouldn't stop him. If he went to pull the trigger, right then, she wouldn't grab his wrist. She wouldn't try to get away. She would, as the saying goes, go gently into that dark night. No pun intended, believe it or not. (Does her acceptance make this more or less fun?)
"Oh, quit begging, idiot." he murmured, removing the gun from its resting place in the meat of her right thigh. "The safety's not even off." With a deft flick of the thumb, he rectified the issue, placing the gun up against Harley's stomach, just below where breast became ribcage insulation. "Now you can start pleading."
To her credit, Harley didn't say a word. At the sound of the safety catching, she'd gasped, and now her shoulders shook with silent tears, but she kept her mouth resolutely shut. Stubborn little minx. (He loves it when she refuses to give into him. Or at least, a tiny part of him does. It makes him wonder if maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of Harleen is still in there. Back in the early days of their sessions, she'd been so intolerant of his games. She'd been prepared. Didn't let him get away with anything more than flirting. He misses that evidence of a spine, every once in awhile.)
The Joker looked down at the figure in his lap, humming thoughtfully to himself as he caressed the trigger of the gun with the ball of his thumb. Just obviously enough for Harley to see it. "Ah!" He snapped his fingers, as though an idea had just occurred to him. With his free hand, he plucked a knife from the cup holder. More of a makeshift toolbox now, really, but he still used it to hold his coffee every once in awhile. Tightening alabaster fingers around the hilt lit up Harley's eyes. The knife, she was used to. The knife was familiar. Ironically, it made her feel safer just looking at the gleam of it- he could tell. "Now now, Harley-girl, don't go getting too excited. This is still a punishment." And he wouldn't be using it in the way that she wanted, either. With a quick flick of his wrist, a yawning gash appeared up the middle of her suit. The spandex peeled lightly to the sides, and he could hear her stifled noise of indignation. He swatted her hip, a reminder of her place, before tugging her open.
If he was being honest with himself, he had to admit- Harley had fairly fantastic breasts. So pale, just big enough for a handful, with those puffy pink nipples in the center. And then, the piece de resistance, the thin pinkish-white 'J' that lay in the hollow between her tits. He'd done that with this very knife, years ago. And still, every time he saw it, it made him smile. She was his. Marked. Property of Joker. Do not touch. His creation, his pet, his toy, his Harley. His.
"Whose tits are these, Harley?" he asked, almost conversationally, idly plucking at her nipples.
"Y-yours, Daddy?" So hesitant! Like she might be getting it wrong. Precious.
"What a clever widdle monster!" he simpered, before giving her left nipple a savage twist. She gave a little cry, soft in the back of her throat, but didn't flinch. Good girl. As a reward, he bent his head down, taking the abused nipple into his mouth and soothing it with his tongue. Harley's whining turned to moans quickly, and he smirked around her before pulling back and shoving the barrel of the gun onto her breast, nipple slipping inside.
Harley whimpered, but said nothing. She was learning. Aw, and was her other nipple hardening? What a dirty little girl.
"Naughty, naughty," the Joker sing-songed, pulling his hand back. "I think you might be getting off on this, Harley-girl, and that just won't do. How will you learn your lesson?" He shook his head sadly, disappointment etched on his face. "Guess I'll have to kick things up a notch!" The gun jammed up against Harley's trachea, and he could feel her swallowing.
"Please don't kill me." she repeated, quieter than before.
"Kill you?" The Joker widened his eyes and dropped his jaw, hamming up the shock factor. "Why would I do that when the gun is just getting started?" A beat before the maniacal laughter began. "Get it, Harley? The guuuuuuuuun is just getting started?"
"Heh… Good one, Boss." Her voice was weak. So scared. So soft. Poor thing. She really didn't know what to expect from him, and that was different for her too. She'd grown so accustomed to predicting his wants and actions, and she was panicking, not just for herself but for him. (Such a sweet kid. He really doesn't deserve her. She doesn't deserve him.)
As his laughter peaked, his shoulders shook. His finger slipped.
His heart stopped.
Clik.
A misfire.
The laughter died in his throat, replaced with a heady, dizzying rush of relief. He let the gun slip from his hand, where it bounced to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Harley's eyes cracked open, and she eyed him with concern. "Everythin' alright, Puddin'?"
Did she not know? She really hadn't noticed how close she'd come to death? The Joker goggled at her, disbelieving, his breath coming quickly. She cocked her head, puzzled. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"
"No," he said, and it came out breathy with relief. "I mean, yes. I'm fine."
"Okay. You want me t' get that for ya?"
"No," he said, probably with more force than was necessary. "No. Just… come here." Harley sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He held her by the waist, growing progressively tighter. He tugged off her cap, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in. He'd almost...
Her hair always smelled like guava and honey, that stupid shampoo she loved. Even when they were broke, she somehow managed to keep it in stock. Just one of those things that happened that he didn't question. Like how when he tossed his coat, it never hit the ground. Or that breakfast was always ready when he came downstairs in the morning. It was simply the way of the world.
But for a fleeting moment, he'd seen a world where those things didn't happen. There were crumpled jackets on the floor, and there was no food, and he never smelled honey and guava again. A world where he had to sleep alone at night.
And it had scared him.
So he held her. Tightly. Like she might slip away at any moment. He'd almost lost her. If he was going to kill her, it damn well wouldn't be by accident. She deserved more than that.
"Can we go home now?" Harley murmured.
"Yeah. Yeah, Pooh, we can go home."
[Author's Note: Ta-da! My first two parter is finished. I hope that it turned out okay, and was mostly in character. It definitely got pretty dark there for a hot second. Please read and review! Ta, darlings, and I'll see you next time.]
