"Mista J," a soft voice floated through his head, "Mista J, I made you food."
He groaned, something smelled absolutely delicious, meaty.
His brow furrowed as he squinted. She stood in front of him, a long night shirt draped her curvy body. A cartoon
character with messy hair proclaimed "i'm not a morning person" across her chest. Happy to see her up he
instinctively moved to reach out to her but stopped himself, plastering his signature look of disgust across his
pallid face.
"What time is it?" he growled.
She smiled faintly. "It's eight thirty." she answered calmly.
Something in her voice was different. He frowned, studying her.
"Food then." he said grufly.
"It's right next to you, I already prepared it, steak, and mashed potatoes, I added garlic I hope you like it, and
there's a beer for you." she motioned to the food still hot on the plate next to him, and the bottle dripping with
condensation.
He looked to his left and raised a brow. Picking up the plate he cut into the meat, he opened his mouth to complain
about how it was cooked but quickly closed it again. It was rare, bloody rare like he liked it. She didn't over
cook it like she always did. It was a fluke he supposed and then tasted the potatoes. Again, perfect, no complaint
to be had.
"Is there something wrong? Does it not please you?" She asked, concern in her voice.
"Actually, you didn't manage to fuck everything up this time Harls..." he eyed her as he chewed. Delight lit up her
face.
"Don't get worked up, I can't have you busting stitches and bleeding on my floor again." His words cut her down.
She stopped smiling.
"Go...do something useful." he commanded as he ate. She hurridly walked away, her bare feet padding on the floor.
Something was off about her, she wasn't squeeling in his ear like a shreaking harpie. He figured it was the meds,
and sighed knowing it wouldn't last long.
He finished his food and stretched.
"Harley!" He bellowed.
Immediately she appeared in the doorway.
"Yes Mista J?" again, her voice was calm and soft.
"Come here," he pointed to the floor in front of his chair.
She quickly came to him and stood, still wearing the night shirt he studied her. She had her hair pulled into a
loose pony tail. She had parted it on the opposite side of her gash and combed it over to cover it. Her face was
soft, emotionless, she usually wore a maniacle smile or a dramatic frown. It was refreashing, he'd not seen her
serious face since their sessions in Arkham.
His eyes moved down and rested on her chest. Her full heavy breasts rising and falling with her breathing, he could
see her pert nipples standing out against the thin material. Moving farther down he stoppd at the hem of the
nightshirt. It came to and end mere inches below her ass. He could see where her thighs began to curve in between
her legs. Still bruised here and there, her skin was creamy. He reached out a white hand and touched her leg. She
flinched ever so slightly.
"Come here." He demanded.
She obeyed, His hand gliding over her skin he squeezed. He slid his hand around the back of her leg, his fingers
touching the soft skin between her thighs. He looked up at her, her dark eyes fluttering closed as he touched her
gently.
"Knees." He said. Instantly she was on her knees before him. Blue eyes met Red in the dim light. He reached behind
her head and pulled the tie out of her hair.
"You know I hate your hair up." He said, annoyed. His fingers traced the collar of her nightshirt. She stayed
motionless before him.
"Do you know how much trouble you are?" He asked. She nodded. "Then how about you repay me for my hospitality." He
spoke as he leaned back in the chair.
Without another word she began to unbotton his pants, sliding the zipper down she reached inside. He was already
hard. She pulled his lengthy shaft from it's bindings and stroked him. He watched her intently. Without having to
be asked she darted her tongue out and licked him from base to tip. The Joker hissed. Then in one swift motion his
full length was in her mouth. She worked her lips around him, sucking, messaging him with her tongue. He reached
out to grab her hair and force her down but pulled back. Her hair had moved, revealing the nasty gash on her head.
It was black in places, dried blood around the stitches. He pushed her off of him and cursed.
"Clean that up," He said motioning to her head. Her face went red as she wiped her mouth and rushed to the bathroom
without protest.
He was unnearved. Tucking himself back into his pants he stood. She hadn't said more than two sentances since she
had woken him up. It was unlike her to not be squawking and pouting for his affection. She hadn't protested when he
pushed her away, and she hadn't messed up dinner.
"Harley sew up my jacket!" He screamed across the room to her.
"Already did!" she hollered back from the bathroom.
That was it! He said to himself. Who was this person and where was his Harley? Angry he walked to the makeshift
closet where, wouldn't you know, his jacket hung looking like it had just left the store. Snatching it off a hangar
he stormed out the door. Snapping his fingers one of his henchmen opened the door to his car for him. He needed to
get out of the twilight zone. Maybe killing someone would help. He wouldn't know until the time came. Without
another word to Harley he drove off.