Rabbit Hearts
4. A Rabbit Hearted Girl
The Joker woke up against his will. The sound of a jackhammer pulsed from far off—accompanied by distant shouting and then more drilling—and it continued relentlessly until he finally accepted sleep would no longer be possible that morning. He had a headache—probably from that explosion that had gone off just a little too closely and left his ears ringing the rest of the night.
They'd stayed at an abandoned warehouse over looking the site of some new development. The wrecking ball had WAYNE tattooed across it's front so supposedly some new high rise apartments or a grand skyscraper was being built. Harley had found an old mattress and they used her dress as a pillow and his jacket as a blanket for their makeshift bed. Not excessively comfortable but it had been a relief to sleep after the irritation with the Batman for once again not showing his face.
The drilling continued and the Joker let out a low snarl, rubbing a hand across his paint free eyes to whipe away the last vestiges of sleep.
He rolled onto his side, coming face to face with Harley's naked shoulder. Her body rose and fell with soft snores—blissfully asleep despite the sounds of construction near by. Annoyance at her ability to remain unconscious through the racket gradually dissipated while he watched her sleep. Everything was so soft about Harley when she slept. All gentle curves and slopes from her button nose to her soft blonde hair spilling over the pillow. He remembered her beating a man to death with a hammer the night before and the juxtaposition of the two images brought a genuine smile to his face.
Ah, Harley. Silly.
The Joker touched her shoulder, letting his hand rise and fall with her breathing—then moved down her side to her waist, the gentle dip there where her frame narrowed so necessary to touch.
She made a soft sleepy sound before her eyes fluttered open, blue and dazzling in the morning light. "Honey—" she mumbled distractedly. "Are we leaving?"
The Joker cleared his throat, "Er—no."
She rolled over and tried to burry herself in his chest, her naked form feeling so young and vibrant against his mostly clothed one.
"Good," she mumbled incoherently, apparently falling back asleep.
The Joker held her loosely for a while, just staring at the top of her platinum head, then pulled her closer in a rough, needy gesture that only earned another soft sleepy sound from his lover. He pressed his lips to her cheek, forcing every inch of her closer to his person and she willingly complied, only smiling and making small contented sounds.
His mind fell unfocused, only really embracing the sensations of having her so close and so completely his without much of a coherent thought. Was it wrong to be so attached to someone? Did it not mean he was allowing himself to become part of the plan? Or worse—allowing himself to become ordinary?
She pressed her lips to his jaw and whispered something incomprehensible, nuzzling his throat with her nose in her sleep.
The Joker tightened his grip on Harley and sighed in defeat against her soft blonde curls.
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