(WARNING: This chapter has aspects of sexuality. It isn't terribly graphic, but if that bothers you, I apologize. Then again, I don't know how that could bother you... Joker smut is the best thing ever. The reason I added this is because this is one of my non-smut fics, and adding some smut randomly might through some people off. The entire story won't be like this, but then again, if you read my other things or know me, you know I can't resist J!)

December 7th, 2:03 am.

Cell Block F, Intensive Treatment Building, Patient Housing 0801.

"Do you remember your first kill?"

"What about killing appeals to you? Why do you continue to do it?"

"Do you consider yourself sadomasochistic?"

"Have you ever intentionally hurt yourself or had someone hurt you?"

"Is the act of inflicting pain arousing to you?"

"How exactly would you describe your sexual preference?"

"How many sexual partners have you had in the last year?"

I rolled over on my cot and stared blankly at the ceiling. The room still faintly smelled of bleach from when they'd mopped up the blood stains and it made my headache, my nose twitch and throat dry. As if this room wasn't already unpleasant enough. Hmph. I continued to find it funny that all these people claimed to be trying to help me but forced me to live like nothing but a glorified dog. Even the food was nasty here. And they didn't allow the patients coffee, either.

Now that was a crime.

I'd found myself breaking down since I'd arrived in Arkham, physically and mentally. I was not a man to be caged. I needed fresh air, the sound of the city, my daily dose of caffeine… I'd never really needed sleep before. Normal things, human things, vices and limitations never got to me. Food? I could do without. Hardly noticed when my stomach even growled. Sleep? Who needs it! There's so much more to do, more fun things to do… I lived on adrenaline, caffeine, and fun.

Arkham supplied none of that.

The lack of caffeination made me tired, exhausted to the point of pain, but when I tried to sleep I couldn't. It was too quiet. I couldn't hear traffic, or horns or gunfire or shouting. That was what soothed me to sleep. The sound of Gotham crying out to me. In here it was just… Beeping.

"Is this your first time being incarcerated?"

Yes, my dear, Harley. It is. I groaned loudly and rolled over once again, burying my face in the scratchy pillow. It was hot in here, hot to the point of needing to unzip my jumpsuit and tie it around my waist. My back was sweaty even still and it was uncomfortable, bothersome, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. My muscles wouldn't work. They were too relieved to finally just be relaxed. I grinded my teeth. Relaxing. I scoffed.

I wondered idly… How does Harley relax? Kick back and watch television? Cross word puzzles? Long walks? The image in my mind was almost painfully plastic, Harley looking cute and cheerful in matching pink pajamas, painting her nails in her bed. Giggling to myself, I rolled my eyes. Or maybe she didn't relax at all. Maybe she was at home, right now, sitting on her mattress, reading over notes, my notes, notes about me and the things I say, thinking about me. She had freely admitted before that she was a workaholic and she just told me today I was her only patient….

So technically, didn't that mean that I was her work?

I liked the sound of that.

I'd found myself daydreaming about my new Doctor quite a lot lately.

There was something about her, something so titillating that made me want to have my way with her, wipe that pristine make-up from her face, yank her hair from that damn bun and throw her reading glasses to the ground, to crush them under my feet and use the shards to slice into my pretty little doc. I wondered how she would react to pain, how she would respond when I cut into her flesh, crushed her larynx under my hands, felt her fragile bones crushing… Would she scream? Would she cry, beg, whine? I wondered if she would fight me, or if she would just lie there and take it.

Or…

An even better thought, what if she didn't? What if it wasn't that way at all? What if she liked it? Would she beg for more, moan in pleasure as I smacked her around, get off on knowing she was being hurt by a killer?

I realized in slight terror that I was sporting a hard on.

What? No, no, no… That doesn't happen to me…

But it was! And boy, did it feel… Well, uh… Pretty damn good. My hardened member rested up against my hip bone and I found that the more images of Harley that filled my head, the harder it seemed to get. That was interesting… Curiously, my hand slid down to my metal zipper, pulling it down slowly and I exhaled when the cool air of my cell hit the skin of my sensitive cock. Ooh. That was nice. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten my dick wet, but that wasn't saying much. Things that didn't matter to me seemed to slip my mind, and sex, the boring, meaningless physical pursuit that seemed to drive mere mortal men was not important to me. I could get the same pleasure, the same thrill from so many other things, but this… This was a very ordinary sort of urge, a craving that I don't remember ever feeling. I hadn't noticed my hand sliding down further until my fist was wrapped tightly around the shaft, sliding up and then back down and I chuckled breathlessly when a small drop of precum dripped onto my stomach. More was produced quickly from the pleasure and I started pumping faster, faster… Laughter rang out loudly through the cell, pleased and breathless and moaned chuckles and gasps. It felt good, and that bothered me, but I chose not to stop, curious about this foreign sort of pleasure that was solely based in this one appendage, fueled by raunchy thoughts of my doctor, my pretty, plastic little doctor who I knew I couldn't keep myself away from for much longer.

That point, that final place of bliss was so close and under my breath, I started to talk to myself, "Oh, yeah… Ha! That's good… Fuck. Come on, come on… So close, come on!" Through my teeth, I growled, "Harley…" And suddenly spurts of white were dribbling down my hands and onto my torso, colors swirling in front of my eyes and I jerked my hips up into my hand, rubbing it faster until finally it started to hurt. I dropped my hand and panted, looking down at the sticky mess covering me. Breathlessly, I began to chuckle, a small giggle that slowly rose into a full on cackle.