I do not own the batman universe.
The sun was much too bright, or the curtains were way too thin. Either way, the Joker awoke, his head pounding. He elbowed to his right, where Harley was. Or, should be. He just felt ratty sheets. His eyes (shut as tight as her could make them) fluttered open gingerly. She wasn't there to make him coffee, or bring him bottled water (drink tap water from this flea pad? No thanks.) Anything to help him with his horrible hangover. So where in The Joker's name (which was…?) was she?
Than he heard her: Off key as anything, her sucked-the-helium-out-of-the-balloon voice wavered through the bathroom door, not quite hitting the note. It pierced his head like a knife. He yelled for her to shut up, but she either didn't hear him, or didn't listen. Growling that he had to get up without his Poland Springs, he robed his naked, chalk white body, walked over the clothes, weapons, take out food, and opened the half-hinged door.
His splitting headache ceased to a dull throb when he saw her; he blonde hair drenched, water droplets falling from her individual strands. She bent down, backside propped up high in the air, soaping her smooth, shaven legs, the opaque, shiny bubbles dripping down to her arched feet, to the floor of the tub, down the drain. The Joker massaged his temples, trying to want to be angry at her, but it was getting difficult, seeing her naked breasts with the nipple peeking through, and water (like raindrops) falling off the curve.
Now she was moving the bar of Dime store soap up, to her inner thigh, the suds forming paths down both legs, disappearing down the duct. She made circling motions, brought her head back, a gentle sigh playing at her lips (which were strawberry-field-red, early as it was), the strokes of the soap rising to her taut, flat stomach. Using her free hand to rub her hair, curving down the nape of her, to in between her full breasts, to her thigh, and up again (so quickly!), throwing her head back, shaking out her soaked platinum hair.
Now she moved to her breasts, arching her back and rubbing them in the conventional circles. But to the Joker, it was anything but conventional, the snaking way she moved between them, and down the curve, thumb brushing the erect nipple. All the while, a sly smile played at her lips, like she enjoyed putting on a show. Which, of course, she did, but only for her Puddin. Than again, did she even notice he was standing there, watching?
"C'mon Puddin. Join me."