Celine didn't trust Joker not to pester her with more innuendos, choosing instead to order from the safety of the kitchen. She was personally a sucker for a pork-stuffed samosa, chicken tikka masala, and some naan bread to seal the deal. Unsure how familiar Joker was with Indian food, she ordered him some chicken curry and naan bread. The joint she got deliveries from were always generous with their portion sizes, so she was more than content to share some of her food with him if he took to it.
"Your order will come to $31.68. Give us about twenty-five minutes."
"Thanks, I'll see ya then."
Celine was hesitant to return to the living room. Over the course of an hour he'd gone through a rollercoaster of emotions and she didn't know which one to expect next. Or rather, it was his flirtatiousness she dreaded. Dreaded because it affected her much more than she'd expected it to. Her cheeks disobeyed her, her chest grew tight, she actually engaged him, and sometimes, it felt like someone had released a basket of butterflies inside her tummy.
It was as it had been when she was his captive. Violent Joker, she could handle. Irritated Joker, she could handle. Absurd Joker who said odd things to make her laugh, she could handle.
But his flirting affected her so much more profoundly than she anticipated. And she didn't quite understand why. He was the complete antithesis of the sort of man she would go for. Homicidal. Apathetic. Opportunistic. Manipulative. He had his softer moments every now and again, but overall, it was bedlam he pled allegiance to, and she never forgot that he could snap at any moment and make good on all his threats to seriously harm her.
And why on Earth did I give him a quilt? Who cares if he gets cold?
Just as quickly as this thought came, it was counterargued.
It comes from a place of inherent well-being for all human life forms. No matter who. And he's…vulnerable, even if he'll never admit to it. It's good hospitality.
She sighed and exited the kitchen, wishing not for the first time that she wasn't so intuitively kind and tolerant. It was probably….no, most-likely going to get her killed one of these days.
Joker's eyes had been shut – she suspected he'd been listening to what he could catch of her conversation – but upon her arrival, popped back open, settling on her.
"I hope you like chicken curry," she said, resuming her spot on the couch. "And naan bread. You can also have some of my samosa and tikka masala."
He didn't answer, gaze continuing to pierce her.
She coughed before returning her attention to the screen. Kitchen Nightmares had given way for a documentary on John Wayne Gacy Jr. She instantly found the remote and threw on the guide.
No need to give him ideas.
"You chose a taser gun."
"I did."
"Hmm…telling."
She couldn't hold back her curiosity, turning to him.
"How so?"
"You feel safer if there's distance between us. You don't trust yourself close to me with a knife. Ya like the impersonality of it 'cos that's how ya view our…relationship. No gun 'cos we both know ya can't take a human life. Shame. But it's what makes playing with you 'n Batsy so much fun."
He seemed gleeful at piecing this together.
She considered his assessment.
"I guess you're right," she admitted, brows furrowing. "You use a knife. Which is personal. And gives you the chance to savor a person's reactions right down to their final breath."
"Ding-ding-ding!" His eyes gleamed. "If I want them dead nice 'n quick I'll use a gun. But I refrain…most of the time. Not nearly as fun."
"How many people have you killed?" she asked.
He shrugged, cracking his neck once to the left and then to the right.
"Lost count. Probably enough to populate a small town."
He truly is evil. There is nothing redeeming about someone like him. I can't afford to forget this.
"Aww, none of that frownin' little bunny. You're much more beeeau-tiful when ya smile."
"Difficult to smile when I know how much destruction and misery you're responsible for."
"It isn't for me."
She chose not to comment on this.
Her eyes re-examined him. He was in an observing sort of mood it seemed. She couldn't help but return the favor.
"The last two times we've been in each other's presence," she noted, tilting her head. "You haven't worn your coat or gloves. Aren't they staples of your…persona?"
His lips wobbled at this. Like he was privy to something she wasn't.
"Why do you think I haven't?" he asked, lapping at his scars.
"Not wearing the coat I kind of get. It's the middle of summer. The gloves…I don't. You wouldn't dare leave prints to trace back to you. Why risk it with me?"
"Mmm…," He reclined his head against the pole. "Didja ever think maybe I just wanna feel as much of you as possible? Hm?"
"Yeah okay," she brushed off, "like I'd ever let you get that close."
"The night is still young," he answered, unperturbed. "And you've been sooo doting. Keeping me warm, giving me a meal, keeping me entertained…if I didn't know any better I'd almost think you had a crush on me."
He blinked coyishly at her.
"Keep dreaming," she mumbled.
"I plan on it."
Delivery cannot come fast enough.
As she scrolled through the guide listings, Joker picked up on her commitment to remaining silent. He sighed and began humming a tune he'd invented, under his breath. When he abruptly stopped, Celine glanced at him.
"I uh may or may not have skimmed your notebook on your desk," he said. "You're working on something new. Couldn't tell from the outline. What brand of wisdom are ya planning t'a grace Gotham with now?"
"You really wanna know?"
He shook his head.
"Why are ya so surprised I do? Might not agree with all your published works, but I appreciate a uh…esoteric mind when I read one. Don't nearly come across enough of 'em."
"You...read my essays?"
She was gob smacked. And strangely flattered.
"Stop asking stupid questions. It doesn't suit you."
She nodded, figuring there'd be no harm. She'd not had a chance to bounce her most recent draft off anyone. Considering the subject matter, she was intrigued to ask Joker. It might offer her a perspective she hadn't considered.
"It's running title is "The Nature of Shame". I basically examine the pros and cons of shame as an emotion. Whether it's more useful or useless."
"And uh…what's the takeaway?"
She leaned toward him, setting her elbow on the couch arm.
"I was torn initially but have been gravitating recently toward useful."
"Mmm…respectfully disagree."
"How so?" she asked.
"Shame is nothing more than an inhibitor. A defective emotion to keep people in line. People like me. You think I'd be who I was today if I let that emotion rule me?"
"Knowing you, I see why would think that. From the perspective of every person who has suffered from your lack of it, the answer isn't the same." She shifted in her spot. "There are cons no doubt, though it's all about context. If a church says it is shameful to be gay or to not procreate, I would say that is a con. When viewed through the lens of oppressing persons for inane attributes and ideas, it is harmful and I agree, an inhibitor. To a further extent an enforcer of archaic, societal traditions."
"If you agree with me why uh would you think shame is useful?"
"Because it keeps people like you from acting on their more nefarious urges. The man who thinks daily of doing violence unto others but doesn't for fear of being shamed by their community. The man intent on committing suicide but doesn't for fear of being shamed by a potential creator. The man plotting a terrorist threat but doesn't for fear of how their actions would impact loved ones. Shame keeps a lot of people from making this world worse than what it is."
He snorted.
"People are free to do whatever they please. Its their inherent right the moment they are born on this festering planet."
She contemplated his words.
"Okay…how about the man who thinks about touching children? Or assaulting them? One that's considering buying one from a sex trafficker to keep them locked up in their basement? Is shame not useful to keep these people from acting out on their urges?"
"Most who've thought about hurting children end up doing so anyway."
"Not necessarily," she disagreed lightly. "There are rehabilitation centers all across the country – Gotham included – that are geared toward stopping these individual's impulses before they can act. If you look at the national numbers, the success rate of these facilities are overwhelmingly positive. Even our State passed legislature last year to increase funding to these institutes."
She could tell he was searching for a counterargument.
"Unless you're down with pedophilia," she followed up. "Which I hope you're not. You're awful, but I hope you're not that awful."
He grumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?"
"No," he bit out. "I don't support it. Those who participate should and need to be castrated."
"So…you agree. In this case, shame is a useful deterrent."
He eyed her with barely-concealed contempt.
"Yes."
It looked like it physically pained him to agree with her. Nevertheless, she was pleased.
Her victory was short-lived as a knock sounded on her door.
She stood and walked to the entryway, slipping out two twenties from her back-jean pocket.
Their order was contained to 4 plastic bags. She gave the man the two twenties and told him to keep the rest.
Joker was trying to peek over her island at her as she set everything down in the kitchen and worked on plating it all. Generally, a lot of Indian dishes you ate with your hands, but seeing as she'd be feeding Joker, she would need to be extra cautious. He might chomp them clean off, given the chance.
When she had plated a suffice amount for them both – she gave him a little bit of everything to try – she returned to the living room. Once near his seated form, she dropped to sit in front of him.
"Spread your legs," she asked.
"Mm…I thought you'd never ask."
She shook her head.
"Keep that up and you'll end up with a black eye."
"Kinky."
He threw her a wink. She tried to appear unamused, but couldn't quite succeed, the corner of her lip quirking up.
He spread his legs so she could set his portion of food between them. She scooted a little closer so her arm could reach his mouth.
"We've got the curry here." She pointed with his fork. "Naan here. Samosa here. And masala here. Their curry is…a little hotter than average. Just as a forewarning."
"I'm surprised you would order something so…spicy considering your prior experience with a certain pepper."
She shook her head.
"Ah-how?"
"How ya think? Told ya. I did my research."
She blushed. Catherine had promised to take that video down. Apparently, that hadn't been the case.
"You'd react the way I did too if you tried it," she defended. "Felt like hellfire on your tongue. And the heat destroyed my ability to form saliva."
He smirked.
"I ah-I admit…how ya chose to deal with the pain. Smart."
She shrugged but didn't say anything, internally grateful for the praise. Catherine and Jonas had thought she was crazy for smashing the glasses over her head, but it really did divert the pain to another sense, making it easier to deal with the heat.
"How about-ah…scoop some of that curry onto the naan bread?"
She hesitated.
"If you bite, I'll bite back."
"Promise?"
Oy vey...this is going to be a long meal.
She did as requested and slowly lifted the curry-filled bread to his mouth, lingering just a few inches away from his jaws.
He leaned forward and took a healthy bite. A moan followed soon after.
"I take it you haven't eaten lately?"
He continued chewing, answering only when he'd swallowed.
"Food isn't uh…a main necessity in my line of work. I usually get too busy to eat. Or I'm trying to stay under the radar and can't get around to it."
She frowned at this.
"You need to maintain your strength."
"Worried for lil' ole me?" He blinked at her bashfully. "How sweet."
He gestured for the remaining bite. She brought it toward him, unable to pull away quick enough from his mouth wrapping around the bread as well as her thumb and index finger. His tongue scooped the food in while his lips sucked in her fingers noisily.
She retracted them before they could meet teeth and wiped them on her jeans.
"Scrumptious," he stated in between bites.
She picked off the pork samosa off her own plate and bit into it, taste buds humming.
The next few minutes were spent balancing between eating her own food and forking over Joker his. He seemed to genuinely enjoy each sample of his plate, licking and smacking his lips loudly after each completed bite. She got why he never dined out. Scars aside, people wouldn't be able to keep their eyes off his vocal eating.
"You uh…you do this for all the people ya keep captive?"
"Oh yes," she answered seriously. "You're my forty-seventh in fact. Though, the least well-behaved one of all."
"Where's the fun in behaving?"
She filled up the last of the curry from his plate atop the naan bread and extended it to him.
He surprised her by wrapping his mouth around the entire piece, his tongue circling in between her fingers and sucking at them. The entire time he maintained eye contact.
She practically had to jerk her fingers free. Lesson learned. No more hand-based foods.
He took his time chewing, closing his eyes. A bit of curry had dripped from the corner of his mouth, trickling its way down.
As he swallowed the last of it, she leaned forward, temporarily positioning herself between his thighs. With a clean napkin, she patiently dabbed up the curry, careful to avoid his scars.
No sooner than she was finished Joker swung his legs around her, calves encircling her back. He jerked her down toward him.
Her gasp was short-lived. His mouth crashed into hers, tongue immediately slipping out and into her open lips.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders to maintain balance. She tried to jerk her lower body away, but his legs were like steel, keeping her shoved against him as he ravished her mouth, the taste of curry thick on his tongue.
He tilted his head, the puffy tissue of his scars scraping against the softness of her skin. His tongue sunk in deeper, seeking out hers as hers attempted to dart away from his.
"Mphf."
Joker groaned into her mouth, tugging at his bound wrists. His legs pulled her even further into his hold. He was relentless in his pursuit and only when he'd properly subdued her tongue, stroking it in triumph, did he finally drop his legs from her and spread them back apart, nipping at her bottom lip before pulling away.
She scurried backwards as he released a shit-eating grin, cackling at her and the red paint he'd managed to smear her mouth with.
"Why?" was all she said, wiping at her lips.
"Had to ah thank the hostess somehow," he answered, licking his lips. "Gotta tell ya…miles better than the Indian. You uh…planning on serving dessert next?"
She eyed him warily.
"A thank you would have sufficed."
"No, no, no, no, no, it really wouldn't have."
Another important lesson. Never settle herself between his legs.
"I'm signing you up for a dating website," she said, snatching his plate and hers. "You don't get a say in it."
As she stalked away, he called after her.
"What's the point? You and I are a match made in heaven!"
"Heaven?" she called back. "Not fucking likely. Your destination is going to be a lot toastier than mine."
His giggles filled up her apartment. She set their plates and utensils in the sink, running some water over them. She'd get to washing them tomorrow.
"So, uh…what's on the agenda for tonight?" he asked when she returned.
She stopped at the center of the room and crossed her arms. He blinked back, grin unwavering.
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
He gestured with a hand.
"Ask away."
"Are you responsible for John's disappearance?"
"Have to ah…be a little more specific. Know a lot of John's."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"My John," she reiterated. "Jonathan Crane."
"Hmm…" He looked up at the ceiling. "Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Crane…doesn't ring a bell."
She stiffened.
"If I find out you laid a finger on him, pacifist or not, I'm going to kick your ass."
His grin was instantly wiped off, only for a sneer to take its place.
"I have nothing to do with Johnnyboys disappearance, but if I did, rest assured, I'd send ya his body parts one by one until there was nothing left to send."
She watched him simmer, wrists renewing their attempt to get free.
"He doesn't deserve you," he growled, glaring at her. "None of them do."
"And who does?"
"Me."
She froze at the admission.
"You're joking."
"I almost always am. But not about this."
She was tempted to back away from his intense stare, the brown of his irises having darkened to a near-black. Surely, he didn't believe that?
But he never once let up his pin-pointed gaze. And behind his eyes loomed conviction. Yes. Yes, he did believe it.
She exhaled slowly.
"Respectfully, I disagree," she repeated his earlier words.
"Disagree all you want, doesn't make it any less true."
I gotta get him back to a calmer state. He might actually break through the cuffs at this rate.
"Let's uh-." She grabbed her blanket and the remote. "-watch something."
"Sit next to me," he demanded, eyes flicking to the spot next to him.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
He rolled his eyes.
"You have me restrained, nice 'n uh snug." He tugged at his restraints for emphasis. "Not going anywhere soon."
She hesitated. He was right, and yet, he'd caught her off guard before. Could this be some sort of ruse?
"C'moooon, Celine," he whined. "I can't get to ya, can I? What's the harm?"
A lot more than I care to imagine.
She fulfilled his request only because she wanted him to settle down a little.
After tilting her flat screen so it was facing them, she dragged her blanket over and plopped down beside him, careful to keep a healthy space between their thighs.
Immediately, he relaxed and smiled lazily at her. His quilt was still discarded from his earlier struggles. She took the time to retuck it around him, ignoring his burning gaze as she did so.
Picking up the remote, she turned to him.
"So…what're you in the mood to watch?"
He debated this.
"Got any porn?"
"No."
He pouted.
"Well…" He leaned his head back against the pole. "I ah…I suppose we could watch more of your "reality"." He made air quotations at this. "TV."
"Really?" she asked with more excitement than she meant to.
He offered her a half shrug.
"It grew on me. I get the appeal."
She instantly turned back to the TV. It'd been stuck on guide for quite some time. She continued her earlier perusal until she saw the rerun of a show airing on VH1 that she'd not seen in ages.
"Rock of Love with Bret Michaels?" he read, arching a brow. "That uh the Poison guy?"
"Yes," she answered back with a crooked smile. "He's part of a series of shows made in the mid-2000's that are basically trashier versions of The Bachelor. But addictive trashy. The contestants are outlandish, brash, and absolutely hilarious."
The first episode of season one was ten minutes in.
Joker wolf-whistled at some of the scantily clad contestants vying for Bret's attention. Apparently, there'd been a woman – Tiffany - who'd been eliminated before she even got in the house due to incompatibility (physical appearance). She was pounding on the door, desperate to get in.
Big John - Bret's bodyguard and consultant - eventually caved and let her return to the house.
"I'm meant to be here," she drunkenly stuttered out with a dopey smile.
"Called it-." He snapped his fingers. "She'll be first to go."
She smiled at his ascertation.
When Bret was first introduced to the girls individually, Joker made it a point of telling her which of the women he would bang and which ones he'd let his German Shepherds consume. She just about agreed with every one of his comments.
A redhead named Lacey was especially passionate in her love for Bret, admitting she would take out any of the other girls she deemed a challenge.
"Oooh," he observed, "I ah like that one."
Without thinking about it, she bumped her shoulder playfully against him.
"You would."
He turned to her with a mischievous smile.
"Aww, is my little bunny jealous?" he cooed.
"Jealous that you're most likely going to catch a handful of STD's banging one of these girls?" She laughed. "Absolutely not. They're all yours, grizzly bear."
He bit his lip, eyes flicking down to her mouth. He made an attempt at scooching closer to her so their hips were brushed up against each other. She let him, too enamored with the show to care.
It was only on commercial break that Joker leaned in to her ear and whispered, "I'm getting a little cold. Come uh…snuggle up."
She eyed him for a moment.
"Is this a trick?"
"A trick?" He cocked his head. "How could getting more heat be a trick?"
She didn't have an answer.
Cautiously, she scooted her body into his side, throwing her blanket overtop them both. His elbow descended as far as it could go, resting against the back of her head.
She was startled when he wriggled out of his quilt and pressed his side into hers. The heat through his vest and dress shirt seared her skin.
The show returned before she could give it further thought.
What ensued the rest of the episode was a date night of drunken debauchery, shameless behavior, questionable mental stability, Bret's perpetual horniness, the brewing's of a catfight, and ended with, as Joker predicted, Tiffany's exit.
"Hahahaha heehehe," he giggled as she wept on camera about it not being fair, and then proceeded to vomit into some nearby bushes. "Oooh…I see why ya like these shows. Their embarrassment is so exciting. One of the epitomes of Schadenfreude."
She chuckled more at his delight than the actual misfortune he spoke of. Upon this re-watch she actually felt bad for the poor girl. She was a sloppy alcoholic who confused her destructive behavior with having a good time. It brought back some memories to say the least.
"What if you had your own dating show?" she said out of the blue, peeking up at him. "I can only imagine the sort of girls that would be contestants."
"What sort do ya think?" he mumbled into her ear.
She'd didn't notice until then just how far she'd leaned into his body, head resting on his shoulder. And that his chin had been alternating between talking in her ear and resting on top of her head.
The positioning had her struggling to compose a response. Should she lean away? What did this mean to him? To her?
"Women who've stopped taking their bipolar medication," she began to list off, counting on her fingers. "Women who write to serial killers in prison. Women that failed a psych exam to become a police officer. Women who tried out for Jeopardy but didn't get on. Women that have chosen to live in the woods and go feral. Blind women. Women that have no standards. Women-."
"I'm sensing a theme here," he interrupted, eying the side of her face. "Trying t'a-ah say something sweets?"
She twiddled her thumbs. She could feel the heaviness of his breath in her hair, spreading through her skull.
"You have a type," was all she said. "Just like I do."
She felt him stiffen. Slowly, she leaned back to study what caused it.
His scars were smiling, but he was frowning.
"Like who? Bruce Wayne?"
The venom he spoke Bruce's name with made her scoot away a little. She recalled Aesop's warning.
"We're not romantically involved, just friends," she said truthfully.
"Hard t'a believe from all the photos."
She scoffed.
"You better than anyone should know how accurate the tabloids are. He's my best friend, nothing more."
He wasn't quite angry, but it was hibernating in his expression. His frown was tight, eyes sharp and narrowed. His breathing had quickened through his nostrils.
She wanted to say something to convince him, but at the last moment elected not to. She didn't have to explain herself to him nor who her friends were and in what capacity. Whatever issues he had with Bruce Wayne, she didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of it.
She slipped out from beneath her blanket and pushed up to stand.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't care for his tone, but answered nevertheless.
"Getting a drink of water." She looked at him. "Did you want some?"
He was quiet for a long moment, face blank.
"Why don't you uh…crack open that fifth in your cabinet? I could use something…strong."
She stood still for seemingly minutes, staring at him. He stared back, giving nothing away.
"Sure."
When she got to the kitchen, her movements slowed a little.
I have excellent discipline now. There's no reason to get worked up. None at all.
She poured her glass of water first before finding a cup for Joker. She then reached up to the top cabinet and took out the fifth.
Goodness, when's the last time I touched this bottle? If only to cradle it for a few hours before putting it back. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?
Juggling all the items, she returned to the living room and sat beside Joker again. This time, she was at a comfortable arm's distance.
"How much do you want?"
"How much would you have drank in your hey-day?"
She frowned at this question. It felt like he was deliberately provoking her.
"I'd have drunk straight from the bottle, clearing it up in a couple hours tops."
"Fill my glass halfway."
She uncapped the vodka and poured it into the glass resting on her lap. The pungent stench – like nail polish remover twice removed – instantly struck her nostrils.
Oh, welp, that's cleared up another reason why I've been abstinent. I don't think I can ever drink that smell consensually.
She rose up to her kneecaps and used the pole to support herself.
Joker must have smelled it too because when she neared he exhaled through his nostrils like he was ejecting a sneezing.
"Sorry," she amended before bringing the glass to his mouth. "College me was broke and had cheap taste."
He drank half of what she poured in before she pulled it away. When he didn't hold back his full-body shudder, she guessed he had the means to afford the smoother stuff.
"Sorry," she voiced again.
His eyes were slightly glossed over already. They landed on the glass.
"Another?"
He shook his head.
"Why ah…why don't you take a sip? Prove ya can still hold your own."
She felt like he'd backhanded her.
He watched her expectantly. His mouth wore no smirk. It was present in his eyes instead.
She abruptly set the glass down next to her and yanked her blanket away from him.
Before she stood, she looked him in the eyes.
"You really hate me that much, don't you?"
Without waiting for an answer, she moved around the fifth, turned off the TV, threw off the living room and kitchen lights, and disappeared into her bedroom, closing it tightly after her.
Before she could tuck herself into bed and forget this doozy of a day, she tended to the mess Joker had made. This included returning her vibrator to its proper home, carefully pushing each drawer back into place, and picking up the occasional article of clothing that'd jumped ship.
She switched into pajama bottoms and a tank top. A lamp was flicked on beside her bed, emitting a soft, amber glow. The ceiling fan above went to its highest setting. She remade her bed and slipped in. Though strange to some, she liked sleeping with at least four blankets. The feeling of heaviness atop her was comforting, though she'd usually have to remove two throughout the night due to overheating.
Weariness was weighing heavily on her eyes. She didn't have much consciousness left in her.
He did that on purpose.
It stung. And she had let it. She had let him in. Not all the way yet, but enough for his actions to hurt.
A few stray tear drops leaked from the corner of her eyes.
I didn't take it. He has no power over me.
That he even offered…that's what bothered her. She thought they'd been getting along nicely. Almost like…friends.
I lowered my guard and he took advantage. This day is full of lessons. It won't happen again.
It was to this thought she fell asleep.
It took Joker about an hour to finally break free of his cuffs. Celine had left her glass behind and he spent more time than he'd have liked, trying to find it with his feet in the dark. Heavy, gray storm clouds hung over Gotham and his eyesight was limited.
He'd smashed the glass against the floor with his feet, managed to pick up a sharp, wedged piece and relocate it from feet to his hands. His wrists were raw with all the tugging he'd done earlier, bloodying up the furred cuffs.
He worked at applying weight at just the right angle with the glass to break through the cheap metal chains. This involved a lot of rearrangement of his hands so as to not cut himself more than need be. He had to hand it to her, she'd done a much better job restraining him than Gotham PD did.
When he was finally free, he slid the dreaded cuffs across the floor and rubbed at his sore wrists.
They would be tended to later.
He stood with a bit of a wobble, unused to sitting for so long. By now, he could see perfectly in the dark. His feet carried him in the direction of Celine's bedroom.
She must have expected the cuffs to hold for she didn't lock her door. A dully-lit lamp atop a nightstand was the only source of light beside her bed. She had cleaned up everything he'd destroyed.
He approached her sleeping form quietly, tilting his head as he did so. She laid on her back, arms extended in opposite direction, lips slightly parted.
When he was at her bedside, he retrieved a knife she would have found familiar.
His breathing was non-existent as he first brought the knife to rest on her lips, tracing the outline of them with a light graze. She stirred a little but did not wake.
He then brought the tip to glide over her cheek, down the curve of her jaw, to her chin and then beneath it. When his movements finally ceased, the tip of the knife was pinched directly against her trachea, handle pointed up.
He watched her pulse quicken as he slid the inside of his right hand to rest atop the handle, giving just a little pressure.
When he looked up, her eyes were wide open.
They were both silent, watching the other.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "I never expected anything less from you."
From her perspective, it looked like he wanted to. All expression had been wiped from his face.
This was Joker, ready to go in for the kill, savoring the final expressions of his victim.
Celine did her best to give him none, attempting to keep her breaths steady.
Just as soon, the pressure disappeared, and a step was taken away from the bed.
She peeked at him. He was working on removing his shoes.
"What're you doing?"
"You uh remember her?"
He showed her the blade under better lighting, keeping it a comfortable distance from her throat.
"Sally," she recalled.
"You're going to keep her on you from now on. Just uh in case the taser gun isn't with you," he continued, setting Sally down on top of a book.
He threw his left shoe and sock over his shoulder, followed shortly by his right.
"You're giving her to me?"
He proceeded to untuck his tie and discard it, followed shortly by his vest.
"Yup."
His dress shirt buttons were hastily unhooked, and the article of clothing fluttered to the floor shortly after. He walked up to her bed until his knees were digging into the mattress.
"Now uh…scooch over."
He motioned her to do so with his hands.
She gripped her sheets tighter.
"What? No."
He tilted his head, a smile blooming on his lips.
"Didn't ya- ah say you'd return me tomorrow?" He rose an eyebrow. "Ya still got a whole night of me and I…I'm still cold. So um…move over a little or I'll ah…just have to find my own entrance in."
She didn't understand him. Not one bit.
Nor herself, as it turns out.
Slowly, she shifted over to the other side of the mattress and lifted the blankets to welcome him. He wasted no time slipping in.
It was a King-sized mattress, but his presence made it feel like a twin. This was further proven when he wormed his body all the way until his front pressed into her back. One of his muscled arms slung around her waist and lightly tugged her into him.
She didn't move as he repositioned himself to be wrapped around her as tightly as possible. Even his toes were curled around her. She nearly jumped when his nose burrowed itself into her hair. He inhaled silently, humming low in his chest.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Cuddling?"
"You shouldn't be doing this."
"Story of my life."
He was being evasive. She wasn't going to get a deeper answer than this tonight.
Resigning herself to her fate, Celine tried to close her eyes and go back to sleep. And she would have succeeded if not for the hardening pressure digging into the crevice of her butt. When he rocked ever so slightly against her, her suspicions were confirmed.
Just ignore it. If I respond things won't be so easy to understand anymore.
He rocked against her again, arm tightening around her midsection. She couldn't be scooted any further into him, but his arm apparently didn't get the memo. His toes gripped onto her for her life.
She made to shift forward a little to get some semblance of space, but all she ended up doing was pressing her ass against his fully hard length.
Joker's moan was low and delicious. She'd never had him in such a docile state. Not even while he'd been cuffed in her living room.
Okay, no more. No more.
Her hormones were disobeying. To them, something wonderful was being pushed against her and it was her duty to respond.
The same moment he went to grind against her, she pushed right back into him.
All progress she'd made to separate their bodies was lost. His opposite hand snuck under her body and slipped beneath her tank top. He skimmed his fingernails up her side, skipping over each rib; sending a wave of shivers through her.
"Such a good girl, Celine," he mumbled, nipping at her earlobe. "I am not a good boy. And yet…"
He didn't have to finish the sentence. Oddly enough, she knew what he meant.
The hand under her shirt finally made it to her bra-less chest. He grasped one of her breasts and gave it a shake. The satisfied groan he released made her rock back into him. Her reward was a delightful pinch on the nipple.
"Mm...Celine."
His licked the shell of her ear. Precum had leaked through his pants. His cock longed to be free from its constraints.
Celine felt wetness pool in between her thighs. Her stomached clenched and twisted.
"I-." She exhaled, grabbing onto the wrist around her midsection, not realizing right away her fingers had become stained with his blood. "I don't know…your…name. If you…moan mine…I want to moan yours." At the last second, she added in. "Your real one."
He tensed for a moment, ceasing all ministrations.
When he answered, it was so quiet she had to strain to hear.
"You already know it." He brought his lips closer. "Sally's companion."
He then abruptly switched his hold to her other breast, humping against her rhythmically.
"Jack," she moaned upon realization, meeting each thrust with a deliberate grind. "Oh Jack."
His mouth found the side of her neck as his thrusting increased. He kissed whatever skin he could get his mouth on, teeth occasionally nibbling deep, red marks, before soothing them over with his tongue.
The feel of his soft scars against her sensitive neck accelerated the pressure between her legs.
"Spread 'em," was his soft command, licking a trail from her collarbone up to her ear.
She did as best as she could considering his own leg was pressing down on hers. But his ended up assisting her, toes hooking around her ankle to pry her thighs apart.
The hand around her waist shot down to her pajama bottoms, fingers slipping beneath the material.
His groan was strained.
"Mhmm…no underwear either?" he scolded playfully into her ear. "Such a naughty bunny. Ya wanted your grizzly bear to discover you like this, didn't you?"
It was the first time he acknowledged her nickname for him, and so throatily at that. She almost worried he didn't have to touch her for her to orgasm.
His index finger and middle slid into her moistness, rubbing up and down, intentionally ignoring her throbbing clit. She tried to jerk downwards anytime his fingers came close, but he kept his distance, grinning against her.
"Jack, please."
His fingers slipped into her heat, pulling out more slick before finally reaching her clitoris and rubbing harsh circles around it.
She could feel the wetness through his pants. He was stiffer than a diamond against her, cock jerking each time her ass cheeks clamped down on him.
Feeling slightly useless, she reached her right hand back to slide into his damp hair. She rubbed his scalp soothingly before giving his hair a sharp tug.
"Mmm…harder."
She adhered to his command, tightening her hold and pulling back just as he pinched her clitoris between thumb and index, fingers on her breast sinking into the skin and not letting up.
It was painful, but a tolerable pain. One that married so well with the pleasure he was inflicting on her.
When he bit her earlobe and tugged it into his mouth, her thighs quaked and a rush of nearly overwhelming pleasure coursed through her. He went down the rabbit hole soon after, cumming into his slacks, fingers in between her legs; assaulting her needy bud with speedy back and forth movements.
He continued to do this even after the last of her orgasm seeped out, causing the sort of aftershocks that had her seeking shelter even further in his hold despite there being no more possible distance to close between the two.
It was only when his own cock stopped grinding against her that he finally released her sore breast that would be carrying half-moon imprints of his fingers, and retracted his hand from beneath her pajama bottoms. He flipped her body a little so she was studying him on her back through sweat-soaked strands of hair.
She moaned from the depth of her belly as he brought his coated fingers to his mouth and proceeded to lick them clean, tongue delving between them, his own moans causing his chest to rumble.
"Mmm…just as I thought. Much better than takeout."
His smile was infectious. She couldn't remember feeling so blissed out and so…relaxed. Like a life-ending asteroid could strike right now and she'd only snuggle deeper into the man beside her.
They lazily watched the other. She repositioned herself so she was now on her side, facing him. Her fingers traced the tissue of mostly healed over scars on his body. He easily had more than her. She paused upon landing on a fresher one near his ribs.
"I did that, didn't I?"
He only studied her through hooded eyes, expression dark and strangely smug.
She bent over to kiss it, and then kiss another above his left nipple, and another near his sternum, and another by his lower abdomen. He watched her with slightly parted lips.
Her last stop was cradling his face and bringing her lips to land first on his left-cheeked scar, then his right. The tissue was still puffy and she wondered if he didn't renew the wounds every few years so they would maintain their garish appearance.
I'll choose not to think about that. Not now anyway.
She leaned back only for Joker to capture her mouth in a devastating kiss that produced a whimper she didn't think herself capable of making. His kiss spoke of some sort of promise. What that promise was, she was too tired to consider.
Not long after she passed out against his chest, their legs intertwined, his fingers rubbing random patterns along her back. A few minutes later, he joined her.
Sorry that was a wee lengthy. But it was a nice payoff, wasn't it? Question is- how seriously will either of them take it? Especially as it's becoming evident how undeniable their chemistry is.