Peering into the large rectangle mirror, adorned with fairy lights, you pursed your lips and applied another coat of lipstick. Red. Your favourite colour.

You fluffed up your hair, adjusted your breasts in the dark crimson bra you wore, and slipped your feet into your high black heels.

Show time.

...

Grace ft. G-Easy 'You Don't Own Me' began blasting from the speakers in each corner of the room. Wisps of smoke curled around your toned legs as you sauntered out to the middle of the stage where your love awaited.

Tall, slim, and polished to perfection. You loved working the pole on the main stage, and the crowd loved it too.

Easing into your routine, you slowly gripped it at waist and shoulder height, wrapped a single leg around the base and began to twirl around it. The beat would stay steady for a few minutes before it broke and a specially selected remix would be cut through.

As your body continued spinning and writhing with the pole, your arms and legs continually switching their positions and keeping your body movements looking smooth, a flash of red hair from a far away booth caught your eye.

It looked familiar, but you couldn't stop and stare. You knew there was no way it could belong to who it reminded you of. He was gone.

~.~.~ Flashback ~.~.~

You made your way downstairs in your pyjamas (read: plain tee and Jerome's boxers) to find Jerome, Theo and Barbara hatching their next plan around the coffee table.

As you approached, Jerome's smile widened at your appearance and he grabbed your arm, pulling you down into his lap.

Their conversation never faltered as Jerome began tracing patterns on your legs. You added your tuppence-worth in occasionally; Theo glaring harshly every time you opened your mouth. Clearly you were no longer flavour of the month. Jerome, though, seemed to have taken your spot as he was playing the lead role in the upcoming performance.

You were glad Jerome was finally getting his place. He really did put on a great show.

~.~.~

You watched from behind your masquerade mask as Jerome put on the performance of a lifetime. He had Bruce Wayne by the neck, knife nicking it slightly, as he wore a beaming smile on his face. He looked rather dapper in his magicians suit and top hat. You couldn't wait to take him to bed. He'd be even more in the mood after plenty of Brucie's blood had been spilled.

Right on cue, as predicted, the call came through from Jim Gordon.

You chuckled as you made your way towards the stage and your handsome maniac. He was busy telling that fool Gordon his ridiculous demands.

"...the dry cleaning I left at Mr Chang's. Be careful, the man is a crook, and... mm, I don't know, a pony."

His laughter filled the room as he spied you walking towards him. Blowing you a kiss and winking, he continued on.

"Uh, you got 10 minutes or I start killing people."

Then, things went wrong. Well, for everyone except Theo.

Your mind replayed that scene over and over for months afterwards. All of a sudden that bāstard Theo had made it to the stage, twisted the knife around and stolen away the only life you ever gave a damn about. He had looked straight in your eyes and smirked as you cradled Jerome's lifeless body in your arms. Your mischievous joker was gone in an instant; before you could even make it the few paces across the stage.

Everything that followed was a blur. The GCPD, Oswald somehow bailing you out after a suspicious deal with Gordon, living in a rundown apartment above the strip club and working off your forever debt to Oswald in said club.

Your hair was no longer _. Instead it was dyed a pale silver, and tousled in long waves. You had etched a few tattoos in tribute to Jerome over your body, although you kept them covered with makeup during your shows. They were simply for you. Visible marks of your loss.

~.~.~ End of flashback ~.~.~

The sudden drop in the beat brought you back to reality and back to your performance. You picked up the pace and began sliding your way down to the ground, your back to the pole and legs stretched backwards on either side of it.

You began crawling across the stage, giving sultry glances to the punters at the front of the stage. Flipping over, you writhed in the cash on the floor as you slowly dragged the zip of your black hot pants down.

Raising yourself up into a sort-of crab, you continued until you were able to throw your legs over in a slow somersault of types and resume your standing position. You'd gotten pretty flexible working here.

You continued your unzipped hot pants descent and bent over to slowly peel them from your ankles, giving the crowd a good view of your ass in the matching crimson g-string you wore.

After kicking them off to the side, you jumped back up on the pole and moved your body around in time with the music. You spun and twirled, kicked and writhed, pouted and climbed, moaned and teased. You worked your body as hard as you could, pushing yourself to perform the most difficult positions in the book. The crowd lapped it up, the cash flooding the stage.

The beat dropped once again, the lights flashing all around you like lightning, signalling a song change. You'd be up here for as long as management wanted. And Oswald liked watching you... a lot.

You continued your routine through into a third song. Teasing the crowd, you played with the straps of your bra. Slowly slipping them off your shoulders, you turned your back to them and shot a 'come hither' look to the many faces surrounding the stage.

You reached your hands halfway up your back and slowly released the clasp. Dragging the bra down, you let your full breasts fall out. Still facing away, you teased the crowd with the occasional hint of side boob.

You began turning, preparing to give the crowd half of what they paid to see.

All of a sudden, arms encircled your waist and your body was pressed tight against a hard chest.

You glanced up, preparing to shove the handsy patron off and call security. They didn't like it when you done their jobs for them and beat the guys to a pulp.

Angry green eyes met dumbstruck _ ones.

There was no way this was-

Was he really-

You were shuffled off the side of the stage and into a private booth to cheering and cat calls from the audience. Clearly they knew who this was and were definitely not going to kick up a fuss.

"Well I'll be damned." You muttered out as you took in the tall, pale, red-head sitting before you.

Sure, you'd heard the rumours about his body being cryogenically frozen... then stolen... but you had stopped paying them mind after that. It hurt too much to think that your man hadn't even been given a proper goodbye.

His eyes sparked with mischief as he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.

"Dance. Dance for me, doll." He murmured as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

Taken aback by his sudden appearance and lack of recognition, you climbed on to the circular table and began working the attached pole.

It was your job. And if he was back, Oswald surely knew about it. He'd order you to give him whatever he asked for.

It hurt that he didn't recognise you, but you'd never been brought back to life before. Who knows how the mind works after that.

Defeatedly, you swung your legs around the pole and slid down on to the table. Stalking forwards on all fours, wiggling your āss from side to side, you stared hard into his eyes.

He averted his after a few seconds and focused them instead on the sway of your breasts as you climbed into his lap. A dark laugh rang around the booth; a laugh that wrecked your body, firing up every nerve ending you possessed.

Throwing yourself into the lap dance, you let the feeling of pleasure from dancing for your Jerome flow through you and guide your movements. You ground against his crotch, finding him as equally turned on, and fought with yourself not to unzip his pants.

Moving to the beat, you slowly turned and bent over, wriggling your āss in his face. A large, calloused hand was brought down on your right cheek.

A small whimper left your lips as a loud groan left his.

Normally you'd have broken any customers arm, face, possibly neck who touched you in a private booth.

You wouldn't be pressed up against any one else so tightly, though. Would you, _?

"Damn, baby girl. Why does this feel so familiar?" He moaned out as you continued; dragging your crimson g-string to the floor. You were a stripper after all.

Turning around, you straddled his thighs and began grinding against his covered, straining erection.

"Fūck. What's your name, doll? Have I been in here with you before?"

You moaned and continued your quest for sweet, sweet friction between your legs.

"I- No. You've never been here, Jerome." You panted out as you unbuttoned his shirt, hastily shoving it down off his shoulders.

Fūck it. Your morals never seemed to stick around long where he was concerned.

"You know me though. The-". He panted, flipping you over onto the couch so you were below him, his shirt falling to the floor in the process.

"The moment I stood in front of you, you knew. Why are you so familiar to me?" He almost shouted the last words out, frustrated with his apparent amnesia.

He began nipping at the skin on your neck; biting and then licking the marks to soothe them. He completely bypassed your breasts; making a beeline for the juncture between your thighs.

Well, I suppose if I'd just been resurrected I'd fancy some cōck, so who am I to judge?

He paused in his decent. His head hovering over your hipbone and the black marks which decorated it.

You groaned when you felt him rub the remaining make up off.

"'Property of Joker'?" He smirked and locked eyes with you.

"This 'Joker' know that his pretty little kitten is going to be moaning and begging for more of my cōck? Huh? He lets a little thing like you outta his sight for even a second?" He chuckled darkly.

"Who is he then? This 'Joker' you belong to? Would I know him?" The tone of his voice sent chills down your spine. It was the same jealous, obsessive one you'd heard once upon a time, many years ago.

Chuckling, you leaned over and grabbed the box of tissues under the table. Swiftly wiping off the make up as best you could, you watched as he drank in your body.

Littered across your chest countless times were the small words 'ha'. A playing card lay across your right shoulder; the Joker adorning the face. Your favourite by far was the simplest and most meaningful; a cursive 'J' which lay over your heart. Jerome had tattooed it himself when you had found yourselves not-so-legally inside a tattoo parlour late one evening.

His face paled even further, if that were possible, at the sight of the last one. Recognition flitting in and out of his eyes.

"I- I- This can't be... _?" He stuttered out a jumble of words, his body not moving an inch off of you.

A large grin broke out across your face as you tangled one hand in his soft, fiery hair and reached down to pull his zipper down with the other.

Gazing into the face of the man you thought you'd never see again, you giggled gleefully as you spoke. "Welcome home, Joker."

With that, hard, punishing kisses met your lips. Vying to make up for lost time, Jerome wasted no time in discarding his trousers.

There was no time for soft and gentle. He knew exactly who you were and exactly where he had to be. Deep inside of you.

He smirked as you moaned at the feel of his thick, hard cōck nudging against your clīt.

Without warning he adjusted himself and thrust in, stretching you to almost breaking point. Groaning, he pulled out and immediately slammed back in. It burned, yes, but you had waited a long time for this. You never imagined you'd feel him again. It was the most delicious burn.

Jerome was rough, raw... completely unhinged.

Back scratching, lip biting, thigh gripping, hip bruising.

Jerome might've been dead, but what you were doing was simply existing. Neither of you were living.

This was living.

There were dents in the walls, rips in the couch cushions, and clothes strewn everywhere. Jerome lay on the circular table with his eyes shut, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. Body covered in a sheen of sweat, cōck limp and sated, fingers tracing patterns on your skin. Curled into his side lay you; deliciously sore, sated and sticky.

"Ya know, everyone here has probably seen your tīts, doll."

You hummed. "If there regulars they've probably seen a lot more."

A dark laugh came from his throat as he pulled you in tighter. "Well. I guess no one here is getting out alive. Ha ha ha ha."

...

A/N

Happy Hump-Day... literally ;)

Decided not to keep you all waiting too long for the next instalment. Plus I couldn't put this one down so :D. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

Think we're probably done with these two for now. What do you all think?

Got some more *fresh* stuff in the works, but let me know if you'd like to see another part of their story.

Ciao maniaci.

- Ellie