Chapter Text
Things had gotten boring recently, and Harley knew that led nowhere good for neither her nor for Mistah J. He had such a sharp and brilliant mind that even she couldn't keep up sometimes--and with a doctorate, too! Even if she hadn't exactly gotten her sheepskin on the up-and-up, she had put up with plenty for it--and he'd spin off into unwitting self-destruction out of sheer ennui. He needed distraction and plenty of it, and with her around, Harley made damn sure that he never lacked with plenty of diversions on hand, whether that meant plans or jokes or just idle talk of torturing the Batman.
When the Joker set to toying testily with the team they'd only just recruited in the last week or so she felt the need to distract him. Harley had spent an awful lot of time away from her Puddin' to track down and hire after he'd wiped out the last collection of goons.
And so, Harley put on her best suit, did up her makeup to perfect, and played Mistah J's Girl Friday just like she knew how, and maybe threw her hips around the way that always seemed to catch his yellowed eyes a little bit extra. Yet after dangling so many different ideas for mayhem before her Puddin', everything from petty crimes for kicks to loading up the van with some of their Big Boom toys and painting Gotham in flames… nothing. Bupkis. Ugh!
The light of her life still insisted on trying his new routines on the kinds of idiots who thought it was worth it to get involved with The Joker, and none of the goons were half aware of how near they were to death, um-ing and uh-ing over his bits with scattered bits of laughter.
Time to cut in, then.
"Puuuuudding'..." she mewed in a pitch she knew would catch his ear (it'd catch the ear of most dogs, honestly), and was pleased with herself when she saw him wince mid-joke.
"What?!"
Another good sign, not refusing the nickname she'd so lovingly given him years ago. Time to turn up the heat. Harley cartwheeled over on her hands and pouted. "I'm bored , Puddin'..."
"So make yourself useful," he snorted and tossed his head towards a pile of cash that lounged in the corner.
"Aw, c'mon, pay a little attention to your best girl," she hiccuped, kicking aside a few stray towers of leafy green with a fwoosh! as she traipsed to the side of the stage he'd made up for himself out of old milk crates. Landing flat at his feet with a pratfall anyone could be proud of, her baby blues flashed up at him and saw the frown she was waiting for…
" Puddin' ."
A heavy sigh left the Joker and Harley felt something in her core run cold the moment before it all went warm and squishy. And that's when he snatched her up by the ear and lugged her sharp back towards the boss's personal rooms while she wheedled and whined about " just wantin' some lovin'! " while the goons whose lives she had just saved stood gawping by uselessly.
--
The door slamming behind her and the locks being thrown (all seven) were erotic sounds, as far as she was concerned. Her breathing was already coming hard as he picked a length of rope, but she was positively panting when she felt the prickle-rough through the thin fabric of her suit and squeeze tight enough to temporarily push the air from her lungs.
With a few flicks of his wrist, Harley could feel the knots constrict between her breasts and around the joints of her thighs, a baton set behind her knees, and pulling her to bend back ever so slightly with a gasp--oh! her clever Puddin' had so many skills, she couldn't help but be proud of him!
Before she could voice a single word of praise, he'd tossed her to kneel on a bit of plywood laid over a few sawhorses and pinned to several of them with daggers.
She couldn't predict the man, and she doubted anyone ever could... but most usually, the Joker would always move with a purpose, selecting his weapons as though he'd known well beforehand just what they would be and had them on hand. That their shared bedroom contained an ever-revolving merry-go-round of props for bits and schemes seemed to phase him not at all in his choices. He always made what was available perfect for the situation, as far as Harley Quinn was concerned.
First up, a set of throwing knives that had complemented the cardboard cutout of an officer of the law grabbed his attention. He picked up one of the set of four identical blades, tossing the weapon into the air casually, only to snatch it mid-spin and whirling to hold it to her throat.
"Now, Puddin', don't be mad! I just--" Harley started to say but caught herself up short when he cut her off.
"Shut up."
Not hollered or commanded, the blade no more a threat, it was just a simple statement of expectation. God help her, she could feel all of herself thrum beneath the elastic of her suit, crawling with want, and it only doubled when he began slicing away from the collar and she could feel the fine point of cool steel skim over her chest.
Her heart paused in its rhythm as the Joker placed the tip over her heart for a pensive moment, then sliced at the stretch of fabric between her breasts. The left breast neared escape, but her boss had already moved on to pulling the stitches along a patched shoulder.
"Aw, no, I just fixed this one up," she whimpered, pouted even, and then the flat of the blade was against her lips, braced by a lavender-gloved finger in a gesture of silence.
"Can't you take an order?"
"Oh, you know I can, Mistah J!"
"Do I?" The blade wavered in its bloodthirsty nature again and started a run over the curve of her shoulder, splitting it open down the length of her arm. She gasped, glanced down and then up again as his blankest grin met her gaze. "Because that doesn't sound like you shutting your mouth ."
As the edge of the knife came up to her face Harley honestly wasn't sure if he was actually annoyed or toying with her. Either way the throbbing pulse low in her belly seemed to not care a whit. She shook like a tripwire in a breeze as it dipped again to peel away her suit at the hip and back down her tense thigh.
And as much as she could moan and whimper feeling the air drawn over her skin after the knife, Harley didn't dare open her mouth to speak. Her boss-slash-lover set himself to giggling while tearing weakness in the only barrier between her bare skin and that metal warming against it.
When he was through, the damn thing hung in shreds between where the ropes held it to her body.
Wincing when she saw him no more interested in her than the toy he now brandished, she set about rectifying it. He was fingering the trigger on one of his lapel flowers, this one a ludicrously oversized white daisy with a green center--and she paused to consider her life choices when she recognized it as the one where she'd diluted the vitriol with a bit of distilled water in a wild fit of self-preservation…. and felt a little disappointed.
Well! nothing to do but what she always did in those odd and unsettling moments, Harley shook it off and flashed a breathless grin at her lover.
With her perky innocence sounding just about as genuine as a fourteen dollar bill, she asked, "Whatcha got there, Mistah J...?"
He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time, and the cold smile that lit up his face made her turn liquid from the inside out. The fact that he spoke not at all as he stalked towards her made it all the worse. Or better, depending on how she looked at it. Her quavering of unease seemed to be all that the Joker might need by way of encouragement and he took on his usual manner, one that was part one showman, one part sadist.The quiver ran deepest when he towered over her, fingers playing with the diffuser bulb.
"Just testing your ability to be quiet, Harley-girl… can you do that? For me, can't you?" The clownish extreme of his sincerity was enough to make her giggle and nod in agreement. "That's my girl...."
Lifting a finger to his lips, the Joker nodded in return, aimed the daisy with no small amount of expertise and let a testing squirt splatter across the rips in the suit over her shoulder, hitting fabric and all pale skin at once, and hoo-boy, could she feel the difference!
There was a squeal rising in her throat but those sick-keen eyes kept on her with a hunger and she swallowed it back. For her Puddin'. But, knowing she wouldn't be faulted for squirming and panting, Harley poured her energy into that as he slowly circled her and painted her body with an almost artistic kind of thoughtfulness.
A burn across her breasts with a tiny stream that hissed across her hypersensitive skin to hang off the tip of her nipple, smoldering like a cigarette cherry, and then dropping away and leaving that raw, open sting. All of it only to be replaced with a burst of tingling heat on her wrist.
Her panting turning to a soft giggle as she could feel more than just her heart melting; certainly wasn't her heart running down the inside of her thigh to mingle with the acid-water.
And yet, however admirably the Joker's moll had held up so far when that fifth splash of diluted vitriol splattered over the small of her back and ate down the curve of her exposed rear, she gave in. A scream busted out of her throat.
"Please! Mistah J!" she sobbed out, hanging her head and feeling the sweat drip off of her forehead, leaving a curl of blond caught on her brow. Immediately she caught her lip between her teeth, squinted, and set to repenting in complete, shivery silence. She waited and waited. But nothing came.
After forty seconds of harsh panting while she awaited a soaking in that biting half-acid, Harley opened her eyes and had to readjust her focus.
The Joker stood before her, daisy gone from his hands to god knew where, and instead was that throwing knife. His long fingers fondled the thick and rounded end with more eroticism than she'd seen most men handle their own gigglestick, and she found herself entranced, even as he approached her again.
With the knife tucked between his teeth, the Joker put a palm to her forehead, pushing Harley until she curved back. The rope around her waist dug in and up under her shoulder blades until she was forced into a shift of balance. She wanted to ask what was happening but didn't dare as the blade was now tracing the trajectory her pelvis made in the sharp convex bow down to her sex, just behind the tatters of her suit.
Then he ducked beneath the horizon of her view unless she changed her position, and she knew better than to do that.
"B-baby?" Harley asked, trembling down to her vocal cords.
"Shh. Shut up. Can you never just shut up for one minute?"
She could feel hot air on the cup of her thigh as he berated her and her inner lips twitched in wanting. Then, half-warmed metal slid between the folds of her flushed sex--thin but blunt--and let the wetness trapped there to weep down the blade. A sharp gasp as she felt the metal twist against her lips, flatten between them and press them open. Harley choked on a wordless noise that could have been a response or simply involuntary fear.
"See? Always going on at the mouth! I, on the other hand--" The blade flipped again, drew away and suddenly she felt cold metal against her drooling slit. "Am a man of action."
Harley half screamed as she felt the stretch of the handle of the throwing knife against the begging ring of muscle. And he still wouldn't move. Her hips writhed but he moved in perfect time with them to keep her from sucking the handle into herself.
A sob caught in her throat, died, was reborn as a low whine and then, as he kept teasing and not giving, she set into babbling as she tried to writhe her hips against the unrelenting taunt of penetration, "Oh, yes! Oh, please! Ah! Ah, please please please please ! Puddin', baby, honey, darlin', sir --I need it! Something! Anything Ah! Please, yes ! Just gimme!! "
And then... nothing. The push that was threatening to sink deep into her and set her into convulsions disappeared entirely. Her gushing of words replaced with a strangled scream of frustration. A grip between her breasts on the loop of rope holding her together drew her up to his face, lit up with an elated grin that both aroused and confused the poor woman.
" Puddin'?! "
"You just gave me a wonderful idea, Harley-girl!" he exclaimed before he crushed her moue of confusion on her lips with the kind of joyful kiss that only a criminal enterprise would inspire in the Joker.
Setting her back onto her knees, he put the knife in his waistband and added, "Don't even think of moving an inch until I get back!" as he left.