The Joker sat at his desk, one hand busily scribbling notes onto the blue print plans of his latest scheme. The other gripped furiously at his thick green hair as he mumbled to himself. Free from his latest stint in Arkham Asylum, the clown had set to hatching his next move against the lauded dark knight.
In sudden fit of blind rage, he tossed the pencil toward Harley Quin, who sat regarding the silhouette of Gotham, for once sulking away from him. He tore the plan in half, and then ripped it to bits before slamming his face into the desk, nearly cracking the cheap thing in half.
“What’s it all for!” He screamed aloud, pulling at his hair harder than before. In a flash he was up, smashing the chair through the window next to Harley. The jester girl barely flinched, her mind obviously somewhere else. Dejected, the smiling man settled onto a crate cross-legged. The remains of his rational mind cried out for answers. This obsession of his had started so many years before innocently. He only wanted to rip off a few stores and make a nice profit in this city. But the Bat had gotten in his way, every time foiling his every step, launching him back to that damned cell.
In response he had upped the scale, running an intricate line of ploys for a simple heist. Still, however, the hero appeared to steal his triumph, always at the last minute. Finally he had abandoned profit altogether, laying traps meant simply to destroy a building or moderate percentage of the city’s population, at times even Batman himself. Every one failed miserably and after his fiftieth stay in Arkham he had decided that he needed a friend on the inside. Harleen Quinzel had fit the bill quite nicely. He cast a pointed glare at the former psychiatrist, that plan had disintegrated faster than sugar in water. Harley was easily his biggest failure yet, rather than a sympathetic psychiatrist he’d ended up with an overly loyal lunatic sidekick following him around. He glowered at her back for a few more seconds before standing to stalk off to find another chair.
When he returned with a new chair, Harley had moved to sitting on the table he used for planning. She sat with her eyes down cast. “Mista J, I didn’t mean to throw off the plan that.” She intoned.
“I know, Harley, I know.” He offered his tone uncharacteristically gentle. He closed his eyes and fixed his willpower against the rage bubbling up from the reminder of his most recent failure. He crossed the room in measured steps, his hands gripping the chair furiously.
“I got the cues all mixed up, I wasn’t trying to put ya in the cage.” She explained toying with the scraps of the mess he’d made. The Joker slammed the chair down in front of her, but kindly offered her his hand.
“Let’s get to bed, sweetheart.” The jester leapt off the table, instantly giddy. She’d thought she’d be out on the streets tonight after that ridiculous failure, but to actually get to sleep with her puddin’.
“Really, Mista J, you mean it?” She questioned, turning around. The Joker roughly grabbed her hand and held it painfully tight.
“Yes, Harley.” The clown promised, leading her a little too fast out of the side room and into their bedroom. Harley made a move to jump on him as he closed the door, but he managed to fend her off long enough to snap the deadbolt into place. Then she fell on him, lips meeting his jarringly as her legs wrapped around his waist. One of her hands found his hair while the other clutched his shoulder. He rested one of his hands in the small of her back. They kissed roughly, tongues battling back and forth, teeth trapping lips, noses flared as their only form of pulmonary relief. Finally Harley leaned back, but touched her forehead to his. She made a point of rubbing her pelvis against his suggestively. “Ain’t you happy to see me?” She questioned, her grin faltering. The clown beamed back at her.
“Quite the opposite, dearie. Now why don’t you crawl down there and see if you can get Jack out of his box.” He finished with a kiss to her cheek.
“Sure thing, Puddin’.” She replied, excitedly disentangling herself to drop to her knees. The Jester girl quickly undid the button and fly to his trousers, letting them drop to reveal green polka dot boxers. She rocked back on her heels as the underwear slid down, taking in the sight.
Nestled in a thick patch of carefully dyed green pubic hair was Jack. Jack wasn’t overly big or thick. Now soft, his head drooped as Harley carefully took him in her hand. Jack was thick enough to leave a gap between her fingers and palm as she gingerly ripped his fleshy shaft. Harley leaned in and pressed her lips lightly to the crown, sliding her hand back gently. The Joker tilted his head back at the feeling of the soft cloth of Harley’s red glove on his most sensitive of skins. Jack stirred, a tine of color flooding his pale skin. The jester slid his head into her mouth easily, running her tongue across the smooth skin. The clown murmured lightly under his breath, bringing a hand up to tug on his own hair. Her fingers played softly on his shaft, a gentle pleasurable massage.
Harley dropped her hands down to her sides, leaning into swallow more of Jack. Half of Jack’s length disappeared as she went. He hardened ever so slightly, twitching in her mouth. The jester continued bobbing away long enough for her jaw to begin to ache and Jack remained less than half-hard, really only just a bit tense. Finally the Joker stopped her, bringing her up to press a kiss to her forehead. “That doesn’t seem to be doing it, sweetheart. But I know something that will do the trick!” With a soft giggle, he punched her in the face. Harley let out a soft cry and fell back on the bed, sprawling out. Jack stood at half-mast now.
The clown kicked his discarded clothes off of one leg and mounted the bed. Cackling, he grabbed the front of Harley’s costume—tearing it down to her navel with a single tug. Her breasts popped out comically, bouncing toward him enthusiastically. He took Jack’s semi-rigid mass in hand, stroking lightly with his thumb, and leaned over Harley’s prone form. The jester craned her head to the side, exposing her neck. The Joker pounced, his jaws snapping closed on his sidekick’s soft skin. Harley groaned. He bit down harder, feeling warm coopery blood fill his mouth. Harley squirmed, whimpering as his giggles became muted by her blood filling his mouth. Jack now stood stiff, in need of no support. The clown grabbed the remainder of her costume and ripped the bottom red side off completely.
In one rough movement, Jack was buried up to his balls in Harley. The Joker bit harder, his hips pumping wildly. His cackling had died down to a low chuckling in his throat while he kneaded Harley’s torn flesh with his teeth. The girl let out strangled sounds of pain and pleasure. The smiling man continued on, mauling and humping until he was emitting breathy moans between snarling laughs Harley clung tightly to him, legs wrapped once again around his waist.
The clown rolled onto his back, bringing Harley on top of him, though she still remained bent over him. He released her neck, watching the blood roll down from her neck to the flat part of her chest. The trail slowed, its source obviously tapering off, leaving a few droplets slowly rolling down to Harley’s breasts. He leaned up, teasing her nipple with his tongue. It hardened into bullet point, inviting his teeth to it. Harley whimpered at the sensation of his pearly whites closing on her soft tissue.
Joker wiggled his hips, inviting her to ride. The first undulation brought a sigh to his lips, allowing the nipple to escape his ministrations. The clown lounged back, leaving his hands on Harley’s back. Joker began thrusting himself into Harley at the apex of her rising motion, allowing them to fall back together. He felt his grin widen as Harley’s breasts bounced up and down with the jack hammering motion. He let a soft moan escape and dug his nails into her back. The jester arched her back into the pain. A solitary guffaw ripped from Joker’s throat as he felt blood pool around his fingertips. He drew his fingers down her back, feeling his abdomen tighten as Harley’s face tightened into an expression of pure pain.
The clown felt a slight spasm in his stomach as he noticed a stream of tears tracking down her cheeks. He rolled Harley over, withdrawing long enough to flip her over onto her stomach. He was quick to re-sheath Jack in Harley, while staring at the ten long rivets cut into her skin. The Joker cackled lightly at his canvas, watching with satisfaction as the furrows seeped blood. He leaned forward and licked a trail from the base of Harley’s back to her shoulder.
He began to thrust into her slowly perhaps even gently. His focus was drawn to the bouncing blood drops spreading on her back. One hand moved to her shoulder to give his thrusts support while the other grazed the flesh on her back. Harley gave a few stifled cries, and Joker felt her contract around Jack.
The clown withdrew from Harley, cursing. He grabbed her hood, purposely getting a handful of hair with it, and pulled her up into a sitting position with her head turned to face him. “You can’t get anything right, can you?” He questioned, a frown lining his usually happy face.
Harley smiled dreamily at him, obviously still trapped in that post orgasmic high. “Sure, I can Mista J!” She declared.
The Joker grinned menacingly back. “Well then, muffin, would you explain why, oh why, you can’t just lay still for a few more minutes without cutting off my few moments of bliss?” He asked getting louder with each pause, until he was screaming.
Harley deflated, looking at once guilty and regretful. The Joker pouted, it was no fun beating her now. Jack had gone soft, right back into his box, the moment gone. Using her hair, he dumped Harley on the ground and used a piece of her costume to clean the blood from his fingers.
He pulled his boxers and trousers back up to his waist and turned one last withering glare on Harley. Her face had swollen, and her make-up had run, leaving a comical tear stain through the white on her cheeks. The right side of her face had grown to three times the size of the left one. “Don’t be here when I get back.”
He slammed the door to their room emphatically and stomped down the hallway. He ordered the nearest stooge to replace Harley’s costume before ascending the stairs to the roof.
The dark Gotham skyline stood in greeting, purplish clouds floated between impressive skyscrapers. The stars occasionally poked through holes in the majestic cloud cover. The Joker leaned on the half-wall that prevented people from falling off of buildings, his lips drawn into a pout. He could never win, not even in his own sex life, there was always something standing in the way of his happiness.
The clown tapped his fingernails against his jawline. It wasn’t fair, he never won because that stupid bat and his do-gooder meddling. Luck was always on the side of that self-professed hero, always showing up in the nick of time with his rough voice and cheesy jokes. Even his own henchmen seemed to aid Batsie in the destruction of his schemes. The Joker growled with frustration as he felt his stomach contract with rage.
Behind him the door to the roof swung open noisily. “Didn’t I tell you never to bother me when I’m on the roof?” He screamed, turning with a raised fist. His knuckles connected with soft pliant flesh, rather than corded muscle. Harley cried out, falling on her ass with the force of the blow.
“I’m sorry Mista J, but I thought I’d come apologize!” She squeaked, covering her face against further blows. Her appearance only incited his rage more. He’d told her to leave! Plus she’d showered and changed into a light blue T-shirt and blue jean daisy dukes, knowing full well how much he hated seeing her without her costume.
“I’m sorry Mistah J!” He mocked in a squeaky voice, lashing out with another punch, hitting her on the forearm and knocking away the protection to her face. He slapped the bruise already forming on her left cheek from the first punch. He kicked her stomach, stomped on her hands, and let his hands rein slaps all over her body until his palms began to sting. Finally he stopped beating, panting and sweaty from the effort. He picked her up by the front of her shirt and breathed into her ear. “I think you should go out, Puddin’.” He tossed her over the side of the warehouse, letting a giggle escape his throat. “Much better.” He exhaled, dusting off his hands and turning back to the door.