FICLET - The Cutting Room Floor: Eight of Diamonds
This is the first of a series of hot and sweaty one-shot fics I'd like to overall call The Cutting Room Floor. Scenes that were not shown but heavily implied in my fic. I tried to write them as one-shots so anyone can enjoy them, not just the readers of my fic. I hope it does work out that way.
Title: Eight of Diamonds: Skill Becomes Profitable
Author: me!
Proofed by: pressure_hinges
Universe: Nolanverse
Pairing: Joker x Harley Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night...no, really. And porn ensued. There you have it. Scene that takes place within Chapter 10 of A Better Class of Criminal
Eight of Diamonds
Skill or Craft Becomes Profitable
A horrific summer thunderstorm brought a blackout to the Joker's warehouse, encasing the building and its surrounding lot in total darkness. Darkness wasn't a problem, but it was an annoyance as he had relieved his employees of their duties that evening. Only two of his subordinates stayed in the warehouse continuously, but once dismissed found other arrangements. The other two men under his constant payroll had apartments close by. No matter thinking on it, all four of them were out of reach for the night, blackout or not.
Harley was in no state to be told to go hunt around for some back up lights, either. When he had come home earlier that day, Joker had found Harley in a very unsettling state after having some sort of anxiety attack that she took out most cruelly on her own body.
That's not fair, the Joker had thought, standing over her prone body, frustrated at the situation more than at her directly. He liked the idea of her being so dependent on him, his opinions, his moods and thoughts. On the other hand, she needed to be able to keep her head together when he couldn't be there to hold her little hand. For a fleeting moment, he had worried that she wouldn't be able to through with her big public premier at the Iceberg Lounge, where he would debut her officially as Harley Quinn when they shook things up a bit during Boxy Bennett's thirtieth birthday party. The moment of doubt had passed, though, and Joker came back to his previous confidence that he had not failed in any way, Harley's breakdown was merely a testament to his grip on her mind and once reassured and soothed back into sanguine submission she would be fine.
And just how do we get back to that sanguine state of mind? Joker thought to himself as he stood downstairs, three gaudy Catholic candles tucked under his left arm and an oversized novelty wooden lollipop in his right. We lighten things up a bit.
The first candle was a red wax Saint Dymphna, a woman etched in white with a shawl on her head and a dagger across her torso. He had thought it was a cross initially, but found this to be far more pleasing and less of an eye sore than the other two candles. A man called Saint Elias was lit next, his bored and impatient expression having greatly impressed the Joker, despite the green wax and prayer begging to be released from imprisonment in religious gold type face. Lastly, a yellow wax candle with a cheesy fake stained glass window depicting a very serious looking woman called Martha. The weather behind her figure looked so friendly in comparison to her dour piety, a juxtaposition Joker found highly amusing. Religion was always a bad joke to him. Why prostrate oneself for the sake of these laughable, imaginary creatures of light and fairy dust, especially when there were more creative, not to mention frighteningly real, people to cower before?
He found her on the floor of the upstairs office he had converted into his bedroom. Right before the blackout she had tried to weasel her wicked charms on him, and her cockiness getting the better of her, the Joker felt the need to put Harley in her place. Well. Knee her in her place was more like it. At least she stayed put, exactly as he had instructed her. Good girl. He wasn't a bad guy, really, nor was he too proud a man to admit when she did well, either. Chuckling at the sight of the tissue in her nose, the Joker sat on his futon bed, legs over the side as he lit the candles one by one.
Setting each of the candles down on the floor illuminated her figure, and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep, until the last candle's light glowed across her face, her big, baby blue eyes staring up at him curiously, adoringly. He had dressed her in one of his dress shirts, one he had forgotten he even owned. As she was nearly a foot shorter than him, his shirt went down to her upper thighs, hanging on her quite nicely. It was kind of cute.
"Look, I brought you a treat," he snickered, handing her the wooden novelty lollipop. She took it, keeping down on the ground, and mumbled her thanks. "OK, give it back." Snatching it from her, Joker set it beside him before reaching down to scoop her up, effortlessly lifting her and placing her sideways on his lap, her cheek pressed against his chest. With one hand he cradled her painfully close to his body, arm slung around her tightly. With the other, he took hold of the dagger she had used on herself during her panic attack in his absence. He held the dagger before her face.
"New house rule: You are not permitted to use this without me. I am the only one who may ever handle this knife on you. I don't care if you use it to slice someone else up, but if I ever catch you trying to do what I know you were doing earlier I will leave you with a scar you're not soon to forget. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, Harleykins?"
"Yes," Harley gasped, remembering to breathe properly.
"Because, really," said the Joker as he compulsively licked his lips, leaning closer against her head, arching his neck so that his lips were directly above her ear. "If you, uh, don't need me..."
"No!" she exclaimed, clinging to him tightly. "That's not true. I just...I just missed you."
"Hmm," was all he replied, staring down, her eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights, her little chest heaving with rising panic. He had scared her more with the threat of leaving her alone rather than with the act of cutting her to itty bitty mince meat. How interesting. Note to self: use in future.
Dropping the knife, Joker picked up the wooden lollipop and without ceremony, smacked her bottom hard, causing her to jolt forward with a loud cry. Grasping her tighter than before, he brought the novelty toy against her bare buttocks over and over, and though she made noises of discomfort, the air slowed the object down, softening each blow. With a frustrated growl, Joker put the lollipop down and stood up, slinging Harley over his shoulder as he marched over to the corner of the room where Harley always kept his things nice and tidy. No matter how many times he ransacked it, tossing his belongings every which way as he was doing just then.
"There you are," he said with a touch of reprimand in his voice, holding his serrated knife up to the candlelight before returning to the bed, sliding Harley back in the same position and working around her lithe body, cutting jagged rounded holes in the wooden lollipop.
When he was finished, he tossed the knife into the darkness and with no warning tested out his new masterpiece. Catching Harley off-guard was only half of the delight that came from her painful shriek as she arched her body upward in pain. Joker cackled mercilessly, raining the holey tacky novelty toy down against her ass in rapid succession, each blow eliciting a louder cry than the last. He soon began to notice a slight pattern to the merciless smacks and her sweet cries, a kind of rhythm that made it all so very melodious to him, the descant of the makeshift paddle as it cracked against her soft flesh, cueing the aria of her shrill, soprano wails in a cacophony of agony, a symphony written specifically by and for him.
Her skin was quite red, but no amount of speed or strength backed into the blows brought a deep enough red to satisfy him. This was one of the few times he did not want to give into the desire to spill blood. That was the easy way, and a quick fire end to her suffering once the initial sear of the cut ebbed away. No, he wanted to leave pain, not necessarily scars. Nothing visible anyway.
Growls of aggravation emanating between his bared, gritted teeth over the severe lack of colors against her boring white flesh, the lollipop growing as tiresome as a broken record, the Joker was desperate for more. His eyes serendipitously fell on the candles sitting innocently at his feet, and in one fluid movement, Joker threw the lollipop with one hand, pulled up the dress shirt and after snatching up Saint Dymphna dumped the hot, melted red wax across Harley's already sensitive skin.
Howling in pain, Harley turned her face against him, trying to smother her cries of anguish. She felt like her flesh was melting, oh god, was that her skin dripping off? Harley daren't look back...
Eyes widening with glee, the Joker relished the bright, cherry red wax as it drip, dripped all over her skin, sinking into the crevice between her delicious, previously flawless cheeks. And that scream she made, that scream! It was a song he could put on repeat forever. In fact...
"Red does get a bit old, doesn't it, pumpkin?" he said casually, and before she could register what he meant, he splashed her with the blue wax of Saint Elias. Pressing her face against the fabric of his shirt, Harley could not find her voice any longer. Choking gasps came out of her throat, even as he laughed at her, his chest reverberating against her. Using the very tip of his index fingernail, Joker swirled the red and blue wax together, making a lollipop design on the small of her back. No, it wasn't quite perfect. It was too dark and bland. Could use a little splatter of cheer...yellow, the color of sunshine and happiness.
After relighting the red wax Dymphna candle for light, Joker picked up the Saint Martha's candle, careful not to just go overboard this time, the Joker held it up directly above Harley's quivering back, welts already beginning to rise. Gently tipping the glass, Joker daintily poured droplets of yellow wax, a line of increasingly larger circles lining up with Harley's spine.
"Don't be such a squirmy worm, Harleygirl," said the Joker sweetly with just a hint of menace in his voice. "I'm making a pretty picture."
"O-ok, Mister J," Harley's muffled replied against his chest. The wax was cooling now, and her skin was becoming accustomed to the small drops of wax, intense heat for a few seconds, then slowly dulling and ebbing into lukewarm, eventually cooling. The more methodical his wax design became, the more meditative Harley became about the entire ordeal. It wasn't unpleasant really, although the thumbprint marks he was leaving in the droplets jabbed against her spine most uncomfortably.
After leaving his thumbprints sealed in friendly yellow wax across her spine, a swirling mass of primary colors across her scorched and welting backside, and happily, unconsciously sucking on his bottom lip, the Joker finally felt satisfied with his work of art. Smoothing the dress shirt back down, he gently petted her until he felt the familiar stirrings of desire slowly building its way through him. Eyeing the single candle still burning, the Joker impulsively jammed two fingers into the hot, softened wax, ignoring the pain as he wiggled the digits down to the knuckle, sure to cover every bit of skin with red wax before pulling out and quickly, so as not to lose the heat, shoved his fingers between Harley's legs.
Hissing from the unexpected intrusion, Harley grasped at his suspenders as he stroked her to arousal, the heated wax covered fingers spreading a surprisingly pleasing heat, mingling with her body's natural warmth. Brushing the hardening wax against her clit, the slickness of the wax too smooth and gentle to truly give her release, Joker teased her over and over, furiously sucking on his bottom lip as he watched her body rise and fall, her vocals matching, before he finally drew out his fingers, flexing them until the wax crumbled enough for him to dive back in and vigorously work her clit.
"You really don't deserve this," he told her as he added his thumb, stretching her wide, pulling and pinching her clit mercilessly before she climaxed hard, his long fingers stroking her slick inner lips, eliciting orgasmic tremors even after she came. "But you know this already, don't you, pumpkin?"
Harley nodded.
"Say. It."
"I-I don't deserve this."
His lips were above her ear again, his breath hot on her sweaty skin.
"And just what exactly don't you deserve?"
"A-anything."
"Precisely," he replied before yanking her up by her pigtails, raising her to her knees and wrapping her legs around his waist as he unzipped his trousers and freed his erection, sliding Harley down to the hilt, her throaty moan making him flick his tongue out against her parted lips. Licking her dry lips, snaking the tip of his tongue in and out of her mouth, drawing out her smaller pink tongue, he bit and worried her pouting bottom lip. Controlling her gyrations with his hands firmly grasped on her bottom, bouncing her on his cock as she tightly wound her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
Feeling his climax build, Joker lay Harley on her back and bent her legs against her chest before covering her with his impressive body, pinning her down, grunting as he thrusted deeply, her muscles suddenly contracting around him as he slid in to the base of his cock and emptied himself inside her.
Pulling out of her, Joker was quick to put his cock back in his pants and smooth down his clothes as if nothing had just transpired. Seized with a new idea, he pushed Harley onto her side and lay against her back, lifting up the shirt he let her borrow to look at her waxy back. It looked like he had just fucked her on a pile of melting crayons. The image made him chuckle as he brushed away the flaking wax pieces from her skin, digging his nails under the more stubborn pieces until all that was left on her skin was raised red welts and imprints of the fun he just had.
Idly tracing the outlines of her temporary brandings, the Joker suddenly remembered the newspaper he abandoned when the lights went out, slapping Harley across her sore backside, causing her to jump.
"Harley, you bad girl! Look what you made me do!" Joker sat up and felt around the floor for the discarded utility lighter, found it, and lit the candles once more, arranging them in a semi circle near the head of his side of the bed. Picking up his newspaper, Joker grumbled to himself as he re-ordered it. "Stupid girl...distracting me from my evening paper..." With a resounding humph, Joker found the section he wanted to read and turning on his side away from Harley, went back to his newspaper.
Smiling as she watched him hunch over towards the candlelight, Harley contentedly curled up on her side and brought the fabric of the borrowed dress shirt up to her nose, deeply inhaling the intermingling scents of his and her body sweat. The odor was a natural aphrodisiac to her, but having her fill and knowing she would only ruin the otherwise pleasant mood by acting on any urges, Harley was satisfied to feast on him with her eyes. Her thighs tightly clamped together since the moment he left her body, possessively determined to keep his fluids in her body for as long as she could, Harley slowly drifted to a peaceful slumber.
The End
Author Notes:
- Thanks for reading, be sure to let me know if you liked it!
- Saint Dymphna is the patroness of mental illness, Saint Elias for imprisonment and Saint Martha for servitude.
- All of the Joker x Harley ficlets will be named for playing card fortunes.
Title: Eight of Diamonds: Skill Becomes Profitable
Author: me!
Proofed by: pressure_hinges
Universe: Nolanverse
Pairing: Joker x Harley Quinn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night...no, really. And porn ensued. There you have it. Scene that takes place within Chapter 10 of A Better Class of Criminal
Eight of Diamonds
Skill or Craft Becomes Profitable
A horrific summer thunderstorm brought a blackout to the Joker's warehouse, encasing the building and its surrounding lot in total darkness. Darkness wasn't a problem, but it was an annoyance as he had relieved his employees of their duties that evening. Only two of his subordinates stayed in the warehouse continuously, but once dismissed found other arrangements. The other two men under his constant payroll had apartments close by. No matter thinking on it, all four of them were out of reach for the night, blackout or not.
Harley was in no state to be told to go hunt around for some back up lights, either. When he had come home earlier that day, Joker had found Harley in a very unsettling state after having some sort of anxiety attack that she took out most cruelly on her own body.
That's not fair, the Joker had thought, standing over her prone body, frustrated at the situation more than at her directly. He liked the idea of her being so dependent on him, his opinions, his moods and thoughts. On the other hand, she needed to be able to keep her head together when he couldn't be there to hold her little hand. For a fleeting moment, he had worried that she wouldn't be able to through with her big public premier at the Iceberg Lounge, where he would debut her officially as Harley Quinn when they shook things up a bit during Boxy Bennett's thirtieth birthday party. The moment of doubt had passed, though, and Joker came back to his previous confidence that he had not failed in any way, Harley's breakdown was merely a testament to his grip on her mind and once reassured and soothed back into sanguine submission she would be fine.
And just how do we get back to that sanguine state of mind? Joker thought to himself as he stood downstairs, three gaudy Catholic candles tucked under his left arm and an oversized novelty wooden lollipop in his right. We lighten things up a bit.
The first candle was a red wax Saint Dymphna, a woman etched in white with a shawl on her head and a dagger across her torso. He had thought it was a cross initially, but found this to be far more pleasing and less of an eye sore than the other two candles. A man called Saint Elias was lit next, his bored and impatient expression having greatly impressed the Joker, despite the green wax and prayer begging to be released from imprisonment in religious gold type face. Lastly, a yellow wax candle with a cheesy fake stained glass window depicting a very serious looking woman called Martha. The weather behind her figure looked so friendly in comparison to her dour piety, a juxtaposition Joker found highly amusing. Religion was always a bad joke to him. Why prostrate oneself for the sake of these laughable, imaginary creatures of light and fairy dust, especially when there were more creative, not to mention frighteningly real, people to cower before?
He found her on the floor of the upstairs office he had converted into his bedroom. Right before the blackout she had tried to weasel her wicked charms on him, and her cockiness getting the better of her, the Joker felt the need to put Harley in her place. Well. Knee her in her place was more like it. At least she stayed put, exactly as he had instructed her. Good girl. He wasn't a bad guy, really, nor was he too proud a man to admit when she did well, either. Chuckling at the sight of the tissue in her nose, the Joker sat on his futon bed, legs over the side as he lit the candles one by one.
Setting each of the candles down on the floor illuminated her figure, and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep, until the last candle's light glowed across her face, her big, baby blue eyes staring up at him curiously, adoringly. He had dressed her in one of his dress shirts, one he had forgotten he even owned. As she was nearly a foot shorter than him, his shirt went down to her upper thighs, hanging on her quite nicely. It was kind of cute.
"Look, I brought you a treat," he snickered, handing her the wooden novelty lollipop. She took it, keeping down on the ground, and mumbled her thanks. "OK, give it back." Snatching it from her, Joker set it beside him before reaching down to scoop her up, effortlessly lifting her and placing her sideways on his lap, her cheek pressed against his chest. With one hand he cradled her painfully close to his body, arm slung around her tightly. With the other, he took hold of the dagger she had used on herself during her panic attack in his absence. He held the dagger before her face.
"New house rule: You are not permitted to use this without me. I am the only one who may ever handle this knife on you. I don't care if you use it to slice someone else up, but if I ever catch you trying to do what I know you were doing earlier I will leave you with a scar you're not soon to forget. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, Harleykins?"
"Yes," Harley gasped, remembering to breathe properly.
"Because, really," said the Joker as he compulsively licked his lips, leaning closer against her head, arching his neck so that his lips were directly above her ear. "If you, uh, don't need me..."
"No!" she exclaimed, clinging to him tightly. "That's not true. I just...I just missed you."
"Hmm," was all he replied, staring down, her eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights, her little chest heaving with rising panic. He had scared her more with the threat of leaving her alone rather than with the act of cutting her to itty bitty mince meat. How interesting. Note to self: use in future.
Dropping the knife, Joker picked up the wooden lollipop and without ceremony, smacked her bottom hard, causing her to jolt forward with a loud cry. Grasping her tighter than before, he brought the novelty toy against her bare buttocks over and over, and though she made noises of discomfort, the air slowed the object down, softening each blow. With a frustrated growl, Joker put the lollipop down and stood up, slinging Harley over his shoulder as he marched over to the corner of the room where Harley always kept his things nice and tidy. No matter how many times he ransacked it, tossing his belongings every which way as he was doing just then.
"There you are," he said with a touch of reprimand in his voice, holding his serrated knife up to the candlelight before returning to the bed, sliding Harley back in the same position and working around her lithe body, cutting jagged rounded holes in the wooden lollipop.
When he was finished, he tossed the knife into the darkness and with no warning tested out his new masterpiece. Catching Harley off-guard was only half of the delight that came from her painful shriek as she arched her body upward in pain. Joker cackled mercilessly, raining the holey tacky novelty toy down against her ass in rapid succession, each blow eliciting a louder cry than the last. He soon began to notice a slight pattern to the merciless smacks and her sweet cries, a kind of rhythm that made it all so very melodious to him, the descant of the makeshift paddle as it cracked against her soft flesh, cueing the aria of her shrill, soprano wails in a cacophony of agony, a symphony written specifically by and for him.
Her skin was quite red, but no amount of speed or strength backed into the blows brought a deep enough red to satisfy him. This was one of the few times he did not want to give into the desire to spill blood. That was the easy way, and a quick fire end to her suffering once the initial sear of the cut ebbed away. No, he wanted to leave pain, not necessarily scars. Nothing visible anyway.
Growls of aggravation emanating between his bared, gritted teeth over the severe lack of colors against her boring white flesh, the lollipop growing as tiresome as a broken record, the Joker was desperate for more. His eyes serendipitously fell on the candles sitting innocently at his feet, and in one fluid movement, Joker threw the lollipop with one hand, pulled up the dress shirt and after snatching up Saint Dymphna dumped the hot, melted red wax across Harley's already sensitive skin.
Howling in pain, Harley turned her face against him, trying to smother her cries of anguish. She felt like her flesh was melting, oh god, was that her skin dripping off? Harley daren't look back...
Eyes widening with glee, the Joker relished the bright, cherry red wax as it drip, dripped all over her skin, sinking into the crevice between her delicious, previously flawless cheeks. And that scream she made, that scream! It was a song he could put on repeat forever. In fact...
"Red does get a bit old, doesn't it, pumpkin?" he said casually, and before she could register what he meant, he splashed her with the blue wax of Saint Elias. Pressing her face against the fabric of his shirt, Harley could not find her voice any longer. Choking gasps came out of her throat, even as he laughed at her, his chest reverberating against her. Using the very tip of his index fingernail, Joker swirled the red and blue wax together, making a lollipop design on the small of her back. No, it wasn't quite perfect. It was too dark and bland. Could use a little splatter of cheer...yellow, the color of sunshine and happiness.
After relighting the red wax Dymphna candle for light, Joker picked up the Saint Martha's candle, careful not to just go overboard this time, the Joker held it up directly above Harley's quivering back, welts already beginning to rise. Gently tipping the glass, Joker daintily poured droplets of yellow wax, a line of increasingly larger circles lining up with Harley's spine.
"Don't be such a squirmy worm, Harleygirl," said the Joker sweetly with just a hint of menace in his voice. "I'm making a pretty picture."
"O-ok, Mister J," Harley's muffled replied against his chest. The wax was cooling now, and her skin was becoming accustomed to the small drops of wax, intense heat for a few seconds, then slowly dulling and ebbing into lukewarm, eventually cooling. The more methodical his wax design became, the more meditative Harley became about the entire ordeal. It wasn't unpleasant really, although the thumbprint marks he was leaving in the droplets jabbed against her spine most uncomfortably.
After leaving his thumbprints sealed in friendly yellow wax across her spine, a swirling mass of primary colors across her scorched and welting backside, and happily, unconsciously sucking on his bottom lip, the Joker finally felt satisfied with his work of art. Smoothing the dress shirt back down, he gently petted her until he felt the familiar stirrings of desire slowly building its way through him. Eyeing the single candle still burning, the Joker impulsively jammed two fingers into the hot, softened wax, ignoring the pain as he wiggled the digits down to the knuckle, sure to cover every bit of skin with red wax before pulling out and quickly, so as not to lose the heat, shoved his fingers between Harley's legs.
Hissing from the unexpected intrusion, Harley grasped at his suspenders as he stroked her to arousal, the heated wax covered fingers spreading a surprisingly pleasing heat, mingling with her body's natural warmth. Brushing the hardening wax against her clit, the slickness of the wax too smooth and gentle to truly give her release, Joker teased her over and over, furiously sucking on his bottom lip as he watched her body rise and fall, her vocals matching, before he finally drew out his fingers, flexing them until the wax crumbled enough for him to dive back in and vigorously work her clit.
"You really don't deserve this," he told her as he added his thumb, stretching her wide, pulling and pinching her clit mercilessly before she climaxed hard, his long fingers stroking her slick inner lips, eliciting orgasmic tremors even after she came. "But you know this already, don't you, pumpkin?"
Harley nodded.
"Say. It."
"I-I don't deserve this."
His lips were above her ear again, his breath hot on her sweaty skin.
"And just what exactly don't you deserve?"
"A-anything."
"Precisely," he replied before yanking her up by her pigtails, raising her to her knees and wrapping her legs around his waist as he unzipped his trousers and freed his erection, sliding Harley down to the hilt, her throaty moan making him flick his tongue out against her parted lips. Licking her dry lips, snaking the tip of his tongue in and out of her mouth, drawing out her smaller pink tongue, he bit and worried her pouting bottom lip. Controlling her gyrations with his hands firmly grasped on her bottom, bouncing her on his cock as she tightly wound her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
Feeling his climax build, Joker lay Harley on her back and bent her legs against her chest before covering her with his impressive body, pinning her down, grunting as he thrusted deeply, her muscles suddenly contracting around him as he slid in to the base of his cock and emptied himself inside her.
Pulling out of her, Joker was quick to put his cock back in his pants and smooth down his clothes as if nothing had just transpired. Seized with a new idea, he pushed Harley onto her side and lay against her back, lifting up the shirt he let her borrow to look at her waxy back. It looked like he had just fucked her on a pile of melting crayons. The image made him chuckle as he brushed away the flaking wax pieces from her skin, digging his nails under the more stubborn pieces until all that was left on her skin was raised red welts and imprints of the fun he just had.
Idly tracing the outlines of her temporary brandings, the Joker suddenly remembered the newspaper he abandoned when the lights went out, slapping Harley across her sore backside, causing her to jump.
"Harley, you bad girl! Look what you made me do!" Joker sat up and felt around the floor for the discarded utility lighter, found it, and lit the candles once more, arranging them in a semi circle near the head of his side of the bed. Picking up his newspaper, Joker grumbled to himself as he re-ordered it. "Stupid girl...distracting me from my evening paper..." With a resounding humph, Joker found the section he wanted to read and turning on his side away from Harley, went back to his newspaper.
Smiling as she watched him hunch over towards the candlelight, Harley contentedly curled up on her side and brought the fabric of the borrowed dress shirt up to her nose, deeply inhaling the intermingling scents of his and her body sweat. The odor was a natural aphrodisiac to her, but having her fill and knowing she would only ruin the otherwise pleasant mood by acting on any urges, Harley was satisfied to feast on him with her eyes. Her thighs tightly clamped together since the moment he left her body, possessively determined to keep his fluids in her body for as long as she could, Harley slowly drifted to a peaceful slumber.
The End
Author Notes:
- Thanks for reading, be sure to let me know if you liked it!
- Saint Dymphna is the patroness of mental illness, Saint Elias for imprisonment and Saint Martha for servitude.
- All of the Joker x Harley ficlets will be named for playing card fortunes.