"What should we be for Halloween, my dear?" He pets me, as I curl up on the couch against him, and I consider.


I feel him chuckle softly, rub his hand down my side to squeeze my hip. "They'll never expect that from us," he murmurs, and I smile up at him.

"What are we doing that night, Mista J?" I purr, leaning more heavily into him as his hand starts to sneak in between my legs.

"What do you want to do, baby?"

"Well... Crane's having a party," I suggest, and I hear him hiss.

"Crane's idea of what an enjoyable Halloween party would be like coincides pretty neatly with my idea of what being at Arkham for all of eternity and never getting a break from the sessions would be like. Only without you there."

I squeak a little, happily, and ball up against him, enjoying the implication that he could handle something like that as long as I were with him. "Ivy wanted me to go trick-or-treating with-"

"Ivy hates me," he cuts me off, and I remember that it's mutual and assume that means we're definitely spending that night together.

"We could also stay here for the trick-or-treaters..."

He lights up a bit at that idea, a chance to make the children of Gotham laugh, and I know it's right up his alley. "Mm... That'll be over by nine," he growls, pushing me down into the couch and moving to cover my body with his. "If that late. What do you suggest we do after, Harl?"

I push my hips up into his, suddenly desperate for him. He knows all the tricks to make me beg for him, and can somehow pull them off without me noticing. "Um- some... ah- tricking, of our very own... And then... ah, puddin'- back here for some treats..." I'm officially Jell-O. He seems to agree, the way he's currently feasting on my neck.

"Mm, Harl," he mumbles into my skin. "What do you smell like?"

I whimper. "Ah... Licorice, and vanilla... And my shampoo..." Right now, I couldn't tell you for the life of me what shampoo I use. All I know is that it's like a pinkish-red color, so probably strawberry or cherry, and he really likes it.

He licks up my neck, making me let out a high-pitched moan. "Mm, you taste so sweet... You smell like candy, only... darker? And you have such good ideas, my harlequin..." Without missing a beat, he somehow manages to strip both of us in what feels like the space of five seconds, and my moans have dropped an octave. He continues speaking, the whole time he's feeling my torso, even as he pushes inside of me, and I struggle to pay attention. "I love that plan, Harley," I register, and I think he may keep speaking as he starts thrusting, but I don't notice one way or the other.

And then I feel his teeth grazing the skin below my ears, his tongue tasting me as he slips lower to my neck, and as he starts suckling, I completely give in to the feeling of him, squeezing my eyes shut and fisting first his hair, and then the couch beneath me as he moves my hands down away from his head.

Ivy helped me find and put together my costume - I'm basically a skankified version of my regular self, in red and black tights and a corset and armwarmers to match, with my hair in pigtails (in red and black scrunchies, of course) and a black skirt. J says I'm not gonna be the only me running around on Halloween, because I'm "sexy and prolific, like Charles Manson but with an excellent body and a cute outfit."

I'm glad he approves.

And when Ivy and I were... 'shopping,' we did see a makeup kit with a picture of a woman whose face was made up like mine (Ivy says I look way better than the pictured woman does). So Mr. J probably has a point.

This afternoon, when I first let him see my costume all together, he nearly ripped it off of me. And now, whenever our door is closed, I'm pushed against it, and he's touching me in such perfectly innocent places that the lack of innocence in the iway/i he touches me is making me crazy. My tights are soaked through, and when there's a knock at the door, I have to compose myself before he opens it.
And after trick-or-treating - his trick is pretty tame - our candy slowly heats up, melting everything it touches - he knows I don't like when he picks on children, and Halloween is our day together, so he'll be nice to me - we plan to spike the punch at some more high class parties, bring some laughter to this spooky evening. That requires a costume change, which I have mixed feelings about. Ivy helped me with that costume, too - a skimpy gray thing with an eye mask, whiskers, and mouse ears. J's going as a cop, myself as entertainment.

Shortly after the party, my whiskers and ears are... on the floor, somewhere. And he's taken a knife to my leotard, leaving a thin red line from my chest down my torso. It stops somewhere above my navel, when he tossed the knife aside and then ripped what was left of the fabric away from me. It still clings to my arms and is connected in the back, but enough of it is gone that he can - as he's doing now - claim every inch of me with his rough hands, suck my breasts like they're made of candy, and make me whimper in aroused annoyance.

My legs wrap around his middle, and I try to grind into his stomach - he forces me down roughly, causing me to mewl, and then stands, shedding his cop outfit as he watches me.

I purr as he leans down to suck my throat, and when he pulls away he laughs. "You're supposed to be a mouse, Harl."

I tilt my head, my expression innocent. "Mice have such fast heartbeats that it feels like they're purring, Mista J. Something like nine beats a second."

With a roll of his eyes, he scoops me up and carries me to our room - we've been on the couch a lot lately, and once or twice one of his henchmen has come in on an errand. He seems to feel like he's losing me, probably because I've been spending so much time with Ivy, and that makes him want to show whoever will watch exactly who I belong to. So tonight, carrying me into our bedroom means this is probably going to be something I won't forget anytime soon.

I land on the bed with a bounce and instructions to shed my tattered leotard, and the brand-new pinstripe bra he ruined as well, and I do, trying to get it off without causing more damage in the hopes that I can fix it later. I do kind of like it.

He has other ideas, though, I suppose, and he growls at my careful movements. I rip it off of me with a small wince, and then he smiles and moves onto the bed, shoving me backwards into it.

"You don't like it, puddin'?" I pout a bit. "But Ivy-"

"Loves it, of course, you look just like her." Oh. He kisses me, though, and then sucks my neck for a moment. "I like you better like this," he mumbles, his lips trailing down to my collarbone and immediately spiking my arousal again.

"Mhmm," is all I manage to get out, and before I really register him moving, he's licking at my folds. I try to not provoke him, but when his tongue slides inside, I can't help it.

"Please, Mista J..." I know my voice is a weak moan, and I can hear him chuckle, but he moves back up and it seems I'm going to get what I want.

"Please what, Harl?" He takes my lower lip into his mouth and positions himself to slide into me.

"Fuck," I manage to get out, as soon as I get my lip back (he's moved down, to my jaw), and he pulls back to chuckle again before covering my mouth with his and shoving into me, all in one even motion.

He starts thrusting, slowly, teasing me, and then pauses and rolls the two of us over so that I'm on top. I blink as I pull away from the kiss, and he pushes me up so that I'm straddling him before gripping my hips and guiding me.

I gradually find a rhythm and an angle that works for me, and his not-so-gentle guidance eggs me on so that I'm getting faster, bouncing on top of him and blushing darkly - not that he notices, with his eyes fixed on my breasts. It's uncomfortable, to be honest, the way they're moving, but this is the least demanding I remember him being, ever, so I speed up as much as I can, with his hard grip helping me.

He comes first, which surprises me - some nights, of course, I doubt he'd care if I was asleep, but on nights like tonight he usually has much more restraint. His grip on my hips tightens painfully as he brings me down onto him, hard, hurting me.

Which sends me into a brilliant white pit that aches and makes me dizzy and makes my heart feel like it's going to break free of my chest and run away to join the circus (and like my stomach isn't going to be far behind), and if his hold on me wasn't so fucking tight I'd either pull off and leap backwards out of the room in one motion or press my entire body into his, trying to become part of him.

I do neither.

What does happen is I nearly fall backwards, let out a pained, pleased cry, and scramble with my nails to find footing on his chest. His eyes, or mine, or whoever's were squeezed tight, open, and after a frozen moment we make panting eye contact. His grip relaxes and I slide off of him to curl up next to him, discarding my mask and letting my hands trail down his torso, feeling the thin but strong enough layer of muscles as his breathing slows.

"Happy Halloween, sweetheart," I coo softly.