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Cuffed To My Hand

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"Who are you?"

"Daddy's little monster."

"Good girl."

She trusts him. Inside and out. After thinking her job was to help him, he revealed the truth to her. He showed her the line between life and death, between crazy and sane, between love and obsession.

The last...the last was blurred.

They both preferred it.

He's hard and aching for her. Eyes wide, teeth barred. She grins, giggles, and pulls her top up further to just entice with a hint of flesh. He can have her any way he wants to -- at any time. But they both enjoy the fun and games.

"What would you like today, puddin'?"

His response is to push her down. She goes eagerly.

He further hardens against her tongue and she pulls away, teasing with little licks and strokes that make him groan. That small sound of approval is all she needs to know that this -- this -- is what she was made to do.

"Good girl," he says -- again. He knows how much she likes it. How it makes her wet and want to beg. He overwhelms her. Takes her in and breathes her out over and over again.

She looks up at him, blinks through thick false lashes. He grabs her hair and fucks her mouth. She closes her eyes and moans.

"Ease up, sweetheart," he whispers.

She does as she's told, pulling back with a thick lick. He gives the slightest of shudders. The slightest show of losing poise. He's human, she thinks. Sometimes, he's human.

"Mr. J," Harley says, giving him time to compose himself. She follows it up with, "Fuck me." A sultry smile and, "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty--"

"Please," he finishes for her.

She gives a giggle of delight.

He bends her over. Quick, swift movements of a trained body. Her face against the soft silk pillows and her wrists grasped loosely in his weathered hands. Mr. J is control.

"Are you ready, my sweet?" he asks in something between a whisper and sing-song.

All she needs is too look over her shoulder and grin. He pushes inside.

She's complete.

He's rough. Hard. Dominating. Everything Harley needs and wants. She thrusts back against him as best she can with no hands and only hips. Until he grabs her hair, leans in close, and whispers, "Let me."

She moans at the words.

They move in a synchronisation that Joker always manages. It doesn't matter if everyone thinks it's madness more than method. He has Harley close just by looking at her. By kissing her. By asking her to live and die at his word.

She would, too. Without question. Without thought.

"Puddin'--" she says. Cut off with a hand over her mouth. They don't need to be quiet, but this is training. Hiding from Bats or anyone else who wants to fuck their lives up. Harley squeezes her eyes shut and lets him take over.

They come together. He releases her hands, her mouth, and allows her to fall forward as he rides out the waves.

Afterwards, he will allow her to lay her head on his chest and breathe. Softly. Sweetly. He might even play with her hair if he's in a placid enough mood. And she will stay there. Pretending. Pretending like everything is okay.

This is life.

This is perfection.