She could feel the cold barrel of the gun as it pressed underneath her chin. It was a pretty weapon, a large purple revolver with solid gold embellishments and a crowned skull emblazoned on the side. Red rubies winked in the eye sockets, glimmering as Dr. Harleen Quinzel felt the tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“M-M-Mr. J…” she stammered.
“Shut up,” he growled.
“P-P-Please… please don’t kill me.”
“I said shut… the fuck… up.” The metal jammed harder into head, rapping against the bone of her jaw.
Oh, the irony was rich. She was the one that had brought him the revolver, after he’d asked her for a machine gun during their last session and she’d told him she had no way to get it. He’d dictated a phone number to her, asking her to repeat it back to him three times to ensure she would remember it. He told her to call the number and say the magic words, the rest would be handled.
“The magic words?”
“Abracadabra!” He’d said with a theatrical flourish, then threw back his head and cackled with delight at the joke.
She’d called the number and spoken the magic words - abracadabra - into the phone when a male voice picked up, only to be greeted by a swift ‘click’ in her ear.
“Some joke,” she’d grumbled.
The next day, the gun arrived on her doorstep.
It was packaged in a shiny silver box with a red foil bow, looking like nothing so much as a fancy Christmas present. A simple golden tag read, ‘For J.’
She’d brought it into her apartment quickly, unwrapping it in the front hallway to find the magnificent purple gun winking up at her. It had felt warm when she lifted it, feeling the satisfying weight of it in her hands.
She had done it. She had actually done it.
And sneaking it into Arkham hadn’t even been hard. She wore metal tipped stilettos in that day, and all the silver jewelry she owned. Tucking the gun between her legs before she got out of her car, she held her breath as she passed through the metal detector and it went off. Giving the security guard a sheepish smile, she kicked her toes against the ground, throwing up sparks, and then held out her arms, which were covered in bracelets and rings. After taking an additional look at her layered necklaces and dangling earrings, he distractedly waved her through and went back to reading his newspaper.
Now she was pressed up against the wall in the solitary room where they had their sessions, the muzzle of the semi automatic jammed into her throat.His straightjacket was a puddle of white fabric on the floor; she’d freed him from it the moment the door closed behind her, as she had done a hundred times before. The first time they kissed over the table, he’d had it on, which thrilled her, the sense of power, of control she had over him; she had a feeling he’d sensed that, because the next session he demanded she release him after the guards left. And how could she say no to him? She would do anything for him.
But today, after she pulled the gun out, he’d pounced, taking it from her outstretched hand and pinning her against the wall in one smooth motion. Once they’d begun… SEEING each other, she’d demanded there be no cameras or recording devices in the room, going straight to the board of the asylum and claiming it violated doctor-patient confidentiality. They’d reluctantly agreed as long as she wore a panic button which, naturally, she’d stopped carrying months ago. It was just her and the Joker for the next 90 minutes.
Would she be dead within the next five?
“Please, I did everything you asked me to,” she whispered.
“You did EVERYTHING I asked you to, sweet little Harleen.” He eased up on the pressure, moving the gun from side to side, tracing her pulse as it jumped around her throat. “And Daddy is very proud of you. I knew you had it in you.”
“So, what are you…”
“You question me?” He snapped, cutting her off. The gun pushed into her chin again.
She tried shaking her head, but couldn’t move.
“No, Mr. J.”
“Tell me how you got it in here.”
“I wore jewelry, so when the detector beeped-”
“Not that!” He bristled and she pushed back into the wall as far as she could go, trying to ease away from the revolver. His grip tightened and the gun followed her. “WHERE did you hide it?”
“Oh.” Despite herself, Harleen blushed. “I… I…”
“Yes?” He grinned, the metal grill shining in the dim fluorescent light overhead. Just looking at his silver smile made her feel dizzy with attraction, despite his orange Arkham jumpsuit and the fact that he was holding a gun to her head.
Or maybe because of it.
The longer he held it, the less afraid she felt; if he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, surely he wasn’t going to kill her? The fear began to drain out of her, replaced by a peculiar tingling in the pit of her stomach.
“I- I hid it in between my legs,” she said in a quiet voice.
He clucked his tongue like a hen. “What a naughty little girl you are, Harleen.” He nuzzled the gun against her chin as gently as a lover buries their face in the crook of their beloveds neck. With his free hand, he trailed his large, square palm through her hair and down her torso, until he reached the hem of her tight pencil skirt.
Her eyes widened. Swallowing, she moved her smaller hands down to meet his. Grasping his one hand in between both of hers, she gently pushed it under her skirt, to where the gun holster lay smooth against her inner left thigh.
It was a simple loop of leather that she had picked up in a pawn shop in one of the seedier parts of Gotham. A pouch could be clipped onto the circle, and the gun fitted snugly inside.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” the clerk had remarked as she paid for it in cash. He’d told her how to work it - “Ya just belt it on ya leg and put the piece in” - then sent her on her way. It rode high up her leg, sitting just under her lace underwear, and she could feel the Joker’s long, white fingers as they skimmed over her skin.
“Oh, God, you’re so GOOD,” he breathed, rubbing his hand over the leather around her leg. Without loosening his grip on the gun, he leaned in, hungrily covering her mouth with his.
The tingling sensation in her stomach intensified, spreading throughout her entire body. Whenever he kissed her, it felt like the world stopped. Nothing mattered, nothing at all, except his kisses. And in a way, the gun made it even better, the complete and utter control he had over her in that moment, and the complete and utter trust she had, the faith she had that he wouldn’t shoot her.
He wouldn’t shoot her. She knew in her gut, in her BONES, that he wouldn’t shoot her.
No longer the slightest bit afraid, she threw herself into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. The tiniest misstep by either of them and she’d certainly be dead, heightening the exhilarating pleasure of the moment. He kept his rock solid grip on the gun, his other hand moving higher and higher between her legs. She gasped as he touched her thin panties then curled his fingers into the fabric, ripping them. She could feel moisture running down her legs as he stroked her, and her body quivered with pleasure.
“Move your hands,” he moaned into her mouth. Instinctively, she knew what he wanted her to do. Drawing back and staring him in the eyes, she placed both of her hands around the gun at her chin. Perfect trust. Total love. Her small, warm hands wrapped around his large, cold one, with his finger on the trigger.
He growled and bit her cheek. Working the fingers of his other hand faster and faster, he brought her to a pulsating climax. She pressed her lips together to avoid crying out; she didn’t want the guards to hear and investigate. Instead, she turned completely inward, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she crested on wave after wave of sensation.
She wanted to moan in agony when she felt the barrel of the gun leave her throat. Her hands fell, limp by her sides, as he took the weapon away.
“No…” Before she could stop herself, the word slipped out of her mouth. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her in surprise. Lips red as a cherry, hair glowing emerald green in the light, he had an otherworldly beauty. She just wanted him to POSSESS her. It was frightening in its ferocity.
“So you like Daddy’s gun?” He asked in a low voice. It was almost like he couldn’t believe it; like he’d been expecting to scare her, and he was the one that ended up scared by her reaction.
“Y-Yes.” Her voice shook. She had liked it. She could still feel the ghostly imprint of it pressed under her chin.
He pressed the cold metal against her chest, the side of it, this time. She could feel it, heavy against her sternum, before it slid lower, across her stomach, and lower still.
“How much do you like it?”
Harleen knew what he was asking her, but couldn’t bring herself to answer. They had already done things in this room, but this- this was unspeakable.
His free hand drifted up and curled tightly in her hair, jerking her head backward.
“I asked you a question, little girl.”
“I love it, Daddy,” she admitted truthfully, cheeks burning. His own eyes rolled up into the back of his head in pleasure at her words.
Slowly, carefully, he nudged the gun into the waistband of her skirt.
“Do you belong to me?”
She looked at him with tears of love in her eyes. “I do.”
The metal was cold as it nosed its way between her legs, and her body tensed against the wave of pleasure she felt. He was USING her. Depraving her. Claiming her in a way she never had been before.
But he was gentle as he worked the gun in and out of her body. He kept one hand in her hair, holding her up against the wall as her knees buckled and shook. He kissed her face, her nose, her eyes, murmuring as his lips passed, whisper light, over her skin. She moaned softly and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
“You have to be quiet, baby.”
She sucked his tongue like a pacifier to keep from wailing. The pleasure was so keen it felt like a sharpened knife pricking her all over her body. She trembled against the brilliant heat rising inside of her, swelling and bright as she suddenly shattered into a thousand pieces. She was clinging to him, sobbing and grinding her hips and working her body against the gun and it felt so good, so so so GOOD, better than anything else had ever felt before, and he was laughing, quietly chuckling into her ear, and whispering about how she was SUCH a good little girl, such a mad little girl, and she thought that if this was madness then she wanted it.
She wanted it.
He held her as she came back to her senses, still pinned up against the wall in the solitary room. The gun was nestled between her thighs, and she swore she could feel it pulsating wetly.
“No one has ever loved my gun as much as you do,” he said, and she glowed with pride. “We’ll have to get you one of your own, won’t we? Can’t have you running off with mine to have FUN.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She flushed at the desire that rose within her again at his words.
The door suddenly swung open.
“Times up, Dr. Quinzel- oh shit.”