The creak of the door awoke her.

She didn't dare move. It would lessen the fun.

Harley was a very light sleeper. Most Gothamites were with all of the break-ins and car honking heard through the night. But even in Harley's quiet neighborhood she was still trained as a light sleeper. He didn't know that apparently.

She heard his footsteps coming towards her bed. His shoes had been removed, she knew, because of the quietness of his steps.

She lay on her back, arms spread above her, lips slightly parted. Her straw-colored hair was tousled and mussed from sleep. Her pajamas consisted of a purple camisole and black lace panties. Oh damn. She could already feel his eyes on her.

She had tossed the sheet off in the night. It was an unusual hot and sticky month of May. As Harley thought about his irises glancing over her frame, she concluding that it wasn't so bad. She quite liked him. And the way he looked at her.

Only if she could open her eyes. Not yet.

He would have to wake her first. She loved playing games with him. He was almost too easy. At the asylum, her games had been teasing and juvenile. She enjoyed it when she made him think or laugh. But she reveled in the fact that she could make him squirm. She alone possessed that skill.

He leaned against the bed, watching her chest rise and fall with even breaths. He simply adored her choice of dress. His eyes traveled over her blonde locks, over her closed lids and high cheek bones, skimmed her small neck and collar bone, trailed over her modest chest and down her stomach to her lovely long and exposed legs, all to finish up at her dainty feet and painted toes.

She was beauty in its rarest form. And he fucking loved it. Because she was all his.

He knew she was awake. He saw her eyelids flutter when he opened the door. It had been that damn creak. But he didn't want her to know that he knew. It would ruin their game, or more likely her game. She loved playing with him.

He shed his purple coat, dropping it to the floor. He cracked his knuckles before leaning slowly over her frame. His dyed green hair hung around his face. He hoped he didn't smell too much like gun powder and gasoline. He nuzzled her warm neck. She smelled good.

She felt him breathe in. She also felt his face pressed into her neck. He felt lovely. He moved his arms up and around her midsection and held them there. He was almost hugging her. He squeezed her once before releasing his hold and drawing back to place his hands on either side of her torso, holding himself above her.

She opened her eyes at the sound of his switchblade.

He was staring at her. Quite intensely. He had missed her. How sweet.

She yawned and wiggled her toes. Placing her arms around his neck she spoke, "Are you going to kill me now?" She smiled at him and twirled a strand of his green hair around her index finger. "I'm almost positive you didn't come here to uh," she indicated his knife, "cut me…did you?"

He shook his head. He leaned closer and brought the blade to her neck. He used his right appendage and supported himself with his left knee and other hand.

She smiled at him and tilted her head back.

He nicked a small 'J' in the center of her neck. The small amount of blood that the tiny cut emitted, he licked away.

The press of his tongue to one of her most sensitive places earned a moan from Harley.

"Thank you," She told him, still smiling. She looked directly at his chocolate orbs. He smelled of gasoline and gunpowder. But it wasn't overwhelming. He could never overwhelm her anyway. As he flicked his knife shut and placed it on her night stand, she caught another whiff. This time of cologne. He smelled good, she concluded. Dark and manly. Just how she liked him.

"Harley," He drawled. He was trailing his fingers down her arm, sending currents of electricity throughout her body. Oh, if he knew what he did to her.

He whispered her name again and ran a palm down her belly.

She shivered. Damn him.

"Why are you here?" she mumbled sleepily. He was staring at her neck, the place where he had moments before marked her. "J…"

He looked at her then and smiled, "You quit and I wanted to see my doctor. Therapy isn't finished you know." He winked at her and pressed his palm into her abdomen, making circles.

She nodded and yawned again. Blinking a few times she muttered grumpily, "So you just had to come in the middle of the night?"

"Well of course!" He whispered, "I couldn't miss this outfit…" The man waggled his eyebrows. "I'd be so disappointed."

Harley rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. Looking around she asked, "How'd you get in anyways?"

He smirked. "I'm half Mexican, babe. You can't keep me out."

She released a small giggle and raised a brow. "Are you really?"

He shrugged and rubbed her thigh. "No idea."

"Mmmm…" Harley sighed. She drew her knees up and placed her arms behind her head. "So…what are you here for?"

He smirked at her deviously before whispering huskily into her ear, "You."

Before she could say or do anything, he kissed her.

The man was rough, but his kisses weren't. She placed her hands on his cheeks, fingers tracing his scars. He moaned into her mouth and slipped his tongue through her parted lips. His hands seemed to be glued to her sides, so instead she trailed her own down his well-muscled back to his buttocks and squeezed, earning another moan from the clown. She smirked into his mouth. Haha.

"Are you playing with me again?" He said in a breathy whisper. He rubbed his cheek against hers, leaving marks of white and red.

She chuckled lowly and began to assault his mouth again. He responded by flipping them, he now on his back.

She laced his scars with kisses and trailed from them to his strong jaw. She finally made it to the nape of his neck, kissing and nipping. He moaned and groaned until she stopped and looked up at him, smirking mischievously.

"What are you-" She interrupted him with another kiss to his lips.

Harley grabbed his switchblade from her night stand and flicked it open. She gave his lips a quick kiss before going back to his neck. She kissed the spot where she would be cutting in the next second. Right in the middle. Exactly where her's was.

She carved two small letters into his neck. HQ. She smiled at her work and licked it, completing the art.

"There. Now we're the same," She whispered, looking at his scarred face.

He caressed her heart-shaped face. "Thank you Harls." He kissed her forehead.

"You're welcome," she mumbled. He was looking at her funny. Like a predator ready to attack its prey. Good. She had an idea of what was coming.

He kissed her roughly before flipping them over again.

He hadn't done that in a long time.

When his mother explained to him the 'Bird's and the Bee's' she had called it, 'Tumbling'.

His health teacher had referred to it as 'wrestling'.

Sex.

With Harley.

His Harley.

He looked down at her.

She was once again fast asleep. She sighed in her sleep, as well as making soft noises that sounded like kittens mewling. He was surprised he didn't find it annoying. But Harley rarely did anything to annoy him.

She looked lovely. Almost glowing.

She had felt lovely too.

And she was all his.

Mine.

He nuzzled her neck. She was the only one who could soften him. To make him feel.

This crazy, tough, maniacal, evil woman made him happy. Very happy.

She was smart. And funny. And she didn't even need molded. She already was.

Her mind was twisted in ways that he couldn't explain himself. Because his was just alike. He had never been a romantic and never would be. But this woman had found a place in his black heart and he wanted to keep her there.

He smiled cheekily and pulled her closer.

Crazy fucking doctor.