RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block the trying hand

She was going to have to do something. He wasn’t getting better and she had the sneaking suspicion that he had started faking it for the attention. For over two weeks now, Harley had been waiting on her Puddin’ night and day – more so than usual, even. But he had simply descended into quiet depths of depression and illness. And Joker was very scary when he was quiet.

Twelve days ago was the birthday party. His birthday party. No, not HIS birthday, “his.” GCPD Commissioner James Gordon’s sixtieth birthday party. Gordon was going all-out and having a huge gathering with the Mayor and almost everyone at the Gotham Police Department… and Batman was probably going to show up. It was going to be huge because that stupid fop Bruce Wayne was throwing it, and he had some real money to throw. It was going to be huge because Joker was out of the Asylum and “unaccounted for.” It was going to be a real blast. Because a shipment of explosives was hijacked out of Metropolis’s commerce port.

“Was” was the operative word.

Poor Puddin’ didn’t make it.

He got sick.

Harley had never known Joker to take ill. The thought that he would be susceptible to a virus never crossed her mind. He was immune to most poisons and toxins (not to mention her feminine wiles), so why not microbes and bacteria? Alas, he must have been running on good luck – or maybe just ignoring the situation. There were, after all, many times when he had gone on heists and sprees while under influence of powerful drugs (administered by the fellows back at Arkham) despite their sedative or hallucinogenic effects. Once, had he not been shaking uncontrollably due to neurological drugs (from some treatments administered before his escape that same day), Mr.J might have even killed Batman. As it was, Joker’s every shot missed wildly as he tried to force his aim.

Whatever it was, Joker had never before been sick like this. Vomiting, fever, chills, and other, even less savory effects all combined to make her big strong man into a puddle of miserable. The first day he tried to ignore it. It was, after all, just two days before the Grand Party. He brushed off his suit and shined his shoes (or, at least, watched Harley do so) all in final preparation for the big day. He was going to blow them out of the water! But the coughing… at first it had been a simple nagging tick. Then it progressed into a rasping, ragged hacking that doubled him over and left him gasping for air. By the next morning he had even lost his voice. If only he had gotten some rest…

Harley made him gallons of chicken soup at a time. She robbed three pharmacies of everything she could carry. She even set him up with a VCR and all the Laurel&Hardy tapes she could find, just in case laughter really *was* the best medicine. Poor Harley. All that work and all it got her was first degree burns from having nearly-boiling soup kicked over onto her, almost arrested by some stupid night-watch rent-a-cop at a pharmacy, and those weird L-shaped bruises you get when a VCR flies at you and strikes you corner-first. Well, that and puke in her shoes every day when she woke up. Even when she hid her shoes, Joker somehow found the strength to hunt for them while she slept. Because it meant so much to him, she eventually just gave up and put them on anyway, just so he could get a few giggles in the morning.

But now it was all starting to stretch thin. She knew he wasn’t feeling ill anymore. Heck, he hadn’t even been able to force himself to vomit in her slippers in four days. Joker just stayed in bed all day, in the quiet, in the darkness she tried to supply him with (she had to nail an old blanket and overcoat she stole from some bum to the wall to cover the two windows). Occasionally he would sigh, but he had stopped talking. Stopped threatening. Stopped caring. It really broke her heart to see him like this. She would have to do something to cheer him up.

Harley knew that she could never match the draw of a party with police officers and Batmans and balloons all by her onesies, but she had a friend. A friend called PVC. She found a kinky store just a couple blocks away that sold costumes, and there was one that was simply perfect. He would *love* it! Well, he BETTER love it… Stealing away into the bathroom next to Joker’s depression chamber one night, Harley donned her get-up. She wore a skin-tight white mini-skirt and a similar top, with a bright red cross on one of her breasts. The zipper on the front of her Naughty Nurse costume had a large silver bull-ring that she pulled halfway down to show maximum cleavage. She had some trouble moving at first, being unused to the shiny, plasticine cloth, but soon got the hang of it. She pulled her hair up into the sort of loose bun she used to default with when she was a doctor at Arkham. Taking particular care with her makeup, Harley made sure her thigh-high leggings had the seams straight and pushed open the door to her Puddin’.

“Mistah J, it’s time for your physical,” Harley pouted and stepped into the dim room.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Joker mumbled as she did a small pole dance with the door frame, his first words in a day and a half. She was getting somewhere! Pulling down the zipper of her shirt with each writhing step, Harley snaked her way toward him and slithered up onto his bed.

“Medicine’s in my blood, Puddin,” she whispered, “almost as bad as you. Now: turn your head and cough.” With a wry smile, she slid over further on the mattress, closer to his side. Joker closed his eyes as tight as they would go and crossed his arms on his chest, face forward, resolute and determined to ignore her. Harley frowned and bit her lip. This was it, her last run. If she couldn’t cheer him up now… Harley was saddened by the thought that her Puddin’ might stay in this funk forever. He was certainly stubborn enough.

Since he refused to watch her, she hiked her skirt up and out of the way above her hips and tossed a leg over, mounting him. It had been more than two weeks since he last had a smile. No longer was she going to wait for him to fix himself. She let out soft “mmm” sounds to encourage him and dug down at the elastic bands of his pajama pants and boxer shorts, dragging them out of the way also. Joker’s eyes popped wide open in shock at her blatant defiance against his *perfectly clear* indications of wanting her the hell away, but then the pupils shrank and his eyes narrowed considerably when she began to grind slowly against him.

“Hey! What are you… RAPE!” Joker struggled to pull his left hand out from under her knee to give her a good smack, but Harley had foreseen this possibility and was intentionally pinning it down. She also held his right wrist captive in her fist, and their arms jerked about in tense struggle to gain/maintain some sort of advantage.

The words Joker said were certainly a colorful sort, running the gambit of crude to absurd, as he spat insults and threats at Harley. She might have been more frightened if not for two things. One, she had the physical upper hand in the current situation. Two, he was getting excited in more ways than one. Harley shushed him softly, pressing her finger to his lips that foamed with rage – just barely pulling the finger back out of the way as he snapped his teeth at it. Still struggling with her left hand, Harley used her right index finger, moist with his saliva, to drag slowly down his breast bone and follow the curve of his rib cage down to his side. When she reached the place at his hip where their skin joined, she ran her palm up her inner thigh and up her stomach, moaning like a whore, and finally unzipping the last remaining inch of her top and exposing the her breasts completely. She shoved her left hand (holding his right) into the mattress and sighed softly as she played with a couple fingers at her lips, licking and sucking them, still humping him rhythmically. Joker groaned and rolled his eyes at the fellatio pantomime as she dripped warm saliva down her hand. But then Harley suddenly popped her fingers out of her mouth and shoved the dripping wet digits as far up Joker’s nostrils as they’d go.

“WHAT THE – FUCK?!” Joker jumped in shock, ripping both hands back into his own possession, wiping his nose desperately with the back of his hand. Harley couldn’t help cracking up. Joker sat up as far as he could with Harley on his lap and was completely silent for half a second before bursting into a roar of uncontrolled laughter. He threw himself back into his pillow and gasped for air between peals of belly laughs, “Harley! You finally… the timing, misdirection… perfect!” He smiled and giggled genuinely at her, and a real twinkle of affection crept into his eye before he grabbed her waist and twisted her around and started spanking her ass with open palm. Harley squealed and Joker chided merrily, “You nasty, dirty little girl! I oughta-“ and he bit her right cheek, teeth sinking deep into the soft flesh and taught muscle. Harley screamed, but only for a surprised second. Joker rolled her over and leaned over her prostrate form, his elbow by her head, her blood dripping down his chin from a wide, crescent-moon smile, and he kissed her.