Title: The Deadliest Game

Rating: Rated T (For suggestive sexual material between evil clowns)

Summary: It was a game they played often, far too often for his liking. She had only improved at it over the years and the results were always devastating, from his standpoint at least. (Joker/Harley, ECP)

Disclaimer: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world. Also, I stole this disclaimer from Amanda.

Author notes: My first bit of light ECP, written almost entirely while listening to romantic classical music. (Especially "Arioso" by Bach, for some reason.) Extra special hugs go to my friend Amanda, who took up my usual task of "Beta Almighty" and had a blast correcting my grammar for once. (Hooray for semi-ECP full of semi-colons!) Thanks for the constant encouragement!

As always, thank you Marianne, for the inspiration and for dragging me into this twisted ship in the first place.

(Lightly re-edited 3/2/11)


He was going to kill her. They were only three hours out of Arkham for Christsakes, and she expected him to snuggle with her on this lumpy mattress, in the most dismal rat trap of a motel he had ever been in.

Why the hell did he keep her around? If she wasn't here he wouldn't have to be listening to this inane chatter. He thought that maybe if he closed his eyes it would stop, she'd think he was asleep. Obviously, she knew that little trick of his already because she didn't stop talking and her dainty hand was traveling further down his midsection, towards the place she had been aiming for since they had arrived at this hellhole.

It was a game they played often, far too often for his liking. She had only improved at it over the years and the results were always devastating, from his standpoint at least. For her, every groan she emitted from him was a tiny victory, every strangled cry a beautiful sound of triumph. This was yet another defeat for him, just one in a long string. It seemed that with each time she grew more hungry for his touch, more enamored by his very presence. Which he thoroughly enjoyed at times, but it just served to make the battle even more hopeless from the beginning.

She knew how he worked now. There was no distracting her with feigned sleep or pushing her away; it was inevitable at this point. With a few light strokes of her exploring hand and several soft kisses to his neck, she's won yet again. So he tries to rationalize the situation...He wasn't really that tired; the noise from the outside traffic would have kept him up anyway; he's just trying to keep her quiet...

Lies, all of them. He knew damn well it was her encouraging caresses, the way she was pressing herself against him, curvaceous form encased in her favorite scrap of lace. It was the color of warm blood, and goddammit she knew how much the thought of that excited him.

And he knows he's lost the battle for sure this time. As she licks along the shell of his ear, pushing her delicate fingers though his curls, she whispers in her velvet voice.

"Please, Puddin'?"