Author's Note: This is to those of you who suggested that Harley blackmail our two favorite star-crossed lovers with photographs. Enjoy! (If you haven't done so already, please read "The Holiday Spirit" and "Peanut Butter Surprise", in that order, before you read this - it'll make much more sense to you if you do so. Trust me.)
Jonathan was walking briskly down the much-traversed hallway to the conference room when a purple-gloved hand clapped itself over his mouth, and strong arms encased in a matching violet coat yanked him backwards into a dark alcove.
The deadly point of a switchblade quivered just beneath his right eye, the instrument dangerously close to slicing into his skin.
"Why so serious?" came the familiar greeting.
Jonathan relaxed as the knife was put away, the hand removed from his mouth.
"It is still beyond my comprehension as to exactly why you find threatening me with a knife to be so erotic," Crane said musingly as he slipped his glasses into an inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Joker giggled hysterically and pushed Jonathan up against the wall. "The. . .expression on your face" - he licked his lips - "and how your eyes get all wide and. . .excited. . .as if, despite your obvious fear, you want something from me but you're afraid to say yes. . ." Joker smacked his lips again and twitched his dark brows invitingly while grinding his hips into Jonathan's.
Crane gasped and tried to smother his lust with caution. "Joker, don't look at me like that." The doctor's electric blue eyes darted about frantically, combing the shadows for intruders to their intimacy. "Not here. We could be seen -"
"Not. . .here?" Joker inquired hungrily, fairly sweating with excitement. "Where would you like to go then, Jonathan?" He crooned the name, his tongue flickering out to gently swipe over Crane's lips. "Hmm?" He cocked his head to the side questioningly.
Jonathan was nearly panting now, sweat running freely down his spine, his palms tingling. Coherency was lost on him.
"Very well then - I'll decide." The Clown Prince of Crime quickly led Jonathan into an abandoned janitor's closet, locking the door once they were inside. There was a faint snick as Joker activated the bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling by pulling on the short chain it was connected to, and the tiny space was filled with a dim yellow glow. Buckets, mops, paint cans, and various other items of sanitizing equipment competed for space with the newcomers.
Joker pressed Crane back up against the door, jerking his chin at the doctor's watch. "What's the time?"
Jonathan squinted; the numbers were fuzzy in the faint light, blurring together without his spectacles to aid him. "Three-o'-seven."
"Hmm, only five minutes. . ." Joker mused, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. (He liked to run odd hours, setting his villainous activities at times only Jonathan could truly keep up with.) He grinned suddenly. "We'll make it fast."
Practically attacking Jonathan's lips with his own, Joker pulled Crane's shirttails from his trousers and ran his hands up his lover's back. . .
- - -
Arriving in his customary, off-kilter sort of way, Joker followed Jonathan's purposeful strides into the conference room - one could never describe the entrances of the two most powerful men in the room (Crane for his unpredictable fear toxin, Joker because he was - well - the Joker) as "hurried."
The Clown Prince of Crime glanced up at the clock, which hung on the wall to his right.
"Three-twelve," he mouthed incredulously, eyebrows rising; Jonathan caught his eye as they took their seats, grinning to show that he had also noted their perfect timing.
Harley Quinn slumped down dejectedly in her chair, pouting slightly as she berated herself for forgetting - again - to bring her camera, purchased for the blackmailing scheme she was brewing against the two lovers. She had discovered them doing some very interesting - and, in some cases, utterly repulsive - things during these last few months of voyeurism (though it was their sexual pleasure, not hers), and she had begun to think that if she had something to hold over their heads, she would gain immense status in the criminal rankings practiced almost instinctively among them all.
Of course, she thought, they'd probably just kill me anyways. . . She shuddered.
Noting the expression on Harley's face, Jonathan and the Joker looked at each other, then shrugged dismissively.
Did she know anything? Could she know anything?
I'm sorry, I almost can't scandalize them - their relationship is just too much of a good writing prompt to ruin.
I'm thinking about writing something - non-slash, for once - commemorating Heath Ledger's birthday, April 4th - so keep your eyes peeled on Saturday!