The (M rated) scene that eventually follows 'Chocolate Cake.'


Joker's arm was draped across her waist, the rest of him fitted to the curve of her body. She could just feel the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck. This is nice.

She was drifting off when he murmured her name.

"Rhi..."

"Mmm?"
"There's something I have to know."

She shifted in his arms at the serious tone of his voice, but she couldn't turn enough to see his face. "What?"

"Did you really never get to lick the cake-beaters when you were a kid?"

"Mmm." She chuckled sleepily, "You always ask the really deep questions right before bed?"

He must not have been entirely awake either, because he mumbled "Bed is now," into her hair and fell silent for long enough she thought maybe he was asleep. Finally he asked "None of your foster-parents ever gave you a treat? Ever? Or did none of 'em cook, or..." he squeezed her tighter as he said it. He sounded worried.

She smiled into the dark. We're going to face genocidal bug-people and you're concerned about my childhood. Oh, Joker. You are far too sweet, even if you don't want anyone to know it. This time, at least, she could reassure him. "No, no cake beaters. One of my foster-dads used to give me cake batter all the time, but he was real traditional in the kitchen. No electric mixer. He used a spoon." She pulled his hand up and planted a kiss on the palm.

"You're kidding. You lied to get my cake batter!" He tried to sound upset, but she could feel the laughter where he pressed against her.

"Of course not." She tried to sound indignant. "I was just... very specific about my criteria. Anyway," she pulled his hand up towards her mouth again, "I didn't really want the cake batter. I just wanted to see how you'd react to..." she let her words trail off as she slowly licked one of his fingers, circling her tongue around the knuckle before drawing it all the way into her mouth.

This time she could feel his reaction, in the shuddering breath on her neck, the growing hardness pressing at her. It woke an answering shiver in her.

He pressed still closer, and she kept playing with his hand, contemplating options. Make good on the rather explicit promise of her current activity - she captured a different finger, barely biting the end, and he twitched against her back delightfully - or explore the strategic advantages of her current position? All she'd have to do was shift a little, and he'd be right where they both wanted him.

God damn decisions.

Or both. Have my cake and eat it, too? Or the cake batter and the cake, too? Or... fuck it. She released his hand, rolled over, and slithered down beneath the sheets.