Harley always knew when Joker wanted to do it.

Perhaps it was the spark in his eye when he glanced her way, the arch of his hand when it gave his gangrene locks an annoyed tug, or maybe the tired sigh that slipped through his reddened lips.

She could always tell when this moment was coming, whether it was a woman's intuition or clear observation. Of course, she wasn't complaining. In fact, it was probably one of her favorite activities they two could participate in together, between blowing up banks and leaving whoopee cushions on park benches. It was one of the few intimate moments the two had together. Alone.

There would be that quiet connection between the two of them, and she would know-it was time. As discreetly as a masked vigilante could be, half an hour was spent cleaning the white clown makeup from her face, fixing her hair and searching through her wardrobe for that little number she kept in the back for days like this. Mr. J personally held her responsible for preparing this moment for the two of them, making sure every little detail was perfect. She never failed to keep up her end of the deal.

She always made sure to disguise herself before she went to the nearby grocers, the only one within a two mile radius that had yet to be blown sky high, and for good reason. There were certain…necessities that even they needed, and it would be most inconvenient to be stuck in a literally sticky situation. The thought made Harley giggle as she admired the rows of boxed brands on the shelf. She knew Mr. J's favorite by heart, and she pulled the discreetly colored box from the shelf and placed it in her basket. She fluffed her hair casually when several customers walked by, neither flaunting the contents of her basket nor concealing it. She picked out her own brightly colored box as well, her cheeks a healthy shade of pink. His and Hers. She picked up a box of lemon ganache, Mr. J's favorite chocolates, and the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. This far into the game Harley was more than practiced, but a few tips were never unhelpful. She waited in line at the register, even allowing a hobbled old woman to skip ahead of her in line. She was in an extremely good mood. When she reached the register, the young pimpled teenager ogled her, ringing up the merchandise with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Sorry buddy, I'm taken.

She skipped home, literally slamming open the door and crying, "Baby, Mommy's home!" The hyenas greeted her presence with glee, but she refused to take up any more time than she had to. She slid into their shared room, taking in her Mr. J with something akin to complete and utter adoration.

The building was empty. No guards. No crew. Just them.

She tossed the plastic grocery bag onto their bed, adding an extra sway to her hips as she strode to the object of her affections. He was slumped in a leather chair, still dressed in an undershirt and pair of smiley face covered boxers from the morning. Her lithe fingers took to his shoulders, massaging the tight knots of stress from his body. He bristled, before relaxing into her touch and gazing up at her. Moments later he was shirtless, and Harley had managed to strip down to something more desirable. She tossed him the box and he ripped the cardboard with his teeth, pulling out the rubber and stretching it in his hand. She opened the second box, shaking the bottle back in forth between her hands.

"Ready Mr. J?"

He nodded with little enthusiasm, squeezing his eyes shut like a pouting child before tossing her the rubber gloves and slumping into the chair. With a love stricken grin she squirted the liquid into his hair, making sure to touch up the areas were his dark colored roots were becoming visible against the neon green.

Yes, she always knew when he wanted to do it, even if it meant he acted like a squirmy child for the rest of the day. Of course, that was what the lemon ganache was for.


Written for practice and for a little entertainment. ;)