Ink and Bandaids

A/N - I apologize about the long wait, but whenever I have to write a chapter where two characters meet, or anything remotely sexual, I tend to take forever and I year. And since this chapter contains both a meeting and a sexual scene, guess what happened? lol So anywhos, hopefully this won't end up being a complete letdown after taking aaaall frickin' week.

CH 2: Addicted to the Knife

Despite the apparent danger I was in, I felt a certain thrill over the blade being pressed so intimately against my throat. Apparently the figure realized this too, because I suddenly found myself being roughly seated on a cold, metal fold-out chair. Did he only enjoy torturing people if they were afraid of him?

Anxiously chewing on my lower lip, I folded my hands in my lap as I listened to the slow, meditative footfalls that were now echoing back and forth behind me. I could hear the man muttering something every now and then, but before I could ask him what was wrong, the gaunt thug in front of me shakily spoke up, "C-can I go now, Mr. J-Joker, sir? I pretended to be you jus' like ya asked, a-and now that we know the girl's not a spy, I think...I-I think..."

"You think what, Damien?" the figure asked, a nasal, condescendingly brusque tone coloring his voice. It was a voice that clearly belonged to a very peculiar man, but something about his current behavior told me not to turn around. I apparently had the right intuition, because no sooner than I'd thought this, I heard the click of a firearm before a deafening 'BANG' followed the shot.

Eyes wide, my mouth fell agape when the man's blood splattered all over my face, my breathing growing shallow when I sensed the figure circling me out of the corner of my eye. Before I could even think to move, he was already directly in front of me, his hands deftly pushing the thug's body to the floor before he, himself took a seat. "Now, then" he coolly began, sweeping his arm across the table as if he were cleaning up, "what do we have here, hmm? Another upscale tart looking to, uh..."improve" this city one slum at a time?"

"Tart...? Oh no, I'm not a slut, I've only slept with two men in my life" I insisted, putting on my best "professional" smile. Apparently I didn't say the right thing, because he stared back at me as if I'd just grown a third tit. Nervously fidgeting around in my seat, I hurriedly added, "Um, what I mean is I'm not a tart, I'm a secretary...your secretary, if you're willing to have me. I am a strong, capable, professional business woman used to dealing with all kinds of people. I wouldn't say I'm a people person per se, but I do try to get along with everyone."

I heard a giggle from somewhere in the shadows, then there came a creak as the man leaned forward into the dim lamplight. Anxiously chewing on my lower lip, I finally got a good look at the figure's face as he sat there, my jaw dropping at the sight of facepaint and...lipstick? I think I had that exact shade in my make-up drawer somewhere...Sweet Berrietastic, I think it's called.

Tapping my foot out of nervous habit, I allowed my gaze to sweep across his expressive visage, a childish urge to touch his laugh lines causing me to promptly sit on my hands. I'd always loved faces that held character, and something about this man's features spoke to me in a manner far differently than anyone else's. Granted, he was painted up like a clown, but that still didn't prevent me from seeing a certain jaded appeal in his eyes. They were surprisingly beautiful in a dark, shark-like way; I didn't particularly like how he violated me with his eyes, but I still found a certain beauty in them, nonetheless.

As we sat there I could hear the sound of his breathing, which was every once in a while accompanied by a short, moist click of his tongue. Tapping his hands against the table, he gave a resigned sigh as he inspected me from head to toe. "Now, uh...don't take this the wrong way, cuppycake, but you don't exactly look the part for this job. You seem too innocent for this field of work."

"I'm not innocent" I feebly argued. "I've gotten a few speeding tickets in my life, and I also enjoy being spanked." I instantly regretted saying these last words, because the man's brows rose so high on his head that I thought they'd disappeared.

Now shifting about in his seat, the man sneered at me while condescendingly asking, "Peaches, do you even know what the term 'innocence' means? 'Cause, uh...unless you've physically killed someone, I'm afraid you're still very innocent in my eyes."

"Oh..." Concerned that I was losing the job, I feebly spoke up, "W-well once I killed a bunny by accidentally hitting it with my car, and of course I've killed a couple hundred house flies in my time..."

Sighing heavily, the painted man finally asked, "Beautiful, do you even know who I am?"

"Um...no, but that guy called you Mr. Joker before he died."

"Ahh, right, right, right...good ol' Damien" the man acknowledged, now giving me a smug grin. "So with that said, do you honestly mean to tell me that you still have no idea who I am?"

"Um..." I swallowed. "...Mr. Joker?"

"No, no, no, not Mr. Joker, it's The Joker! You forgot the very important article!" he snapped.

Cringing at his sudden aggression, I meekly nodded and continued tapping my foot. "Alright...The Joker. It's an honor to meet you, sir." Giving him my most approachable smile, I got up from my chair and held out my hand for him to shake, but he seemed to regard my polite gesture with disdain.

Clicking his tongue, the Joker sighed and flicked out a switchblade, my eyes following his movements as he drew the weapon up and used it to scratch his chin. Motioning for me to sit back down, he finally spoke up, "Look, I just need a typist to, uh...write down my "plans" and connections, because I'm tired of miscommunication between me and my men. In addition, my secretary will have to intercept calls, pay off some dirty cops, and blah blah blah. It can be a very dangerous job, so I don't have time for any squeamish little bunnies. I would've pre-ferred to hire a man since they don't tend to have so many pa-thet-ic e-motions, but I'm willing to go out on a limb here and give you a chance."

Taking this as my cue to speak, I hurriedly assured him, "I like danger", when in reality, I most certainly did not. I enjoyed pain as much as the next masochist, but I never wanted to partake in something that could end up being fatal. Something about this man, however, made me want to try anything to get on his good side.

With a deep-throated grunt, the Joker re-situated himself in his seat before sending me a penetrating look. "Do you like Bats?" he asked.

"Um...what?"

"Bats. You know, as in the furry, ugly little windkites?"

"Oh..." Confused as to what this had to do with my interview, I meekly returned, "Um...no?"

Apparently I said the right thing, because the Joker began bouncing in his seat while releasing several long, unrestrained giggles. "Ha, good answer, honey pot! I can't have some Bat-loving do-gooder trying to foil my plans, after all, so I think we're gonna get along juuust fine."

"Oh..." With a nervous giggle, I felt my lips quirking upward into a forced smile as the room fell silent once more.

After a few more moments of this uncomfortable, nerve-wrackingly quiet atmosphere, the Joker turned to me and asked, "Do you like knives, peaches?"

"Oh, well I...I don't know, I just..."

"Aww, shh-shh-shh, there's no need to be a-shamed of your fascination" the Joker coyly interrupted. "Ever since I've taken my blade out, I've noticed that you can't keep your eyes away from it. Any par-tic-u-lar reason whyyy?"

I shook my head. There was no denying the fact that I'd been watching the hypnotic, arousing manner in which he dragged the knife back and forth across the table, but I honestly didn't know why I liked knives. Edward summed up my fascination best when he'd asked if I cut myself because it was comforting, but with the Joker I was somehow afraid to admit that. After all, what if he didn't want a secretary who did that sort of thing?

Anxiously chewing on my lower lip, I steeled myself as I finally mumbled, "I dunno, Mr. Joker...it's just a really nice knife, I guess. Did your mother give it to you?"

The Joker eyed me strangely, then burst into a fit of giggles. "My mother? HA! What kind of fairytale do you live in, beautiful? I get everything and do everything by myself."

"Oh." Pretending I understood exactly what he meant, I nodded and nervously tapped my foot. I've always had my mother's help in my sheltered, closed-off life, so I could only imagine what having to do everything yourself felt like. Although it may seem rather crazy, I thought the freedom sounded kind of...nice.

As I continued to daydream of freedom, independence, and being a whole new woman, the Joker suddenly rose from his perch and re-adjusted the lapels of his coat. "I wanna show you something" he announced, a mischievous glint coming to his eyes as he motioned me forward.

A little unsure of myself, I hesitantly got up from my seat and began following him toward what looked like...a wall? Within moments, the Joker punched in some type of code and the seemingly plain, drab wall slid to the side and revealed a long corridor. Feeling as if I were some sort of secret agent, a goofy smile came to my lips as I drifted after him until we came to a tall, narrow cabinet at the end of the hallway.

I wanted to ask him why he thought some furniture would interest me, but that was before he opened the cabinet and revealed to me the most beautiful, breath-taking sight I've ever seen. Giving an awestruck gasp, I couldn't help but smile as I gazed upon row after row of glistening, stainless steel blades. Each one was different from the other, and each had been honed to a perfectly sharp tip. The sight made my flesh tingle in anticipation, my teeth biting into my lower lip as I watched him remove one of the knives. Holding it up in front of my face, he asked, "What is it about knives that makes us not only fear, but covet them? What is it about kniiiives that makes them so...a-rou-sing?" Now drifting the blade down my cheek in a barely there caress, the Joker looked deep into my eyes as he persisted, "Blades like these bring a fifty-fifty chance of death, and with it a cut so sensual, so e-rot-ic, that you can't help but envy your victims when they breathe their last breath."

Feeling the blade against my skin, I shivered as I felt the sharp tip gliding across my jugular, my eyes fluttering closed as I subconsciously leaned into its deadly touch.

Reaching out and grabbing a fistful of my hair, the Joker pulled me close until I could feel his warm, stale breath on my face, my knees quivering as he granted my wish and pressed the knife more snugly against my skin. Running his serpentine tongue across his lips, he lowly purred, "When a blade is used to shed blood, there's something so visceral, so utterly or-gas-mic, that you find yourself craving that steel kiss...you find yourself longing for that sweet release of blood from the body."

With a soft moan, I grasped at his wrist and ushered the knife to gently cut into my flesh, the familiar, delicious sting causing my panties to grow considerably damp as we stood there, both gazing eye-to-eye and breathing heavily. I could tell that the Joker wanted to cut further into my skin, because his feral eyes kept darting from my neck to the knife, to my eyes, and then back to my exposed neck, again. I wanted to tell him to cut me -- that it was alright to hurt me, but somehow I wasn't sure that I should let the Joker know about my masochistic tendencies. My last office romance had ended badly, after all, so why did I want to go through all that again? And with a madman?

Even though I was still in the Joker's death grip, I felt incredibly calm and still very aroused. There was nothing overtly attractive about this man, but I found myself wanting to unbutton his pants and take him in my mouth...to give him as much pleasure as he'd just given me with one small, curved blade. I wanted to tell him to cut me, to screw me, to do whatever he damn well pleased with my willing vessel of a body, but instead I meekly asked, "So, uh...does this mean I got the job?"

The Joker appeared taken aback by the sudden change of topic, but his cool, collected facade soon returned as he abruptly released me. "The typewriter's in the back, as well as the fridge, some supplies, and whatever else you may need. Since this clown needs to rest up for his big debut tonight, consider this your first day of work and your first day off. What other boss would do that for you, hmm?" Grinning, he added (as a very important) afterthought, "Oh! Uhh, you can come in tomorrow around six 'o clock. I like my coffee as black as my heart, so you may need some practice bewing a pot 'evil' e-nough for my taste."

Realizing that he was joking, I gave a louder laugh than was necessary, then instantly regretted it when he gave me a funny look. Couldn't I do anything right around this man?

After the Joker showed me back to the front of the building, I practically skipped down the stairs as I returned to Aunt Martha's car. She'd been reading some sordid romance before noticing me approach, her hands immediately flinging the incriminating evidence to the floor as she chirped, "Well how did it go, my little angel?"

Barely able to repress my grin, I breezily returned, "I got it...for a second there I thought my new boss might change his mind, but he didn't."

With an exuberant squeal, Aunt Martha announced that she was taking me out for a root beer float, my smile only widening as I turned and gave my new office one last look.

--

When I went into the kitchen that evening, I was genuinely surprised to find that Aunt Martha hadn't "Lee-proofed" the silverware. After rummaging through the various drawers, I found a long, curved blade that was similar to the one the Joker had used, my knees quivering with excitement at the memory of his cold, rough touch. Pausing my fantasy so I could check to see if the coast was clear, I quickly padded back toward my room and shut the door behind me, my heart racing over the prospect of what I was about to do.

It wasn't like I'd never masturbated before, but using a blade was definitely going to be a new experience for me. Something about the Joker's speech had been incredibly erotic to my senses, so needless to say, I'd been inspired to try something new and exciting this evening.

Lying down flat on my bed, I took in a deep breath and slowly pulled my nighty up over my hips. Holding the knife steady in my hand, I then slipped the blade inside my panties and tore the thin cloth asunder. The sound of the ripping fabric brought a strong, unexpected jolt of pleasure to my groin, my eyes closing as I now imagined that it was the Joker doing these wonderful, delicious things to my body. I could still see his dark, animalistic eyes in my mind, my hand now turning the blade so that the hilt could rub against my moist, stimulated nub.

With a soft gasp, I tilted my hips and began to grind almost desperately against the handle, my knees quivering as the ache in between my legs only intensified. I knew I couldn't get off with touch alone, so I carefully forced the hilt of the blade to penetrate me. Biting down on my bottom lip to stifle my soft moans, I purposely began rubbing my thighs together so that I'd get scratched. My actions weren't rough enough to deeply break the skin, but I found that I was gradually developing several red welts.

Bringing a hand to my left breast, I imagined the Joker pinching and twisting my sensitive nipple with his rough, insatiable touch. Moaning his ridiculous pseudonym, I began to pump the handle inside me at a more frantic pace, my back arching as I pictured the Joker licking a warm, sensual trail from my neck to my ear.

"Oh!" Now panting as I removed the hilt from my hot center, I brought the blade up to my mouth and carefully gave the knife a long, deliberate lick. As I manipulated the blade like a whore in heat, I imagined that it was the Joker's cock that I was so diligently pleasuring, my free hand slipping in between my legs so I could stroke my damp folds. Whimpering lightly, I began to move my hips back and forth for the much desired friction, my eyes closing as I continued to carefully suck and lick the blade. The pressure building up inside my groin was beginning to be too much to bear, the Joker hovering over me in my mind's eye as he ordered me to lick the cum from his tip.

With a frantic buck of my hips, I nearly screamed as I licked the blade, cut my tongue by accident, and came all at once. The orgasm that shook my body started deep at my center, then gradually spread out like tingling flames as a goofy little smile came to my lips. That had single-handedly been my best orgasm since...well...ever.

Feeling a little embarrassed that I'd gotten off because of my weird, strangely alluring new boss, I rolled over in bed and drifted off to sleep with thoughts of knives and pinstripes.

A/N - Wow...sorry if that sucked, but there's something really hard about writing the Joker's speeches when he doesn't have any direct connection to the other character. I can write scenes between J and Rachel, or J and Batsy just fine since I can go on and on about corrupt societies, but since Lee's not a character who has anything to lose, there are different things at stake here. Guess that's why I opted for the knife conversation, considering how that's really their only common ground. Hope you enjoyed, especially since I kept you guys waiting SO darn long!

P.S. Whoever can answer me where the title of this chapter came from gets a cookie! And no cheating! ;)