Four of a Kind

*** I apologize in advance for formatting problems. I'll get the hang of it, I promise.***
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Siren sighed and flopped down in the oversized recliner that stood alone in the center of the barren living room. Her white hair stood up in unkempt spikes all over her head and dark circles rimmed her blue eyes. She yawned, still sleepy, having just been awakened by the slamming of the door. “You could be just a little quieter,” she snapped, throwing one long, pale leg over the arm of the chair.

“You could refrain from putting your feet all over the furniture.” Jonathan Crane tossed the scratchy burlap mask aside and ran his hands through his hair. “It seems we all have our little quirks.”

He walked towards her and she stretched out her leg, putting her foot squarely against his sternum. “I assure you they’re clean.”

He smiled evilly and took her ankle gingerly in his hand. She giggled softly and bent her leg slightly, allowing him to kiss the top of her foot. “I doubt that there is anything about you that’s clean, Darcy.” He rubbed his generous lower lip against the arch of her foot, his rough cheek prickling at the thin skin around the ball of her ankle. Darcy bit her lip, knowing where this would eventually lead. She purred, jerking her foot from him and replacing it back over the armrest. When she shifted in the chair, he could see that the thin Gotham University t-shirt left her completely exposed from the waist down. She always donned this outfit to entice him. It was, in fact, what he’d been wearing during their first encounter. And it never failed to do its job.

He dropped to his knees in front of the chair, looking up at her. “So honey,” she cooed in that sing-songy voice of hers, “how was work today?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled running his bony fingers around her knee and up her thighs. “It’s all so boring these days…” He grabbed her leg behind the thigh roughly and raised it over his shoulder, “Freaks in masks, freaks in makeup… Batman impersonators.” He could feel Siren shudder when he said the name. “Like that one, do you?” He breathed the words so close to her sex that she could feel the warm breath making her skin bristle.

“Of course not--” she panted nervously. She knew she needed to tread lightly. She was never quite sure who she crawled into bed with-- Jonathan or Scarecrow. “Only vaguely interested in his dementia.”

“Well, we all know you have a soft spot for crazy people. As long as your loyalties stay intact.” He pressed his thumb over the purply vein at her groin muscle. He could see the light tracks-- pinkish pinpricks that made a spiraling pattern down her inner thigh. He smiled darkly and traced his tongue over the marks, making her gasp and pull back slightly. “Still tender, I see.”
“Only just a little,” she whimpered. Since Darcy’s rebirth, she’d been trying to keep a low profile, but she was itching to come out of hiding and show herself off in the daylight. And a track-marked street junkie just wouldn’t do. So Jonathan had found more… hidden places to keep her medicated. “Now stop teasing me.”

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Dr. Harleen Quinzel stood nervously in the basement exam room at Arkham Asylum. It was her first official day as a resident of psychiatric medicine at Gotham’s most infamous hospital. She’d just graduated at the top of her class at Gotham University on Saturday and here she was, preparing herself to interview the newest addition to the Psycho Ward-- Gotham’s Public Enemy Number One-- the one who called himself The Joker. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths as she heard the boots of the orderlies pounding down the sterile tile floors. Putting her glasses on nervously and smoothing back her blonde hair, tied into a tight bun on the back of her neck, she turned just as the door opened.

Given the accounts of the news media, she was expecting the devil himself to be dragged through the door, but what she saw was almost disappointing. The man wasn’t very tall or very short. His build was neither slight nor bulky. In fact, there was nothing remarkable about him at all, save for the grotesque grin that had been carved into his face. His hair was still dirty and matted, but the orderlies had forced him to scrub the white greasepaint off of his face. Even then, his pallor was still disturbing. However, without the makeup to exaggerate, he could almost pass for normal. “So glad you could join me this evening, Mr… uhm…” She mentally kicked herself for sounding like such a blithering idiot.

“Joker, love. Just Joker,” he growled quietly as the orderly behind him pushed him towards a chair. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Dr. Quinzel noted this. Perhaps it was just part of his charade.

“Interesting name. Did your parents name you that, I wonder?” She tried to sound cool and collected. Even though he was restrained in a straitjacket, she had no doubt that he could break free if he wanted. This made her nervous.

“In a way--” He stopped and stared at the orderly’s hand clenched on his arm. The orderly took his hand away quickly, as if he’d just discovered that he was holding on to a nest full of snakes. “You can leave now,” he rasped at the other man who only shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“It’s alright, Todd. You can leave us.” Dr. Quinzel tried to sound more sure than she felt. But she knew that the only way to deal with this man was to let him see no fear. Like a wild dog, he could smell her fear and would use it against her. The orderly looked reluctant, but he nodded and strolled from the room anyway, closing the metal door behind him and locking it with a snap and clink of iron bars. “Well, Mr… uhm… Joker, what brings you to our little establishment?”

“You’re new,” he replied, ignoring her question. His tone was melodious and she felt almost dirty when he looked her over.

“You’ve been here before?”

“And the scenery is infinitely more pleasing,” he laughed, smoothing his hair back. “Last one who questioned me was a tall, spindly guy. Kind of creepy, wore glasses--”

“I would assume you’re talking about Jonathan Crane?” She shivered again. No one had seen Crane in two years. At least not without the burlap mask he donned as the psychopathic Scarecrow. Arkham was in the process of being repaired due to the scars that he and his friends had inflicted. “He isn’t here anymore.”

“Yes. I can read, Doctor,” he scoffed. “Went a little… nuts…” He twirled a grimy fingertip in the air beside his temple indicating that the former Dr. Crane had lost his marbles. “I can’t say I blame him.”

“Why is that?” Her voice sounded emotionless.

“Well who can keep their marbles these days? Even the ‘so-called’ good guys in this town are nuts.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

“It’s part of my job I suppose.” Dr. Quinzel pushed her glasses up on her nose and sighed. “But please go on. I’d like to understand you better.”

He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “Oh, Doctor…” he started, his voice an octave higher. “You were doing so well.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs casually, making himself the picture of irony with his upper body bound in the straitjacket. “Surely they taught you better than that in psycho school.”

“Alright. Then why don’t you tell me about your scars.”

The Joker was taken aback. No one had asked him about his scars before. Perhaps there was hope for this girl, after all. “They’re a sad story, really.”

“I’m all ears.”

He looked at her intently, his eyes traveling over her body. “Don’t sell yourself short, Doctor… uh… what was your name?”

“Doctor Quinzel.”

“Doctor Quinzel… don’t sell yourself short… I can see that there is more to you than ears.” He smiled again making her expression tighten. His smile highlighted the deep scarring at the corners of his mouth and for a moment she feared that they would split and bleed. “But back to me. My mother gave me this smile.”

“Your mother?” She narrowed her eyes in an expression of annoyance. It was a fact that most children were not so violently abused by their mothers.

“Why so surprised?” His voice lingered on the final syllable. “You see… my mother…” he looked up, as if his story were printed on the ceiling tiles above. “she was slightly demented. No one ever left her. She was a great beauty in her day, but time and hard work left her withered and a shell of her former self.”

“How poetic.”

“Isn’t it? Well anyway, so my father… who was really just a degenerate psycho in his own right… he found comfort in the arms of another woman. Or… other women , that is. He left my mother, high and dry with a stack full of debt. I came home from school just as he walked out the door. My mother saw me--- a young, impressionable boy of ten who looked just like his father. She exacted her revenge on me. A butcher knife to my perfect face. To make sure I would never cause another the pain that my father caused her. Pretty sick, huh?”

“Hmm… this is somewhat different from your other accounts.”

“Is it?”

“Eyewitnesses have stated that you told them you were burned with acid, scarred by a drunken father, that you did it yourself to spite your former wife--”

“Vicious rumors. No, Doctor Quinzel, I swear to tell the truth.”

“Go on, then. Tell me everything.”

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Siren sighed, annoyed, as she tried to disentangle herself from the sheets. “Where are the fucking scissors?” she growled.

“Cut up my sheets, your pretty face is next,” Crane snarled, sitting up in the bed, a cigarette poised between his delicate fingertips. She stuck her tongue out at him as she finally freed herself and stood up. Her naked skin glowed blue in the dim light from the street below. It was nearly dawn and everything looked ominous in the early morning gloom. She stood on tiptoes to turn on the flat television screen that hung on the wall opposite the bed.

“I’m going to make coffee,” she sighed. He didn’t answer but only turned the volume up. GCN was blaring about the sudden increase in violent crime over the last few weeks.
“…Gotham City police seem to think that all of these crimes are linked to
the mysterious Joker. Once thought to be a small-time mob enforcer,
the Joker, seen here in a video sent to this station last week, was quickly
becoming Gotham’s Public Enemy Number One before last night‘s capture
by the vigilante known as Batman…”

“Fucking drag queen-looking freak,” Jonathan grumbled as Darcy reentered with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. “I guess I’ll have to scar up my face and start wearing old Halloween costumes to get any respect in this town.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” she whispered, handing him a cup and crawling into his lap, her thighs straddling his waist. “They caught him. He’ll be out of your hair indefinitely.” She took a sip of coffee before leaning down to lick his lips. “Besides, your unscarred face is your best feature.” She rolled her hips gently against his, trying to tease him into another round. “Just because he’s somewhat of a criminal genius…”

He cut her off with a sharp backhanded slap to the face, knocking her coffee from her hand. “He is a freak! There is nothing genius about him! Any idiot can pour a can of gasoline on a pile of garbage and light a match!”

“Fucking hell, Johnny…” she grumbled, rubbing her bruised cheekbone. “You don’t have to take it so personally.”

“Well I do--” He sat up and shoved her aside, throwing his own coffee mug against the wall, shattering it and spilling its contents over the sterile white bedroom. “That mob bank was MINE! Those idiot gangsters were my clients and now they don’t trust anybody. Before he got here--”

“We were afraid to go out at night for fear of the Batman. Maybe its good to instill a little fear--”

He turned around fast, his voice dropping to the raspy, menacing tone of The Scarecrow. “When I’m through with him, he will know what real fear is--” He crawled slowly towards Darcy, backing her up against the headboard. “He thinks he’s nuts now… but he truly has no idea.”

Her heart beat so hard he feared it would burst from her chest as he leaned over her. With a quick swipe of his wrist, he ripped the covers back, throwing them to the floor. He grabbed her wrists and jerked her forward against his chest. He held her so tightly that she was sure she would have more bruises to add to her collection in a few hours. He crushed her mouth against his, forcefully pushing his tongue into her mouth. She responded eagerly, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and biting down hard. He groaned and pulled away from her, pushing her head back hard, causing it to thump against the headboard. Darcy shook her head to clear it, but he was on her again. Using his leg, he kicked her thighs apart and lay between them. Taking one breast in his hand, he squeezed until she cried out with the slight pain. He laughed at her whimper and leaned down to take the nipple between his teeth, sucking it against his tongue and worrying it into a swollen pink blossom. Darcy moaned loudly. Though her heart beat quickly with the fear of him, he never failed to wring the pleasure from her body. Even though her cheek still stung with the venom of his blow, her sex still pulsed with excitement.

Before she could protest or beg for his kiss, he’d wedged his hand under her hipbone. Using the headboard for leverage, he flipped her on to her stomach. “One thing that’s mine that he can’t steal--” he growled, gripping her thighs tightly between his fingers and pushing them apart. Never one to stand on ceremony, he pushed hard into her from behind. Not expecting him to take her so fast, she wasn’t braced and her forehead met the cold wood of the headboard with an audible thump. She cried out once and he grabbed a handful of her white spikes, pulling her head back painfully. She groaned desperately and let him pull her to her knees. Her body fell back against his, pushing his cock further into her womb. He bit down on her shoulder as he scraped his jagged fingernail across her nipple on the way down exploring. He began to move inside of her in shallow strokes as his fingertips found her clit.

“Jonathan…” she whispered, jerking against him as he pinched the swollen nub between his fingertips.

“Sing, little Siren…” he growled into her ear, licking softly around the opening, reminding her of his attentions from earlier. “Sing just for me.” With a hand in the middle of her back, he pushed her forward again, pressing her face into the pillow as he drove into her harder and faster. Her cries took an almost comical rhythm as he pushed into her over and over. When she heard him growl low in his chest, she knew he was close. Her cries became lighter, their rhythm slowing. It was high-pitched and melodious as she rolled her hips gently against him. Slow circles rubbed against the base of his cock over and over until he held her tight, nearly crushing her. She felt his body shudder twice and then he pushed her down harder into the bed, his hands between her shoulder blades. She could feel herself nearly suffocate as she started to orgasm. She screamed into the pillow, her entire body shaking against him.

Jonathan pulled back slowly away from her, letting her crumple into the bed in front of him. He smacked the fleshy part of her ass playfully as he rose from the bed. “Don’t speak of him again,” were his only words as he disappeared into the bathroom.

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