Harleen Quinzel adjusted her large rimmed black glasses, her eyes fixed on the Joker's lean form. His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in closer. Harleen froze. She was afraid to speak, afraid to move. Her eyes darted to the side, watching his face as he placed a gentle kiss on her neck.

His hands ran up the length of her arm. His lips brushed along her skin.

"Mr. J..."

"Quiet, Doll," he breathed. He touched her. He let his hands fall along her spine.

Joker. Shirtless. Kissing her. In the middle of their therapy session.

"Joker, I really don't think—"

"Were you always this beautiful?" He whispered. His green eyes landed on her lips. He leaned in closer, his hand cupping her cheeks, "Say the words, darling."

Say the words.

"I..." Harleen couldn't force the words from her lips. She wanted him. Truly. She wanted all of him. Every little broken jagged piece. She wanted him to hold her in the dead of night, when police sirens were her only comfort. She wanted him to kiss her, own her, become one with her, every little part of her. She wanted him to know every inch of her body, every inch of her soul. She wanted to get drunk with him, dance with him in the living room, and sit with him in sadness. Exist in his pain. She wanted to drink him in, hold him closer than anything in the whole world. She wanted to love him like no one had ever loved before.

Say the words.

She wanted to fall.

And she wanted to fall forever.

"Kiss me."

The Joker's lips pressed into hers without hesitation, their souls intertwining. He seized her in his arms with a gentleness she hadn't experienced before. He kissed her with a hunger she didn't know she was worthy of.

There was no question anymore. There was no denying it, either. Harleen didn't have to tiptoe around the truth, she didn't have to dance around her love for him anymore.

No more alone. No more loneliness.

Their kiss broke, they were both out of breath, cheeks flushed, their bodies aching to be in each other's embrace.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Harleen said softly to him, "And we're going to run."

He eyed her with this almost... Fear. As if he got what he wanted, but he didn't realize that trying to manipulate Harleen into loving him had come with a price.

Falling in love with her, too.

The timer dinged, queuing the end of their session. Harleen Quinzel clicked it off. She grabbed her clipboard, which had clattered to the ground, and straightened her clothes.

"I'll see you in our next session, Mistah J," she said, her Brooklyn accent peaking through.

"I like that," he grinned, "Mistah J."

Her cheeks flushed.

She left his cell, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Everything was clear. There was not a doubt in Harleen Quinzel's mind.

She was his harlequin. 

And that would not be the last time she kissed her Joker.