A Bushel and a Peck

She had coated herself in pie. Banana creme pie. And she was standing up slowly before him.

No doubt wearing the pie (and only the pie).

He was unexpectedly turned on by this. 

The fact that she was wearing banana creme pie (which he knew she hated) just to please him turned him on. 

She was such a good slave-girl, well, more like a servant, constantly doting on her master.

And then she began to sing, some stupid song to the tune of Happy Birthday.

"Seven years to the day...."

SEVEN YEARS????

He had really been with her that long?

"Not now, Harley, I'm tired."

He could see her cute little face pout through all that pie.

But she obeyed (he knew she would) and stepped out of the pie, presumably to go shower. 

Seven years? 

That was more time than he'd ever spent with any other girl.

He supposed she deserved something for staying with him this long.

It's not like he was an easy guy before becoming the Joker.

And now - well.

Back to his Harley.

His Harley?

When did he start thinking of her as his? Was it when she got the tattoo, the curling, scripted J on her inner thigh?

Or was it when he realized that no other woman could match him in humor, style, and attitude? 

She was completely submissive towards him - anything he asked, no matter how strange, humiliating, or gruesome, she'd do. He had molded her, shaped her into something completely crafted for his gratification - his pleasure. She was his, alright, through and through.  

He supposed that meant something.

And she had made all that pie...

He shook his head, took off his coat, and walked towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of purple and green clothes as he went.

He could hear her humming in the shower, the same song he frequently hummed to her - and himself. No doubt she had no idea what the words were (it was an old tune), but it was nice to hear.

He stepped into the shower, sliding the curtain slowly to make as little noise as possible. 

The Joker slid his pale hands around Harley's waist and she gasped- and was about to say something when he spun her around and pressed her against the slick wall, kissing her tenderly.

"Why, Mistah J?"

"Happy anniversary."

He didn't really know why he was showing such favor to her, she would get spoiled and make his life miserable with her incessant begging, "Please, Mistah J?" (In that infernal accent).

But he wanted to, he really did. She couldn't know, of course, but he was touched that she remembered their seven years together. He didn't.

"You're a one-man-loon, huh, pooh?"

"Mistah J - can we? Please..."

Her voice was shaking.

"Finish your shower. Don't keep me waiting too long. " 

He didn't know why he wanted to make this special for her. He should be punishing her for being too clingy.

There was a strange fluttery feeling in his chest.

I love you, a bushel and a peck.

Did he? 

Could he say he (possibly?) loved Harley?

She was his, that's all. He was just feeling possessive.

Just possessiveness, as he lit candles.

And a hug around the neck-

Just ownership, as he bent her back, dancing with her in the candlelight.

A barrel and a heap

Just raw power, as he kissed her softly, slowly, bending her down on white silk sheets.

I'm talking in my sleep

Just wanting to posses her, as he slid into her, making her mewl and clutch his shoulders.

About you...

"Mistah J... I love you..." 

"I love you too, Harley.

(A Bushel and a Peck - Doris Day)