**A/N  Hey guyssss, I'm back! Yay, I've finally recovered from my last eye surgery, and I've been dying to get back to writing. I will apologise in advance though for any typos; I have still lost quite a significant amount of my vision ><*

As you might've noticed, this series has been quite a slow burn so far, but I thought it was maybe time to heat things up a bit! Hope you enjoy, and thank you all for your patience and support! **

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January 1st 1983

Maddening is what you found it, and you couldn't decide who to be mad at the most; yourself for feeling this way, or Joker for having this effect on you in the first place.

Perhaps it was for the best, even though it didn't much feel like it, but your heated dance with the boss had been rudely interrupted by the arrival of a stunning woman. A very glamorous woman who'd swept into the club as if she owned the place, and immediately commanded Joker's attention.

To your annoyance he'd muttered a vague, "Catch you later, doll" before dismissing you as if forgetting your very existence.

The pair had then gone off to a quiet corner where they sat deep in conversation, and as you watched, the knot in your stomach tightened and you had to fight to keep your composure.

"Who's the glamour puss?" You enquired as casually as you could, as you resumed your previous seat at Jessie's bar.

You carefully schooled your expression into one of impassive indifference, which took enormous effort considering you were silently seething.

"Oh that. That's Queen."  The petite redhead informed you, as she craned her neck towards the chic, epitome of cool elegance that was Queen.

You had heard talk of her before obviously, her being one of the members of Joker's Royal Flush gang. You'd never been clear on what her role was exactly, other than she seemed to act as a go-between and had contacts throughout Gotham's underworld as well as within high society.
Rumour had it she even ran an exclusive escort service, amongst other things.

"There's no one in Gotham she doesn't know." Jessie was saying now, "She comes from money see, apparently her family even knew the Wayne's."

"Hm." You hummed noncommittally.

She looked like aristocracy. She probably had a longer pedigree than the queen of England herself, and the way her entourage of men buzzed around her like drones around their queen bee, only added further validity to her royal pseudonym.

"Are they, I mean her and Joker, are they....? Uh..."

"A thing?" Jessie added helpfully, "Not that I know of, but I guess it's just a matter of time before she's jumping his bones. She's like his most valuable asset, and she does eye him like a hungry dog checking out a piece of prime steak."

You bristled, but tried to act nonchalant. He wasn't her prime piece of steak, but then again, he wasn't yours either, nor was he ever likely to be.

As they leaned across the table; their heads inclined toward each other, you prickled all over with irrational jealousy. And when they laughed at some private joke they had shared, your skin was practically blistering with the heat of your envy.

"Well we all know what he's like too. I'm surprised he hasn't hit that already." You managed to remark, sourly.

Jessie made a face; her expression thoughtful, then she grinned at you slyly, "Maybe.....he has his eye on somebody else right now."

You looked up at her sharply, immediately catching her meaning.

"Me? Uh, no. I don't think so."

She scoffed, "Oh please. Didn't you notice the way he came specifically looking for you earlier? It was so obvious he just wanted to dance with his.... "beautiful assistant"...." She snickered, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.

"He meant nothing by that. And I was just humouring him."

She shook her head, unconvinced, "That dance was more like some sort of fucking mating ritual. It was like watching....foreplay."

"Ew, shut up!" You protested, unable to keep from laughing nervously, "It didn't mean anything. He's probably had too much champagne or something."

"Honey, Joker never gets drunk. Besides, I could feel the heat from here. I could see the sparks flying."

Heat crawled up your neck and you silently prayed that it wouldn't reach your face, but then thankfully Ten approached, his gaze trained intently on you, which provided you with the escape you so desperately needed.

"The boss wants some drinks." He said, leaning close to your ear in order to be heard over the music, "Whiskey for him and a dry martini for Queen."

You nodded, assuring the goon that you would see to it, then dutifully returned to the bar and relayed the order to Jessie....but not before slightly altering the request.

"She wants a dry martini, and uh....three fingers of Rye for Joker."

Jessie seemed surprised by that, literally having said just a few minutes ago that Joker always took great care not to get drunk, but she reached for a bottle of fine bourbon whiskey from beneath the bar nonetheless.

"He's drinking double shots? That's unlike him."

You shrugged, hoping she wouldn't question it further, "It's New Years. He must be letting his hair down."

Once the drinks were poured you took them and handed them to Ten, who was hovering nearby waiting.

What was wrong with you? Had you completely lost your mind? You held your breath as the goon delivered the drinks to the corner table, wondering what you were possibly hoping to achieve with this act of irresponsible lunacy.

You didn't have to search far for an answer, and the conclusion you reached was disturbing. The stark truth was, you were hoping that by getting Joker drunk, if by chance he and Queen were to get amorous, then he'd be too inebriated to.....perform.

Yeah. You'd officially lost your mind.

As the night wore on you continued to ply the pair with drinks from a distance. Each time Jessie poured a double measure at your request, which was then delivered to your unwitting boss by Ten.

It was around 3:30am when you noticed the pair had eventually vacated the table, and the cold rush of irrational panic you felt was soon quelled when you spotted Queen winding her way to the exit; entourage in tow.

Any relief you felt however, was quickly chased away by the arrival of a very agitated looking Jack.

"I don't believe this, the boss is fucking wasted. He's passed out in the back! I'm gonna have to stay here all fucking night now to stand guard." He sucked in an exasperated breath, "I don't get it. He never gets drunk. He's too shrewd, he knows it would leave him vulnerable. He likes to keep a clear head and stay alert."

He was right of course, and guilt stabbed at your conscience. This was your doing, and you selfishly hadn't stopped to consider how your actions would leave him vulnerable. Not to mention furious once he sobered up.

"Don't worry Jack, I'll handle it." You patted his arm in an attempt to reassure him, "I am practically his bodyguard after all. You go home."

The goon was far too weary to object, so you squared your shoulders and headed for Joker's office, resigning yourself to the impending long, sleepless night that lay ahead of you. Technically, this was your responsibility, and you had nobody to blame but yourself.

You entered the office, locking the door behind you, and looked down at your "boss"

The infamous Joker lay sprawled half-on, half-off the leather couch, and you managed to push him onto it fully, with an undignified grunt. The man weighed deceptively heavier than he looked, considering his frame appeared so lean.

You stared down at him, and tried to ignore the way the breath hitched in your throat.

As a cop, you'd seen more than your fair share of men passed out drunk before, and even women too, but annoyingly Joker didn't look revolting. He wasn't drooling on himself and wasn't snoring loudly or covered in vomit.

He looked beautiful. There was no other word for it, with his collar-length green curls tousled around his face. The usually harsh lines of his face were now momentarily relaxed; the cynical tilt of his mouth, softened.

Impulsively you reached down and brushed the hair from his face. You knew you should feel contempt, disgust, even revulsion for the man who'd committed so many heinous crimes, but all you felt was sadness. Unmistakable sadness, for the darkness that infused him. Behind the greasepaint, right now he looked like a boy, despite the lines around his eyes and mouth. Like a man that had lost his way in the world.

Damn it, you were being ridiculously romantic. This was the Joker. At best he was a fun-loving eccentric, at worst a criminally insane maniac who had no qualms about murdering anyone who crossed him.

You unfastened the top button of his dress shirt, telling yourself you were merely making him more comfortable, being practical. He might vomit at some point, and it would be easier for him to breathe if a couple of the buttons were undone. Besides, he would be extremely pissed off if he ruined his most favourite silk shirt, and vomit would most certainly be a nightmare to wash out.

And so, you slowly unfastened his yellow vest. He didn't move. Of course he wouldn't. He was in a drunken stupor.
You worked the buttons of his shirt loose with slightly trembling fingers. With each one that popped open the teal coloured shirt fell away, exposing his chest, and you stared at it, mesmerised.

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't muscular or covered in hair -- like Stephen was. No, Joker's chest was smooth, his skin as pale as marble, with just a faint dusting of dark hair. His nipples were dark too, small, flat, and you blushed then like a school girl.

Why were you suddenly so entranced by the mere sight of a man's nipples? You'd never even given them any consideration before.

You shook yourself and efficiently pulled the shirt free from his red trousers.

There. If he got sick now, his shirt was safe. Now all you had to do was move away and take a seat at his desk. You might as well try and make yourself comfortable until he slept it off.

But you lingered over him, continuing your appraisal of his unconscious form. He really needed to eat more, you told yourself, trying to remain professional. He was too thin, but you could see why so many women found him attractive.

You gazed down at him for the longest time, until simply seeing him wasn't enough, and you found yourself reaching out to touch his stomach; your hand seeming to have a mind all of it's own. His flesh was soft, warm, smooth, and for a moment you allowed your fingers to slide across his skin in an unthinking caress.

And then you pulled your hand back as if burned.

You had to get a hold of yourself. As you took one last lingering look at him, you tried to summon to mind all the horrific things he had done, in the hopes of dousing the overpowering desire that had come over you.

But he looked like a fallen angel. Doomed, sad, and desirable. You conjured the image of him during that rare tender moment as you'd sat beside him in the snow, and he'd looked at you with his haunted eyes, beautiful face, and disarmingly sweet smile.

And then he'd clumsily attempted to kiss you, and you'd done the sensible thing by shoving him away.

However....looking down at him now, regret gnawed away at your insides, and all traces of sensibility deserted you. You couldn't afford to lose your head over him, but....he would never know if you gave into temptation just this once. That nagging curiosity and overwhelming need to know how it would feel to kiss him.

You wrestled with your conscience yet again. It would be morally wrong to kiss him. He was a criminal, the enemy, and he was......unconscious for god sake.

But what harm could it do? No one need ever know, and he had kissed you without consent after all.

Ugh. Your vain attempts at justifying your actions were growing shakier and you had to accept the harsh reality and stop making excuses for your unacceptable behaviour.

You'd either lost your mind, or you wanted him. In fact it had to be a combination of both because if you wanted Joker then temporary insanity was the only rational explanation.

Acceptance was a wonderful thing though, you thought, as you gave in to the madness and bent down over him, steeling yourself.

He was breathing softly, steadily, and in a drunken stupor, you reminded yourself, as you leaned in closer and pressed your lips against his.

His lips were warm and....firm....beneath yours, almost as if he wasn't passed out drunk. For a split second it even seemed like you'd imagined a response; as if he was reaching up for you with only his mouth.

You detached your lips from his in a panic, but he remained unmoving. You were being paranoid but with good reason. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but you ached to kiss him again. To trail your lips down the side of his painted face, nibble the edge of his mouth.

You could still taste the smoky flavour of the whiskey on your lips, feel the warmth of his breath on you.

You pulled back then abruptly, mentally ridiculing yourself yet again, but just as you were about to move away, his hand shot out and his long fingers clasped firmly around your wrist.

Startled, you gave an undignified shriek of protest as you found yourself being hauled downwards, where you came to land on his solid body.

"No need to go all shy on me now, Queenie." He slurred, his eyes still closed.

Queenie?

Indignation flamed through you, threatening to reduce you to a flaming pile of ashes. With any luck, it would leave him fatally scorched and in cinders too.

"I am not Queen!" You hissed as you struggled against him, not caring what part of him you hit, "Sorry to disappoint you, Fleck. You're drunk and delusional."

You felt the laugh shake his body as you lay sprawled against him, and as you peered up into his face his eyes flickered open; twinkling with malicious mirth.

"No not delusional, Ace. More like....delirious and delighted. Oh and, I'm definitely not drunk either."

For a moment you were completely frozen in horror, as the realisation hit you.

"Y-you were faking it. This whole time you were....and you deliberately called me Queen. You son of a bitch--!"

In one swift movement he succeeded in pulling you beneath him, and he lay atop you; pressing you down into the soft leather couch.

"You should know I never get drunk, doll, in spite of your best efforts tonight. Did you really think I wouldn't notice the double shots of whiskey?" His voice was a husky, dangerous purr by your ear, "The question is.....why would you want to get me drunk? I've never had to question your loyalty before, so naturally I had to play along to find out. Was you planning to kill me, huh?"

"Don't be an ass, of course not! I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't trying to get you drunk." You lied feebly, as your brain failed to think of an adequate excuse.

It was impossible to think at all with his hard body pressing down on yours. Your hands flailed as you tried to push him off, but thanks to your earlier handiwork all you could feel was the warm, velvety texture of his skin beneath your palms.

"Oh so we're playing the denial game huh? Well in that case I'm gonna have to assume you did it just so you could touch me up while you thought I was unconscious."

"I was not touching you up, don't say that!" You protested, though the words died in your throat.

You'd made this mess and now you couldn't see how the hell you were going to get out of it.

Well, you were more than capable of fighting your way out of it, and yet you were holding back. Hesitant. And your pitiful attempts at pretending to struggle weren't fooling him for a second.

His soft laugh should have annoyed you. Instead it only increased that treacherous stirring deep and low inside you.

"You're embarrassed. That's sweet. You don't have to be shy, doll. Please, by all means.....feel free to touch me. I dare ya!"

He moved slightly. His chest was hard against you, his stomach flat, his....

Shock hit you; resounding through your body as you realised what else you were feeling. And to make matters worse, it didn't feel anything like how Stephen's felt.
Joker felt so solid and alarmingly....large.

"Let me up, Fleck!" You gasped and writhed beneath him.

He caught both your wrists in his hands and held them above your head. His hips pinned yours, and his legs trapped your own.

"You and I both know you could get out of this if you really wanted to." He whispered in your ear, his breath as warm as his skin, "Just admit it. There's something between us, you feel it and you're curious. You want this as much as I do. Stop fighting it."

It was true. Nerves skittered throughout your chest, making it hard to breathe as you managed a strangled response.

"Okay. So, why don't you just shut up, Fleck, and do something about it already?"

His breath seemed held in silent anticipation. The ice green of his irises turned dark and intense, and it was impossible to look away.

"Go ahead. Do it." You added hastily, "Kiss me and have done with it. It's only one kiss. and tomorrow we can be professional again. This won't change anything."

"Whatever you say, doll." He rasped, as he lowered his face to yours.

A shiver of excitement zipped down your spine and your eyes fell closed as he finally kissed you properly this time, and you suppressed a sigh of exhilarated relief at the firm touch of his lips.

It was slow and surprisingly sweet; an intimate joining of his painted mouth with yours. His lips moved purposefully, coaxing, as your breath mingled with his, and the world was reduced to just the two of you and this one single moment.

But then his tongue teasingly flicked your lips, and the instant you parted them for him he drove inside; sliding his tongue over yours and deepening the kiss that was now suffused with passion.

He gripped you tighter and your heart thrummed inside your chest; a pulsing beat that seemed to reverberate everywhere inside your body. The heat and strength of him made you dizzy. You could feel his own heart pounding against yours, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing against your responsive breasts.

You were surrendering yourself to pure, physical sensation; forgetting who he was. No. Forgetting what he was.

You'd never been so turned on, and his reaction thrilled you all the more. It made you feel like you weren't alone in this. Behind the greasepaint and flamboyant suit, he was all man. And he wanted you.

You had no way of knowing, bu no other woman had ever affected Joker so intensely. His body went up in flames; his skin scorching with lust.

He wanted you desperately. He wanted you naked in his bed; trembling and gasping as he buried himself deep inside your glorious body.

It's only one kiss, you had said.

In that case he better make it count, and he was damn sure you would enjoy this, because it would not stop with tonight. No. He planned to have many nights of bone-rattling ecstasy with you, but he would have to restrain himself and start this pleasuring business gradually. He didn't want to frighten you off, not now. Not after all the progress he'd made.

Unbeknownst to you, after you'd left his home on Christmas Day he had sat devising a battle plan; contemplating how to proceed with seducing you, and planning it meticulously like a military operation. Advance, retreat. Advance, retreat. And so far it was working out far better than he'd ever anticipated.

As your breath came jaggedly, teasing his senses, he abruptly let go of your wrists so that he could trace his hands over the contour of your breasts.

You let out a shuddering breath which excited him further, and he sought out the hard nubs of your nipples through your dress, so he could circle them with his thumbs.

"Oh god, Fleck!"

In response he groaned against your mouth. He felt lustful and savage as he gathered you up in his arms, and he had to resist the urge to tear your exquisite dress right off you.

Instead, he had to settle for rolling the two of you over so you lay side by side, face-to-face on the couch.

Your hands slid up his chest and along his neck, your fingers tangling in the lank curls of his green hair.

However you skittered apprehensively once you felt his exploratory hand gliding up your thigh.

"N-no touching. Not like that." You reproached him breathlessly.

"Party pooper." He gave a hoarse chuckle, as he dragged his painted lips down your neck; gently nipping the soft skin with his teeth, "Why not?"

He was painfully aware that he sounded like a whining child, but he was all out of fucks to give. Every nerve ending burned with the need to touch you properly.

You caught your bottom lip nervously between your teeth, "We wouldn't be able to go back from that."

He laughed at that, but managed to bite-back a witty retort for fear of you halting this completely and reverting back to your moralistic professionalism.

Seriously though, did you actually think the pair of you could go back from this? Go back to how it was before, you resuming your role as his assistant and act as though nothing had ever happened?

No fucking way. He would make sure that it didn't. Make sure that you wouldn't be able to or want to.

Respecting your wishes of no touching -- with his hands at least -- Joker hooked his arm beneath your thigh so that it was lay across his, and now you were fused together; groin to groin.

And the exquisite friction; the relief of the press of your eager body against the lean, hard length of his made him shudder with pleasure.

He should stop this, he realised. Not only to save him the embarrassment of making a mess in his pants, but he had to stick to his plan.

Advance.....retreat.

He'd given you a taste. He had to leave you hungry for more, even if the sexual frustration damn near destroyed him.

You panted, melting into him, and pushed your body against the hard part of his anatomy that was straining against the tight confines of his trousers.

"Oh....fuck!" He gasped.

The rush of his breath tickled your ear. His hands slid down to your ass and pushed you against him again, as he sealed his mouth to yours. You could taste the lust; hot and electric in the back of your throat, feel it coursing through you.

Knowing you had this power over him was excruciatingly erotic, and suddenly, you were afraid of how much you wanted him, and what that might mean.

The thought was sobering enough to make you freeze, and he immediately stilled; relinquishing the hold he had on you.

You were perceptibly quivering, your heart beating so hard that the blood whooshed in your ears. You couldn't look up into his face, too afraid to meet his eyes after such a heated, intimate exchange.

Shit. What an idiot you were. You'd allowed yourself to get carried away by the heady haze of forbidden longing, and now you couldn't undo what had been done.

This had been far more than just a straightforward  kiss to sate your morbid curiosity, and even a simple kiss was crossing the line.

Suddenly, as if he somehow possessed the ability to read your shambolic thoughts, Joker languidly draped his arm around you tenderly, and gently stroked your back; soothing your frayed nerves.

"Happy new year, my sweet girl." He breathed, his tone disarmingly soft.

Instinctively, you rested your head against his heaving chest; feeling the thump of his heart beneath your flushed cheek.

"Happy new year, you....you wicked clown."

"I'm your wicked clown" He chuckled softly, his hand still moving as it glided up and down your back; easing all the tension from your clenched muscles.

The moment was surreally peaceful. In spite of the inappropriate position you were in; tangled up in the long legs of your so-called boss, your eyelids grew heavy.
As you found yourself being lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it gradually slowed, his words echoed around  your head, settling reluctantly inside your heart...

"........my sweet girl"  "I'm your wicked clown."

It was at that exact moment you knew you'd made a terrible mistake. There could be no going back from this