The Schemer

Intimate Interactions

The surgeon gulped down the last drops of the cool tea, revelling in the moisture on her tongue. Her throat was of the same humidity as Sahara. Creeping back upstairs and opening the door to her bedroom silently, she took off her t-shirt, wiping off the sweat of her face with it. The woman was drenched, salty drops running down on the floor, leaving a trail behind. Except the trail was not made of crumbs for the crows to eat. 

"And here I thought you would, uh, leave me like a one-night stan-d." That nasal, gruff from sleep voice reached Clara's ears, making her stop whatever she was doing and turn to the bed where the Joker laid, both hands underneath his head, staring leisurely at the woman.

"I don't leave them. My one-night stands typically are somebody that I'm already friends with." She continued drying herself, feeling the clown's eyes on herself. "That way, they can make me some morning coffee, we say our goodbyes, and don't see each other for another year or so. Furthermore, the risk of catching STD is much lesser when you know who you're sleeping with."

"Yeah. But where's the thrill in that, little assassin?" A confused expression made its way on Clara's face. She dropped the t-shirt-towel on a chair and ambled towards the bed where Jack was. Sitting on top with her legs crossed in a Buddha pose, hands on her knees. Curiosity was written over her angular features, slight amusement inside the deep, misty eyes.

"I beg your pardon?" 

The Joker made an abstract motion with his hands, licking his lips. "Thrill. Ya leave them and watch their misery." Low giggles erupted from deep within his chest. "Girlies get attached so-o-o easily."

"And you get pleasure just from emotional harassing?" Clara tilted her head, examining the man in front of her. She followed one of his hands slowly sneaking closer, reaching for her leg and poking kneecap. "I understand that an actual anarchist must be original and rebellious in every field. I really do, but the purpose of finding a one-night stand is for sex, not for psychological torture." His fingers started gently hammering now, keeping Clara's unwavering attention.

"Yeah? Y'can achieve pleasure on your own, toots. Canno-t, uh, hurt  yourself." With his last words, the clown squeezed Clara's quad, a little above the ending of a tear-shaped vastus medialis, making her whole body twitch. "Does it tickle?"

"Hmm." The woman hummed in confirming, moving her leg away in an attempt to get rid of Joker's hand. Grinning, he leaned forward on an elbow, with mischief glinting in his brown eyes. But Clara was far from feeling delighted. She met his mirth with serious grey eyes. "You will not be able to hurt me, Joker."

"Really? How about, uh, disrupt your or-r-rder? Sounds promisin', huh?" Jack flashed her a toothy grin, stretching his scars. This time, Clara gave him a one-sided smirk, too.

"And how will you do that? By showing up every night and continuously stealing my guns?" The surgeon lifted her eyebrows, playing his game of teasing. "As long as you leave my bazooka, I'm cool with your kleptomaniac behavior. That old thing is the only one that I wouldn't forgive you for stealing. And the early sixteenth-century Japanese katana sword, that one is probably my favourite."

"No-o-o, little assassin. By showin' you the world that y'could have underneath your fee-t." Now he was so close to Clara that she could feel the man's breath on her lips. Steel bore into the abyss, falling, falling, falling down, until she forcefully tore her gaze, concentrating on Joker's fingers instead, with unexpected gentleness massaging Clara's leg.

"Your tongue is trying to poison someone who's already been envenomed a long time ago, J." The woman abruptly stood up, watching the clown's hand drop down. "Do you need a spare t-shirt or something?" She motioned towards his naked chest, showing Jack the acknowledgement of his lack of clothing. The man threw her a sceptical look.