[SMUT WARNING!]
You're preparing dinner, clad in nothing but your underwear and an apron - it's a slight leisure you grant yourself whenever Sal is out of the house, just to feel the cool material sending pleasant chills throughout your body while you go about your business.
However, when he's standing in the doorway clad in his suit, you pause with your wooden spoon in your pan and stare. For one, what the hell are you supposed to say? The pair of you are lost in a silence that doesn't become either of you, the corners of Sal's lips beginning to twitch upwards in the form of a smirk. Heat spats onto your face and you're just pleased you have something else - the steam of the cooking - to blame it on.
"Uh, Sal, I– I didn't know you were still in. H-Heading out?" you ask, watching as his eyes flicker to follow your hands as you tug the apron further down your thighs, back bent slightly as you look up at him pleadingly. You pray he'll stopstaring, making you want to melt under his tough gaze.
"Dress rehearsal," Sal replies slowly, beginning to move close. When he reaches you, the tips of his dress shoes at your bare feet, he leans in and presses a sound kiss to your lips. Nothing infiltrates you but a feeling of hot embarrassment, your body sliding closer to his in an attempt to hide your face. "A kiss, [Y/N]," Sal directs quietly, tilting your head up to look at him. When you attempt to hide your face once more, he takes your chin firmly and presses his mouth against yours before you can refuse. His assertion surprises you, has you backing into the counter. "Do as you're told."
"E-Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Sal grunts. He loves your fire, your spark, but he also loves to watch it diminish as he presses fine kisses to your neck and then bites down, listening to the soft moan you release as a hand presses against his chest and palms the spot over his heartbeat. "...you're looking good, [Y/N]. Maybe, show a little skin for me...?"
"Sal, that's embarrassing..." you whine, before gasping as he forces your chin up to look at him once more, a hand sliding past fabric easily.
"I'll rephrase that. Show some skin for me."
Moaning low in your throat, you turn on your toes and lean against the counter, allowing the short apron to ride up your rear and put you on show, panties being pulled aside by the suited male as he strokes at your cheeks and allows a huff of satisfaction to escape his throat. There's something about you doing as you're told that has him hardening in his dress pants and though it's embarrassing to him to be so forward (he's very much a man who goes by another's needs rather than his own) it ultimately reaps rewards he'd rather be with than without. He's started it now - he can solidify his nerve enough to finish it.
His forefinger glides over your underwear-clad entrance, heat of his skin mingling with the heat of you as you shudder and moan, elbows bracing you against the counter-top. The pads of his digits stroke quickly, all but haphazardly, as he elicits further wetness from you and then shifts your panties aside altogether.
"So wet," he muses lasciviously, bottom lip caught between his teeth while you can't see him as he battles with his inner flustered personality. He can do this, he wants to. "All for me, baby...?"
"Please touch me, Sal, you've got me desperate..." you beg, moaning overtly with relief when two of his fingers enter your soaking entrance, digits immediately slicked with your essence as you lean further into the counter and rear your ass closer to him. With a quick build, he has you squealing, your thighs tightening as you work to clamp around him. "Oh God, Sal, that's– that'sperfect!"
The sound of his fly coming undone fills your hyper-sensitive desires, need fluttering to your belly and exploding like fireworks that make you shake like a leaf in a gale. He's not going to take that damn suit off... and by God, that's just so attractive to you - because hell he looks amazing in it - that you can barely resist pleading with him to let you turn around so that you can look at him.
Sal concedes, barges you back into the counter as one of his hands comes to support your slipping thigh with his thumb circling flesh softly, the contrast to his rough thrust as he enters you blowing your mind completely. You moan, unabashed by both volume and pitch as he begins to move. Eyes shift downwards so that you see his now-slick member every time he pulls out of you, the thought of it only serving to make you hotter.
With you still clad in the short apron, Sal shifts the flimsy material aside so that he can latch his lips to a nipple, teeth catching it in a light bite that has you yelping his name, hands digging into his shoulders and stroking material so quick you hope it'll burn under the friction. All to touch him, all to feel him with your skin, vulnerably human in his wake.
Sal's head picks up once more, eyes fixed on you as you throw your head back and moan at how good he feels inside of you. Startled by a hand tugging hard at your hair, you groan as you're forced to look up at him; the frown on his face, brow furrowed lightly with animalistic lust, the intensity of his eyes... it has you all but drooling. His thumb hooks over your bottom lip, lets your tongue glide over it generously before he orders:
"Look at me when I'm fucking you."
An apology slips past your lips as you will your eyes to fix on him, almost as strongly as he's urging himself not to crack. He finds that he rather likes being able to play the dominant card so long as he can keep it going without succumbing to your demands. The Joker enjoys treating you as he sees fit, so long as it isn't too much for him to take without his cheeks fueling red; that would truly ruin his approach.
"S-Sal– I'm so close–!" You're whining, high-pitched and longing.
"...beg me to let you cum."
"O-Oh my God, please– I'll do whatever you want me to, just PLEASE let me cum!"
Your pleas send him over the edge, his head nodding succinctly at you as he moves a hand so that his thumb can rub quickly over your clit, listening to the squeals of pleasure that escape you as your juices jet down your thighs, the distinct feeling of them coating his member bringing Sal to his end as he finished with a growl you've never heard before.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck–" you moan, head thrown back as you ride out your orgasm, feeling the heat of him inside you as he deposits his load inside of your dripping wet core. As he comes down from his high, Sal presses an array of soft kisses to your neck. The contrast of his previous behaviour and his current evokes shivers as you look up and find his mouth with your own, sloppy kisses and tongue-probing exchanges galore.
The Joker sets you down, arranges himself back into his pants and carefully zips himself back up before his eyes flit to your spent body that has slumped on the kitchen floor. Before he descends into flustered comments, Sal manages to compose himself; spares a look at the pan still simmering away on the hob. He gestures to it with his head.
"Think it's a tad overdone."