Your hand comes to rest against his back as he rubs his hands furiously beneath the hot water. You have to admit, the punishment set up for him had been genius: making him bury himself in trash to find his phone only to reveal that he’d been sent out to sea in the time he’d been scouring desperately.
“Assholes,” Sal hisses venomously under his breath and you barely flinch as he holds his hand out expectantly for you know what he wants. A hand delves into the pocket of the jacket you’re wearing and pulls out a bottle of hand-sanitiser, squirting a generous helping onto his hand and watching as he resumes his cleaning. Once he’s done with that, he grunts and puts his hands back under the water.
You notice the skin of his hands beginning to turn red, steaming red, as if it’s about to peel off due to the heat it’s being exposed to.
The Joker doesn’t regard you, just focuses on his breathing. He closes his eyes with impatience when he feels your hand reach up and squeeze lightly at the back of his neck; he hates that because it brings him back to earth and sometimes he prefers being locked up in his clean little bubble when things get too messy; mostly he hates it because you always know when it’s necessary.
Silence pervades the air, only broken by the hammering of the hot water against the sink. Carefully, your hand reaches for one of his and guides it away (you wince at how warm it is), fingers slipping deftly over plastic and turning the tap until the beating drum against the inside of the sink stops completely. Reaching behind you, a hand locks around fluffy fabric and passes it to the stressed out male, his hands enclosing around it in return. The towel is short-lived but effective in drying his skin.
“You’re all right.”
His short sentences leave something to be desired and that stony stare definitely isn’t welcoming. Briefly, you consider what had happened to make this way. Surely somebody couldn’t be born with such disgust for germs without some form of fear being instilled in them from a young age... or a raging case of OCD? Either way, it hurts you to have to see him in such distress.
Saying nothing, you lead him out of the kitchen and guide him to the couch by his hands, still worried at how hot-to-the-touch they are as you both sit, him looking more blank than you care to think about. He doesn’t speak to you, just swallows hard and collects his bearings; and you respect that, slowly releasing his hands and letting him sit alone. Or at least you would have had he not re-taken them and given them a squeeze. A smile slowly stretches across your face.
“Thanks. For staying with me back there. I’m used to having the guys mess with me like this but... it doesn’t make it any easier.”
Without thinking about it, you raise one of his hands to your lips and press a gentle kiss to it, looking through your lashes to meet his eyes. He’s staring at you, swallowing thickly before inhaling purposefully through his mouth, lips parting as if he’s about to say something... before he decides against it, instead leaning closer to you and giving you a hesitant kiss. You return it, of course you do, all gentle breaths and soft pecks as you shuffle closer to his side of the couch and let his hands brush over your face and hold it. The heat isn’t quite as unbearable now, has faded into a comfortable warmth as the burn cools.
A soft ‘mm...’ leaves your lips when he pulls away to breathe, his mouth still ghosting yours as you sit there with your eyes closed, enraptured by the taste of him. Sal has never been easy to cope with, with his many phobias and his otherwise ‘uptight’ (when it comes to being comfortable within his own space) persona; it is something that leaves you frustrated sometimes... but it’s what makes him him and you love it all in the end.
“...I’d like to do that again.” Sal breathes quietly, lips moving against yours while the words burn you from the inside out, setting your core alight and leaving you all but whimpering as he pulls you in again and kisses you more confidently than before, mouths meshing together firmly with the beginnings of tongue poking through. You move further towards him, picking yourself up onto your knees and keening as you feel the Joker twist his body to meet you. “...ah, yeah... come here, [Y/N].”
You rest against his body, feeling pudgy firmness meld against you as his hands slip beneath your shirt and begin to caress the skin of your back as your kisses intensify. Laying atop him, you can feel Sal’s hard breathing, can feel the pound of his pulse beneath your tongue as you divert from his lips and attack his neck with kisses and bites to which he makes small noises of appreciation and strokes down your back and over the curve of your rear. He’s beginning to forget the gross aspects of his punishment, instead revelling in the soft feel of you.
Hands flutter down his front, unbuttoning his shirt, and the Joker doesn’t stop you; in fact, with the look he’s giving you, all smouldering and keen, he’s urging you on. When his front is exposed, you trail your hands over his skin and watch his eyes slip closed, breathing a little more shallow as he considers what you’re going to do to him. Such thoughts have also evoked a noticeable bulge in the front of his pants, one that makes you snicker and grin with triumph as you run your palm over it and listen to his sharp intake of breath.
His hands remove your shirt with little more than a puff of effort, hand around the back of your neck guiding you down for a kiss before his hands begin to fondle your breasts. You mewl with pleasure as Sal tends to you, bra slipped off in one skilful flick of his fingers before his mouth comes to close around a nipple, sucking generously. Faltering, the only thing you can think to do is support yourself with your hands on his shoulders - until you feel the Joker move, sitting up so that he is hosting your weight. In a crazy turn of events, you find yourself on your back and staring up at him, his face reduced to a smirk you would find sleazy on anybody but him, his mouth resuming its work and making your body arch up against his. Hips strive to mesh with his and you feel the intimacy of your groins grinding together as hands busy themselves on him, one running down his back and eventually reaching his belt while the other buries itself in his once-neat hair and tugs as you moan quietly.
“Fuck, [Y/N]...” Sal mouths hotly, kisses being trailed down your stomach as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and guides them down your legs, underwear being taken along with them. Fully exposed, you shift to try and hide yourself beneath him; the man takes your arm away, kisses your wrist as he nods at you. “No need to hide from me. You look perfect.”
In the interval in which Sal has stopped to stare at you, you have worked his belt from around his waist and are currently in the process of feeling him. A shuddering breath leaves the Joker’s mouth as you palm at his front before pulling his underwear down his legs (which he shakes the rest of the way off on his own), erection springing free. You lick your lips, unable to stop yourself, before wrapping a hand around his length and pumping it, watching as his arms - the only leverage he has above you - quiver and his brow furrows with concentration as he chases the pleasure you’re granting him.
“Sal... please... “
There isn’t much else you can bring yourself to say, too desperate to feel him inside of you to really understand the effects of communication any more. Your vision is hazy, so fuzzy, everything zoned out except for him and his face and his nod as he shifts his hips and enters you slowly, causing you to cling on tightly to him and bury your face in his shoulder.
Sal waits. He waits for you to adjust, waits for you to give him some sign that you’re doing fine - and he receives it in the form of a tiny nod and equally tiny syllables that make up ‘y-you can move now...’.
The male certainly doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling out of you only to jut his hips forth and enter you to the hilt once more. All but spasming beneath him, you reach blindly for his face and guide him towards you, kissing him hard once the pair of you meet. A sound of guttural pleasure passes from his lungs to yours, the sound filling your mouth and your brain as you feel a thin sheen of sweat beginning to build between your bodies.
It isn’t surprising that he has you calling out for him; sometimes his name is cried out to the high heavens while other times you are so far gone that you can’t even figure out what to do with yourself, the only thing passing your lips being pleased moans as you move your hips to meet this thrusts. By far, the sound that has your attention is the low groans coming from Sal as he gradually begins to come closer to the edge. You’re both getting there, both completely entranced and he gives you an adorable smile as he watches you reaching your limit the more he pounds into you, rhythm increasing until you can’t take it any more--
“S--Sal! I’m gonna--!”
He shushes you with his lips and it doesn’t even occur to him that you’re orgasming on his couch for the cry of his name and the tight grip of your fingers keeps him from doing so. He keeps moving even after you’ve finished, helping you ride out your high before he succumbs to the feeling of your previous convulsions and releases himself into you.
Sal manages to move to the side before he collapses onto the couch, heavy breathing from the pair of you the only sound filling the air as he relocates your body in the plush and holds you close to him. With eyes as heavy as grass weighed down by morning dew, you lay there and press your body against his, taking comfort in the snug formation as you toy with his fingers. When breathing comes somewhat normal to you once more, you dare to break the silence.
A husky chuckle from beside you makes you grin a lop-sided grin. “Wow is right, girl. You should probably help me out with my ‘germaphobia’ more often...”