Drabbletag - Harley-Davidson
Title: Ride Red
Prompt: Drabbletag 6 - Harley-Davidson
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Ivy/Harley
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 250
The bike gleams as cherry-red as Harley’s lips.
Ivy crosses her arms, smirking at the way Harley’s gaping, the wideness of her eyes.
She’d left a smoking crater in the Harley-Davidson dealership’s courtyard, vines growing from the earth to strangle all that ugly concrete and metal. Ivy considers it an improvement.
“I saw it and thought of you,” she says, and Harley makes a high-pitched noise of pure glee.
She pulls Ivy into an excited hug, bouncing her a little as Harley practically dances on the spot. “A Harley for your Harley!” she squeals. “Oh, Red, I love it.”
Ivy pulls back enough to grin. “Take me for a ride,” she purrs, and Harley’s smile gets wider still.
They tear through the streets of Gotham, the roar of the motorbike’s engine almost as loud as Harley’s delighted whoops as she cuts up traffic, forces pedestrians to dive for cover. Ivy’s arms are wrapped around Harley’s waist, and if she presses close enough she can ignore the smell of exhaust, can focus instead of the sweeter smell of Harley’s hair.
“You feel it, Red?” Harley asks, practically shouting. Twisting to look over her shoulder, not caring that she’s driving blind, because when has Harley ever cared about danger? “You feel how good it is, between your legs?”
Her hips roll back against Ivy, spine arching, a dirty laugh slicing through the air.
“Feels nice,” Ivy admits. “But I’d prefer your mouth.”
Harley giggles and coaxes the bike up into a wheelie.
Prompt: Drabbletag 6 - Harley-Davidson
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Ivy/Harley
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 250
The bike gleams as cherry-red as Harley’s lips.
Ivy crosses her arms, smirking at the way Harley’s gaping, the wideness of her eyes.
She’d left a smoking crater in the Harley-Davidson dealership’s courtyard, vines growing from the earth to strangle all that ugly concrete and metal. Ivy considers it an improvement.
“I saw it and thought of you,” she says, and Harley makes a high-pitched noise of pure glee.
She pulls Ivy into an excited hug, bouncing her a little as Harley practically dances on the spot. “A Harley for your Harley!” she squeals. “Oh, Red, I love it.”
Ivy pulls back enough to grin. “Take me for a ride,” she purrs, and Harley’s smile gets wider still.
They tear through the streets of Gotham, the roar of the motorbike’s engine almost as loud as Harley’s delighted whoops as she cuts up traffic, forces pedestrians to dive for cover. Ivy’s arms are wrapped around Harley’s waist, and if she presses close enough she can ignore the smell of exhaust, can focus instead of the sweeter smell of Harley’s hair.
“You feel it, Red?” Harley asks, practically shouting. Twisting to look over her shoulder, not caring that she’s driving blind, because when has Harley ever cared about danger? “You feel how good it is, between your legs?”
Her hips roll back against Ivy, spine arching, a dirty laugh slicing through the air.
“Feels nice,” Ivy admits. “But I’d prefer your mouth.”
Harley giggles and coaxes the bike up into a wheelie.