(DCU) White Picket Fences
Title: White Picket Fences
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Ivy/Harley
Rating: NC-17
Words: 602
Notes: For Kink Bingo, prompt "vanilla kink", and Femslash Friday.
Summary: Their lives may be loud and full of destruction, but it's the quieter moments, the sweet and familiar and loving moments, that Ivy really cherishes.
It’s not even midnight, the whole of Gotham stretching beyond their window, ripe for the picking. It’s a pleasant night, cool and with a breeze that rustles through the plants outside. Perfect weather for property destruction, for casual mayhem. For taking on the Batman, for holding a city in the palm of her hand.
It’s not even midnight, and Ivy’s already curled up in bed with Harley, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
She kisses Harley, slow and sweet, even when Harley wriggles for harder, faster, more. Ivy likes taking her time, exploring Harley’s skin, the salt-tang of her sweat, the heat of her body. Lights out, just the faint moonlight creeping in, illuminating the pale curve of Harley’s breasts, casting shadows over the jump of her stomach muscles when Ivy kisses her there.
Harley giggles, squirms beneath her lips.
Maybe somebody who only knew of their reputation wouldn’t expect this of them. Maybe they’d expect bruises, bondage, bite-marks, and some days that’s true, some days sex between them is rushed and rough. And on those days, Ivy enjoys every second.
But this is her favourite, lazily tangled together on their shared bed, familiar and warm.
She likes fucking Harley, but Ivy would rather make love to her.
Cherished touches, soul-deep kisses, closing out the day together. Like some parody of a domestic life, where they work their nine-to-five jobs and come home to each other like good American girls who don’t have criminal records and personalised cells waiting for them at Arkham.
This is their version of a marital bed, and Ivy adores it.
She climbs back up Harley’s body, pets her hair fondly when Harley wraps her tightly in strong arms. Thighs slotting together, Ivy’s pushed high between Harley’s legs, Harley returning the favour. Hips rocking together slowly, and Ivy buries her face against Harley’s neck and breathes in her scent.
She can already feel the slick heat of Harley’s pleasure, her cunt searingly hot against Ivy’s skin. Pressing Harley down into the mattress with her weight, taking her as slow as she pleases, because Harley may like to hurry in most things, but she always appreciates when Ivy makes her savour it.
Lights off, early bedtime, missionary position. So seemingly boring, so mundane, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. And maybe that’s the appeal - they’ll never have that American dream life, neither of them would want it, some would even say they don’t deserve it. But they’ve made it their own anyway, stolen the parts they like. Because she and Harley, they’ve never had a problem stealing whatever catches their eye.
Harley’s fingers dig into Ivy’s hips, and she’s murmuring soft words, promises mixed with Ivy’s name, tone so affectionate that it makes Ivy’s toes curl against the sheets. She’s throbbing with want as she works herself against Harley’s thigh, as she slowly drives Harley higher up the bed with her own thigh.
She comes with Harley’s lips under her own, their contented sighs lost in the kiss.
Afterwards, their fingers lace together, and Ivy watches the sway of trees outside as Harley yawns wide and settles against her with a sleepy smile.
They’ll wake up together in the morning, start the cycle anew. Maybe there’ll be explosions and police sirens and the pained gasps of their enemies in the time between dawn and dusk. But this will be how they’ll end their day again tomorrow, in their bed, making love to each other, their kind of domestic bliss.
It’s not even midnight, and Harley’s snoring lightly against Ivy’s shoulder, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Ivy/Harley
Rating: NC-17
Words: 602
Notes: For Kink Bingo, prompt "vanilla kink", and Femslash Friday.
Summary: Their lives may be loud and full of destruction, but it's the quieter moments, the sweet and familiar and loving moments, that Ivy really cherishes.
It’s not even midnight, the whole of Gotham stretching beyond their window, ripe for the picking. It’s a pleasant night, cool and with a breeze that rustles through the plants outside. Perfect weather for property destruction, for casual mayhem. For taking on the Batman, for holding a city in the palm of her hand.
It’s not even midnight, and Ivy’s already curled up in bed with Harley, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.
She kisses Harley, slow and sweet, even when Harley wriggles for harder, faster, more. Ivy likes taking her time, exploring Harley’s skin, the salt-tang of her sweat, the heat of her body. Lights out, just the faint moonlight creeping in, illuminating the pale curve of Harley’s breasts, casting shadows over the jump of her stomach muscles when Ivy kisses her there.
Harley giggles, squirms beneath her lips.
Maybe somebody who only knew of their reputation wouldn’t expect this of them. Maybe they’d expect bruises, bondage, bite-marks, and some days that’s true, some days sex between them is rushed and rough. And on those days, Ivy enjoys every second.
But this is her favourite, lazily tangled together on their shared bed, familiar and warm.
She likes fucking Harley, but Ivy would rather make love to her.
Cherished touches, soul-deep kisses, closing out the day together. Like some parody of a domestic life, where they work their nine-to-five jobs and come home to each other like good American girls who don’t have criminal records and personalised cells waiting for them at Arkham.
This is their version of a marital bed, and Ivy adores it.
She climbs back up Harley’s body, pets her hair fondly when Harley wraps her tightly in strong arms. Thighs slotting together, Ivy’s pushed high between Harley’s legs, Harley returning the favour. Hips rocking together slowly, and Ivy buries her face against Harley’s neck and breathes in her scent.
She can already feel the slick heat of Harley’s pleasure, her cunt searingly hot against Ivy’s skin. Pressing Harley down into the mattress with her weight, taking her as slow as she pleases, because Harley may like to hurry in most things, but she always appreciates when Ivy makes her savour it.
Lights off, early bedtime, missionary position. So seemingly boring, so mundane, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. And maybe that’s the appeal - they’ll never have that American dream life, neither of them would want it, some would even say they don’t deserve it. But they’ve made it their own anyway, stolen the parts they like. Because she and Harley, they’ve never had a problem stealing whatever catches their eye.
Harley’s fingers dig into Ivy’s hips, and she’s murmuring soft words, promises mixed with Ivy’s name, tone so affectionate that it makes Ivy’s toes curl against the sheets. She’s throbbing with want as she works herself against Harley’s thigh, as she slowly drives Harley higher up the bed with her own thigh.
She comes with Harley’s lips under her own, their contented sighs lost in the kiss.
Afterwards, their fingers lace together, and Ivy watches the sway of trees outside as Harley yawns wide and settles against her with a sleepy smile.
They’ll wake up together in the morning, start the cycle anew. Maybe there’ll be explosions and police sirens and the pained gasps of their enemies in the time between dawn and dusk. But this will be how they’ll end their day again tomorrow, in their bed, making love to each other, their kind of domestic bliss.
It’s not even midnight, and Harley’s snoring lightly against Ivy’s shoulder, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.