Give me a minute and I'll make you see Nirvana.
Make It Fast, Make It Last
"Ivy, I told ya, I really don't have time for this!"
"Then I'll make it quick."
Ivy is all burning lips and toxic tongue. Her fingers, forest green and clawlike, dig into her hips through the white mini skirt and red leather. A dangerous hiss escapes her throat when she pulls back, red, vine-like hair swept back and flowing like dried tendrils of blood.
"You look like a slut," Ivy snaps, bitter, enraged, and jealous. "I should tear this right off you."
"No, Red, don't do that," Harley whines (any other time, she would have giggled and struck a pose and said, "Go right ahead!" but Mr. J had made this special and she did have a job to do after all).
"Hm." The vines spiraling over the apples of Ivy's cheeks slither and creep up her temples and into her hair; it's rather creepy. Red really did need that shampoo. Her fingers stop digging into Harley's hips and move up her ribcage, over her breasts, hooking in her shoulders; Harley purrs, against her will (but that's just how she likes it, sometimes).
"Alright," Ivy says in a low voice, and then her knees are pushing Harley's legs open—Harley says "no" in a small, feeble voice, but her lack of resistance and the way she flings her hands against the glass of Ivy's now open cell to push her pelvis wantonly against Ivy's thigh says it all.
Ivy takes a moment to study their contrasting skin—like a meadow covered in snow, preserving the life beneath until springtime.
"Red," Harley gasps, wiggling, "you said you'd make it quick. I gotta shed-duol to keep."
"It's schedule," Ivy corrects. Then the vines on the sides of her legs slither up and over Harley's thighs, curling all around until they finally creep inward. Harley jerks and makes a rather nice noise. Ivy snickers, bends her face down, and catches Harley's bottom lip in between her teeth in a gentle and somewhat not gentle way. Harley moans, the sound so utterly human and vulnerable, and Ivy opens her mouth to croon in reply, pleased.
"Oh, this is what ya meant by," Harley gasps, back arching. "--Christ!--is what you meant by q-quick, huh?"
"Of course," Ivy says, her lashes fluttering and eyes rolling as the vines transmit the feeling straight to her own nerves. "Oh—oh my."
Harley's hands leap from the glass to Ivy's hair and she tangles her fingers in the already tangled mess. A brush—a brush and some shampoo. Yeah, that's what Ivy needed. It could be like a sleepover, surely Puddin' wouldn't mind if she had a slumber party at Ivy's place after he got rid of the Bat. They could do girl things, like painting their nails and fixing their hair and, of course, snuggling. Yeah, snuggling, Ivy was great to snuggle, cause she was all curves and dips, not the hard angles of Pu--
"Red!" Harley screams as Ivy slides a hand beneath her skirt and helps her vines out.
Ivy laughs and bites down hard on the skin of Harley's neck, leaving a small, almost invisible mark. Harley comes undone then, exploding with a another cry of her name and her hands grasping Ivy's hair in an iron grip, stilling around Ivy's thigh and fingers and vines. The feeling is transmuted across all of Ivy's nerves and holy fuck it's amazing.
Harley comes down, shivering and trembling and all too hot in her own skin. Ivy draws back, retracting her fingers and lapping at them in a more feline way than Catwoman herself.
Harley stumbles out resting against the glass, and Ivy saunters out of the cell, shaking her hair and purring, "That feels so much better." As she leaves, she turns to blow Harley a farewell kiss, a dark smirk on her face.
Harley sighs like she's in a romance movie, and she even catches the kiss and presses it to her cheek. "She's a good kid."
"I could watch those two all day!" The Joker screeched, laughing so hard his stomach cramped.
a/n: you so wanted this to happen in Arkham Asylum, admit it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, therefore I do not make profit from the franchise. This is a purely fan-based story.