When she shivers and swallows a needy whine it's more about the fantasy his words are building for them than physical sensation. Harley knows her body and how to bring herself to climax with efficient ease, but now she tries to touch herself the way she thinks Gale might if only he could. Gentle, loving, a little hesitant. Sweet and aimless. Her own pleasure doesn't matter to her as much in the moment as capturing his attention.
"Gale," she sighs again. The back of her hand shifts almost close enough to brush against his erection straining his trousers, but the pressure is so light that it might have just been imagined. "Gale, tell me how you'd touch me. I'll do it exactly the way you say. I want you to talk me through it."
He gazes up at her enraptured. She is the moon and all the stars. She is the sea, and if he drowns in her, he'll thank her for the honor. "Harley," he whispers like a prayer.
But she has a request of him, and he would give her everything he can, even if it can't be everything they want. Gale licks his lips and clears his throat, and when he begins again, his voice is husky and honeyed. "Slowly. Begin slowly, but not uncertainly. As I said, I would want to learn. I want to hear every moan and sigh, discover every sweet noise you might make. I would touch you softly at first, because you deserve to be treated gently. Will you do that for me, love?" His voice remains warm and encouraging, but his hands ball into fists from the effort of restraining the desire to reach for her himself. "Would you sit up, please? I want to see, and I want you to put both hands to good use."
Her eyes, dark with lust, track the motion of his tongue and she draws her own lower lip between her teeth. She bites down on a moan.
"The problem," she sighs, "is that if I do this one thing for you, I'll do everything for you. I want you too much to behave once I give in." Her fingers draw a circle around her clit and that makes her breath stutter. "And I don't know if you could either."
Her accusation draws a breathy little laugh out of him, not because she's wrong, but because she knows him so well. "Have you no faith in my self restraint?" A rhetorical question, of course. He hums, a deep and thoughtful rumble not entirely unlike purring. He flexes his hands against his imagined bonds "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But isn't the taste of a little danger delicious?"
"A taste," she echoes breathlessly, and with a new gleam in her eye. "Yeah, I can give you that." Her hand withdraws from her folds and she holds her slick fingers between them for him to see. She feints to offer them for him, but then takes them into her own mouth instead and greedily sucks them clean. She pulls them out with a wet pop and bends down to lick the taste of her into his tempting mouth.
With his mouth still open waiting to accept a withdrawn offering, he watches her with dark eyed fascination. "I will gladly accept anything you're willing to give, though I wish I could worship you properly."
He kisses her like they're underwater and she is his only source of air, lifting his head up from the bed to meet her, press as close as he is able without breaking the agreement. His hands flex beside his head, wanting so badly to touch her, to do anything at all, that the Weave gathers and sparks around his fingertips.
He kisses the air from her lungs and pulls soft, needy moans out with it. Her tongue explores inside his mouth until her body burns with the need for breath, her hands trailing over his arms until their fingers link together. She can feel the gathering magic licking against her skin, like the buzz in the air before a storm. She breaks away with a gasp.
"We have to--" She licks her kiss-swollen lips and tries to catch her breath. "We should stop," as she swoops in for another attack.
Maybe she was right about his self control after all, because he meets this kiss too with enthusiasm. He squeezes her hands, and the magic sparks and pops like static shocks. Who needs air when you can have this?
"I love you," he murmurs on breaths between kisses. "But we... have to stop."
Even that much contact is intimate, intense, and he closes his eyes against the storm in his heart. "Unless one can die from wanting. Otherwise, I am alright. Better than alright, so long as you are by my side."
Once again, he does as he's told, slow, steady breaths in and out until his pulse starts to slow to acceptable levels. It's not entirely unlike breathing through the pain and hunger of the orb, except that it's not nearly as unpleasant. And besides that, Harley is with him.
He opens his eyes again and turns his head toward her, smiling. "Thank you, Harley. For being here. For being you."
"I don't know how to be anyone else," she laughs and reaches over to smooth his hair back. "And I don't want to be anywhere else."
She props herself up on one elbow and smiles down at him like she can't believe her luck. Even though there are limits on how they can indulge shared passions, she's satisfied with this. The way he smiles at her is better than sex.
Besides, if she depended on men for every orgasm then she'd almost never get one.
"I wish I weren't so out of practice with words, so I could tell you how much I love you in a better way... Can I just hold you, for a little while? Would that be okay?"
"That would be better than okay. I would enjoy nothing more." He scoots a little closer, reaching out to trace one of the ink stains he must have smeared onto her at one point. He's certain she's left her mark on him as well. "And there's nothing wrong with your words. I should know, I read quite a lot of them today."
She holds him so his head is resting on her shoulder, and presses soft kisses against his hair. Her fingers trail along his arm and she sighs with contentment.
"Nobody else would have wanted to. I don't usually go for bookish shut-ins." It's not a very nice thing to call him but she says it fondly. And, well, it's true.
She takes a breath to say something else, frowns as she reconsiders, then makes herself say it anyway.
"The Joker found my journals. Thought they were funny, but he was furious I wrote about him and took those pages out. And what I wrote about the people I loved before him. He ... had moods."
"Well, the shut-in part, at least, is a more recent development. I claim no defense against the 'bookish' allegations, however."
It hurts him to hear about these things, but he doesn't try to hide that from her. "I'm glad that your journals didn't get completely destroyed. When I was reading them, I had assumed you tore out the pages yourself, to forget."
"I mean it. I wouldn't lie about something like that." He casts dancing lights, watching the orbs bobble over their heads. "I like every part of you. I'm sorry anything or anyone made that hard for you to believe."
Harley squints at the new light and makes a small thoughtful noise, tinged with doubt. He doesn't know every part of her, and she's certain he won't like what's left to learn.
She changes the subject instead.
"If I really do have to meet your mother now, you'd better be there too. You don't get to chicken out of that."
He barks out a laugh that erupts so suddenly that it seems to surprise him. "I wouldn't desert you, that wouldn't be fair. Besides, both of us showing up at once is strategic brilliance, you see. We can each help diffuse her shock at the other. She can't yell at me too much if I'm introducing you, and she can't focus too much on you if she's shocked at my appearance. Divide and conquer, as they say."
His laughter sparks another bloom of love in her chest. She clings to him and presses her face into his hair. It feels like she may never be able to hold him close enough.
She doesn't understand how Mystra could have ever let him go. Maybe the gods are stupid.
"I'm sure she'll have a lot to say when she comes back tomorrow."
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"Gale," she sighs again. The back of her hand shifts almost close enough to brush against his erection straining his trousers, but the pressure is so light that it might have just been imagined. "Gale, tell me how you'd touch me. I'll do it exactly the way you say. I want you to talk me through it."
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But she has a request of him, and he would give her everything he can, even if it can't be everything they want. Gale licks his lips and clears his throat, and when he begins again, his voice is husky and honeyed. "Slowly. Begin slowly, but not uncertainly. As I said, I would want to learn. I want to hear every moan and sigh, discover every sweet noise you might make. I would touch you softly at first, because you deserve to be treated gently. Will you do that for me, love?" His voice remains warm and encouraging, but his hands ball into fists from the effort of restraining the desire to reach for her himself. "Would you sit up, please? I want to see, and I want you to put both hands to good use."
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"The problem," she sighs, "is that if I do this one thing for you, I'll do everything for you. I want you too much to behave once I give in." Her fingers draw a circle around her clit and that makes her breath stutter. "And I don't know if you could either."
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He kisses her like they're underwater and she is his only source of air, lifting his head up from the bed to meet her, press as close as he is able without breaking the agreement. His hands flex beside his head, wanting so badly to touch her, to do anything at all, that the Weave gathers and sparks around his fingertips.
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"We have to--" She licks her kiss-swollen lips and tries to catch her breath. "We should stop," as she swoops in for another attack.
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"I love you," he murmurs on breaths between kisses. "But we... have to stop."
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She slips her hand into his and squeezes his fingers.
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He opens his eyes again and turns his head toward her, smiling. "Thank you, Harley. For being here. For being you."
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She props herself up on one elbow and smiles down at him like she can't believe her luck. Even though there are limits on how they can indulge shared passions, she's satisfied with this. The way he smiles at her is better than sex.
Besides, if she depended on men for every orgasm then she'd almost never get one.
"I wish I weren't so out of practice with words, so I could tell you how much I love you in a better way... Can I just hold you, for a little while? Would that be okay?"
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"I've never shared all that with someone before."
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She takes a breath to say something else, frowns as she reconsiders, then makes herself say it anyway.
"The Joker found my journals. Thought they were funny, but he was furious I wrote about him and took those pages out. And what I wrote about the people I loved before him. He ... had moods."
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It hurts him to hear about these things, but he doesn't try to hide that from her. "I'm glad that your journals didn't get completely destroyed. When I was reading them, I had assumed you tore out the pages yourself, to forget."
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She chuckles, a little low and sad, and combs her fingers through his hair.
"Did you mean that ... that there's nothing wrong with my words?"
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She changes the subject instead.
"If I really do have to meet your mother now, you'd better be there too. You don't get to chicken out of that."
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His laughter sparks another bloom of love in her chest. She clings to him and presses her face into his hair. It feels like she may never be able to hold him close enough.
She doesn't understand how Mystra could have ever let him go. Maybe the gods are stupid.
"I'm sure she'll have a lot to say when she comes back tomorrow."