Harley Quinn (
totalwildcard) wrote2024-07-14 01:51 am
Somewhere on the Mainland; Sunday Early Evening
You asked Harley, it was a pretty good Sunday, so far.
She'd started out her day with no plan, and yet by happy accident (and it was definitely an accident, and not someone somewhere making room in a shared schedule to facilitate things, or anything deliberate on the part of anyone directly involved!) she'd run into Marc, and that had sparked a simple and easy plan after all: to drive him to the mainland for dinner, at a restaurant she'd overheard someone talking about on one of her off-island jaunts earlier in the week. It was supposed to be a family-run, no-nonsense little Italian place, and exactly the sort of thing Harley was in the mood for, especially right now with the company she had.
So life was indeed pretty good!
And Harley's mood wasn't soured even by finding out there was actually no parking available right by the restaurant. After some searching, she'd managed to find a spot some blocks away - which was to say, she'd sniped it from right under someone's nose with a truly reckless move. Which had led to some blaring horns from other cars. Which was all good in Harley's book! She had more important things to be thinking about, anyway!
"And the tiramisu's supposed to be amazing," she was saying, as they got out of the car. "Like, 'someone's 97-year-old tiny little Italian grandma made it' kind of amazing. D'you think they'd let me order that for an app and not just dessert?"
(NFB for distance, for the one modded with permission + some NPCs)
She'd started out her day with no plan, and yet by happy accident (and it was definitely an accident, and not someone somewhere making room in a shared schedule to facilitate things, or anything deliberate on the part of anyone directly involved!) she'd run into Marc, and that had sparked a simple and easy plan after all: to drive him to the mainland for dinner, at a restaurant she'd overheard someone talking about on one of her off-island jaunts earlier in the week. It was supposed to be a family-run, no-nonsense little Italian place, and exactly the sort of thing Harley was in the mood for, especially right now with the company she had.
So life was indeed pretty good!
And Harley's mood wasn't soured even by finding out there was actually no parking available right by the restaurant. After some searching, she'd managed to find a spot some blocks away - which was to say, she'd sniped it from right under someone's nose with a truly reckless move. Which had led to some blaring horns from other cars. Which was all good in Harley's book! She had more important things to be thinking about, anyway!
"And the tiramisu's supposed to be amazing," she was saying, as they got out of the car. "Like, 'someone's 97-year-old tiny little Italian grandma made it' kind of amazing. D'you think they'd let me order that for an app and not just dessert?"
(NFB for distance, for the one modded with permission + some NPCs)

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That and he didn't actually have any freaky shit. Details.
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Sorry, but no.
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She rolled her hips up into his. The demonstrative power wasn't as great as it was when he did it, but it was still fun.
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On the plus side he could still use his hand to massage her breast while he did it.
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She could also kiss him with a bit more hunger. Joyful, though, if that was a thing.
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Moving with him.
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Her hand rubbed his cheek back, her fingertips brushing over his temple.
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That feeling was what Marc wanted to keep going. That connection. He wanted to make it physical and not just - not just some nebulous thing that couldn't or wouldn't be defined.
He moved his other hand down to her thigh, encouraging her to press up even closer to him. Letting her feel how even all this, simple though it might be, was making him ache to be inside of her.
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It was a heady feeling, one that made her give a slow squirm up into him. Trying to communicate something similar.
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The hand on his cheek slipped back into his hair, for something to hold.
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And feeding it all right back to him.
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Her hand was tight in his hair, not to hurt but to hold.
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He massaged her, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple as he kept moving into her.
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And then she rocked up into him a little again, and whoops, that was a whine.
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"Want me?" he asked between nipping at her lips. Not a taunt, asking permission.
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Only this one took the shape of words: "Need you."
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Least of all when it felt this good.
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Comparatively on task.
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