ridetheharley | Harley Quinn's (un: clownprincess) Inbox for Reparacija

[ She pushes him back and Carver lets her with a grunt, hissing out a breath as she takes him in hand. This is happening. They decided, didn't they? It's not something he would have done back home, even if by some miracle they'd managed to meet. They just would have killed each other. ]

Mhmm.

[ He doesn't jump the gun as she teases him, just reaches up to cup a hand to the back of her neck and the other to her breast, squeezing. Holding her close as she decides what she's going to do, how long she's going to drag it out. He holds, his eyes bright - and utterly focused on her. ]

[ It's one way to feel more in control in a place like prison, where control is stripped from you at every turn--deciding who you'll sleep with before this place inevitably decides for you. Carver wouldn't necessarily be Harley's type, either, back home, but here things are different and she appreciates the fit, muscular frame that sits sturdily beneath her. He's keeping her feeling grounded, somehow, through it all.

She likes the way his fingers curl around the back of her neck and her back arches, pressing her chest forward as he kneads one of her breasts, the nipple already hard and taut, a testament to her arousal. She's teasing herself as much as she is him, and another moan leaves her lips as she presses the tip of him against her clit, using him to pleasure herself for a few tense moments before she can't wait any longer.

Thighs quivering, Harley holds him in position and sinks down onto his length, finally allowing him to fill that emptiness that had become almost too much to bear. Her muscles twitch around the intrusion, but it is most welcome. She throws her head back, a smile on her face as she lets out a pleased sound, letting herself adjust around him before she presses her palms to his firm chest and starts to move, steadily, but at a slower pace at first, tipping her head towards to look down at him. ]

[ There’s no hesitation from her, no delay. She knows what she wants and she reaches for it. Puts her hands on his chest, against his scars, and rides him just like he asked. She’s wet, and hot around him, and her thighs are strong. He hisses out another strangled breath, leaning forward to drag his mouth against her shoulder. Muffling the noise he might have made otherwise. You have to be quiet back home or the dead will hear. ]

Fuck.

[ He kneads her breast again, running his free hand along the planes of her back. She’s strong, and solid, and that feels better than he thought it ever could. It’s simple and so little is in this place. There are no drugs, but he wants her. The honesty of it nearly floors him and he hisses out another wordless curse as he jerks his hips up, matching her rhythm. ]

[ Harley tends to like her partners vocal, but there's something she finds kind of hot in the way that Carver struggles to muffle his sounds, feeling the heat of his breath against her shoulder as he attempts to quiet the noise. She would probably find it less attractive if she knew why he was doing it...or maybe the thought would make it more exciting. Like doing something you're not supposed to with the risk of being caught adding a dangerous tint to it all, even if the threat here is only an imagined one born out of habit.

Her blunt nails bite a little at Carver's skin and she pulls one hand off of his chest to slide up her own ribcage, grabbing the breast that Carver isn't paying attention to and giving it a squeeze, moaning as she puts on a little show for him. With only one hand balancing her, her thigh and core muscles engaging to compensate. She sighs as she starts bouncing herself harder onto his lap, the sound of their bodies meeting slickly filling the air around them. ]

Oh, fuck...

[ She breathes the curse, grimacing in pleasure as Carver presses up into her, matching her pace. Her other hand leaves his chest too and then her legs are doing all the work as her hand slides on top of his where it rests on her breast, squeezing on top of it, just wanting to feel some closeness--some connection. ]

[ Like before, she just goes for what she wants. No hesitation, no game. She wants, and so she takes, and there's something so honest and joyful in it that Carver can't help but get swept up in her wake. He braces his hand against her back to steady her, hissing out a curse. Goddamn, half-muffled into her shoulder.

Goddamn.

He works her breast as they move together, pressing his thumb against her nipple and working it stiff. It's been a while since he's done this sober, or done this with someone he chose, but turns out it come back quick. Turns out it comes back just fine. ]

[ Harley nearly playfully chides Carver for taking the good lord's name in vain. She isn't religious. But she remembers bringing up the 'rituals' thing on her sentence when she and Carver were deciding what to do as if they were picking a purchase from a catalog. It was interesting. Experiencing it is better. This is better. He had mentioned that it might be something about bringing religion into sex, and Harley had immediately felt put off by it. Carver hadn't verbalized anything, but he would have after she had said what she did. If he'd felt differently. She doesn't say anything. Besides, it was hot. The way he breathed the curse against her shoulder. Again. It turns her on the second time just as much as it had the first.

Harley presses into Carver's touch, breath hitching as her nipple comes to a hardened peak beneath the pad of his thumb. It does; it comes back just perfect. Harley feels herself getting closer, but she drops her hips, her full weight resting on Carver as he's pressed into her as deeply as is physically possible. She rocks, not pulling herself up at all, just feeling him inside of her, letting the threat of orgasm pass as her muscles twitch around him. Harley still moves, but only shifting him within her and not providing and 'in and out' motion. Once the sensation passes, though, she flexes her thighs and starts bouncing in his lap again, this time with more desperation behind her movements. ]

Fuck, that feels good. You feel good.

[ She sets a pattern, changes it, settles or speeds it up, and Carver just rides with her. He thinks of river tides and what it feels like to get swept up in someone else's wake - a sensation he hasn't felt with another person for a long time, or at least not without drugs to speed it all along. But there's something raw in the way she moves, honest, and Carver can admire that even as he drags his mouth against her shoulder and shudders under her. Falling away to the physical. He can feel her speeding up, the way her thighs clench. Proof that it's getting to her, that he's not the only one fighting for control.

Riley was like that, he thinks absently. Always reaching for something real, committing fully. Carver was always the one who held back. Afraid of losing control - ironic, really, when that's all he ever did out in the world. But that's not a good thought for right now and it slips away before it can become something, slips away into nothing and Carver squeezes her breast again before shifting to catch her chin in his hand and pulling her in for a rough kiss.

He's close, is the thing. But he'll hold. He'll hold as long as he can. ]

[ Carver doesn't reply to what she says, but he doesn't have to. His body is speaking for him, and Harley's eagerly reading every muffled sound and every twitch of his muscles as though she's reading a novel. She's eating up everything he's giving to her. It occurs to her that this is the most they've spoken to each other since they've met and yet neither of them is actually saying much. Bodies do the talking sometimes, and it feels like that's the case here. She's picking up on the ebbs and flows of energy between them, closing her eyes and tipping her head back briefly as she drags blunt nails over Carver's chest, leaving slightly pink lines in their wake. Nothing that'll stick around. They'll fade by morning, but something in her hopes he'll catch a glimpse of the marks when he gets back to his own space and think of her.

She arches her back more sharply to adjust the angle at which their hips are meeting and it causes another moan to be pulled from her. ]

Oh, fuck...I'm almost there...

[ She reaches down to rub at her clit, unashamed of giving him a show, pressing her chest into the hand that's still on her breast. She bounces harder and faster in his lap, gasping at the sensation as everything in her starts to coil and tighten. She's so close she can taste it. Suddenly, her pleasure comes to a sharp peak, and then her muscles clench rhythmically around his cock as she comes. She squirts, too, having forgotten to warn him but it isn't a lot. Enough for him to notice, but not enough for it to become a real inconvenience. She'd masturbated before he came over to release a little tension, so it's less of a feature than it normally would be, though still definitely there. She works through her orgasm, shuddering but keeping her pace strong, wanting him to finish too. She wants him to feel what she's feeling even if she's not entirely sure why. ]

You can come inside me if you want...

Edited 2022-10-10 23:44 (UTC)

[ There’s no hesitation in what she does, in how she moves. She runs her nails down his chest, catching against old scars, and Carver makes a strangled noise as he grabs her hips to match her. He can feel her tense up, the control and then the moment it slips, and still she keeps going. She holds the pace and what can he do except follow suit? Earlier he might have balked at what she says, worried about the practicals, but condoms don’t seem to be a thing around here and she feels good around him in a way that very little does these days.

Carver runs his hands up and down her sides, bracing himself, bracing her, and just lets go. He’s quiet when he comes, muffing the sound against her shoulder. He runs his fingers along her back, tracing out the ridges of ink and scars alike, and just breathes.

For a moment, there are no words. No words at all. ]

[ Harley grins as she feels Carver's hands firm and steady on her hips, grounding her in the moment. It's just her and him right now and thoughts of prison and everything else around them simply falls away. For once, her scattered brain feels sharp and focused as she hones her attention, concentrating on her movements and the way that Carver's hips are bucking up against hers to match her movements.

Back home she may have been more careful, but the worry of STDs and pregnancy apparently aren't a thing around here. Something about everyone being tested upon intake, and birth control being administered somehow. In thr food, she guesses, though she supposes it could happen any number of ways with the presence of alien technology.

Harley shivers when Carver's hands wander her sides and she feels his movements becoming more erratic until he finally lets go. She moans enough for the both of them, tipping her head back as she feels him come undone beneath her. It feels organic, not at all embodying the awkwardness that hung in the air when he'd first arrived at her shipping container. The way he traces over her scars and tattoos feels good and the relative silence feels welcomed.

Normally she has a hard time keeping her mouth shut for any length of time, but she has no witty remarks for what's happening here. She has nothing to say other than to moan softly and let him know that she's feeling as good as he is. Her hips slow to a lazy grinding before she comes to a stop, catching her breath and tracing a scar on Carver's chest with the pad of her finger. Words escape her, for once. ]

[ It slows. It steadies, moment by moment, and Carver gets his breath back. He rests his head against her shoulder just to steady himself, running his fingers along her back. Finding and tracing tattoos in an absent sort of way, wondering vaguely whether they mean anything or if she just liked the shape of them. Wondering how she earned her scars. Some of them echo his own, a familiar toll of violence, and he wonders about that too. Her life and the shape it took before she ended up here, all the things he hasn't had a chance to ask or even wonder at.

She's strange. An enigma, in many ways. But she feels good right now and he likes how she feels on top of him, how she traces out the shape of a scar on his chest.

These things happen.

He squeezes her hip briefly, a fond gesture he wouldn't have made except for the endorphins, and lifts his head to watch her. She's relaxed now. They both are. And he feels settled in a way he very rarely does these days. ]

[ Harley's breaths slow and even out and she lets out a breathy laugh. Not one of jest, but of...happiness? She feels good and she feels no shame in showing it. Her grinding slows to a shuddering halt and then she just sits there on top of Carver for a few moments, absorbing everything that just happened. She doesn't feel weird about it, even now, as the lustful cobwebs clear from her brain and as everything becomes apparent again.

It somehow doesn't quite feel like the business transaction it had initially felt like. She can't deny that she feels some kind of connection, here. That maybe she's managed to peel back some of the protective, papery layers of the onion that is Carver. Of course, that could all be her own perception without any tinge of truth to it.

She stops tracing over one of the scars on his chest and plants both her palms on him for leverage so she can raise her hips enough for him to slip out of her, but she doesn't go far, instead curling on her side beside him on the small cot. He doesn't seem like much of a cuddler, but a girl can try... ]

[ He puts a hand on her hip almost without thinking about, rubbing vaguely. It feels like the thing to do, even if he doesn't move to lie down next to her. He can't do that, can't let his guard down more than he already has. But for a moment, he just exhales and leaves his hand on her hip. Just for a moment.

Just for a moment, as the adrenaline fades.

It felt good. They didn't hurt each other.

Then he shakes himself. ]

I need to go.

[ Harley smiles at Carver's hand on her hip. It's more than she could have asked for, even curled up at his side. She pats his bare chest once, but the touch lingers warmly at the center of it before her hand falls away. ]

Then go; it's okay.

[ Even though she knows or thinks he doesn't need that reassurance. Perhaps he does. But even if he did, she's sure he wouldn't show it. Not yet. And msybe not to her. Maybe someday once more trust is built between them. It's hard to tell the could haves and would haves and mights now, where everything is new and uncertain. ]

Have a good rest of your day, Carver.

[ She smiles, fingers wiggling as she bids him goodbye, a flirty smile flashing on her face. ]

[ He watches her for a moment, giving her hip a final squeeze, and then reaches for his clothes. It was a business transaction, to start. He's not certain what it is now, if anything. A moment, certainly. But she has a nice smile and she's relaxed, seemingly content and with no reason to be wary of him.

That's nice. It won't last, but it's nice. So it goes. ]

Harley Quinn's (un: clownprincess) Inbox for Reparacija

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i'm so sorry this is so late

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