Drabbletag - Scent
Title: Prey
Prompt: Drabbletag 4 - Scent
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
Her eyes narrow, a predator in her own private jungle. Beneath her lashes there is only the thinnest ring of blue visible around her pupils, gaze darting back and forth.
Her breath is quick and shallow, pulse fluttering.
Excited.
She tilts her head, nostrils flaring slightly. Scenting the air, and the glistening white of her teeth appearing from behind painted lips in a shark-like grin indicates she has found her prey.
It’s truly impressive. There are few who aren’t overwhelmed by the combined perfume of the plants that sway and shiver in the night sky, let alone are able to pick out certain smells amidst the cacophony of odours.
But whether it is continued exposure, practice, or just her particular brand of stubbornness, Harley is the rare exception.
Ivy watches her move, takes in the graceful sway of her hips, the ease of movement that allows her to effortlessly tumble from Gotham rooftops. Harley’s fingers trail gently over the trunks of trees, caress leaves absentmindedly as she passes, and Ivy will always be grateful to have found somebody who can not only respect but can also love her beautiful plants the way Harley has learned to.
Ivy could slip through the undergrowth, could hide, could draw the game out longer, but she finds she has no desire to do so.
And so she braces herself, allows herself to be tumbled back against the mossy ground when Harley springs through the foliage with a triumphant shout.
“Gotcha, Red!”
Ivy smiles contentedly.
Prompt: Drabbletag 4 - Scent
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
Her eyes narrow, a predator in her own private jungle. Beneath her lashes there is only the thinnest ring of blue visible around her pupils, gaze darting back and forth.
Her breath is quick and shallow, pulse fluttering.
Excited.
She tilts her head, nostrils flaring slightly. Scenting the air, and the glistening white of her teeth appearing from behind painted lips in a shark-like grin indicates she has found her prey.
It’s truly impressive. There are few who aren’t overwhelmed by the combined perfume of the plants that sway and shiver in the night sky, let alone are able to pick out certain smells amidst the cacophony of odours.
But whether it is continued exposure, practice, or just her particular brand of stubbornness, Harley is the rare exception.
Ivy watches her move, takes in the graceful sway of her hips, the ease of movement that allows her to effortlessly tumble from Gotham rooftops. Harley’s fingers trail gently over the trunks of trees, caress leaves absentmindedly as she passes, and Ivy will always be grateful to have found somebody who can not only respect but can also love her beautiful plants the way Harley has learned to.
Ivy could slip through the undergrowth, could hide, could draw the game out longer, but she finds she has no desire to do so.
And so she braces herself, allows herself to be tumbled back against the mossy ground when Harley springs through the foliage with a triumphant shout.
“Gotcha, Red!”
Ivy smiles contentedly.