Drabbletag - Red
Title: Treasured Trail
Prompt: Drabbletag 5 - Red
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
Rating: R
Word count: 250
Ivy’s skin is pale, despite her love of sunlight. It’s almost sickly, which makes sense considering she’s poison and all.
It means Harley’s lipstick marks stand out all the more vividly.
Kisses in the shape of Harley’s mouth, an even brighter red than Ivy’s hair, descending from the lines of her throat over the valleys of her chest. Mark over mark around her nipples, because Harley always pays a lot of attention there, likes the sounds Ivy makes when Harley uses the faintest scrape of teeth.
More lipstick over her stomach, across her sides, because that always makes Ivy squirm. She won’t admit she’s ticklish, but she wriggles and gasps when Harley teases her with feather-light kisses, and the lipstick is fainter but still there, still red.
Imprints of Harley’s mouth colour the hollows of Ivy’s hips, and the lipstick had clearly almost worn off Harley’s lips by that point but there’s still enough to track her progress. The last of it is smudged across Ivy’s inner thighs, and there are no distinct shapes there, the red too blurred to make out the curves of Harley’s lips.
She knows that’s because she was too hurried, Ivy’s sex distractingly close, all that heat just begging to be tasted.
She likes to admire the marks after, when Ivy’s lying across the bed in a loose and sated sprawl. They’re like a map of Harley’s lust, a work of art across Ivy’s skin, and Harley traces the path with her fingers, smiling softly.
Prompt: Drabbletag 5 - Red
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
Rating: R
Word count: 250
Ivy’s skin is pale, despite her love of sunlight. It’s almost sickly, which makes sense considering she’s poison and all.
It means Harley’s lipstick marks stand out all the more vividly.
Kisses in the shape of Harley’s mouth, an even brighter red than Ivy’s hair, descending from the lines of her throat over the valleys of her chest. Mark over mark around her nipples, because Harley always pays a lot of attention there, likes the sounds Ivy makes when Harley uses the faintest scrape of teeth.
More lipstick over her stomach, across her sides, because that always makes Ivy squirm. She won’t admit she’s ticklish, but she wriggles and gasps when Harley teases her with feather-light kisses, and the lipstick is fainter but still there, still red.
Imprints of Harley’s mouth colour the hollows of Ivy’s hips, and the lipstick had clearly almost worn off Harley’s lips by that point but there’s still enough to track her progress. The last of it is smudged across Ivy’s inner thighs, and there are no distinct shapes there, the red too blurred to make out the curves of Harley’s lips.
She knows that’s because she was too hurried, Ivy’s sex distractingly close, all that heat just begging to be tasted.
She likes to admire the marks after, when Ivy’s lying across the bed in a loose and sated sprawl. They’re like a map of Harley’s lust, a work of art across Ivy’s skin, and Harley traces the path with her fingers, smiling softly.