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anger steeped in love

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Harley ain't sorry to have provoked this. Quite the opposite. There's nothing like a little mayhem to set her mind aright. Dinah had looked like she sorely needed it, too. Nevermind that she'd balked at first, saying Harley was crazy for even suggesting it. Puh-leeze, as if she didn't know that already what with everyone reminding her at every turn. She could at least have thought of something more original to throw at Harley's head.

Dinah had been abusing a sandbag when Harley broached the idea.

"Are you crazy? I'm not going to hit you."

"You did it before; ain't a big deal." Harley flicked one of those little green wonder pills at her and popped one herself. "You, girlfriend, need to get some of that anger out of your system. Can't be healthy for the little birdy you're carrying around with you."

"Leave my child out of this."

"Look. This ain't even gonna hurt." Much. Her fight with Lobo had been just awesome, and she did fall from a great height without a scratch on her. Just a little headache. Nothing to worry about.

It took some more annoying and – more importantly – volunteering to be a stand-in for Superdouche for the first blows to land. And boy, did they ever. Harley flew right through the wooden targets into the far wall.

"That's the spirit," she said as she picked herself out of a pool of rubble, somewhat unsteady at first but making up for it with her glowing effervescence. "Give me everything you've got."

And Dinah certainly didn't skimp. She pounded Harley into the ground like she was bread dough (she probably would be if not for the pill), broke some more furniture with her unprotesting body, and
knocked her head left and right to the point where Harley thought she was a weather vane.

Sure, she gave as good as she got, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. The point was—truth is, Harley forgot what it was supposed to be, because let's face it, property damage really turns her on. Usually, she can contain that aspect of herself, keep it tucked away in a neat little private box for her own delight, but sometimes she doesn't want to hold herself back, sometimes she wants to share.

It's what you do with your friends, right? You share. And Dinah's become a very close friend indeed, even if she herself might not agree with the modifier and call it grudging instead. Harley doesn't understand what's grudging about the way she pulls her in, hands digging claw-like into her back, smacks her with both lips and palms, a benediction borne of anguish and frustration, and crushes her head into the floor because she can't let go. This is as up-close and personal as it gets, among the broken arrows and splintered toys, the destruction of an absence they both try to—not ignore, but to deny, to erase. But how do you erase an absence? There's only so much rage and hate and thoughts of vengeance you can fill it with before you burst.

Dinah snarls down at Harley and holds her throat down. Harley bares her own teeth in response and snaps them at Dinah, which earns her a slap in the face and a backhand for balance. Her blood is rattling in her ears and her split lip acts as a pressure valve. She struggles against Dinah's weight on her chest, fingers scrabbling for a chink in her armor; the only thing she manages to pry off are her shoulder guards. Her tactical swimsuit beneath is surprisingly sturdy, only her fishnets are torn. Harley's fingers slide against Dinah's ass and squeeze.

A growl escapes Dinah's throat and she twists one of Harley's braids around her fingers to hoist her up. That's all the leverage Harley needs. She attacks Dinah's mouth again, more to bruise than to kiss, although the distinction is lost on her, as she is lost in this, a capsized boat in a stormy sea, broken-ruddered and direction-less, afloat only by the grace of the waves.

There is a sense of freedom in this metaphor: you can choose to struggle or you can choose to let go and let yourself be carried by a power stronger than yours. Neither option is worse than the other, all it comes down to is how you want to spend your energy – and Harley's never been much for conservation. Of course she struggles, of course she expends her energy, but among the crashing waters that roar in her head and dull her consciousness, exhilaration blooms.

She laughs as Dinah bites her neck, laughs as she rips apart the straps holding her costume together, laughs some more as Dinah marks the tops of her breasts. She welcomes this, the joy and the pain, the hilarity of it all, and the profound calm at the bottom of it.

Harley cries out when Dinah gives her nipples a sharp nip and an even sharper tug. Her hips are jerking with the ebb and flow of that delicious pain, and Harley's following, following, raking blunt nails over Dinah's bare shoulders, skidding over rather than damaging skin.

To her unending satisfaction, Dinah finally frees her glistening body from the confines of that nasty armor. Entranced, Harley traces the grooves it has left, first with her palms, then her tongue, tasting sweat and soap and whatever material it was that held the plates together.

Dinah's fingers find the cleft between Harley's thighs and press against the drenched fabric there. In a detached sort of way, Harley is surprised to find how wet she is. Here they've been tussling for what seems like hours, smashing each other into every corner the Quiver has to offer, conflating sex and violence, and Harley never noticed how much she wanted either. And now that she's aware, she needs it all the more.

Her legs open and her hips rise to meet Dinah's fingers. They sink into her quickly, readily, greedily, and Harley's sob is a sign of jubilation. Dinah fucks her as though she has no time to lose, almost tearing the climax out of her. Harley quakes and quivers and gasps for breath.

But instead of granting her a reprieve, Dinah swings her leg over Harley's head and from this angle a halo of light makes her hair shimmer. Harley would have stared, but something else grabs her attention, something more immediate. Dinah's sex is flushed and open, glistening invitingly, and Harley strains to get a taste.

Her own pussy clenches on the ghost of Dinah's fingers as she licks her open, fucking her with her tongue and running long, greedy licks from her core to her clit. Dinah settles onto her, effectively stealing her breath and taking her own pleasure.

And Harley is happy to let her, happy they got to share this, happy to pass out even, if that is in her future. What's better than to end this on a high, without an awkward coming down that could spoil the mood between them? She'll have to thank Dinah once she comes around. She hasn't had this much fun in years, not since Superman happened and ruined them all.