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I never, never seen you look so good

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Harley has been looking on through her sunglasses all afternoon. There's only so much you can do while working on your tan, and while watching definitely belongs to that category, it grows strenuous after a while. She's switched it up with dozing plenty, but not much otherwise. Even the magazine in her hand is just for show. This weather is just an invitation to laze around, sip colourful virgin cocktails, and ignore everything else, even the mosquitoes that are trying to leech you. Harley just can't be bothered to swat them.

Okay, maybe not everything-everything. Just everything that's not Ivy. The whole point of her broiling in the sun is so she can observe Ivy tinkering in her garden. Tanning is just a coverup.

Before they met, Harley's never understood the appeal of digging around in the dirt, but that rapidly changed once she's seen it in action.

Beneath her flower-girded sunhat, Ivy's hair is gathered over one shoulder, sweaty tendrils sticking to her neck. Harley flips a page in her alibi magazine she has yet to read a word in, and imagines herself brushing away those hairs and replacing them with her tongue.

Every time Ivy buries her hands in the soil -- to make a hole for a tomato plant or zucchini or whatever (at least Harley hopes she's planting zucchini: those things grow huge, and while that is amusing in and of itself, what's even more amusing is beating up rude people with a five-pound vegetable that's shaped like a curvy bat—oh! She should suggest squash next time. Butternut or whatchamacallit. Ivy'd know the one best-suited for Harley's purposes... not that Harley could reveal those purposes or else no dice) – wow, Harley totally lost her her initial train of thought. Choo-choo. That must be the sound her frying brain makes. Cue tea kettle whistle and steam shooting from her ears.

Oh, yes, hands, soil, right. Ivy was just doing it again, molding the earth, sticking something into it and sprinkling it with water. It might not sound sexy, but Harley's tingling all over. Time to do something about this.

Time to get in the shade and take a refreshing shower.


Like the good girlfriend she is, she brings Red refreshments on a tray, feeling all housewifey about it. Wiping her brow with the back of her forearm, Red accepts her offerings gratefully. She takes off her sunhat and presses the cool, perspiring glass to her face.

Harley checks the scene for a spot to put down the tray, then shrugs, and places it on a patch of grass, folding herself next to it. Ivy follows, fanning herself with her hat. Once she's comfortably settled, she takes a sip from the lemonade Harley had lovingly prepared... and grimaces.

"Too sour?"

"Too sweet."

"You don't have to drink it," Harley says and eases the glass from Ivy's stiff grip. Her soiled hands left dark smudges on it. "But you still gotta cool down a bit. Can't have you keel over."

She hands her a chilled watermelon slice. Harley can't have ruined that one unless she left a knife in it – which Red would definitely spot before taking a bite. In fact, Red is doing a pretty good job of ruining it herself because she doesn't even wipe her hands before accepting the melon.

Not that Harley cares too much; it's nothing but a diversion for her real plan, hatched just now.

Making sure Red's attention ain't on her, she chugs a good portion of the lemonade until she has what she's looking for: a piece of chipped ice.

Okay, maybe this was a terrible idea, because that thing is fucking cold. Her teeth are starting to ache. It's now or never.

She leans forward, nuzzling Red's cheek and placing a trail of kisses there. Red actually yelps when her mouth finds Harley's cold but responsive. Harley's reaction is similar in intensity. Red's mouth feels hotter than usual and it's turning her insides to goo.

Foliage rustles as Harley palms her girlfriend's breasts.

"Really, Harley. You want to do this outside?" This ain't a reproach. Harley can hear the smile in Red's voice. It serves to egg her on.

"Mh-hmm." She places open-mouthed kisses to her neck and sings a line from her favorite Poison song because it seems pertinent to the moment: "I gotta have you, oh yes, I do."

Red's husky laugh ripples against her lips, and the leaves separating her from petal-smooth skin are slowly falling away. Harley brushes her fingers up the inside of Red's thigh, teases the warm skin at the juncture, then – with Red's attention suitably distracted – she pours the remains of her lemonade-ice cube water over Red's chest, from nipple to nipple. Red sucks in a sharp breath but arches into it, offering herself to Harley's eager mouth.

This can only be refreshing, Harley thinks as she flicks her tongue over Red's breast, lapping up the sticky liquid and leaving little hickeys behind. It certainly is for her.

Red's knees splay wider and her pelvis rocks against Harley's palm, in search of more friction. Harley lets her fingers glide through Red's slickness, spreading it over her folds and the little nub hidden there. Hands and feet digging into the soil, Red cants her hips to chase Harley's fingers, guide them to the exact spot she wants them.

Harley uses her teeth to pick up a half-melted ice cube from Red's stomach. A high-pitched moan escapes Red when Harley sucks her breast into her mouth, and her head falls back, hair fanning out behind except for the few damp strands clinging to her skin. Her opening flutters, beckoning Harley's fingers inside. Harley complies, dips her fingertips into it, grinds the heel of her palm against her clit. Red's soft, wet moans are delicious, as is the shudder that soon overtakes her whole body, every muscle taut for one final moment before her sweet release melts the tension out of them.

Harley kisses her damp neck, stroking her through the aftershocks. Yep, she thinks, gardening is fun indeed.