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We touch, we hold, we keep one another free

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Jason's hand stills over the bowl by the door. He does not drop his keys in it. Instead, he places them next to it, as silently as he can. There was a stifled scream coming from the direction of the living room, and while he can rationalize it as Harley watching some horror flick, his switch from pleasant evening buzz to stealth mode is instantaneous. He eases open the cabinet drawer and reaches for the knife he has taped to the top.

As far as Jason knows, he is still behind bars and will be for quite some time, but his reach is long. He doesn't need to be out himself to send someone after Harley, for turning him in. Jason has suggested she move farther away, but Harley has built up a life here, with friends and lovers and acquaintances, and she doesn't want him ruling and ruining her life any more than he already has.

Jason grips the knife securely in his right, heart pounding, breathing controlled. He might be overreacting, but in his line of work it's always better to be safe than sorry.

A small whimper drifts from the other side of the door, as well as some kind of mechanical whirring, like a slowly rotating fan, and a babble of voices from the TV. No footfalls, no arguments, nothing to indicate there's anyone else in there with Harley.

Still, he has to check. Sometimes, he has nightmares about the old days, about being confined and beaten for not bringing in enough cash or simply for being mouthy. About what he would do if he found them, found Harley, spending her life as she pleases and not in penance for his incarceration. He wouldn't be satisfied with breaking a few fingers. Jason is small again in those dreams, unable to protect himself, or Harley for that matter. Easy prey. He is no longer small, or easily cowed, but those dreams unsettle him in a way nothing else does. It's suffocating.

But he's not small anymore and he can handle unsettling situations quite well, thank you very much, so let's get this party started.

He throws open the door and Harley lets out a yelp. Something clatters to the floor. The whirring stops, but the TV continues murmuring. Jason scans the room, but no one else is there. The room is humid with sweat and the smell of sex, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. Incrementally, he relaxes.

"Jay?" Harley asks, weak from the shock.

"You okay?" Lowering his knife, he walks closer to the sofa. Harley hasn't really moved since he came in, although she tried to shift her head to look for him.

"Me? Oh, yeah. Never better." She giggles softly.

Jason first notices the apparatus, then he notices Harley, naked and spread on the sofa. The apparatus consists of a motor, a wheel and a cylinder extending from it, with an orange dildo attached on its other end, a dildo that is currently vanishing inside Harley. Arousal punches through him, riding the wave of adrenaline that had him on alert just now.

"Come here for some knifeplay?" Harley asks, her grin as gleaming as her eyes.

Jason looks at his hand, still clenched around the knife handle. "No, I, uh... Never mind." Swallowing the unease he felt before, he vaults over the back of the sofa, careful not to knock over the lamp, and places the object on the coffee table. "Looks like you've been having fun while I was out busting my ass."


He leans over to stroke her cheek and let his fingers trail down her chest. Harley pushes into his hand, guides it to her breast and squeezes. She sighs.

"You know," she starts, slightly out of breath, "a regular gave me the idea. Asked me what I thought about fucking machines, as if he wanted to use one on me, but I couldn't really answer his question. I've never tried one. So, naturally I had to correct that oversight."

"Naturally," Jason says and nuzzles her cheek, pressing a kiss to it. Her hair clings to her skin in sweaty tendrils. Wrecked is such a good look on her.

"Yeah, and I'm exhausted now." Her head lolls on the backrest and her hand falls to the side, but her delighted grin doesn't falter, nor does her body stop undulating as he strokes her sides and continues to play with her nipples.

"So there's nothing I can do to sway you into going another round?" He asks and nips at her ear.

Harley twitches, her lips compress, and her fingers dig into the sofa cushion. Her arms are trembling. Maybe she really had enough and he shouldn't tease her like that.

Her fingers nudge his hand, gesturing toward the floor.

"The remote fell down."

Jason picks it up. Sometimes, he wonders if she agrees to everything he asks of her out of a lingering sense of guilt and not her own untempered desire, to make up for introducing him to this life. He wonders if he's just a little mean to her in this way as payback, because these tiny cruelties were all he could afford when he was younger and needed to feel in control, and they kind of stuck.

He powers up the machine again. The machine whirs back to life and slowly pulls out of Harley, only to pump into her again. Harley chokes on a moan and spreads her legs impossibly wider. Her chest rises and falls and arches, her body relies more on muscle contractions than on conscious will.

His jeans are becoming too confining to move in. Popping the button, he breathes a sigh of relief and palms himself. Before he gets too caught up in playing with himself, he presses the remote into Harley's hand. The fucking machine stutters for a moment until she has found enough motor control to push the lever to a speed she likes.

Sweat is starting to bead on Jason's temple. He pulls off his hoodie, throws it aside and wedges himself in the corner of the sofa. His hand curls loosely around his erection as he watches Harley writhe. There's no point in trying to match her rhythm anymore, even if it had been his objective. Spine arching off the sofa, she lets the dildo punch into her faster than Jason could ever go, and it's as if she's punishing herself, but her moans are far from agonized, and her fingers fly over her clit, bringing her closer and closer to yet another release.

It rips through her like an electric shock, starting with a trembling in her legs and building to muscle spasms in her whole body until she goes taut, head thrown back, eyes unfocused, a low moan wresting itself from her lips. Then she collapses inward, draws her jittering knees tight to her chest and winds her arms around them.

Fuck, what a show. Jason is quite close, despite the chafing quality of his own strokes. When Harley struggles to get off the machine, however, he abandons the endeavor to help her. She slumps against him, panting and giggling and so sensitive to touch it's a challenge not to run his fingers over every inch of her skin. He gathers her in against his shoulder, her damp forehead pressed against his neck, and strokes her arm. She jerks and inhales sharply. He laughs quietly.

With his free hand, he goes back to jerking himself off.

"Want me to?" Harley asks wearily. Her arm falls to his thigh as if it were made out of rubber. Again, he wonders if she's pushing herself for his sake or because that's how she rolls.

"I got it," he says, and claps her bottom lightly. "You rest now."

"Want to try it out, too?"

"The machine?"

She nods.

Jason has been taken apart more than once today, but the thought of that thing giving him the rest might be just what he needs to wind down completely. He groans. "You're a terrible influence on me."

He kicks off his shoes, jeans and underwear, then pulls the machine over to where he's sitting. When Harley's scent hits his nose, he can't help but take the dildo in his mouth. Behind him, Harley makes a pleased noise.

"Next time you need someone to watch you and a client, do let me know. I really want to see you swallow some dick."

"You mean like this?" Jason relaxes his throat and takes the plastic cock all the way in.

"You spoil me," she says dreamily and scratches his back.

He lets it slip from his lips and positions it just right. He's still loose from his earlier engagements, so it doesn't require more than a coating of lube for him to be ready. The tip sinks into him easy and with a tilt of the lever, the rest follows. Jason lets his head fall back and moans.

"Shit, that's so beautiful." Harley is biting her lip as she winds her arms around his neck. "You're so beautiful, Jay."

Harley presses a kiss to his ear, and her fingers card through his hair, scratch over his chest, and the sensation sends shivers down his spine. This thing may not be as hot as a real dick, but fuck if this doesn't feel good. Certainly beats manually shoving a dildo up his ass or gluing it somewhere and still having to do all the work himself. He does that enough during his appointments. Sometimes he just wants to lie back and take it. Harley's attention helps him get over the fact that it's just a disembodied dick pushing its way inside him.

His knuckles clench tight around his own prick, loosen to stroke his whole length, up and down and up and down again, then clench again to squeeze the head of his cock. All the while his head is swimming, the pleasure building, and he's shifting, shifting for just the right angle until he finds it and lets the machine pound it over and over and over. He is dissolving into molten fire and white heat, and he sinks into that sensation, ignoring the physical boundaries of the sofa and Harley's skin reminding his own it's still present somewhere outside of his mind, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, he's close and he's winding tight, compressing, rising higher than he has any business to go.

Jason has no idea how Harley managed to fuck herself on this thing while controlling the pace, but that too doesn't matter, as the machine fucks him into oblivion on its highest setting. It rips through him like a fissure and he cracks open, emptying his balls on his stomach and his mind on another plane. He is nothing but darkness and warmth and soul-deep breaths. He is being cradled and stroked and soothed, and it's nice, even if it makes him feel too young, too vulnerable, too much in need of this tenderness.

He lets it wash over him, lap at him like the waves on the shore, until he resurfaces, bit by bit, to the actual sensations around him. His skin is thrumming, Harley is playing with his hair and sweat is drying on his skin.

"Want me to draw us a bath?" Harley murmurs, ever ready to do something.

"Later," he mumbles back. "First, I think we've earned ourselves a nap."

He slides the dick out of himself and maneuvers into a supine position. He draws the blanket from the back of the sofa and tugs both it and Harley over himself. Harley giggles, gathers her hair over one shoulder and settles in, kissing his collarbone and rubbing patterns into his pecs. He twists the ends of her hair over his fingers.

Jason is boneless and content and entirely too fucked out for any fucked up dreams tonight. That ought to count for something. He's grateful for any day they're both free, even if simple homecomings can set him on edge when something feels off. He'd rest easier if he knew that son of a bitch were dead and buried in six different cemeteries.

One day he's going to do it, he's going to kill him, no matter what Harley is going to say about it, because only then will they truly have nothing to worry about anymore.