Chapter 3: The Amazon's Gambit
The wind on the Blüdhaven rooftop was colder now, cutting through the thin material of Harley’s jacket. It carried the memory of the fight three nights ago, the spark that had lit this improbable fuse. Nightwing stood with his back to the city glow, his profile sharp against the neon bruise of the sky. Wonder Woman was a statue beside him, her gaze not on the urban sprawl but on Harley, who was pacing a tight, excited circle.
“So,” Harley said, the word popping in the chilly air. “One drink turned into three. Three turned into that weird little tapas place that definitely launders money. And now here we are, on another roof, and nobody’s thrown a punch in, like, forty-eight hours. I’m getting twitchy.”
“You are always twitchy,” Diana said, but her voice lacked its usual definitive edge. It was an observation, not a judgment.
“It’s part of my charm!” Harley stopped pacing, looking between them. The energy wasn’t post-fight jitters anymore. It was something thicker, a current that had been building since Diana had casually mentioned an Amazonian wine that could “loosen the spirit from its mortal coil” and Nightwing had challenged her to a drinking contest. Since Harley had laughed so hard she’d snorted vodka through her nose. Since they’d all ended up on a fire escape at dawn, passing a bottle back and forth in a silence that was comfortable, not quiet.
Nightwing had told a story about Batman, a rare, unguarded moment of frustration and awe that made him look his age. Diana had spoken of Themyscira not as a paradise, but as a home with all the familiar, gentle pains of one. Harley had listened, and for once, hadn’t filled the spaces with noise. She’d just listened, and it had felt like a gift they’d given her.
Now, the gift felt charged. Dangerous.
“This rooftop is… exposed,” Diana stated, her eyes lifting to the skeletal building opposite. A light flickered in one of the broken windows. “The previous location was adequate for conversation. For this, we require privacy.”
Harley’s heart did a giddy flip. “For this? What’s this, your highness? You plannin’ a treaty negotiation?”
Diana’s smile was a slow, deliberate event. “I am planning to take the noise in your head and replace it with something more focused.”
The directness stole Harley’s breath. She looked at Nightwing. He was watching Diana, a look of pure, captivated fascination on his face. He’d shed the voice of reason hours ago. Now he just looked hungry. He turned his head, caught Harley’s eye, and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
He’s in. Oh fuck, he’s actually in.
“I have a discreet location,” Diana continued, as if discussing logistics. “A diplomatic suite. It is secure.”
“Lead the way, princess,” Nightwing said, his voice a low rasp.
The penthouse wasn’t a hideout. It was a statement. Floor-to-ceiling windows held the entire twitching city at bay, framing it in black steel like a captured beast. The lights from the streets below painted the sparse, modern furniture in washes of electric blue and hot pink. The air was cool, filtered, but Harley could already smell the shift—the clean scent of the place mingling with the sweat from their walk, with Nightwing’s leather, with Diana’s subtle, exotic fragrance.
A king-sized bed dominated the central space, its black covers already rumpled from… what? Harley’s mind supplied the answer: from Diana pacing, or lying awake, or maybe from imagining this very moment. Half-empty bottles of top-shelf whiskey sat on a side table beside a single, absurd feather duster. Harley grabbed it, waggling the feathers.
“Diplomatic supplies?”
“A gift from a foreign dignitary with a poor sense of humor,” Diana said, not missing a beat. She was unbuckling her gauntlets, placing them on a table with a soft, heavy thud. Each piece of armor followed, methodical and precise. The act was hypnotic. This wasn’t a striptease; it was a disarmament.
Nightwing mirrored her, peeling off his vest, the light catching the defined ridges of his stomach. Harley just watched, the feather duster hanging limp in her hand. The ridiculousness of it all hit her, a warm, giddy wave. She, Harleen Quinzel, was in a penthouse with Wonder Woman and Nightwing, and they were all taking their clothes off. It was the most insane thing that had ever happened to her, and that was a high bar.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Diana said. She was down to her battle skirt and top now, all smooth, powerful lines and sun-kissed skin.
“Just admirin’ the view,” Harley breathed out.
Diana closed the distance. She was taller, and the raw power in her frame was palpable. She cupped Harley’s chin, her thumb stroking over the white paint on her cheek. “Silence the thoughts. Be here.”
Then Diana kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was confident, deep, and consuming. Harley melted into it, a little sound escaping her throat. Diana’s tongue claimed her mouth, tasting of wine and something ancient and wild. Harley’s hands came up, tangling in the dark, flowing hair.
When they broke apart, Nightwing was there. He turned Harley’s face towards him and kissed her with a different fire—playful, skilled, all teasing lips and hint of teeth. He pulled her shirt over her head, his mouth finding her neck, sucking a mark into the pale skin above her collarbone.
“Fuck,” Harley gasped.
They moved her towards the bed. Diana’s hands were on her waist, pushing the shorts down her legs. Nightwing’s mouth was on her breast, his tongue circling her nipple until it was a hard, aching point. Hands were everywhere, belonging to both of them, mapping her, claiming her. She was being undressed by gods, and the reverence was laced with a sheer, carnal hunger.
Soon she was naked, her skin pebbling in the cool air. Diana stood before her, gloriously bare. Her body was a masterpiece of muscle and curve, her breasts full, her nipples dark. Between her legs, Harley saw what she’d only half-dared to imagine. Not the anatomy she expected, but a thick, proud cock, erect and flush against Diana’s lower abdomen. It was seamless, a part of her, pulsing with the same powerful life as the rest of her.
“Amazonian physiology is… adaptable,” Diana said, her voice thick. “A gift from the gods. For pleasure. For connection.”
“Holy shit,” Harley whispered, a laugh bubbling out of her. “You’ve got a magic dick.”
“I do.” Diana’s smile was fierce. “Do you wish to taste it?”
Harley didn’t need asking twice. She dropped to her knees, the plush carpet against her skin. She took the length in her hand, feeling its weight, its heat. It was smooth and hard. She licked a broad stripe from base to tip, savoring the salty, clean skin. Then she took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the crown.
Above her, Diana let out a shuddering breath, her hand coming to rest in Harley’s hair. “Yes.”
Nightwing knelt behind Harley, his own cock, long and hard, pressing against the cleft of her ass. His hands slid around her waist, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples as he watched her go down on Wonder Woman. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Fuck, that’s a picture.”
Harley hummed around Diana, taking her deeper. She loved the feel of it, the power of it yielding to her mouth. She sucked hard, using her hand to stroke what she couldn’t take. Diana’s hips began a slow, gentle roll.
“Enough,” Diana finally gasped, pulling Harley up by the hair, not roughly, but insistently. “I want to be inside you.”
They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs. Diana lay back against the pillows, pulling Harley on top of her. “Ride me,” she commanded.
Harley straddled her, reaching behind to guide Diana’s cock to her entrance. She was soaking wet, aching. She lowered herself slowly, the stretch exquisitely intense. Diana was big, filling her completely, a burning, perfect pressure. Harley threw her head back, a ragged cry tearing from her throat as she sank all the way down, her ass meeting Diana’s hips.
“Fuck me,” Harley moaned, already beginning to move.
That’s when she felt Nightwing behind her. He’d coated his length with something slick from the nightstand. He pressed the head of his cock against her other hole, waiting for her rhythm to create an opening. Harley stilled, pushing back against him.
“You want this?” he growled in her ear, one hand gripping her hip.
“Yeah, birdboy. I wanna be your fuckin’ sandwich. Fill me up.”
With a slow, relentless push, he entered her ass. The double penetration was overwhelming, a blinding fulness that stole the air from her lungs. She was split open, utterly claimed. She felt every inch of Diana buried inside her pussy, every inch of Nightwing in her ass. They were still for a moment, a trembling, connected circuit.
Then Diana moved her hips upward. Nightwing pulled back and thrust in. A devastating counter-rhythm began.
Harley was the center of their storm. She braced her hands on Diana’s strong abdomen, riding her as Nightwing fucked into her from behind. The sounds were filthy—the wet slap of skin, Harley’s broken gasps, Nightwing’s grunts, Diana’s low, approving groans.
“You take us so well,” Diana said, her hands gripping Harley’s thighs, her hips pumping up to meet every downward grind.
“Tight little fuckhole,” Nightwing panted, his pace increasing, pounding into her. “Taking a goddess’s cock like a champ.”
The crude words ignited her. She felt owned, used, and exalted all at once. The pleasure built, a coil winding tighter and tighter in her gut. She could feel Diana’s cock throbbing inside her, could feel Nightwing’s balls slapping against her with each deep drive.
“Gonna come,” Harley choked out. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna—”
Diana sat up suddenly, wrapping a powerful arm around Harley’s torso to hold her close, never breaking their connection. She captured Harley’s mouth in a searing kiss as Nightwing hammered into her. The dual stimulation, the crushing fullness, the sheer taboo glory of it shattered her.
Harley came with a scream muffled against Diana’s lips. Her body clamped down around them both, convulsing in raw, endless waves. The climax tore through her, wiping every thought clean.
Feeling her tighten, Nightwing cursed, his rhythm faltering. “Shit, I’m close—”
“Inside her,” Diana ordered, her own breath coming in sharp gusts. “Mark her.”
With a final, deep thrust, Nightwing groaned, his body shuddering as he emptied himself into Harley’s ass, his warmth flooding her already overfilled senses.
Diana followed moments later. Her grip on Harley tightened, a low, powerful sound rumbling from her chest as she pulsed within Harley’s pussy, her release hot and claiming.
They collapsed together, a slick, breathless heap of intertwined limbs. Harley lay spent between them, feeling their come leaking from her, feeling the rapid beat of their hearts against her skin. The neon lights painted stripes across the ceiling.
The noise in her head was gone. Not just quiet, but absent. Replaced by a humming, satiated peace.
Nightwing’s hand found hers, fingers lacing together. Diana’s breath stirred her hair. No one spoke. The city glittered, indifferent, beyond the glass. In the heart of it, in a room of stolen privacy, something fragile and real had been forged in the sweat and the heat and the filth. Harley closed her eyes, and for the first time in memory, simply existed, anchored in the silent, breathing dark between two legends.