Chapter 31: Forbidden Viewing
The heavy velvet curtain smelled of dust and secrets. Harley Quinn held her breath, the fabric brushing against her cheek as she peered through the narrow gap. Across the living room, bathed in the flickering blue light of the television, Harmony was coming undone.
On the screen, two figures moved against each other in a pantomime of passion, but the real show was on the couch. Harmony’s head was thrown back, her brown curls a dark halo against the cushion. One hand was tucked beneath the waistband of her thin cotton shorts, the fabric straining with the frantic rhythm of her fingers. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips, barely audible over the movie’s score and the crackle of the fireplace.
“Fuck,” Harley breathed, the word a hot puff against the curtain. She bit down on her own knuckles, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing heat between her own legs.
Beside her, Poison Ivy was perfectly still, a statue of green-skinned composure. But the vine wrapped around Harley’s ankle told a different story. It twitched, a spasmodic jerk of restraint, thorns pressing just shy of breaking skin. Ivy’s eyes, glowing like embers in the dark, were fixed on Harmony’s arching spine, on the sheen of sweat making her throat gleam.
“She’s so fucking wet for it,” Harley whispered, her voice rough. “Look at her. Jesus, look at her.”
Ivy’s response was a low, vegetative hum that vibrated through the floorboards. A second vine, slender and questing, slithered from the shadowy folds of her robe and crept across the Persian rug toward the couch.
Harmony’s eyes were squeezed shut, her breath hitching. She was lost in it, in the private fantasy playing out behind her eyelids, her hips pumping in a shallow, desperate grind against her own hand. She didn’t see the dark green tendril until it brushed against her bare ankle.
Her eyes flew open. A gasp caught in her throat, half fear, half shock. Her hand stilled.
The vine coiled gently around her calf, a cool, living bracelet. It tugged, just once. An invitation.
Harley couldn’t stand it another second. She exploded from behind the curtain in a riot of motion, a grin splitting her face. “Busted!”
Harmony yelped, scrambling to pull her hand free, her face flushing a deep, mortified crimson. “I—I didn’t—“
“Oh, you did,” Harley crooned, stalking forward, all predatory grace. She dropped to her knees in front of the couch, her hands landing on Harmony’s thighs, pushing them apart. “We saw everything, bunny. Every. Little. Twitch.”
Ivy emerged from the shadows more slowly, a predator of a different kind. The air in the room thickened, heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. She came to stand behind the couch, looking down at Harmony with that same unnerving intensity.
“You don’t have to hide,” Ivy said, her voice like the rustle of leaves. “Not from us.”
Harmony’s chest was heaving, her hazel eyes wide, flicking between them. The vulnerability from the day before was back, raw and exposed, but now it was tangled with a sharp, piercing need. “I was just… the movie…”
“Bullshit,” Harley laughed, leaning forward to nuzzle the inside of Harmony’s thigh. Her breath was hot through the cotton. “You were thinking about us. Weren’t you?”
Harmony’s eyelids fluttered. A tear escaped, tracing a path through her blush. She gave a tiny, jerky nod.
“Tell me,” Harley demanded, her voice dropping to a guttural whisper. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Harmony’s shorts and panties, dragging them down her legs in one rough motion. “Tell me what you were thinking, you dirty little rabbit.”
The cool air hit Harmony’s wetness, making her shudder. Ivy’s hands came down on her shoulders, pinning her in place. Vines crept over the back of the couch, weaving through her curls, anchoring her.
“I… I was thinking about your mouth,” Harmony choked out, her hips giving an involuntary jerk. “And your… your vines. Inside me. At the same time.”
“Fuck yes,” Harley growled. She didn’t hesitate. She buried her face between Harmony’s legs, her tongue a flat, demanding stroke through her soaked folds.
Harmony cried out, her back bowing off the couch. The sensation was electric, overwhelming after her own timid touches. Harley’s tongue was relentless, a rough, clever weapon that licked and probed and suckled without mercy. She fucked her with her tongue, deep and messy, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room, louder than the movie, louder than the fire.
Ivy watched, her fingers tightening on Harmony’s shoulders. A thicker vine, slick with a natural, pearlescent fluid, slid from her wrist and joined the fray. It nudged against Harmony’s entrance, a blunt, insistent pressure alongside Harley’s frantically working tongue.
“Please,” Harmony sobbed, her fingers clawing at the couch cushions. “Oh, god, please.”
The vine pushed inside.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was alive, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic life of its own, stretching her wide. It didn’t just fill her; it moved within her, coiling and uncoiling, seeking out every secret, sensitive spot. Meanwhile, Harley’s tongue found her clit, circling it with furious, focused attention.
“You like that, you little slut?” Harley mumbled against her, her words muffled by flesh. “You like being stuffed full? My tongue and Red’s plants? You’re so fucking greedy for it.”
Harmony couldn’t form words. Her world had narrowed to the twin points of devastating sensation—the rough, human friction on her clit and the deep, unnatural undulation inside her cunt. She was coming apart, her moans turning into ragged screams that were swallowed by the room.
Ivy leaned down, her lips against Harmony’s ear. “Let go,” she commanded, her voice a resonant vibration that went straight to Harmony’s core. “Come for us.”
It was too much. The order, the sensations, the sheer overwhelming reality of them—Harley’s chaotic devotion and Ivy’s terrifying control—shattered her. A raw, broken scream tore from her throat as her orgasm ripped through her, a seismic wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Her body seized, convulsing against the couch, her cunt clamping down around the invading vine in a series of violent spasms.
Harley rode it out, lapping at her, drinking her in, until Harmony was a trembling, oversensitive wreck, pushing weakly at her head.
“Sensitive,” Harmony whimpered.
Harley pulled back, her chin glistening. She grinned, wild and triumphant. “That’s my girl.”
The vine withdrew slowly, making Harmony gasp at the sudden emptiness. But before the feeling of loss could register, Ivy was moving. She rounded the couch, her gaze locked on Harley. There was a dark, possessive hunger in her eyes now.
“My turn,” Ivy said, her voice low.
She grabbed the front of Harley’s tank top and ripped it, the sound of tearing cotton stark in the room. She pushed Harley down onto the rug in front of the fire, the flames casting dancing shadows across their skin.
“You think you’re in charge?” Ivy purred, kneeling over her, a knee on either side of Harley’s hips. “You think you get to make all the messes?”
Harley’s bravado faltered for a split second, a flicker of genuine submission in her blue eyes. “Red, I—“
Ivy slapped her. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it was sharp, decisive. The sound echoed. Harley’s head snapped to the side, a red handprint blooming on her fair cheek. A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah. Okay.”
Harmony watched, breathless, from the couch, her body still humming, her limbs like jelly. She saw Ivy’s vines snake out, wrapping around Harley’s wrists and ankles, pulling her limbs wide, pinning her to the floor in a starfish. She was completely exposed, utterly vulnerable.
Ivy lowered her head, her mouth finding Harley’s breast, her teeth closing around a nipple through the fabric of her torn shirt. Harley cried out, a strangled, desperate sound.
“You watch,” Ivy commanded Harmony without looking up, her mouth busy on Harley’s skin. “You see what happens to greedy girls who can’t wait their turn.”
Ivy’s hand slid down Harley’s stomach, into her shorts. Harley bucked against the restraints, a string of filthy, pleading curses pouring from her lips. “Fuck, Red, please, just fuck me, please—“
Ivy withdrew her hand, slick with Harley’s arousal, and smeared it across her own mouth. Then she positioned herself over Harley’s face. “Clean me up.”
With a guttural sound of need, Harley strained against the vines, her tongue darting out to lap at Ivy’s cunt. Ivy groaned, her head falling back, her hips beginning a slow, grinding rhythm against Harley’s mouth.
The scene was the most visceral, raw thing Harmony had ever witnessed. The power, the surrender, the sheer animal hunger. It ignited something in her own spent body, a fresh, aching throb of desire. She slid off the couch, her legs barely holding her, and crawled toward them on the rug.
She didn’t ask. She just pressed herself against Ivy’s back, her hands sliding around to cup Ivy’s breasts, her mouth finding the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. Ivy shuddered, her movements on Harley’s face becoming more frantic.
“That’s it,” Ivy gasped. “Both of you. Don’t stop.”
Harmony’s hands roamed lower, over Ivy’s stomach, into the junction of her thighs, where she was wet and hot and grinding against Harley’s face. She slid two fingers inside Ivy from behind, matching the rhythm of Harley’s tongue.
It was a feedback loop of pleasure, a circuit closing. Harley’s moans vibrated through Ivy, Harmony’s fingers curled into Ivy’s core, and Ivy’s own climax, when it broke, was a silent, shuddering convulsion that seemed to suck all the air from the room. She collapsed forward, catching herself on her hands above Harley’s head.
For a moment, the only sounds were the crackling fire and their ragged breathing.
Then, Harley, still pinned and glistening with Ivy’s release, let out a shaky laugh. “Well, shit. That was a fucking religious experience.”
Ivy slowly, tenderly, retracted her vines. Harley brought her freed hands up, wrapping them around Ivy’s back, holding her close.
Harmony curled into Ivy’s side, her head on Ivy’s shoulder, one hand resting on Harley’s hip. They were a tangle of limbs and sweat and spent passion on the rug, the fire warming their skin.
None of them spoke. The movie had ended, leaving the room in silence except for the eternal sigh of the ocean. The emptiness that had haunted Harmony was gone, not just filled, but obliterated. In its place was a profound, bone-deep certainty. This was her wiring. This chaotic, messy, brutal love was her surge protector. And as she lay there, sandwiched between them, she knew with a clarity that felt like fate that she would burn the whole world down before she let anyone take it from her.