#rickquinn

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Harley almost always wants sex after she has nightmares—and at first Rick hadn’t understood why. She’d bashfully explained that she finds sex healing and it’s how she feels closest to him. After that it’s been easy to indulge her every whim.

“Shh, Harls, I got you, you’re safe,” he murmurs in her ear as her heartbeat gradually slows down. He hugs her tightly and kisses her hair, letting her know he’s right there and not going anywhere.

It’s not surprising when she asks for a kiss, which quickly leads to more.

His kisses move downward as he slides a hand up her shirt to caress her stomach. His fingers pay extra attention to that god awful brand that Joker had given her. He still wants to shoot that bastard right between the eyes.

She gasps and arches her back into the contact. He absolutely despises the term “making love” but he can’t help but admit that it certainly describes what’s happening currently. This isn’t down and dirty fucking. It’s intimate, and soft, and healing—for both of them if he’s being honest.

He slips her shirt over her head and then starts pressing kisses down her chest—and then lower. He pauses when he gets to the waistband of her panties. “Still with me, Harls?” he asks, with a kiss to her stomach.

She nods frantically. “Keep goin’! Please!”

He slips her panties down her legs and proceeds to trail kisses up her legs, giving her inner thigh a little nip that has her gasping. He can’t help but smirk.

He moans at the first taste of her on his tongue and revels in the gasp she lets out at the sensation. He quickly gets to work making her come on his tongue—which isn’t hard to accomplish.

He’s about to try two for two when she’s yanking on his hair. He takes the hint and kisses his way back up to her mouth. She moans at the taste of herself on his lips.

“Need ya inside of me, right the fuck now,” she pants in his ear—and he happily obliges.

He manages to make her come twice on his cock before he lets himself tumble over the edge with her. He makes a move to roll off of her so he doesn’t crush her but she clamps her arms and legs around him tightly—signaling that she wants what she’s dubbed “weighted blanket cuddles”.

He carefully presses her into the mattress with his full weight and she sighs. She absolutely adores weighted blanket cuddles. He’s asked her before if she can even breathe when he’s laying on top of her like this and her response had been a cheerful, “Nope, not really! But don’t ya dare stop!”

He’s finding that it’s very difficult to deny her of anything. He’ll follow her anywhere and do whatever he possibly can to keep her smiling.

She scratches at his scalp gently as her breathing evens out. He leans into the contact and kisses her collarbone.

Eventually he does move but he makes sure to keep holding her as he does, so she ends up right on top of him—right where she wants to be.

“Think you can sleep now, Harls?”

“Yeah,” she sighs contently. “I love ya, baby.”

“I love you too, Harls,” he replies with a kiss to the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”

The nightmare doesn’t come back.

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Harley has a hard time keeping her hands to herself whenever she sees Rick without a shirt on. She can’t help it—she has a thing for tattoos.

She stumbles into the kitchen around ten to see him already busy making himself coffee. All he’s wearing is a pair of plaid pajama pants—leaving his back and gorgeous arms on full display.

She sneaks up behind him and wraps her arms around his torso—rolling up on her toes so she can playfully bite his shoulder. He chuckles and grabs her hand. “Mornin’, Harls.”

He turns around to face her and leans down to give her a gentle kiss. She quickly deepens it. She really can’t help it—she pretty much wants him 24/7. Luckily the feeling is mutual.

He turns them around to hoist her onto the counter without breaking the kiss. She wraps her legs around him and gasps as his kisses move downward. He playfully nips at that spot that always drives her insane as his hand slides under her shirt to caress her stomach. She’s come a long way since the first time they did something like this. Her Joker scars are still a sore spot but she no longer gets hung up on Rick seeing them.

She tilts her head to give him a better angle as his hand moves up to grasp her breast.

“Want some coffee?” he asks, already knowing what her answer is.

“Maybe later. Right now I need ya to fuck me,” she manages to get out.

“Yes ma’am,” he responds, moving his hands to the waistband of her underwear so he can peel them off of her.

He doesn’t fuck her on the kitchen counter though. Instead, he makes sure he has a good grip on her before carrying her to the living room. He manages to get to the couch without dropping her or tripping over the coffee table. She crashes her lips back into his as her hands fumble with the waistband of his pants. He moans as she grabs his cock and she revels in it—the feeling of having control over him like this is addicting.

She manages to pull him free and wastes no time in sinking down onto his cock with a moan. He grabs her hips hard enough to leave bruises and guides her movements—and it’s not long before they’re careening over the edge together.

She collapses into him—both of them breathing hard. He strokes her back gently as they slowly pull themselves together again. Once she feels coherent enough to speak she picks her head up and tells him, “Mornin’, baby!”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead. “Ready for that coffee now?”

“And waffles!”

She reluctantly gets off his lap and lets him lead her back into the kitchen. He gets to work getting all the ingredients for waffles out while pouring coffee and milk into her favorite mug. She hops up onto the counter and watches him happily as she sips her coffee—he makes it just right every time.

She can’t enough of the sheer domesticity of her life now. Before Rick the idea of that felt unattainable. It was certainly never something Joker could’ve given her.

“I can feel you starin’ at me, Harls.” Rick comments, as he mixes the waffle batter.

“Can ya blame me?” she teases back.

He doesn’t respond verbally but she sees the small smile on his face.

“I just really really love ya,” she tells him.

He pauses what he’s doing and turns to face her, stepping in between her legs to get as close as possible. “Love you too, Harls.”

Her heart skips a beat whenever she hears him say that. She’s the luckiest gal in the world. She feels safe and legitimately happy for the first time in her life and she can’t get enough of that feeling.

She wraps her arms and legs around him tightly and just revels in the feeling of being wrapped up in his presence.

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Sometimes they don’t even make it to the bedroom. Sometimes after a night out they’re a little drunk, a lot horny, and very very in love. And like most things you love, you surround yourself with them, or… pin them to the wall.

Harley pounces on him the second they make it through the door—legs going around his waist. He presses her against the nearest wall and nips at her throat as his hands fumble with the waistband of her shorts. She whines as his hand slips into her underwear to graze against her clit and he moans against her neck when he feels just how wet she is.

“Fuck me!” she pants in his ear. “Please!”

His hand reluctantly retreats and he sets her down so he can get her out of her shorts and panties as quickly as possible. She yanks his shirt off and he groans at the feeling of her nails against his chest.

He lifts her back up and lines them up before thrusting into her wet heat. Both of them moan at the sensation.

He stills for a moment to let her adjust but she’s quickly urging him to move—and he happily complies.

His hand slips down her chest to the bundle of nerves between her legs and she bites his lip—hard—to suppress the scream she wants to let out—the last thing they need is another noise complaint.

It’s not long before she’s coming on his cock and he’s quick to fall right after her.

She’s completely boneless and he grips her tighter to make sure she doesn’t fall.

“Have I told ya lately that I love ya,” she manages to get out as she gets her breathing under control.

He grins. “Does this morning count?”

He pulls out of her reluctantly and makes a move to set her back down but she clamps her legs and arms around him tighter in response. He gets the hint and makes sure he has a good grip on her before walking them to the bedroom.

He sets her down on the bed gently and pulls her shirt over her head. “Think you got one more in you, Harls?” he asks with a wicked grin.

She moans and lays back against the pillows as he crawls on top of her.

The next round is slow and gentle.

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Sometimes the desire hits at the most inconvenient times. Like when they’re in front of other people.

In a very rare occurrence, Rick is out and about with Harley, Ivy, and Selina. They’re in an old rundown dive bar that has the best deals on drinks and the girls are about three rounds of mixed drinks deep.

He lets his mind wander as he watches the baseball game playing on the bar TV and half listens to the women chitchatting—his role here is just to be Harley’s ride home honestly. He has his hand on her thigh—nothing sexual about it, that’s just where he puts his hand when they’re sitting next to each other.

He rubs soothing circles with his thumb and without thinking about it inches his hand higher. Harley doesn’t pause in her storytelling but does tense up under his touch. He makes a move to pull his hand back but she quickly claps her hand over his to keep him right where he is. Oh, now he gets it.

He takes a sip of his beer to hide his smirk and goes to work seeing what kind of reaction he can get out of her without anyone noticing.

“Um, I think we gotta go!” she announces loudly, just before his hand reaches her panties under her dress.

She says her goodbyes quickly and then yanks him out the door and to the truck parked down the street. Once they’re inside she grabs him by the shirt collar to pull him closer so she can crash her lips into his.

“You,” she says, “are a god damn menace.”

He chuckles. “Who was it that was encouraging me, sweetheart?”

“Take me home, right the fuck now, Colonel.”

They make it home in record time but don’t make it to their apartment. As soon as he has the truck in park, Harley is launching herself over the center console and into his lap. She kisses him hard and claws at his belt buckle. He laughs at the whine she lets out when she can’t figure it out.

He pushes her hands out of the way and undoes his own belt before she can scream in frustration and attract unwanted attention.

“This what you want, Harls?” he teases, as his hands crawl up her back.

She nods frantically and presses desperate kisses up his neck and to his ear. “Fuck me, please!”

“Well since you asked nicely…”

He reaches under her dress to find that she’d discarded her panties somewhere on the drive home. She’s practically dripping for him. He curses under his breath and hurries to undo the button and zipper on his jeans.

He’s inside her in the next fifteen seconds and they moan in unison at the sensation. She rides him—hard and fast—and with one swipe of his thumb against her clit she’s tumbling over the edge with him not far behind.

“I love ya, so much,” she says in a daze once she’s coherent enough to speak.

He chuckles. “Love you too, Harls. Now let’s get upstairs.”

She’s completely boneless and insists on being carried upstairs—which he does happily. He would go to the ends of the earth for Harley Quinn and still has trouble believing she’s actually his. She could’ve chosen anyone she wanted and chose his broken, traumatized ass.

She stirs in his hold and nuzzles her nose into his neck. “Mmm, we almost home, baby?” she asks sleepily.

“Almost there, Harls,” he responds with a quiet laugh.

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Contrary to what most people probably think, Rick and Harley aren’t always fucking like rabbits. A lot of times all they do is cuddle—when she’s nursing a hangover, when he’s dealing with a migraine, when they’re too busy paying attention to the cheesy horror movies they’re watching. These moments are some of Harley’s favorites.

There’s no Waller, no bomb in her neck—just her and Rick, sharing an apartment in the bad part of town with a shower that leaks. She never thought she’d get this way back when she first admitted she had feelings for him.

Sure, the sex is fantastic, but more than anything she just loves the fact that she gets to be with him.

He pauses in his ranting about all the inaccuracies in the war movie they just watched once he realizes she’s staring at him with what she’s sure is the dopiest grin ever. “You okay, Harls?”

“I just really love ya. I hope ya know that.”

He gives her a soft smile that makes her heart skip a beat. “I love you too, Harls.”

“I think I just walked in on someone screwin’ a goat.”

To say he’s surprised to see Harley Quinn standing in the doorway of his shabby, middle-of-nowhere motel, in shredded jean shorts and heart-rimmed sunglasses, would be a serious fucking understatement. And it’s definitely not because it’s one o’clock in the goddamn morning and the sun went down hours ago.

“How the hell did you find me?”

The blonde shrugs, picking at a long thread on her jacket. “I know people.”

“Better people than mine, apparently,” Rick rasps, and he runs a hand through damp hair. Thankfully he’d managed to trade in the towel for sweatpants before she’d started pounding on the door. “So much for flying under Waller’s radar.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Harley says, and the sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose when she dips her head to shoot him a devilish look, single brow raising, “I promise she don’t know I’m here.” Suddenly there’s a hand in his face and she’s wiggling her right pinkie finger as if that'll prove anything.

She taps one foot against the carpeted floor then, toe of her boot crossing the threshold, and Rick has decided she reminds him of a vampire; one covered in sparkles and tattoos with a pink, fluffy duffle-bag dangling from her fingertips, but a bloodsucker all the same. “Ya gonna invite a girl in or what?”

“You plan on telling me what you’re doin’ here first?” he asks, but then he’s moving out of the way so she can duck under his arm and enter. Harley breezes past him, tossing her bag somewhere across the room, and she plops herself down into the old, worn leather seat by the television. There’s some Spanish soap opera playing to itself on the screen.

“Mi casa es su casa… and all that.” Flag grumbles, pulling the door to a close behind her—but not before shooting a quick look out over her shoulder towards the parking lot. He locks it, then turns and presses his back up against it, hands on his hips.

“You can stop looking so constipated, Flag, I told ‘ya. I’m off the grid myself these days.” She taps the side of her neck twice. “The old dragon lady ain’t coming for either of us.”

“Right.” A nod, then, “Dubois told me about that.” The deal. The squad forcing Waller to meet them halfway and offer freedom in exchange for silence.

(He hadn’t exactly been shocked to find out Dubois was still in possession of the drive. It was a smart move; not the best one, or the right one, and it was a far cry from the one Rick had fucking died trying to pull, but not everybody lived by a code of honor. He couldn’t blame the rest of the team for following suit.)

“Milton knew?! He knew where you were this whole time and didn’t tell me? That mother fucka!” She grits her teeth, nails strumming atop the television cabinet.

(He doesn’t ask about Milton. It’d probably be a long, convoluted story and he’s not exactly in the mood for one of Harley Quinn and her gift of gab. Not that he has much of a choice right now...)

“Now you wanna tell me what you’re doin’ here?”

Ignoring him, Harley takes in her surroundings, chewed-end of her plastic sunglasses between her teeth as she eyes the dingy room. It’s cramped for sure, dull magnolia paint is chipping off the walls, and there’s a queen-sized bed with crumpled up grey sheets and three flat pillows, a sign of recent use. Odd number, Harley notes. Would four kill them?

The little washroom is beside the dresser, and there’s a towel hanging from the bathroom doorknob, wet footprints still clear on the tiled floor. It’s only then that she looks up and realizes he’s shirtless. Oh.

“This place got food? I could so do with a burrito right about now.”

(A place this rundown probably doesn’t even have a cleaning crew, much less any other kind of service. Although, there was half a pack of mints beside the sink when Rick first rented the room so does that count?)

(He’s not ashamed to say he finished them off.)

“I got whiskey and half an eggroll, that do ‘ya?” Rick quips, and there’s a smirk starting on his lips.

He’s still waiting for an explanation as to why the hell she’s here, how the hell she’s here, and what the fuck she thinks she’s doing by checking up on him in the first place. He’s supposed to be laying low—supposed to be dead—and she’s supposed to be free. Or at least as free as someone like her can get, which probably isn’t very free at all.

But there’s something off about her whole demeanor, something decidedly un-Harley, and the man can’t help but feel like he’s just waiting for something. Whether it’s one of Waller’s goons bursting through the door, or Harley herself finishing the job or, hell, Harley breaking down (and God, he hopes it’s not that), he’s not sure. He’s not great with emotions. And she’s without a doubt the most expressive person he’s ever had the (dis)pleasure of knowing.

“Hi, Harley. You know, I’m doing pretty good after havin’ my heart practically ripped apart by a fuckin’ toilet seat. How ‘bout you?” She lowers her voice as if to match the bass in his own and goddamnit he finds it charming.

(He doesn’t have the heart to correct her.)

“You know, a little heads-up that you weren’t DOA might’ve been nice, Colonel.”

“Wasn’t exactly high on my priority list,” he informs her, voice dipping as he nods, slow. “Staying alive kinda won that round. You know, ‘cause of the shit jammed in my chest.”

“They said it came out the other side, ‘ya know. My guys. Wanted to see for myself.” She stands up then and walks to him until she’s about four inches away from his face, taking in the long gash above when his heart lies. “I’m thinkin’ they lied though because that don’t look too deep to me.”

“Yep. Not much to see.” He shrugs, heavy as though there’s weight on his shoulders, casting a glance down at his chest when she raises a hand. She doesn’t touch him; just lets her fingers dance in the air above the skin. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

The scar runs right down the middle of his chest. From left collarbone to navel; a rushed surgery in a (probably, totally) sketchy makeshift hospital. It’s not a good look. But she’s seen worse. “It’s healin’ just fine. I’m getting plenty of fluids and I’m takin’ my meds. Think you can be on your way now you’ve done your check-up.”

“I thought you died.”

“False alarm.”

“You died,” Harley repeats, and there’s an edge to her voice Rick doesn’t recognize. She moves from one foot onto the other, swaying back and forth on her heels, eyes unmoving from off of his chest. “And I didn’t even get a goodbye out of it.”

“Was I…” he pauses, considers the look on her face for a moment. “Apologies.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“The fuck you want me to do? Go back in time and tell him to wait so you can make it about you first?”

“Just think it’s kinda rude for one of my friends to go off and die and leave me alone like that.”

“Tad dramatic, don’t you think?” Rick asks before remembering who he’s dealing with. Harley Quinn is theatrical and melodramatic and showy. Of course, she’d turn this into a whole fucking thing. “You’re a grown ass woman with a criminal record and probably a couple dozen bounties on your head, I think you can handle getting on a plane without a handler.”

She stops swaying. But the look on her face is ice cold and calculating and if he didn’t know her any better, he might be slightly terrified. So this is the infamous killer queen, huh? She wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe once upon a time, a few years back, but not now. Not after… “You’re supposed to be the leader.”

“You had Dubois.”

“But not you. And I know Milton’s a fine leader an’ all, but he’s not exactly a great conversationalist. Or much of a hugger.”

“I ain’t either.”

“But you humour me. ‘Ya put the effort in, Flag.” The blonde pokes his chest, manicured and pale fingernail against his sternum, skin hot to the touch. “And no one else is gonna do that for me, so yeah, I’m kinda mad that you went and got your heart broken into little tiny pieces and didn’t think to let me know you weren’t buried under a fuckload of concrete. Not very friendly of you.”

“And since when are we friends?”

There’s a silence then, and now he’s reconsidering not showing any signs of fear. He’s in no position to fight her. Harley is… Well, one kick and it’d be lights out for Flag.

(Since Waller forced her to take swimming lessons with a mean, ‘It’s a basic life skill, Ms. Quinn. No one else is going to have your back out there'  and he made sure he was her assigned instructor. Even brought her a cute two-tone bathing suit that wasn’t Belle Reve-approved and all. Since everyone in Gotham decided they wanted Harley Quinn six feet under and he let her crash on his couch that one time—those three times—and he made her bacon and eggs in the morning. And he didn’t even get mad when she got ketchup all over his carpet. Since she got drunk that second time and kissed him out of loneliness and he never held it against her.)

“Whatever,” she backs away from him with a huff, but her eyes are still dark; a sure sign that she’s not happy. “I’m starving.”

“There’s a place around the corner.”

“Aces,” she grins, then picks up a discarded shirt from the foot of the bed and tosses it to him.

    There’s no mention of her getting her own room. It goes unspoken: she’ll be staying here with him.

“Not sayin’ this is better than sex, but it’s definitely better than a lot of the sex I’ve had lately.”

“Good for you,” Rick retorts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glances around the restaurant. There’s only one other patron in there aside from them, and the chef is off somewhere in the back. He glances down at his watch, then fists the napkin in his other hand.

“Am I keeping you up?” Harley jests, curling her legs up beneath her on the stool. It squeaks under her weight, one of the metal legs unevenly balanced on the patterned tiles. “Got plans I’m disruptin’?” She clicks her tongue, a devilish grin in full swing.

“Nope. Just rest ‘n recuperation, right, Doc? That your diagnosis?”

“Prognosis,” she corrects him, then drops the rest of her tinfoil-wrapped burrito onto the little round table, a thin layer of grime coating the surface. “And yes,” Harley says with a light nod,  putting on her best matter-of-factly voice. She feigns pushing glasses up her nose, head tipping back to look down at him for a change. He’s leaning against the table with his forearms crossed, tanned skin pressing against the greasy tabletop as his sharp chin rests on a curved wrist. “Sleep and that bottle of bourbon my little eye spied hiding under ‘ya bed will do the trick just fine, Colonel,” she says cheerily.

He nods, only half-listening. “Can’t wait.”

“You could smile every once in a while, ‘ya know. I came all the way to Ti-fuckin’-juana to make sure you weren’t rotting away and letting yourself go in some ol’ shitshack. Would a little appreciation for the thought go amiss?”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the man tells her, leaning back in his chair. He clasps both hands in his lap. “Matter of fact, I’m still wondering why you did. What’s the deal, you get bored running from the feds for a change? Didn’t think you tired so easily.”

“What if I just missed you, huh? ‘Ya consider that possibility, soldier?” She pushes her hands out, her chair scraping back against the floor again. Harley picks up the rest of her food, casting him a dark look. “You’re no fun.”

“Never have been, Harley, that shouldn’t be news.” He follows after her, rushing to keep the door from swinging back in his face when she exits the restaurant in what he can only assume is anger. Or maybe she’s just messing with him; truthfully, it’s hard to tell sometimes. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself, you know.”

“I am a delight,” she says, whipping around to face him, palm flat against her chest. The many rings on her fingers tap against her necklaces, and she stares up at him with furrowed brows. “Everybody loves me.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true, either.”

“OK, well not everybody hates me, how’s about that?” The scowl on her face turns into a smile then, teeth-baring and wicked. Her eyes are blown wide like saucers, and the crimson lipstick on her mouth suddenly becomes the only thing Rick can focus on that isn’t… Doesn’t...  Deranged, he thinks.

Harley Quinn is an absolute basket case and he must be out of his fucking mind for finding her so damn… what? Fascinating? It’s as close as he can get to thinking of a word to describe her that isn’t derogatory. She’s a character and a half, a whole clown car full of crazy jam-packed into one tatted and made-up doll of a woman, but God help him if he doesn’t kind of want to--

“That’s more like it.” She’s probably hard to love, but she’s not easy to hate.

Rick smiles back, finally, then reaches out a hand—tentatively. She’s still her and he’s never a hundred percent certain she won’t slit his throat with a Hello Kitty keyring or something—and wiggles long fingers. “Wanna get drunk and watch god awful late-night television?” He leans down; not too close, not close enough for her to grab, and adds, “Friend?”

Whatever that thing was he’d been waiting for, that unidentifiable something he’d felt looming over them since she showed up in his doorway an hour ago, looking somehow both tired and elated, finally revealed itself; in the form of tears in Harley’s eyes and a shaky hand accepting his.

She nodded and excitedly said ‘yes!’ and then he realized all she’d been after was a friend; the comfort of knowing that there was someone in the world who wasn’t out to get her, who had nothing to gain by being good to her.

And she’d almost lost that. Lost him.