MY MELANCHOLY IS HOOFED.

red dead redemption 2. / accepting.

"no."

it's an inconsequential answer that doesn't mean much, because in the end, someone lies, leaves. betrays. everyone's a defector in one way or another, and he's nothing if not proactive.

he looks out the window pensively. no matter where he is, the metropolis sun seems to seep into every room. it warms his skin through the high windows of lana's office. the grays in his hair are silver in the light when he looks back at her, tension in his jaw relenting.

          “I’m…” It isn’t even that he doesn’t want Bruce to know – the opposite, even. He’d love to be open about every piece of himself, even the parts he’s ashamed of and the ones he hates. What he can’t stomach is the risk of him thinking differently of him, and so he has to trust that he won’t.

          “Okay, look.” He takes a breath and a pause. “I’ve been having some… problems. Mentally. I mean, I always have, it’s just… gotten worse lately.“ He’d like to tell him more, go into detail, but it’s hard just to tell him, much less lay it all out at once.

          “I’m getting help, before you ask. I have been for years. You can guess it’s not something I really tell people about. People don’t usually understand.”

“i understand.” 

there’s something harvey’s not telling him. every instinct in him wants to know what it is and, if harvey doesn’t give it to him willingly, he knows he has the resources to find it, just like everything else. but harvey isn’t an objective. he isn’t a mission. 

so he lets his hand curl around harvey’s wrist. the contact feels indulgent.

@vespectral​ said: “ think about what you’re doing. ”

the warning is husky in his voice. he’s staring her down with those white lenses, and she gets why she should be afraid. not to mention a little turned on, oh boy! but the truth is that harley ain’t gonna be on no short leash. not anymore. even though batsy is cute and all, and he does know how to tr(EAT) a lady right, she just ain’t in the business of being anyone’s accomplice. been there, done that, cried over it! 

❛ awww batsy, you’re real romantic! you know that? ❜ she fixes a devilish smile on her ruby lips and hits bruce’s shoulder with hers. like a doll with a button, her mouth quickly shifts into a frown. she’s playfully angry, but it’s very real how she cuts into his personal space. ❛ ya think that just because i’ve let’cha fuck me that i’m gonna listen? cute. ❜ 

“no. i don’t think you’d listen to anyone.” 

he’d anticipated this - harley throwing their dalliance in his face at the first opportunity she got. it doesn’t make the mention of it jar him any less, though he hasn’t quite felt as himself as he had the night they’d slept together. 

sex means little to him, not as much as it should especially when it comes to harley quinn, so it’s not exactly intimate entitlement that makes him grip her bicep to steel her in. she could throw him off, if she wanted to - he purposely doesn’t grip her that hard. 

it’s how she likes it. how his kiss feels searing, more like a punishment than a reward. how his hand is like a shackle on her wrist, awkwardly bending the limb at her back. there’s a gasp of hurt settling in her throat that is soon removed by a sharp moan. because this is how she likes it. sex and passion are at least a little bit entwined with hatred and resentment. those are the secret ingredients that make the whole cake fun to eat! 

so, she accepts the kiss eagerly, and she even allows for the batman to think he’s in control, to think he’s the one driving this sailboat. that’s perhaps the only predictable thing about him, how he seemingly craves being the one who turns the keys to ignite the damn thing. 

what he may or may not know about her is that harley is resourceful. she’s entwining her tongue with his at the same time she’s using his armored body to lift herself up and wrap her legs around his beefy waist, all while he’s got her hands tied, very literally, behind her back. the move inspires a deep burning to ignite in her thighs, and she locks her ankles behind his back. 

gotcha! she wants to proclaim. but even harley knows when to shut the fuck up and let the moment happen. 

 instead of saying a damn thing, she uses that free hand of hers to tear the thin, shiny fabric of her dress, for no other reason then to show off the fact that she’d decided to forgo panties that morning. as if she’d been anticipating this. 

but of course she can’t shut the fuck up forever. staring directly at bruce, her face contorts in order to release the growl deep in her throat. it’s fitting. sometimes she feels more animal than human. 

the guilt he anticipates for indulging in whatever the fuck this is doesn’t stab at him in the moments following this collision together. it doesn’t stab at him when he grips at her hip for leverage, or when he bites at her lip, or when he grunts at the tightening of her pale long legs around him. it should worry him, shouldn’t it? 

it does anything but. he locks eyes on her, knows she’ll be able to read the look in his eyes despite the white lenses that obscure them from view as they narrow, glancing down at the space between them as he takes in the sight of her. 

the hand bracing her hip moves between them, still gloved and all, and presses a finger inside of her without preamble, not gently, either. thumb finding her clit, he pulls his face back to watch the way her face changes as he works her open. 

          It’s good to hear him say that, even if he can’t find the words right now to express it. All of his other relationships had been long ruined, and while he’s learned to let go of his resentment, he hadn’t quite been released from his worry and sadness. Even if Bruce is all he has left, even if only in a small way, he could be happy with that.

          “Weird. I haven’t been free…” in any sense of the word, “in, what, over twenty years? I don’t really know what to do with myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great,” but, it comes with a brand new set of problems that he couldn’t prepare himself for, no matter how much he’d anticipated them.

          He takes a breath, as if he’s about to say something else, then pauses, tapping a finger on the arm of his chair. “I didn’t think you’d wanna see me. I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna call you or anyone else first.”

“i didn’t realize i’d want to see you either.” 

it’s not actually meant to be as biting as it sounds, but he’s sure that harvey can stand a little heat - all things considered, anyway. he stands at his full height, gripping the edge of his desk as the latest flare-up of bursitis in his hip stabs at him in protest after sitting for so long. 

he’s so goddamn old.

speaking through a grimace, bruce adds, “as i’m sure you know, most of the city despises you. you’d probably be better off if you just left.”

there’s a but there. he looks at harvey expectantly. 

          All those thoughts of moving slowly rush out of his head when Bruce’s lips touch Harvey’s skin and his hand tugs at his pants. He can’t help an involuntary sigh at the contact, and consequently has likely betrayed some of his thoughts. Thankfully, he doubts Bruce will mind, as he finds his own hand inching closer to Bruce’s inner thigh.

          Still, he listens intently to his words, some of that lost composure returning. “That’s, uh… I should probably be too embarrassed to admit this, but that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Normally, he would be embarrassed – he is, to a degree, but he finds himself more willing to share those things he’s ashamed of with him, to the point it almost comes naturally.

          “But I want you to know, you’re not just an exception, you – you’re something else entirely. You’re really special to me.”

leave it to harvey to make this so sweet, when bruce had fully expected him to rebuke him for this, for wanting this, wanting him. it’s almost enough to make bruce ache and smart, because of course, he can’t have harvey the way he wants. to make it worse, it’s not even the world’s fault, it’s his own. this is a good enough victory, though, that he tries to cast that aside.

“you’re special to me too,” is easier to let go than he thought it would be. he doesn’t cheapen it with undoing harvey’s belt buckle, not yet, though his thumb strokes gently over his hip as if in promise, his other hand tipping harvey’s face to tip his forehead into his. the contact is dizzyingly intimate, more intimacy than all of the empty hook-ups and one-night-stands he uses to mask himself to the world. “harvey - i can’t tell you how - happy i am. i haven’t been, in a long time. as long as i can remember. i should be embarrassed to admit that myself, but i’m not. don’t be embarrassed about anything with me.”

which is a good segue into straddling harvey’s waist with long legs, surprisingly easier than he thought it’d be. harvey’s always been that much bigger than him, naturally broader and a head taller. he can’t say he hasn’t thought about it. his hands drag down harvey’s chest, fully indulging at this point as his lips find their way to the corner of his mouth. that’s when his fingers hook into harvey’s belt buckle. 

          He laughs a bit, though he knows there are plenty of people who have been interested in him for just that. His self esteem is low enough for him to believe at times that that is the only reason anyone would want him around, but he knows that was never the case with Bruce.

          Harvey pulls his hand away, unsure if the reaction was out of surprise or, something else. Instead, it ends up settling on Bruce’s thigh, dangerously close to his hip.

          “I always assume rich people are pricks. No offense.” By now, Bruce is pretty familiar with Harvey’s opinion on the wealthy, and it’s not generally favorable. Bruce is an exception to the rule, a bizarre outlier he’d never expected to encounter.

          “But you’re not like that. You’re not like any of those leeches at the fundraisers. You’re good. You actually care about things, about other people, instead of just looking to use them to get ahead. I could tell you actually wanna help, and… I love that about you.”

black eyes fix on harvey’s fingers at his hip. he wants him to touch him, wants to touch him. he hadn’t come here with any of this in mind, had come here fully braced for rejection, but now that he has harvey he has so much in mind that it’s hard to know what to do, especially with his own hands. it’s even harder, with his own secrets that he longs to tell harvey, but the optimism of what’s to come replaces whatever dread that precedes it, that came with the concerned look in harvey’s eyes as soon as his fingers brushed against the gnarly bruises under his shirt.

for now he cups harvey’s face with his hand, leaning in to kiss his mouth but starts to pepper kisses from his corner of his mouth to his jaw. “it helps that you inspire me to do better, i think.” 

in a silent request that he’s ashamed to admit is largely instinctive, the fingers of his other hand hook into a belt loop.