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“Harley — stop it.”
“Mm — yeah, make me stop.”
“No, seriously. Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop… kissing like that.”
“Kissing like… what?”
“You’re kissing too — it’s too.”
“It’s too what?”
“Just stop kissing like that.’
“Like what?! That’s how I kiss!”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“I literally don’t. What’s wrong with how I kiss?”
“It’s too romantic.”
“…What? What do you mean it’s too romantic?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Mmm. I don’t though.”
“It’s just — ugh! You KNOW you’re doing it. Cut it out.”
“No, I don’t know that I’m ‘kissing too romantically’. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“Don’t make me explain something that I shouldn’t have to explain.”
“Why not? I have literally no idea what you’re talking about, because it is an insane thing to say. ”
“You know what? Forget it. Just — let’s just go back to —“
“Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Mm.. Okay.”
…
“Sorry. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Oh my god. Just — forget it. You were right.”
“No, I wasn’t right — I had no idea what you were talking about. What do you MEAN, ‘too romantic’?”
“Please just drop it.”
“Like — is it too much tongue? ”
“Harley. Come on —“
“Not enough tongue?”
“God — no, just —“
“Am I drooling on you?”
“No! Okay, you know what — It’s your face.”
“My face?!”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What’s wrong with the faces I make?”
“There’s nothing wrong with them — it’s just, context.“
“What do you mean, context?!”
“Like… the way you look at me… and what we’re doing…”
“You don’t like the faces that I make when you’re inside me?”
“Stop it! It’s not a bad face — it’s just —“
“You just hate it and want me to stop?”
“No! I mean, yes! But —“
“Because you hate the faces I make when we’re having sex?”
“I don’t hate them, I like them, I just —“
“Why did you even tell me this?”
“You asked!”
“Whatever, I like… didn’t need to know that.”
“You were the one who couldn’t stop thinking about it!”
“Well, it’s a distracting thing to say!!
“Oh, okay. So I’m bad at kissing because you like it too much and I make weird faces?”
“That’s not what I said! Ugh! I just… Let me —
“Mmm… no! Stop touching me and explain what you mean!”
“I —Okay. Okay.”
“What don’t you like about the faces I’m making?”
“You’re. You’re too. It’s your eyes.”
“My… eyes?”
“Your eyes.”
“Am I like… cross eyed?”
“No! They’re just — they’re… seriously, can we drop this?”
“Absolutely not. We’ve been doing this for six months after heists and you never say anything to me.”
“Harley, come on.”
“Except maybe ‘shut up, slut’ or ‘bend over’ or if you’re really into it, ‘stop talking, Harley’”
“I don’t — I say things when we fuck! Sometimes.”
“And I thought you were just like… I don’t know. Quiet. Not that into dirty talk. Which.. you know. Is hot.”
“…You think that’s hot?”
“But this whole time you were actually quiet because I’m a terrible kisser and I make stupid faces!”
“What?! No! I just—“
“Because if you’re not that into this, why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Oh my god — that’s not what I said, Harley!”
“Then are you trying to say? And why didn’t you say it sooner instead of like, pity fucking me?”
“You’re kissing like this matters to you and it doesn’t!“
“Oh…”
“Are you happy?”
“Iv.”
“And I hate it and you don’t mean to and it’s just what you’re like, what you do, your whole deal. But it makes me feel so.”
“Iv, I’m sorry. I didn’t —“
“Just. I want you to stop!”
—
“Iv. Hey Iv?”
“Fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry. Uh… guys… calm down.”
“They’re okay. They didn’t do that much damage.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I mean… I’m also covered in bruises from the last hour.”
“That’s different.”
“Because it’s from you and not psychic plants?”
“No! Because… you know what.”
“You’re right. But it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“For what?! Getting attacked by thorns?” “No. Just… you’re right. I was kissing too romantic.”
“What?? I mean, that’s not actually a thing —“
“No. It is. I was doing it on purpose.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was doing it on purpose.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry. I just. I like kissing you like that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean… I like it too.”
“Why are you making that face?”
“What face?”
“Your Poison Ivy face.”
“…I don’t know what that means.”
“The face you make when you’re trying to size someone up.
Or about to pour acid on them. I’m never sure. Maybe both.”
“Oh. That face.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m making it because I’m scared.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that usually why you make that face?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.Should I… go?”
“I mean… you’re still tied up.”
“Okay, but. Do you want me to go?”
“Do you want to go?”
“Do you want me to want you to — okay. Stop.”
“Listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“I like it when you kiss like that. But I think I like it too much.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I like it.”
“But… you’re right. I can stop kissing like that.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“…Not really.”
“Okay. Then… just… please be nice to me, okay?
Please be nice to me.”
“I can do that.”
“…Do you need to go?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Is your phone buzzing?” “I haven’t checked.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to check.”
“You’re still bleeding.”
“It’s not even that deep.”
“Let me — here—“
“I can untangle myself, Iv, I’m really fine. And again… covered in bruises from earlier.
“Okay. Sorry. Okay.”
“Can I spend the night?”
“No. But.”
“What?”
“Will you kiss me like that again?”