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The thing about fantasies, Ivy's been told, is that they're always a letdown when they happen in real life. And she's been let down enough times that she's always believed it.
By that standard, sleeping with Harley should've been the biggest letdown of all, because how many times has she imagined it?
It's not like she's wanted to, set out like, hey, I think today I should fuck my boyfriend and imagine my best friend whilst I'm doing it. She just can't get Harley out of her head, and she's felt guilty and wrong every time.
But guilt or no guilt, she's lost count of the number of ways it's played out in her head, in her dreams, when she's drunk or tired or just doesn't have the strength to suppress all her feelings. Imagining so many times, so many ways, what being with Harley would be like... surely it should've been disappointing in real life. Surely it should've never lived up to the fantasy.
Only it did. Being with Harley that way was good. And not just the fact it was 'mindblowing orgasmic sex', as Harley put it, but because it was tender. Because Harley listened to her and took care of her and let Ivy take care of her too. Because she laughed in the little awkward moments and put Ivy at ease. Because she cuddled into her as they fell asleep like there was nowhere else she wanted to be in the world.
If it had just been physical, maybe, maybe, she could forget. Like sure, maybe she came four times and with Chuck she's lucky if it's once, but if Harley hadn't been Harley, maybe that wouldn't matter. Maybe loving Chuck would tip the balance.
She does love him. She does.
But not like she loves her.
Ivy curls her hand into the cushions beneath her, tries to push herself into the present. She made her choice. She's marrying Chuck. She left Harley crying on the steps of a plane.
It's the safe option. And this weekend, this weekend will never happen again.
Harley half-laughing, breathless, pushing her up against the wall outside the bedroom, leaving red lipstick kisses down her neck.
Ivy clenches her fist tighter, lets her breath hiss out between her teeth. Chuck looks away from the TV.
“You okay, babe?”
Ivy smiles, and the muscles of her face ache from the effort of it. “Just tired. We partied hard, you know? Like, it was party time, whoop whoop!”
God, she wants to die.
Chuck doesn't notice how weird she's being. (Harley would notice).
“Sounds great, babe. And might I say you came back looking H-O-T.” He spells out each letter with emphasis, shooting her finger guns.
“Ive...” Harley's breathless with it, blue eyes wide. “You're so fucking beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Ivy says, and digs her nails harder into the couch. God, she's screwed. It was one thing to imagine Harley when she didn't know what being with her would be like, but now? Now she has memories she wasn't nearly drunk enough to lose. Memories she'll never be able to forget.
He smiles and leans in to kiss her, and she lets him.
Harley's lips on hers the first time, the tang of smoke and desperation.
Harley kissing her at the party, tasting of cocktails and lipstick.
Harley dragging her in closer, the sound she makes when Ivy's teeth scrape her lip.
Chuck runs his hands up her sides, pushes her blazer off her shoulders.
Harley's hands on her back, pulling her bra off with a tremble in her fingers. The slide of her hands on Ivy's skin, Ivy stifling her moan in Harley's neck, fumbling for her hem. Harley pulling back to let Ivy ease the red crop top over her head.
He hooks his fingers into the base of her tank top.
Harley pressing kisses to her collarbones, her sternum, till Ivy's gasping under her, telling her to hurry the fuck up already. The way Harley gave a breathless laugh, like she couldn't believe this was real, then finally, finally kissed the swell of her breast. Ivy's hand in Harley's hair, grasping for an anchor as Harley sucks a bruise into her skin.
A bruise. Shit, a bruise. More than one. Ivy counted them on her skin in the shower, traced every mark Harley left on her. The second night, she traced their mirrors on Harley, her mark left just the same.
Chuck shifts his hand under her top, and– he might be dense, but he's not that dense. If he sees the bruises, he'll know. And he won't know it was Harley, but he'll know enough, and then he'll end things, and– and Ivy's still too scared to have something less than certain.
She catches his hand and pulls away. Tries to pretend she's not relieved to find a real excuse for them to stop.
“Babe?” he asks, watching her.
“Can we just watch the show?” Ivy replies.
He frowns. “I've kinda been waiting for this, babe. I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Ivy says, and the lie tastes bitter. She didn't miss him one bit. She already misses Harley. “I'm just... I'm really tired, kind of have a headache. Guess that's what happens when you... party on down!” She mimics his earlier finger guns and wants acutely to sink through the couch and disappear.
“Okay, okay, I get it. You gotta tell me more about this party, though. Sounds like you ladies had all the fun.”
“Holy shit, Ive.” Harley pressing uncoordinated kisses to her face, laughing in gasps. “Always kinda thought seeing stars was metaphorical, but that–”
Ivy grins, kisses her in return. “Yeah?”
“The whole fuckin' Milky Way,” Harley says. “And not like the candy bar.”
Ivy laughs and shoves her shoulder playfully. “Unnecessary clarification, Harls.”
“Fun,” Ivy says. “Yeah. All the fun.”
“So? What'd you do?”
She tells him about killing Eris, and that they went to a club and danced, and uses words like squad and girl's trip, and eventually he stops asking and they settle back in to watch the show, his arm around her shoulder, and he drops periodic kisses on her face and neck, and she tries to pretend she's focused on the TV, like her mind's not playing its own goddamn video reel of Harley, Harley, Harley.
That night, she lies beside him, fights the urge to throw his arm off her, and remembers lying in bed on Themyscira, limbs tangled up with Harley's.
And when she sleeps, she dreams of Harley on the plane steps, mascara running, looking at her.
“You say you chose him,” she says. “But how often are you wishing he could be me?”
In her dream, she's brave enough, just for a moment. In her dream, she answers, “All the time.”