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"Hey Pammy," Harley yells from the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table with pink bunny slippers over them. In her hands she flips through a bright magazine with some celebrity half naked on the cover, she herself dressed in white booty shorts and a pink tee that says princess in curly cursive writing, "I was readin' dis and I can't figure it out."
"What is it?" Pamela asks from the apartment's compact kitchen, mixing together pancake dough for their Sunday breakfast, "Is it another Kardashian thing?"
"Nah, I just can't figure out which'a us is the top in the relationship."
"Top?" Pam's eyebrows raise and Harley looks to her with a grin, setting aside her gossip rag to kneel on the sofa and fold her arms up on the back of it, cheek resting against her arm she tells her girlfriend,
"Like the man in the relationship, Red."
"There is no man in this relationship," Ivy snorts, a noise she's reserved to just make around Harley, "Darling, we're both women. I think that's the point."
"I know, gosh…" Harley bites her bottom lip, eying the way Pam's nightgown is rising up her hips before saying, "But ya know, I think its me."
Pamela laughs, lights the stove before shaking her head and stating, "Harls you can't even put on the strap-on, much less wear it."
"Hey!" The blonde pouts, "I can't help it ya got wider hips then me and it don't fit. Besides, the buckle is confusin'."
"Yeah but you dress more girl-ish."
"I can't help it you have the fashion sense of a five year old," Pam notices the way Harley's face drops and quickly adds, "In a good way."
"That's whatcha said bout my tutus."
"I'm sure Gotham pride enjoyed you killing the protestors dressed in seven layers of rainbow sheer tutus," Ivy sighs at the memory, "But clothing isn't something you can base this on."
"Well name one reason why you're the top then, smarty pants." Harley stands to join her, watching as Pam flips two chocolate chip flapjacks over. She wraps her arms around the woman's middle and rests her chin on Red's shoulder.
"For one, I kill the spiders."
Harley guiltily blushes.
"Two, you're always the little spoon, and you always come first."
"That's not my fault!"
"Alright. I'll give you that one, but you have to admit I'm the dominate person in this relationship."
"Hm," A knowing laugh rises from Harley's throat and she muffles it against Pam's skin, her hands dipping down to drag up the thin nightgown, "Dominate, huh?"
"Yes," Pamela nods and gives the blonde a side glance, obviously reading into the mischievous light in her blue eyes, "I'm definitely the, how did you say it, man in the relationship."
"How about ya prove it?" Harley whispers huskily in her girlfriend's ear, enjoying the shudder she feels run through the Plant goddess's spine.
"Fine," Pam pours more batter into the frying pan, "But only if you go to the store and get that organic maple syrup I love."
It's fifteen minutes later as Pamela relaxes on their couch with a morning coffee in one hand and the stack of pancakes being kept warm in the oven that Harley realizes just how whipped she is.