Stay A While

Title: Stay A While

Rating: NC-17

Category: Romance

Warning(s): Contains slash and cross-dressing.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Note: Original slash! Go me! ::Does Happy Dance::

-1-

Hips swaying in rhythm, Harley Quinn sang softly, pausing occasionally to suck some of his thick vanilla shake.

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they're like, 'It's better than yours'. Damn right, it's better than yours. I could teach, but I'd have to charge."

Those being the only part of the song he knew, he repeated it over again. As he made his way towards his apartment complex, a large gust of wind erupted from the grate beneath his feet, lifting his plaid skirt. With his free hand, he tried in vain to keep the material in place. Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, he released it and delightfully watched the hem rise and fall in the breeze.

Under normal circumstances -- or what passed for normal, in Harley's case -- he would have been more precautious. After all, not everyone was accustomed to seeing someone perform a scene from The Seven Year Itch. If he wasn't careful, he'd either cause a pileup or get arrested for indecent exposure. Not that he was in the habit of playing dress up. It was more of a hobby for him. Something to do when he didn't feel like being himself. And he had to admit that, especially on such a humid evening, it felt pretty damn good.

His panties -- from his 'All Mirth and No Matter' catalog -- gave him the illusion of being completely bare beneath soft cotton of his skirt. The breeze tickled the more sensitive partshim,him, leaving his breathless. Rocking his hips back and forth, seeming to ride wave of heat, he leaned his head back, worrying a glossed lip between his teeth.

He was about to give in to the urge to touch himself where he needed it most when a bright pair of headlights alerted him that he was no longer alone.

-*-

Bells were going off in Adam's head. None of the metaphorical kind, but actual knells. Like Quasimodo was putting in a hard days work right in the middle of his cranium. And they were pissing him the fuck off. Cursing, he took the corner hard, his sleek black Porsche hugging the road.

"I don't need a woman; I don't want a woman," he chanted through clenched teeth, keeping his eyes on the speedometer. It would be just like them, he thought, referring to his many-times-great grand sires. Burdening him with a new cartload of baggage after he'd just unloaded one.

Britney.

Gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, he wondered why he had even bothered getting into bed with her. A pretty face and a nice ass does not a mate make, he reprimanded himself. But it was one hell of a starting point.

Not that he really was looking for a mate. At least not in the sense his forefathers had meant. Idealist bastards. With a rising divorce rate and a variety of sexually transmitted diseases to worry about, he'd had to be crazy to even consider that there might be a Ms. Right. Or a Mr. Right, as was his case.

He realized the breakup was partly his fault, but it didn't mean she didn't deserve some of the blame. The woman wouldn't take no for an answer. And it wasn't like he hadn't ever slept with a woman. But he could've thought of over a dozen women who had been a better lay than she was. She had only one position -- missionary -- and she just laid there when they finally did get down to it. He did all the work. Sure, there was the occasional moan, but he really could've done better by himself for all the affection he was getting.

And the word 'blowjob' wasn't even part of her vocabulary. The only thing she did with her mouth was gossip and talk about fashion. Truth be told, he was by no means a slob. He had a cufflink collection that bordered on fanatic. In essence, what he longed for was a meaningfully pointless conversation. To be able to talk about absolutely nothing and feel like they had really accomplished something.

But what was really causing his homicidal rage was the factt she had dumped him! Claiming that she needed someone more emotionally accessible, she packed her bags and walked out on him in the middle of a two-year goddamn relationship.

Bitch.

His legal mind began ticking off untraceable ways he could show her how emotionally accessible he really was. He was in the middle of an intricate plan involving sugar in her gas tank when he noticed a scene straight out of a Marilyn Monroe picture. Noticing him, the figure straightened and moved on before he could get a better look. But his interest was most definitely piqued.

Pulling over and slowing to a crawl, he rolled down the passenger side window and leaned over.

"Hi," he shouted. That was usually a nice, safe starting point.

Apparently, this person wasn't of his thinking. "What you're doing is dangerous."

"Well, I'll stop if you just talk to me for a minute." He barely held back a grin when the figure actually stopped. As promised, he parked and motioned for her to come over to his side of the car.

"What do you want?"

He decided to turn on his charm. "You just get outta school, little lady?"

She raised an eyebrow. "First: no. Second: I am not a 'little lady'; I am a first degree black belt and will do you bodily harm if you take that tone with me again."

Not wanting to cause a fight -- thinking of all the things she could 'do' to me is a much safer thought, he reasoned -- he put his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Sorry," he said. "So... You come here often?"

"Lame."

"What's your sign?"

"Lamer." She took a sip through a straw.

"What's your pleasure?" Her mouth fell open slightly and he laughed. "I meant the drink. What are you drinking?"

"Oh."

He realized he liked the way her lips formed when she said that word... not to mention the other words she had said.

"It's a milkshake."

"Can I have a taste?"

She looked skeptical, but moved closer. "You clean?" she asked as she leaned into the interior.

"Yup. Got the paperwork to prove it." He sucked through the offered straw. When he was satisfied he licked his lips. Leaning back, he asked, "How much?"

-*-

He was cute. Harley had to admit it. He was even starting to forgive his 'little lady' comment. After all, what was he to expect dressed the way he was and dealing with this type of man. He probably had women flinging themselves at him on an hourly basis, he reasoned. He knew he was sexy and almost dared Harley to say anything different.

He was more than a little taken aback by the question about 'his pleasure'. What would he have said? 'I like dressing up like a school girl and seducing men who are too sexy for their own good.' Not that he was actually seducing him. They were barely caring on a civil conversation. But he would have to be lying if he'd said that the thought of doing ungodly things to him in the back of that sports car hadn't crossed his mind. To be honest, most of those things ended with him spilling himself all over that black leather interior.

With the way the evening was turning, he was probably in for some fantasies when he got back to bed.

"How much?" the man asked.

He looked down at the container in his hand and tried to remember how much he'd paid for his tasty treat. It, along with a highly anticipated jackoff session, was a great way to end a day. Twirling the thick braid of his ponytail around one finger, he replied, "Four should be enough."

"A bit steep, but I'm sure it'll be worth it." The man reached into his glove compartment and pulled four bills from a clip. He held them up to Harley.

They were hundred dollar bills.

A dilemma. Not a moral one. He had no qualms about exchanging money for sexual acts. But what was worrying him was what this man might be expecting to get for four hundred dollars. When it came to oral sex, he could perform that blindfolded -- and, in the past, had. But, when it came to the actual act of intercourse, he was a blushing virgin. For four hundred smackers, the guy obviously wanted more than getting his lollipop licked.

But it was such a lovely wad of money. Doing the math in his head, he figured that that amount could let him call in sick on Monday, Tuesday, and sleep late on Wednesday. And as for his cherry... Well, it would've gotten popped someday. Might as well make it worth four hundred dollars.

"Are you a cop?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you a pimp?" Because he was most definitely not a whore. He could be a bitch and a slut, but definitely not a whore. He still had some pride and dignity. His body, after all, was a temple and he wasn't about to let just anyone service it.

"No."

He made a move for the money only to have it pulled out of his reach.

"Half now," the man said, handing him two bills. "You get the rest after."

Taking the money, he slid into the passenger's seat.

-*-

"I'm Adam, by the way."

"Harley Quinn."

Adam bit his lip to keep from laughing, but it some of it slipped out. Composing himself, he put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. "You're parents had a sense of humor?"

"My father was a Batman freak. Comic books, action figures, posters, movies, even the animated stuff. Naming me after a character was the only thing keeping him from going around wearing a batsuit, claiming that he 'was the night' and all that stuff."

"Ah... loony toons?"

"Not really. But he and I hold a special place in our hearts for Bugs Bunny."

He smiled. "He was a cross-dresser."

"So am I."

He almost missed the turn as his head whipped around to stare at his passenger. "Sorry," he mumbled, regaining control.

"Just be more careful. That almost accident almost led to another accident. And that would've really ruined the leather."

Pulling over to the curb, he turned on the interior lights and turned in his seat. Harley's deep red hair, tied back into two ponytails, shone under the bright lights. His big green eyes and lips that proudly displayed a pout added to his 'innocent school girl' look. His eyes traveled further down -- on his way, he discovered the slight Adam's apple -- to what, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be his breasts.

"You had surgery?" he asked.

Harley appeared confused until, seeing where Adam was staring, realization set in. "No, no. These are false... I mean, they're on the outside." He unbuttoned his blouse enough to expose the lacy top of a baby blue bra. "I have a friend in the plastic surgery business. He gives these outpatipatients." He pulled one of the implants from a lace cup and held it up to the light. "Practice boobs."

He laughed, the full-bodied and infectious kind.

Harley grinned. "What's so funny?" Lifting it from his palm using his thumb and forefinger, he shook it in Adam's face. "They are quite impressive, aren't they? Certainly fooled you, eh?" He dropped it into Adam's lap, sending him into another fit.

Picking it up, he tossed it from one hand to another like a tennis ball. After finally getting enough air to be able to speak, he said, "Yes, they are quite nice." He squeezed it to emphasize his point. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open.

"What? What's wrong?" Harley sounded worried.

Grinning from ear to ear, he whispered, "They feel like my ex-girlfriend." He tossed it into the glove box. "Gimme the other one," he said.

"Why?"

"The relationship didn't end well and I don't want bad blood to taint what I hope will be good night. To put it plainly, I don't want your fake tits to remind me of her fake tits."

Harley appeared to consider it. "Makes sense." He handed over it's twin, which was also chucked into the box. "But now I'm all deflated."

There was a visible pout on his lips that Adam thought he could become quite fond of. "I'll make it up to you."

"How?"

He grabbed the milkshake from the cup holder and took a long pull from the straw.

"Hey, that's mine!"

Smiling, he unfastened his seat belt and leaned over onto Harley's side. He silenced him with a kiss. When Harley's tongue slid across his closed lips, requesting entrance, he parted them, causing a current of frosty white goodness to flow between them. Hesitating momentarily, Harley swallowed as much as he could until Adam began a light sucking on his tongue that made his head spin and his cock jump. As a result, it dribbled down his chin and made it's way down to his exposed chest. Breaking away, Adam groaned at the sight of Harley's kiss swollen, candy red lips, wet and sticky from the melted milkshake. It looks like come, he thought. My come.

He licked and sucked it from Harley's lips and chin before moving lower. He ran his tongue in slow, lazy circles over the dip between his collarbones. Trailing wet kisses down his chest, he took one rosy nipple into his mouth, alternating between sucking it and licking it roughly. One of Harley's hands found it's way into his hair, holding his head in place. The other snaked underneath his skirt, causing him to shudder violently.

Scraping his teeth over the swollen nipple, he raised his head and looked at Harley. Bottom lip firmly between his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed in concentration. He was so deeply consumed in this act of self-pleasure; it took Adam's breath away. The word 'gorgeous' didn't do him justice. He had to force himself to breathe.

"Harley," he whispered.

A slight whimper was his response.

"Harley," he repeated. His voice was stronger, yet remained soft. "Look at me, Harley."

Eyelids fluttering softly over flushed cheeks, Harley slowly opened his eyes and gazed at him. "I need," he gasped. "I want..." His eyes, clouded with desire, slid in and out of focus. "Adam," he sighed, his name flowing as naturally as breath.

One final knell sounded, ringing clear and true. And, though he thought it sounded cliche, he was filled with understanding. At least, he thought, about what Britney meant by 'emotional accessibility'.

"Ma cherié."

He tucked his hand under the skirt and, stopping Harley's rapidly stroking hand, pulled it from the confines of his underwear. He carefully kissed each manicured, French-tipped finger, smiling at the taste of sweat and something else... something that was purely Harley.

"Not here, ma petite," he whispered. He righted Harley's skirt, pulling it down firmly over his thighs.

"Why?" Harley looked on the verge of tears.

"I know a better place." He sat properly in his seat and put his seatbelt back on. "A place where I can worship you properly."