She's too busy, in the moment, to answer him with words; there's only a nod in response, and this time the push that sparks up her own wires is almost on purpose.
And it's just as good as it was the first time.
The man arches, every muscle locking up as the current pulses through him; and Harley moans and her eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back for a moment. It hits her again, that rush of energy, all bright and undiluted. Effort is required to force herself back, meet Jack's eyes again. His blue lights, and her pink and blue and yellow lights, glow between them nearly too bright to look at, splashing lurid neon colour over the alleyway around them.
It's not entirely the same; even new as she is to this, Harley can tell that the flood isn't quite as overwhelming as it was the first time, that some of the energy flowing into her is being diverted. But god, it's worth it when locks of hair that aren't buried in their meal's throat or floating around her face twine through Jack's lit-up wires, and she can almost feel them thrum with the flow as they feed. She wants him- wants to be wrapped around him, not this dudebro dead man still on his feet- and presses closer, like she could pass right through the meat and feel Jack's solid metal frame against her. One hand reaches to grab his arm, wrapping tight, tugging fingers around it.
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And it's just as good as it was the first time.
The man arches, every muscle locking up as the current pulses through him; and Harley moans and her eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back for a moment. It hits her again, that rush of energy, all bright and undiluted. Effort is required to force herself back, meet Jack's eyes again. His blue lights, and her pink and blue and yellow lights, glow between them nearly too bright to look at, splashing lurid neon colour over the alleyway around them.
It's not entirely the same; even new as she is to this, Harley can tell that the flood isn't quite as overwhelming as it was the first time, that some of the energy flowing into her is being diverted. But god, it's worth it when locks of hair that aren't buried in their meal's throat or floating around her face twine through Jack's lit-up wires, and she can almost feel them thrum with the flow as they feed. She wants him- wants to be wrapped around him, not this dudebro dead man still on his feet- and presses closer, like she could pass right through the meat and feel Jack's solid metal frame against her. One hand reaches to grab his arm, wrapping tight, tugging fingers around it.