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The first time Hecate Hardbroom fucks Pippa Pentangle she is twenty four years old.
She’s had enough experience by now to feel reasonably confident that she’s good at it - really rather good at it - and so when she’s placed next to Pippa at the cumulative dinner gala for the Annual Witching Educators’ Conference it’s almost inevitable that she ends the evening with Pippa pushed back against the desk of her rented hotel room, ink, and quills, and papers scattering as Pippa digs her nails into her shoulder - hard - and arches up against her.
And what’s a little hate sex between two former best friends now sworn mortal enemies anyway?
Though Hecate never would have let it happen if Pippa hadn’t been seated next to her at the dinner table that evening. She’d been so damn insufferable - arm brushing her own as she’d turned and waved at the Chairwarlock of the Modernists’ Society, thigh brushing Hecate’s own when she’d reached across her for the peas. And if she’d had to lean because Hecate had blatantly ignored her the three times she’d asked for her to pass them, it’s all still Pippa’s fault somehow.
Of that Hecate is very sure.
Never mind that the slight brush of their bodies elicits a shock of adrenaline through each and every last one of Hecate’s nerves.
Never mind that Hecate wants this to happen, even as she tells herself she doesn’t.
But while she can ignore Pippa’s polite requests for peas, and pepper, and the dinner rolls, what she can’t ignore is how brightly Pippa chimes in when Hecate is drawn into debate with the chanting mistress from Amulet’s across the table. Nor can she ignore how Pippa is putting her through her paces by siding with Ms. Lightshrew on the best method for ensuring spell recall. And yet, she’s still finishing Hecate’s sentences whenever they find themselves to be in agreement - which is far too often for Hecate’s liking - and somehow makes her all the more furious.
She finds her arm pressing against Pippa’s as she engages with the conference Chairwitch, who has now settled comfortably down in the seat next to Ms. Lightshrew, and has taken particular interest in Pippa’s modern methods. Hecate presses harder, voice low as she counters Pippa’s every ideology, and Pippa presses right back, not looking at her once, but verbally dodging and rolling as if this were nothing more than a mental game of broomball.
“At Pentangle’s we accept all sorts,” Pippa is saying, and Hecate feels her temper soar. “We believe that magical ability should be fostered in children from all walks of life - and it’s one of the reasons we’re the only co-ed witching academy in England -“
Hecate slams her napkin down on the table.
“Miss Pentangle,” she hisses. “Might I have a word?”
Pippa’s cheeks go pink and she doesn’t so much as look at Hecate, though she does raise an eyebrow at the witches across the table, who nod at her to take her leave. Hecate rises and feels Pippa follow behind her, seething as she stomps across the hall and out the exit, waiting for the door to swing shut before she rounds on Pippa.
“Are you trying to humiliate me?”
Pippa cocks her head, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. “Humiliate - ?“
Hecate kisses her.
Hard.
Teeth, and tongue, and sharp terror, and certain rage, pushing Pippa back against the door to the hall even as Pippa’s hands come up to curl about her shoulders.
“I hate you,” Hecate gasps, suddenly pulling back, staring at Pippa’s wide eyes and swollen lips. “I really,” she kisses her again, sucking angrily on Pippa’s lower lip, “really,” her fingers tighten on Pippa’s waist, “hate you.”
Pippa pushes her away, not enough to discourage her, but enough so that they’re nose to nose, breathing heavily. Hecate can’t read the expression on her face, but something in her eyes suddenly changes as Hecate’s nails press through the fabric of her dress and into her skin.
“Then show me.”
It’s not a request. It’s a demand. And Hecate has always liked being the one that tells others what to do, how to behave, what to think. It only makes her all the more angry, the hot flare of distemper warring with the flush of arousal as Pippa’s mouth finds its way back to her own.
They’re suddenly in Hecate’s chambers - the desk - the ink - the papers - the utter madness of it all as Pippa knees come up to bracket around her her waist, as Hecate uses her body weight to push her down, angling her so that she can drag her nails up the inside of Pippa’s thigh. Pippa shudders, teeth scraping against Hecate’s neck, hands tugging on her hair until it’s nearly loose. Hecate pauses to roughly pull Pippa’s hands away.
“No, Miss Pentangle,” she hisses, hands firm on Pippa’s wrists as she presses them against the wood of the desk. She needs the control. Needs to keep up the appearance that her own heart isn’t thundering wildly in her chest like it did when she was a school girl - loose haired and desperately in love - no - she’s nothing like that now. She’s a woman. In control. And Pippa Pentangle and her pink perfection is thoroughly pissing her off.
Her exasperation doesn’t stop her heart from shuddering when her fingers find Pippa’s heat. Or explain why her lungs constrict as Pippa arches against her, shivers beneath her, wraps her arms around her and thrusts against her, head back, eyes closed as Hecate roughly has her way with her. Pippa’s making sounds, and Hecate feels a pool of heat spinning faster and faster within her at each heady breath Pippa lets out, her fingers working frantically as Pippa twitches and bucks beneath her.
It’s because she hates her, she tells herself. She hates her.
There are tears in her eyes and she’s glad Pippa’s too far gone to see, and she swallows hard and redoubles her efforts, anger fueling her every motion as Pippa’s nails dig into her shoulders as she comes abruptly.
With Pippa suddenly limp in her arms, breathing unsteadily, Hecate finds doesn’t know how to let go. But the weight of Pippa, warm and vulnerable, feels far too much like home, and she releases her, wincing internally as Pippa collapses down onto the desk, eyes flying open.
Hecate sniffs. Raises a hand to right the papers, recover the spilt ink, recollect the quills - but suddenly Pippa’s hand is around her wrist. And suddenly her nose in nearly against Hecate’s own. And Hecate finds herself pushed back, and back, and back until her thighs hit the bed and suddenly Pippa is above her, pinning her down, hair falling down around them both, breath still uneven as she leans in and kisses Hecate fiercely.
Hecate’s brain can hardly keep up, for Pippa’s on her knees beside the bed, and Hecate’s skirt is up around her waist as Pippa pulls her knees open with determined fingers. She fights her a little, but Pippa merely gives her a look that has Hecate realizing that Pippa’s far from the pushover headmistress that Hecate would like to believe her to be, and Hecate let’s her head drop back, overwhelmed by the visual before her. Pippa nips at the skin at the inside of Hecate’s left knee, then drags her nails down the outside of Hecate’s thighs until she’s arching, hissing at the sensation.
But there’s something almost tender about the kisses she leaves over Hecate’s inner thighs, climbing higher, and higher. It makes Hecate furious, and she tugs none too gently at Pippa’s hair.
Head jerking up, Pippa stares up at her before ducking her head down and biting her sharply on the hip. “Fine.” She starts to move back up the bed, and Hecate growls, realizing just what Pippa is abandoning, and she pushes on her shoulders, then her head, until Pippa slides back down with a rough laugh an arched eyebrow.
And goddesses, Hecate’s not the only one who has been practicing. Pippa’s tongue is as clever as her mind and Hecate pushes her jealousy away and replaces it with rising ire. She hardly has to guide Pippa at all as she expertly brings Hecate closer and closer to crashing over the brink of ecstasy.
“You hate me?” Pippa murmurs, vibrations humming against Hecate’s sensitized skin and Hecate yanks on her hair.
“Yes,” she hisses.
Pippa’s tongue grows bolder and Hecate chokes on a sob of need.
“You hate me.”
Her fingers find a particularly electrifying spot.
“Yes.”
Pippa slows her tongue.
“Pentangle.”
Pippa grabs her wrists and holds them to the bed, her tongue tracing around Hecate’s clit in a way that is deliberately just off from where Hecate wants her.
“Do you hate it when I do this?” Pippa is looking at her, sweetly, even as her tongue still moves between Hecate’s legs and Hecate pushes up against Pippa’s hands where they hold her fast.
“I won’t beg,” she grits out, and Pippa’s eyes crinkle a little.
“We’ll see.”
Pippa’s attentions return to producing focused, exquisite sensations, and Hecate - thank the stars - does not beg, though she comes rather close to it as Pippa brings her the the peak and backs her down from it no less than three times before she lets her come.
When she’s able to, she opens her eyes and finds Pippa still kneeling, wiping at her mouth on the back of her hand. There’s an expression on her face Hecate can’t read, and her fury - tempered from blinding pleasure - returns in doubled intensity and turns inward. She pushes herself up and her skirt down, standing so abruptly that Pippa tips sideways to let her pass.
“What are you doing?”
Hecate pauses, hand on the doorknob. “I’m leaving. I should think that would be obvious from my actions. ”
Pippa cocks her head again. “But this is your room.”
Freezing, Hecate rounds on her. In an instant, Pippa is redressed, clean, her hair in a perfect up-sweep. “Then you are leaving. Farewell, Miss Pentangle.”
Pippa’s eyebrows fly up and pushes herself to standing, crossing her arms as she stares at Hecate.
“Do you really hate me?”
There’s something in her voice and Hecate grits her teeth. “Yes, of course I do.”
Pippa straightens her skirt a bit, eyes not leaving Hecate’s as she crosses and comes to a halt in the doorway, turning to face her.
“Then I hate you, too.”
“I appreciated that we’re both clear on that.” Hecate growls roughly, even as she longs to take Pippa in her arms and kiss her senseless. Pippa’s eyes drop and Hecate’s body flares with something unpleasant. “The hotel has a policy against loitering,” she drawls out, eyeing Pippa’s half-in-half-out presence.
“Fine.” Pippa says again, but she takes a step in and pushes Hecate back until the door blocks them from view from the hall, pushing her against the wall as her mouth moves against Hecate’s. The kiss is sensual and deliberately arousing, and nothing quite like anything Hecate has ever experienced before. She can taste herself on Pippa’s tongue, and her fingers fly to the wall, digging desperately into the wallpaper as her knees go weak beneath her.
Pippa pulls back just as Hecate’s about to reach for her. “Fine.”
She’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her, and Hecate sinks to the floor, back against the wall and fingers on her tingling lips, gasping helplessly as she crumples.
______
It becomes a habit, of sorts.
Conferences, lectures, the odd fundraising gala. Rented rooms, and empty toilets, and once the stairwell of a very old castle in which the Society of Exceptional Sorcery saw fit to host their annual Midsummer’s Banquet.
Again and again, like a moth to a flame, like a magnet drawn through unexplainable attraction, Hecate finds herself pressing Pippa against walls, finds herself roughly taking her against cold stone, or sensible wallpaper, or kneeling on the tile before her, driving her to desperation with impatient fingers and a needy tongue. Pippa crashes upon her shore, like a wave that inevitably finds its way to the beach, violent and capricious, even as a growing flame of vexation rises higher and higher in Hecate’s blood. And Pippa meets her at every move, a counterbalance, an equal, and Hecate hates her all the more for it, kisses her all the more for it, leaves her breathless and panting even as Pippa brings her to a state of far less dignity than Hecate would like.
They don’t talk about it.
They don’t ever talk about it.
And Hecate inevitably pushes away, leaves Pippa tasting of desire and fury, transfers herself immediately after climax and doesn’t seek her out again unless it’s to dominate and be dominated in turn.
The years go by. The seasons change. But they, however, do not.
One summer break brings long, quiet days and more time on her hands than Hecate appreciates. School rankings are announced and she stares down at the line just above Cackle’s on the placement announcements by subject. The line that says Pentangle’s with a tiny ‘one’ next to it.
The paper busts to flames, charring to bits on her desk and Hecate’s on her broom before she can think twice about it.
The flight, long as it is, gives her plenty of time to think.
To seethe.
She lands, stiff and out of sorts, and throws her broom down on the lawn, striding across the well trimmed, emerald glass and into the shadow of the castle.
Pippa’s school is gorgeous. Of course it is. Full of light, and air, and pleasing colors. Hecate scowls, throwing out a hand so the doors spring open before her and she strides into the entrance hall, glowering at the sculptures of young witches and wizards that flank the walk.
The hall is silent given the summer holidays, and her footsteps echo loudly as she spins on the spot, trying to calm herself enough to cast a simple Locator Spell.
“Looking for something?”
Hecate jumps.
Pippa’s standing at the top of the stairs looking down at her and Hecate tilts her chin up defiantly and says nothing.
“Perhaps,” Pippa murmurs and begins to descend, eyes still on Hecate, “you’ve come to congratulate us?”
Hecate can hardly hear her, not when she’s too busy watching the way Pippa’s body moves beneath her thin summer dress. Pippa reaches the last step and stops, and Hecate sees she has the paper in her hand.
It bursts into flames as well and Pippa shrieks, dropping the ball of fire so that it falls harmlessly to the floor and crumbles to a mess of soot.
“You’ve cheated,” Hecate hisses, spine prickling with anger.
“Oh, Hecate,” Pippa smiles at her, “of course we haven’t.”
“You have. I know you have.”
Pippa crosses her arms. “And just how would we have accomplished that?”
There’s something in her tone - as if she already knows what Hecate’s thinking and it hurts her - and the vitriolic remark about Pippa probably using her looks to seduce the examiner dies on Hecate’s lips.
She shrugs moodily instead.
“I wish to examine your lab,” she says, clipped in tone, eyes clocking the way Pippa’s eyebrows lift.
“Very well. I’ll transfer us.”
Pippa snaps.
They land hard and Pippa smirks at her sweetly, gesturing around the space.
It’s a dream.
Long, clean desks. Organized vials, and cauldrons, and spell books. Large windows and different stations for different stages of brewing. It’s far larger than Cackle’s, far more advanced in it’s setup and it’s resources.
Hecate grits her teeth. “It’s amazing what money can buy.”
Pippa flushes. “My students study hard.”
“As do mine.”
Humiliation pulses it’s way down her spine, and she glares at the floor, not daring to blink least her emotions become evident.
“Hecate,” Pippa steps into her space and Hecate orbits away from her, wiping surreptitiously at her eyes.
“You’re a brilliant potions mistress and the Cackle’s girls are lucky to have you.”
Hecate rounds on her, anger a far more useful tool against her emotions than hiding. “Don’t patronize me.”
They stare at each other and Pippa finally shrugs, looking away from her and around the room.
“You know,” she says, evenly, though Hecate watches as a muscle jumps in her jaw, “I’ve often thought about having you in my lab.”
Hecate frowns, “Having me teach?”
Pippa’s eyes glint. “If I thought you would say yes. But since I knew you won’t, my thoughts - I admit - were rather more along the lines of having you in my lab.”
“Oh.”
Hecate swallows. They’ve never spoken of this thing between them. And if Pippa’s been imagining -
She opens her mouth to jeer at her, but finds Pippa’s already in her space, hands sliding down Hecate’s arms before finding her waist.
“Mmmm,” Pippa hums, breath against Hecate’s lips. “The sight of you bent over a potion’s desk -” her mouth is nearly against Hecate’s and Hecate feels her pulse jump. Pippa pushes her and she finds a large square column against her back, Pippa’s body nearly pressed against her own as her fingers begin hiking Hecate’s dress higher.
Pippa leans in and bites her shoulder - hard - too hard, and Hecate cries out. “Sorry,” Pippa whispers. And Hecate realizes that it’s not about the bite, that the bite is simply a vehicle for an apology, and she curls her hands in Pippa’s hair and bites at Pippa’s lower lip, her neck, behind her ear, her shoulder where her sundress strap has fallen down instead.
She’s rough, and gentle, and rough, and gentle, her mind spinning in ways she cannot stop to account for, and she pivots them, tugging Pippa in against her for a kiss before she spins her yet again until Pippa’s leaning over the lab table and Hecate’s hand is tracing its way up the back of her thigh.
Pippa gasps and shifts as Hecate reaches just below the hem of her underwear before retreating to flip Pippa’s skirt up so that she’s exposed. Pippa drops down onto her forearms, head falling forward as Hecate’s hand curves against the fabric still covering her before dipping between her legs until Pippa’s whimpering. Biting her lip, Hecate tugs the dress higher, leaning in to kiss along Pippa’s spine, fingers moving too lightly against Pippa for Pippa to get any satisfaction, and Pippa pushes back against her, fingertips digging into the wood of the table.
“You’re shameless,” Hecate tells her, and is inexplicably satisfied when Pippa blushes. “What do you think people would say if they knew the Headmistress of the number one potions curriculum spent her summer getting taken in this manner by the mistress that has long held the title and to which it is rightfully owed? Hmmm?”
Hecate digs the nails of her free hand into Pippa’s ass and Pippa jerks against her.
“Is this really how I’ll be spending the summer?”
She sounds curious and Hecate withdraws her hand, suddenly furious with herself for the slip. She hauls Pippa up and presses her back until she’s on the table and they’re eye to eye. “I only came to tell you that your school didn’t receive it’s markings based on merit.”
Pippa glares at her. “Pentangle’s out performed you. We took the same exam. We had the better results.” She pushes Hecate away and stands, arms crossed, and Hecate doesn’t dare reach for her. “We could have a Spelling Bee, if you dared to face us,” Pippa offers fairly, and Hecate stiffens.
“No.”
“No?”
“There’s already a league. And Pentangle’s has never entered.”
Pippa slides off the table and steps forward, and Hecate swallows at the glint in her eye. “Well, then we’ll enter.”
Hecate laughs at that, half scoff, half huff of irritation. “The rules are very old, Miss Pentangle. There are stipulations and traditions, and only the oldest and best schools are fit for entering.” She raises her chin as Pippa’s eyebrows lift.
“You know, Hecate,” Pippa murmurs, and suddenly they’re far too close again, “I don’t like being told I can’t do something. The Great Wizard says modern magic is out? I made it in. Tradition states that only witches may study magic? My school is co-ed.” She slinks an arm up over Hecate’s shoulder, mouth finding its way near her ear. “The potions mistress of the school with the second best potions mark says Pentangle’s is not welcome at the annual Spelling Bee?” Her lips are nearly against Hecate’s ear now, her breath hot, her body flush against Hecate’s own, “Then my school will win.”
She steps back and gives Hecate a look. “Even if it takes years of dodging the musty old rule book that you’re sure to throw at me for us to get there.”
They stare at each other and Hecate glowers.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Hecate suddenly feels very tired and terribly lonely.
“May the better witch win,” she says contritely.
Pippa studies her nails and then looks at her in utter nonchalance. “Oh, she will.”
______
Hecate hardly has time for conferences once she takes up the post of Deputy Head at Cackle’s. She runs the Cackle’s arm of the Spelling Bee with even more fervor than ever before, finding obscure after obscure rule to throw at Pippa as to disqualify her school year after year.
Furious, Pippa finds her after every meet. And Hecate dearly loves to see her lose, as their relations are mind altering in their intensity after - and yet frighteningly intimate in a way that makes Hecate all the more desperate for Pippa’s presence and her touch.
They go long stretches without seeing each other. And Hecate tells herself it hardly matters. That she hates Pippa Pentangle and that’s all there is to it.
One day she finds herself summoned from her lab to Ada’s office.
“You, em, have a visitor.” Ada arches an eyebrow curiously and Hecate frowns, fingers curling until she disappears and reappears in her own chambers.
Pippa is standing backlit by the window, arms crossed, eyes hard.
“What on earth are you doing here -“ Hecate tries to summon the words, but Pippa’s mouth is suddenly on hers, hard as her eyes, swallowing Hecate’s sound as she pushes her back against the bookshelf.
She’s frantic, and apparently furious, teeth landing hard nips on Hecate’s neck, dragging her teeth against the delicate skin there, fingers pressing roughly against a suddenly bare shoulder as she turns Hecate around and pushes her front into the shelf, forehead between Hecate’s shoulder blades as her hands wrap around her from behind.
It’s not until Pippa’s fingers are between her legs does Hecate realize they’re trembling - that Pippa is breathing hard - and Hecate tries to twist around but Pippa pins her more thoroughly, fingers twisting until Hecate’s arching back against her panting. Pippa bites her shoulder and Hecate mewls, moving with her as the intensity between them grows. Pippa’s fingers grow more and more assured until she has Hecate gripping at the shelves, consonants tumbling over her vowels as she shatters against Pippa’s fevered motions.
Stunned by the magnitude of her climax, Hecate sags back against Pippa who keeps her pressed upright between the books and her own warm body, arms snaking around her to hold her in place.
She can feel where Pippa’s forehead still rests against her back, and Hecate tries to move, but Pippa holds her fast. There’s a beat between them, and Pippa finally lets go, turning away before Hecate can reach for her.
She crosses the room and collects her broom without a word.
Hecate wants to say something - to question her - to pull her back and kiss her more slowly than she’s ever done before - but Pippa merely shakes her head, hand pushing open the window, and before Hecate can find the words, she’s onto her broom and out into the night.
And Hecate crosses on shaking, trembling legs to the window, summoning a robe which she wraps around herself weakly. She watches as Pippa grows smaller and then smaller still into the gathering twilight.
The night is cool and Hecate shivers, pulling the robe more tightly against her as she crosses and collapses behind her desk, slumping in her seat and trying to ignore the pleasant, pulsing ache that still thrums between her legs. There’s a ding and the evening paper appears on her desk and mindlessly she pulls the news towards her, eyes widening at the large splash of headline that consumes the front page.
‘Beauty But No Brains? Did Pippa Pentangle’s Looks Land The Her Title Of ‘Youngest Ever Headmistress?’ Why Parents May Want to Reconsider Pentangle’s - Pg. 6’
Touching the raw marks down her neck, Hecate puts her head in her hands, and cries.
_____
And while they never stray from frustration fueled encounters, Hecate comes to learn things about Pippa that make her heart curl in her chest with a sort of forlorn longing. She knows just how to make her come, just how to hold her off from it, just how long she needs to be teased - or when she needs to be teased and when she needs to be fucked - and just what the subtle differences in her temperament reveals to Hecate about what Pippa never asks for, but what Hecate comes to learn to interpret and then take charge of.
“I hate you,” Pippa cries one night when she’s shown up at Cackle’s again unannounced, hands fisting at her sides until Hecate pushes her down onto the bed and buries herself between her thighs, fingers rough and yet precise as she pulls Pippa far away form the reasons that have driven her to Hecate’s bed in the first place.
“I know,” Hecate assures her, mouth anchoring her, hands holding her steady. “I know.”
Pippa comes - a bit too difficultly, and not enough to truly take the edge off, Hecate can tell - yet she pushes Hecate away, curling in on herself as Hecate hands her her blouse.
She dresses in silence, and Hecate watches her. Aching.
When she’s done, she smooths her hair down and looks around for her broom.
“Well,” she smiles, though it looks watery and a little lost.
Hecate can’t control the way her body moves forward, as if under some sort of spell. She hovers before Pippa uncertainty. “Well.”
“Goodnight,” Pippa whispers, and Hecate can’t take her eyes off her.
“Goodnight, Miss Pentangle.”
Pippa swallows and laughs a little, not in an amused sort of way, in the sort of way one does to mask tears. And once again she’s gone again, off into the night.
Hecate watches her go. And aches for her to stay.
______
Things shift after that night. Rough kisses become countered with the occasional slow brush of lips. Hands become softer, trailing up ribs and down backs. Kisses replace the scrape of teeth behind ears every now and again. But Hecate can’t wonder at it, not when she’s too busy craving each lingering kiss against the corner of her mouth, the feel of Pippa moving over her.
Pippa’s fingers curl almost gently within her as she swallows Hecate’s cries to quiet them as they move together against the side of an old broom shed after a cross-district witch ball tournament once all the students have gone home. They take to bed more often than before, as if suddenly the need for privacy drives their confrontations, rather than furious desperation. And Hecate arches up against Pippa, sighs into her shoulder, comes unraveled at the way it feels to have her within her - familiar - and yet somehow always new.
There’s a thunderstorm one night and Hecate’s shows up at Pentangle’s with her own stormy disposition, irate that Ada ever thought it a good idea to share the headmistress-ship with her twin sister. Agatha has caused havoc, and been ousted, and in turn Ada has withdrawn, disconsolate and moody, leaving Hecate to shore up the running of a school that constantly seems to be tipping towards chaos.
She needs release. She needs Pippa.
And she finds her. Sitting by the fire. Eyes flashing bright when she sees her through the window. And Pippa is warm after the cold, damp ride. Warm and desperately familiar, and Hecate lets Pippa guide her through the room. Let’s her strip her bare, slowly, piece by piece of soggy clothing dropping away, nudging her back until she warmer still in Pippa’s bed, Pippa’s mouth is frantic against her own, fingers bringing Hecate closer and closer still to the blissful reprieve she so desperately craves.
There’s a wildness between them, a incautious, ferocious tension, broken only when Hecate lies spent and shuddering, Pippa wild atop her, hair curling against damp skin. Pippa’s fingers urgently work between her own legs, and she tumbles over the brink after Hecate, collapsing beside her as she chokes out Hecate’s name on a strangled huff of air.
They lie together for a moment and Hecate turns her head and watches Pippa on the pillow beside her.
“What?” Pippa’s still breathless and Hecate shakes her head.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s never nothing.”
“You’re right,” Hecate longs to say, but merely presses her lips together instead. Pippa sighs.
“Ada will come around,” she murmurs and Hecate sits up and glares at her.
“I didn’t ask your opinion. And you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”
“Trust me, I don’t.” Pippa’s voice is quiet, and when Hecate looks back behind her Pippa’s still lying on the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“The school needs stability,” Hecate can hardly believe herself, believe her own disloyalty. But she has no one else to talk to, and Pippa’s oddly enough the only one who could possibly understand.
She feels Pippa shift on the bed and come to sit just behind her. “I know your focus will be on the girls and keeping them in a routine. It will help with the transition. It’s a good idea and it’s in your nature. It will all work out.”
Hecate feels her cheeks flush, and she studies her hands in her lap, trying not to tense at how right Pippa is about her, after all these years.
“I should return,” she says, finally, rising and summoning on her clothes.
Pippa follows her and doesn’t bother dressing. Hecate flushes, not meeting her eyes.
“Safe flight then,” Pippa murmurs, and for a moment Hecate thinks she’ll say something else. But she doesn’t, and Hecate returns to the dark, tempestuous night, feeling slightly more at ease than before.
______
A month later Ada is back in action and Pippa shows up the week following with a bottle of ten year old Witch’s Brew and a tentative smile. Hecate accepts, blushing at the kiss Pippa brushes across her cheek by way of greeting.
They drink a little, mulling over a chess board, but when Hecate feels the competitive streak between them rising on a tide of frustrated emotion, she rises and takes Pippa’s hand, leading her to the bed before they end up on the floor by the fire, all teeth, and tongue, and raging passion.
She kisses Pippa. And Pippa smiles - nearly shy - and for a while they simply lie side by side, hands wandering, mouths unhurried. Eventually, when Hecate’s gasping and clutching at her, Pippa rids them of their clothes and they fall to exploring each new patch of exposed skin until Pippa kisses her carefully and settles between her legs, tongue masterful, yet tender, as Hecate threads her fingers through golden hair and arches.
She comes with a sigh, warm and languid from the brew and from Pippa, and when she opens her eyes, Pippa is watching her just as carefully as she’s kissed her, face painted warmly from the dancing flames of the nearby fire.
And Hecate kisses her then. Pulls her down as her palms slide around waist, savoring the feel of her warm, smooth skin. She trails her hands up and down Pippa’s back as Pippa squirms slightly from where she rests atop her - a comforting, soothing weight - Hecate muses, as she traces Pippa’s lips with her tongue.
“Hecate -” Pippa gasps, moving a little more restlessly.
“Hmm?” Her brain is still feels foggy from moments before, and she operates on instinct, guiding Pippa down to the soft duvet and pulling her flush until they’re skin to skin. She kisses her again, eyes slipping closed, mouth gentle, hands still finding new ways to elicit goosebumps across Pippa’s skin.
Pippa gasps again when Hecate kisses her way down and encircles a rosy nipple with her tongue before bringing it into her mouth. “Hecate.”
Eyes heavy, chest warm, Hecate’s fingers creep between Pippa’s thighs, pulling one leg up around her as she moves back to rest above her. She kisses Pippa again.
Pippa’s making little noises, pushing herself against Hecate’s fingers, and Hecate gently parts her, touches her with deliberate precision, breathless as she enters her. She can’t keep from watching Pippa’s face as Pippa adjusts and Hecate begins to move within her, and Hecate can’t look away, can only stare in awe and wonder.
Arms around her neck, Pippa buries her face in Hecate’s shoulder, body rising up to meet Hecate’s every motion, and Hecate can feel her starting to tremble - knows her tells - knows she’s close.
She eases Pippa back and kisses her, marveling at how dilated Pippa’s pupils are, how flushed she is, how bright her eyes are as she bows against Hecate’s fingers.
“Pippa,” she whispers.
Pippa cries out, hand moving to cup Hecate’s face, and Hecate realizes that it’s the first time she’s called Pippa by her name in nearly twenty-five years.
Fear slams through her, even as her fingers thrust into Pippa more desperately, and Pippa - near the brink - begins to come undone even as the pain within Hecate wins, washing through her like a poisoned tide.
It’s suddenly too much - all too much - and she transfers Pippa back to Pentangle’s mid-climax, magic swirling, abrupt and acidic through her veins. Hands covering her own face, she cries out in pain and bows down onto the bed in wretched agony, Pippa still sticky against her fingers as she cries out again, this time in anger and terrified confusion.
It had been the same back when she was in school. These feelings for Pippa. And so she’d left. Run far away, and let the love in her heart fester into hate.
Hating Pippa is easier. She knows it to be true.
Clutching at her hair she swallows a scream of frustration, throwing herself off the bed, hair down and loose around her as she stalks wildly through the room, pulling a sheet along with her to wrap about herself as she paces.
If Pippa hadn’t hated her before, she surely does now, and she scrubs at her face and makes a low and angry sound.
“I hate you,” she says allowed, recalling Pippa’s words - recalling her own words - falling back on the familiar even as tears prick behind her eyes.
“That much is obvious.”
Hecate jumps and whirls around, nearly tangling in the sheet as she looks for Pippa. Not finding her, she spins again, finally spying her in the mirror.
“I didn’t grant you access,” she mutters, more out of shame at how Pippa’s hair is mussed, her cheeks pink, her eyes a little red. She’s in a robe but Hecate can see she’s unsteady on her feet - confused, and unsatisfied, and terribly vulnerable - and Hecate flushes in both shame and anger. Her fingers twitch at her side, still sticky, and she curls them in the sheet instead.
“I thought this was a bit - “ Pippa pauses and purses her lips “- urgent. I used emergency mode.”
“Hardly an emergency,” Hecate snips, settling into contrariness out of habit and fear.
Pippa opens her mouth then closes it again. “You transferred me without warning and mid-orgasm.” She says finally.
It’s blunt and she’s trembling, arms crossed protectively around her, and Hecate stiffens.
She can’t find an explanation and only clenches her jaw.
“Hecate - “
“I don’t believe in your modern magic,” she spits out, falling back on safe ground. It’s petulant, and rather immature, but she can’t help it when her mind is reeling in such panic.
Pippa blinks at her. “We weren’t talking about modern magic - Hecate - we were talking about -”
Hecate can’t bear to hear her say it. “I believe we’ve grown far too familiar with each other, Miss Pentangle. We are from rival institutions, are we not?” She can tell Pippa’s frustration is growing, but can’t stop herself from pushing further. “I simply think it’s time we grow out of this little game we play with one another.”
There’s a ringing in her ears and Pippa is staring through the glass, frozen.
“Game?”
“Perhaps you should find a husband,” Hecate schools her voice in affected disinterest and swallows down pain. “Settle down, raise a family.”
The ringing grows louder.
“Fuck you,” Pippa growls through the glass.
“Have you forgotten, Miss Pentangle? You already have.”
The ringing reaches maximum pitch and the mirror shatters, glass blowing out over Hecate’s dressing table and onto the floor around her.
All that is left in the wooden frame is a hole where Pippa once was. And Hecate sinks down into the hard wooden chair and presses the tip of her fingers down onto the shards of glass that litter the table until they bleed, knowing that her heart is much the same.
______
“I really do wish you’d consider it - “
“Fine,” Hecate snaps, if only to end the conversation. “This ‘Mr. Rowan-Webb’ can take over my chairmanship duties.”
Hecate glowers at Ada who beams at her from behind her spectacles.
“So, you do agree that providing paths for career progression is important for the members of Cackle’s staff?”
Hecate harrumphs. “I didn’t say that, you said that. But I suppose it’s for the best. Keeping Mildred Hubble from blowing up this castle does rather fill the days more than I would like.”
Ada’s eyes twinkle. “Lovely. Now, the Cauldron Club will stay under you, of course. But all other events and clubs will pass to Mister Rowan-Webb. Dimity has handed over the Spelling Bee as well - though I don’t know why you gave it up in the first place, you were so awfully competitive about it until a few years back.”
“Yes, well.” Hecate purses her lips and clears her throat, not giving a inch, and after a moment Ada sighs and goes back to consulting her list.
“I suppose we haven’t lost a year yet,” Ada murmurs to her self, quill ticking under her chin before she crosses a few more notes.
Hecate sits still, trying not to think of the night a few years back when she’d waited anxiously after tripping Pippa up yet again at the final round of Spelling primaries. She’d been antsy and desperate, fingertips still raw from the broken mirror glass the week before, heart in her throat as she’d readied herself for Pippa to come storming through the door, to push her down, and - and -
And Pippa had never come.
Hecate swallows, eyes pricking. She realizes Ada is still speaking.
“- the Switching Spell Society and the Astronomy Association - oh - oh - Hecate - are you quite alright?”
Hecate stiffens, shoulders taut, and gives a swift nod.
“Well, if you’re sure?” Ada looks unconvinced but rolls up her scroll and nods at her. “Then we can conclude our meeting. I will see you at dinner.”
Hecate rises and retreats to her lab. She can hardly remember the feel of Pippa’s lips against her own.
But she will never forget the way Pippa had looked at her that night.
______
“As I’m sure you’re all aware, Cackle’s Academy are currently reigning champions of the annual Spelling Bee.”
Hecate stands tall before the class, shoulders straight as Ada speaks beside her. Pride pulses through her at Cackle’s continued success. The girls murmur about the Bee and a ripple of excitement chases around the room. Even with Dimity at the helm, and Rowan-Webb guiding them through his first year as chair, they haven’t faltered. Now, they’re up for their twentieth title - uncontested - a record in the books of Witchery.
“We are guaranteed a place in this years finals, to be held here, tomorrow.” Ada beams, and Hecate’s eyes sweep around the room, a glow rising in her chest. “Which means two lucky witches will have the honor of competing against Miss Pentangle’s Academy - “
Everything drops away - the floor - the room - all color - all sound -
“Miss Pentangle’s?” Hecate sputters, stomaching cramping.
“That’s right,” Ada assures her and the girls fall into whispers about Miss Pentangle. Hecate only half hears - hears enough to know that Pippa is revered - adored - beloved - all which she will have to witness when Pippa is here. Tomorrow.
Here tomorrow. At Cackle’s.
After all these years.
Swallowing down bile, she blinks rapidly, losing herself for a few minutes as memories and emotions sweep through her.
When she comes back into herself, the competitors have been selected and Mildred Hubble is in the bunch.
It’s perfect. It’s all too, too perfect. The first time in twenty years - the first time up against Pentangle’s - and Hecate’s going to lose it all to a pink witch who will be all too delighted in humiliating her, and all because of one who can’t tell her broomstick from her cauldron.
Head aching, heart aching, stomach aching, Hecate takes a breath stakes her bets on Ethel Hallow.
She fixes her bun, wipes her eyes, and set about drilling.
______
She knows Pippa’s behind her before she even speaks. The smell of her in the air, the feel of her magic. The tingle that runs down her spine and turns her stomach warm even as her nerves go cold.
They snip at each other. Of course they do.
And Pippa looks more beautiful than ever. And Hecate ridicules her for it. Pushing her buttons as she always has since leaving all those years ago. She baits Pippa, and falls frustrated when Pippa merely deflects her with humor and easy grace.
It makes her furious.
But there are girls around, and lunch to take, and a Bee to win.
There’s no air in the castle. Not when Pippa’s around. Not when Hecate’s drawn to her like a magnet, like a moth to a flame, still, still, after all this time, all these years.
And suddenly she remembers the sensation of kissing Pippa. Desperately. Furiously. Tenderly.
Suddenly she remembers Pippa under her hands, and inside her, and wrapped around her.
Hard fights, and late nights, and well-disguised heartache, and Hecate can’t keep her eyes from Pippa. Can’t help but stare her down in the hall, across the dining table, over the cauldrons.
And Pippa bonds with Mildred Hubble faster than a transfer on the solstice, and Hecate seethes, and rages, and knows that she’s all to blame. That Pippa has only been the best of the best, better than Hecate can ever be, or will ever be. Better than she deserves.
It's more than she can bear when Pippa throws the rule book at her, turns the tables, tricks Hecate at her own game to surely win the match. But Mildred Hubble prevails, and Pippa's winking at the girl, and Mildred's grinning, pleased and proud, and Hecate feels like a thousand tiny stars are burning their way through the galaxy of her stomach. Confused and hurt she retreats, suddenly in no mood to celebrate.
But suddenly she’s trapped with Pippa in a small classroom - the work of Mildred Hubble to be sure - and Pippa’s looking at her with warm, wet eyes. Whispering around pain, pleading for Hecate to explain the years of guilt, and isolation, and heartache.
“You were always the popular one,” Hecate mutters, recalling the flock of witches and wizards around Pippa over the years. Thinking of Mildred Hubble, and Felicity Foxglove - even now - wincing at Rowan-Webb's blush and at even at catching Dimity’s wandering eyes. ”You didn’t want me getting in your way.” She forces her back straight, unwilling to accept the pity Pippa’s certain to generously offer her. Because Pippa has always been the bigger witch. The better one.
“I didn’t care about those silly witches,” Pippa whispers, eyes wide and searching. “You were the only one I wanted.”
She swallows, unwilling to accept that any feelings for her could ever be so uncomplicated. “But,” she tries, voice unsteady, “I thought -”
“What -” Pippa scoffs, as if she knows exactly want Hecate’s thinking. And, shamefaced, Hecate realizes she probably does. “Because you were the tall, gangly one, I’d rather spend time with them?”
Heat flushes through Hecate at that. She pushes away the image of Pippa tangled around her. Of their warm bodies, slick with sweat. Of gasping whispers and urgent intonations as they pulled each other higher, fell together, pulsed with pleasure in the circle of the other’s arms. She's always known she's far too unattractive to be Pippa Pentangle's mate.
She can only look at Pippa and say nothing, too proud - always too proud - and Pippa closes her eyes for a moment as the silence spools out between them.
“All this time,” Pippa’s voice trembles, “we’ve spent hating each other.”
The word carries such weight now, and Hecate feels her eyes dampen as tears rise within Pippa’s own eyes.
And Hecate watches as Pippa breaks.
“I’ve missed you, Hiccup.”
Hiccup.
The old affectionate nickname, absent from between them for thirty years.
It’s a good as an I love you.
It hangs between them, a white flag, and admittance, and Hecate swallows, and swallows, and swallows, around tears.
Her throat works and she struggles for the words, not because she doesn't want to say them, but because, after all this time, they mean so much.
“I’ve - missed - you - too -” she falters over the next word, the name more precious than Pippa’s own, and then finally - finally - “ Pipsqueak. ”
And then Hecate can only remember the feeling of Pippa in her arms - and suddenly Pippa is in her arms - and it feels like home, it feels like home, it feels like coming home.
She doesn’t know how long they stand, slotted together, nestled as if they’ve always belonged like this, and, Hecate decides, it’s probably because they have.
But all too soon there’s dratted Mildred Hubble, and Pippa with a stern eyebrow, crossing her arms and holding her at bay until Hecate returns the poor girl’s cat.
By the time she’s done, Pippa’s made arrangements for her students and is waiting in her chambers.
She turns from the window when Hecate enters, and so many things hang in the air between them. Slowly, slowly, Hecate crosses and takes her hands.
“Pippa,” she breathes, and Pippa’s smile is dazzling, like the sun beyond the window, like the feeling of flying for the first time, like the way it feels to have Pippa in her arms.
“Hi,” Pippa whispers, and tucks herself in Hecate’s arms like she's never had to leave. Like Hecate has never made her leave.
“I think you threw the match,” Hecate whispers, ashamed.
“There are more important things than winning.”
“There are?”
Pippa huffs. “You are more important to me than winning.” She tilts her chin up and Hecate, dizzy with letting go, pulls her close and buries her face in Pippa’s neck.
They undress each other slowly, painstakingly, and Hecate can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop wrapping gentle hands around her waist, soothing them up her sides, cupping her face and bringing their mouths together again, and again, and again.
When they’re naked, they stand together in the clear, clean light of Hecate’s room, and Hecate gently, gently, bites Pippa very softly on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Pippa takes her face between her hands and slowly kisses the tears away before pulling back. “I never hated you,” she confesses, tears falling down her own face.
“I know,” Hecate assures her, mouth anchoring her, hands holding her steady. “I know.”
Together they move to the bed, eyes warm, mouths gentle, fingers tender. They slowly, achingly, preciously come together, making love for yet the hundredth time in thirty years.