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Gideon was standing at the window in her room aboard the shuttle, staring at the smeared glass rather than the view. She heard a whir as the door opened, and resisted the urge to bang her head against the window. "What do you want, Tridentarius?"
A low hmm came from behind Gideon, followed by "You know, you seemed much taller at Canaan House."
Gideon pushed away from the metal wall, turned towards Ianthe, and crossed her arms over her chest.
Ianthe walked towards her, as casually as if this were her room, and definitely not as though she'd bypassed the lock that Gideon knew she'd put on the door. She stopped in front of Gideon, reaching up with bone fingers to wipe away a non-existent mark on Gideon's shirt. Gideon tried not to flinch.
"It's not a good look on you, all this moping. You're like a kicked tabby cat."
Gideon did not know what a tabby was, but assumed, since it had come out of Ianthe's mouth, that it was probably something ginger and pathetic. Ianthe only had so many jokes.
Gideon pushed Ianthe's hand away. It wasn't as cold as Harrows constructs used to be. "Should I follow after you, Oh Ray of Sunshine and Hope?"
Ianthe let out a bark of laughter, nothing at all like her radiant sister. "It's Ray of Awe, actually." She let her hand drop, and she eyed Gideon with Naberius Tern's eyes. "You know, when you were in dear old Harry's body, you seemed far more alive than you do now."
"Maybe because I'm actually real fucking dead now."
Ianthe smiled. "You were dead then, too." She tapped a metallic phalange against her full lips, once, twice. Then her mouth made a small "o" shape, and she said, "Ah, I should have guessed. Being inside Harrow was probably more than you ever hoped for."
Gideon's dead heart tried its best to die again. She pushed away from the awful Lyctor, took two steps back towards her bed. "Further than you ever got."
"Oh, that's what you think."
Gideon was sick of this. Sick of Ianthe, at her cruelty, at bringing up Harrow just so she could get off on seeing Gideon crumble.
"Hate to break it you, Saint of Bore (-"weak, even for you"-), she never felt anything towards me or to you, other than revulsion. She only ever had eyes for a dead girl." Gideon didn't know why she was bringing this up again. It was an old conversation.
Ianthe didn't seem to mind going over the topic again. In fact, she seemed to tense, ever so slightly, like a child approaching a present they weren't sure was for them. "Oh, is that why you did it? Skewered yourself in hopes of some necro-action?"
Gideon could feel herself getting hotter, which didn't make sense given her state of expiration. She didn't answer Ianthe, unwilling to give voice to her thoughts of Harrow that way. Not out loud, anyway. Not anymore.
Ianthe seemed unbothered by Gideon's uncharacteristic silence. She was inspecting her nails now, but Gideon could still see the tension in her forearms. Ianthe could feign nonchalance well, but Gideon knew her better than she ever would have liked to. Ianthe continued, "It's all a moot point now, I suppose. She'd rather succumb to the River than be near you."
"Or you."
"Well, I have no plans on being dead any time soon, so I doubt it would have worked out between us."
Gideon grunted. She made a point to turn her back on Ianthe, started pulling at the jumbled blankets on her bed. She had never made her bed in life, but anything was better than indulging whatever mood Ianthe was in.
Gideon worked in silence for a few moments, and she almost thought the dread-saint had got the hint, when she felt a body stepping close behind her. Gideon stilled, one hand gripping the edge of a pillow case.
Ianthe settled against Gideon's back, and Gideon felt a hand, a soft, warm hand, press between her shoulder blades.
Ianthe's voice, deep and too raspy to be beautiful, came low and far too close. "Could you see it? Shut away like a dog in a cage; could you see everything? Did you feel what she felt?"
The heat that had started to leave Gideon began working it's way through her chest again. A warm breath ghosted the back of her neck.
"Did you get to taste it when she kissed me?"
Gideon span around, grabbed the Lyctor by the throat, and pushed her against the wall.
Gideon was breathing harder than after one of Aiglamenes training sessions. "Don't -" she started. Then she caught sight of Ianthe's expression, her jaw tipped up, victorious, her eyes too dark even for Tern. Gideon's fingers at her throat tightened, ever so slightly, and she shuddered.
Gideon glanced down to where her pointed teeth were pressing into her bottom lip. And Gideon thought, Sharper than a bone shard.
She thought, What's one more cut?
She thought, She'd hate me for this.
Then she stopped thinking, and crushed her mouth against Ianthe's.
Ianthe's mouth was warm, full of edges, and letting out a low moan into Gideon's. Ianthe's hands, both of them, came up to encircle Gideon's wrist. She pulled Gideon's hand down, until it was pressing into her chest. Instinctively, Gideon ran a thumb over the thin silk, feeling the softness beneath.
Gideon's head was full. There was heat and anger, and softness and pain. It was overwhelming, and it all felt like the most wonderful white noise she had ever heard.
Ianthe pushed them away from the wall, kept pushing, until Gideon's calves hit the back of the bed, and she pushed further so that Gideon's knees bent. She soared forwards into Gideon's lap, and scraped her fingers against her bicep, leaving thin gashes across brown skin.
Gideon kissed up into her, with Ianthe's long, pale hair framing them. One hand settled against the back of Ianthe's head, firm, persistent. The other snaked under the bottom of Ianthe's blouse, finding smooth skin and ribs that weren't bony enough.
Ianthe's head fell back at the touch, and Gideon's grip let her.
Suddenly, Gideon felt flesh fingers press into the open wound on her chest. A flash of white hot pain burned behind her eyes. Gideon should have pulled away, but she pushed closer, to sink her teeth into Ianthe's collarbone.
Ianthe let out a gasp of satisfaction, and when she pulled her hand away there were dark red stains under her fingernails. She threaded her fingers into short orange hair and yanked Gideon's head back. Gideon glared up at her, feeling the taste of copper on her tongue.
Ianthe stared back, eyes half-lidded, her horrible mouth turned up at the sides. She leant forwards, and murmured into Gideon's ear. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Gideon wasn't sure she knew what good felt like anymore. She licked at the blood on her teeth and kissed Ianthe again. She tasted her smirk more than she saw it.
Ianthe had begun rocking slowly against Gideon's thigh. Gideon pulled her closer, fingers dipping below the waist of her trousers. Ianthe had moved her grip back to Gideon's bicep, and it tightened as Gideon pressed lower.
She was slick, hot, and when Gideon slid her fingers against her she let out a gasp that devolved into a moan as Gideon kept moving.
Gideon moved her mouth from Ianthe's, leaning down to drag her teeth over Ianthe's breast. She sunk a finger into her, and was rewarded with low, "Fuck". So she pressed two in, curling upwards until Ianthe's back arched, her head thrown back against Gideon's hand.
Gideon kept the momentum, and when Gideon's thumb found her clit she let out a litany of curses. Gideon may have heard her breathe something about nuns, or ninth, or "filthy bone cultists", but she wasn't able to focus on the words, her body burning and her hand wet.
Ianthe came with a shout, tightening over Gideon's fingers, soaking her thigh. Gideon rode her through it, until Ianthe swore again, and pulled her hand away.
Gideon could feel those eyes boring into her, but refused to meet her gaze. She pressed her mouth to Ianthe's throat, and bit against her racing pulse.
Ianthe turned her head, catching Gideon's mouth with hers. As she kissed her, Ianthe's flesh hand traced it's way over Gideon's torso. It lingered over her chest wound, but this time ignored it and moved over Gideon's abs. Gideon sucked in a breath at the light touch.
Ianthe pulled away, to watch as her hand moved lower. "Oh, but how you can still blush, Nav..." She licked her lips, and almost to herself, said "It's delicious."
Gideon didn't want to hear Ianthe talking. She let out a breath and let her head fall back as Ianthe undid her belt. When those fingers, long, too perfect, found her wet, she heard Ianthe swear. It didn't sound sarcastic, not this time. It sounded reverent.
In another lifetime, Gideon might have been embarrassed by how quickly she fell apart under those hands, her hips thrusting up to meet the palm of Ianthe's hand, already full with three fingers.
Ianthe didn't kiss her, just settled her bone fingers against the hollow of Gideon's throat as she moved above her. Not wrapped, or tight, more like the thought of a touch.
Ianthe began to move faster, and Gideon let out a moan as she tipped her hand to get a new angle. She was so full, cresting towards something so fast it was almost painful.
"Good Prince. "
Gideon came with a shout, bucking artlessly against Ianthe's hand. The swell overtook her, all-consuming, faster than a rapier. Then her whole body slumped back onto the bed, strings cut.
For a moment there was only heavy breathing. Ianthe was warm and solid above her.
Then Gideon shoved Ianthe's thighs off hers, so that she fell to the side. They weren't touching.
The heat began to fade, leaving only a seared, scalded ember in it's wake.
Gideon closed her eyes.
"I hate you."
Ianthe stood up, legs only slightly shaking. She made her way to the door, where she paused.
"Oh Gristle," she tilted her head back to say, "We both know it's not me you hate."