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Gideon had never loved the frozen wasteland the Ninth house called home. She detested the chilly winds, the snow blowing off the mountaintops, the dull grey sky with its eternal dreariness. The rare moments that the sun managed to peek through the dense coverage gave her a brief glimmer of hope that maybe, one fucking day, the ice might melt and there’d be a glorious green meadow beneath all the white.
No, Gideon had never loved the Ninth kingdom. But she was starting to grow fond of the familiarity.
Her sword clanked against her armor as she strode through the halls of the Ninth castle. It was a depressing sort of place, all long hallways and tall windows, lit by sconces on the wall shaped like skeletal hands dutifully holding the torches. There were tapestries and paintings depicting Ninth history - laid out in bones and blood, no victory besides that over death. There were a lot of references - some that Gideon knew, some she didn’t care to.
Gold had become one of the key elements in the detailing of the Ninth house ever since Harrowhark had inherited the throne. It was in the threadwork of the tapestries, the frames of the paintings; it glinted in Gideon’s armor - a special touch of gold-outlined bones etched into the iron, a full skeleton illuminated by the flickering torchlight and making her look, frankly, pretty badass. It was one of the perks of being Harrow’s personal guard, looking badass. The queen wouldn’t have settled for less.
There were other perks, too, of course. Decent pay. Great fucking food. Access to training the Ninth recruits to the cohort. And, of course, being able to be close to the queen.
God, there’d been a time when Gideon had wanted nothing less than to be close to Harrow. And then shit had happened that had made them both…realize some things. Harrow had inherited the throne, had needed a guard, and Gideon had been…well. Bored.
Who could have fucking guessed that they’d fall in love? That she, Gideon fucking Nav, buff beast of the Ninth, would have fallen for a glorified stick figure that rattled with every step from the sheer amount of bones she wore?
It was comical. It was absurd. It was fucking great.
She made her way outside, pushing open the heavy doors with ease. Her breath curled in front of her as she stepped out of the slightly-less-freezing castle and into the very-much-freezing atmosphere of the kingdom. How the half-dead nuns of the Ninth walked around out here in their flimsy looking robes was beyond Gideon. Her teeth chattered as she stomped through the ice, the leather padding in her armor doing jack all to keep the chill at bay. She pulled her helmet’s visor down, thankful that it kept her face from being blasted by the frosty air as she made her way towards the chapel.
She had a love-hate relationship with the chapel. The ancient stone was carved directly from the mountain, the stained glass windows somehow still intact despite the fact it had been neglected for a long ass time before Harrow had taken the throne. Now, it was in the process of restoration, the outside having been cleared of rotten wood and crumbling brick, and replaced with dark stones that contrasted the blazing white all around it. It was the only place in the kingdom that plants grew naturally - scraggly little things, climbing up along the stones as if grown from prayer. White, drooping flowers clung to the pale green stems, adding a touch of beauty to an otherwise desolate, depressing dimension.
Gideon hesitated at the door, reaching out and plucking a flower from the trailing vine. It was a delicate, frail little thing but resilient - it had to be to grow here in this frozen place. It reminded her of Harrow.
She eased the door open, stepping into the hazy warmth of the chapel. Warm from the several hundred candles that remained lit at all times, keeping the space alive and comforting - not exactly the atmosphere that was attributed to the Ninth, but Gideon knew why Harrow kept the chapel so warm, knew that the logic there was Harrow’s and Harrow’s alone.
Speaking of the queen… Gideon’s eyes landed on the figure stood at the end of the aisle, black robes sweeping the floor and clinging to a slight frame. The candlelight glinted off the golden threads weaved into the black, subtle enough to not be obnoxious but flashy enough that it still surprised Gideon to see Harrow sporting any sort of color besides black.
The queen stood in front of the makeshift altar she’d had made, a massive slab of obsidian with a golden sheen to it. Beyond that, where the chapel met the mountain, was the tomb, hidden behind sealed doors, and a tapestry of lively color - the most extravagant of all the paintings and tapestries in the castle.
Gideon didn’t care for it, if she was honest. She’d never been the religious type, had long ago given up on God and prayer. But she couldn’t deny the sheer power that the figure on the tapestry radiated. A woman, pale as death with flowing golden hair, clad in white with chains around her wrists, ankles and throat, trailing from her body and vanishing at the edges of the tapestry. Her eyes were closed, her lips a tight line, and her hands gripped the hilt of a sword at her breast. Around her head was a halo of golden threads, spikes that stretched outward like the sun, and the background was one of nature - vibrant greens, pale flowers and a blue, winding river.
Harrow had commissioned it, almost immediately after her coronation. Gideon had helped put it up. Gideon fucking hated the thing. Harrow absolutely adored it.
The door closed behind her with an echoing thud, stirring Harrowhark from her prayers. The queen’s head tilted, listening as Gideon slid the lock in place and tapped the ice off her boots.
“You’re late,” Harrow told her.
“Maybe if you didn’t insist I always have a full suit of armor on when I’m called on, I’d actually get places on time, but here we are,” Gideon replied dryly.
Harrow turned fully, regarding her with dark eyes beneath a black lace hood. Her face was painted in the traditional skull makeup of the Ninth, but Harrow’s affinity for gold had bled over into that, too. Gold paint accentuated the eyes, nose and teeth of the skull, contrasting with the black paint. Somehow, it suited her, Gideon decided. Kind of gaudy, sure, but Harrow knew how to add flair to her bullshit.
“Why’d you want me, anyways?” Gideon asked as she made her way down the aisle. “Your message was cryptic, as usual.”
“I thought it was clear.”
“‘Come to the chapel, Nav, I’m in need of your services’ is clear?”
Harrow tilted her head back, looking up into golden eyes with an almost smug expression. “I didn’t realize I needed to explicitly state my every intention, Nav. I assumed you were intelligent enough to…read between the lines.”
“Harrow,” Gideon said, stopping in front of the queen. “It’s early, I’m starving, and its fucking freezing. My brain doesn’t function in these conditions.”
“Lucky for me I don’t need your brain right now, then.” Harrow reached up, drawing her hood back. Her dark hair was starting to grow out, the usual short crop the queen kept having been put on the backburner as she’d taken on her royal duties. Gideon resisted the urge to run her fingers through it. “And your armor is important for keeping appearances, the last thing I need is everyone thinking we’re - what is that?”
Gideon blinked, followed Harrow’s gaze to the flower still grippied in her hand. “...A flower?”
“Why do you have a flower?”
Gideon grinned, reaching up and tugging her helmet off. She leaned over to set it down on one of the empty seats in the aisle, running her fingers through her hair before she lowered herself to one knee, holding the flower up to the queen with a cocky smirk.
“I thought it was pretty,” she said. “And I wanted to give it to you.”
Harrow stared down at her, eyes darting from her face to the drooping white petals. “Why?”
“Because you’re also pretty.”
Gideon would have bet coins on the fact that underneath the facepaint, Harrowhark was blushing. The queen cleared her throat quietly, and took the flower in a hesitant movement, almost like she was afraid it would fall apart. Gideon’s smile turned fond as she watched Harrow turn the flower this way and that, studying it like some mysterious puzzle she couldn’t quite figure out yet.
“It’s going to die,” Harrow told her finally, matter-of-factly. “You picked it from the mother plant. It’s already wilting.”
“So stick it in some water, or press it, or something,” Gideon told her, rising to her feet once more. “You’re a necromancer queen, you can figure something out.”
“I’m not partial to sentiment.”
“Riiight,” Gideon said, “that’s why you made a whole altar dedicated to a frozen corpse you’re infatuated with.”
Harrow glowered up at her, but didn’t deny it. She turned to face the altar, still twirling the flower in her fingers thoughtfully. “It isn’t all for her,” she said after a few moments.
“It’s not?” Gideon glanced from the obnoxious amount of candles, to the obnoxious tapestry. “You sure?”
“Positive. A great deal of it is,” Harrow said, “but she isn’t the only one I attribute gold to.”
“No?” Gideon highly doubted it. She shifted, resting her hand on her sword hilt as she eyed the flowing golden hair, the golden rays of light, the golden obsidian slab. “Who else, pray tell, is there?”
“You.”
That had Gideon choking on air, sputtering in a frankly embarrassing display of surprise. “Excuse me?”
Harrow glanced over her shoulder, lips quirked in a smirk. “It really is a good thing I don’t need your brain, Nav.”
“No, hold the fuck up,” Gideon said, taking a step towards her. “Me? What do you mean, me?”
The queen sighed, turned to face her. Those dark eyes studied her for a moment - contemplating, considering, seeing something there that Gideon herself wasn’t aware of.
“You still doubt my affections,” Harrow said after a few moments, “even after everything?”
Gideon opened her mouth to deny it, but the words died in her throat, leaving a lump there she couldn’t quite swallow back. Yes, she thought, yes, of course, especially after everything.
“Hm.” The queen lifted the flower, regarded it thoughtfully. “I’ll need to be more obvious, then.” She lifted her gaze, locking her eyes on Gideon’s. “Take off your armor.”
“...What?”
“Take. Off. Your armor.”
She hesitated for a moment, but the part of her brain that wanted to be a cocky asshole was silenced by the louder, rougher part that wanted to know just where the hell this was headed. Her fingers moved mostly on memory, her eyes locked on Harrow’s as she loosened the clasps, the ties coming undone, her armor falling with a loud clang to the floor. She nudged it aside, trying to ignore the shiver trailing up her spine, either from the cold or from anticipation, she wasn’t sure.
“Kind of counterproductive, isn’t it?” she said, her tone light and joking even as her pulse thrummed under her skin. “Making me wear the damn thing just to have me take it off?”
“What can I say,” the queen said, the smirk returning to her lips. “I like seeing you in uniform.”
She was well aware she was blushing, could feel the heat of her own blood betraying her. She eyed Harrow warily as the queen stepped towards her, leaning up as far as her tippy toes could get her. “What you and I do in the shadows is no one else’s business,” Harrow murmured against her jaw, her lips ghosting against the sensitive skin there. “I prefer we have our privacy.”
“Hard to feel like this is very private since there’s a corpse behind the wall, Harrow.”
“There are corpses everywhere, Nav. That hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Those are different,” Gideon muttered, eyeing the tapestry behind the queen. “They’re not her.”
Harrow pulled back a little, tilting her head as realization dawned on her face. “Oh,” she whispered, reverently. “Oh, Nav, are you…jealous?”
“The fuck I am,” Gideon growled, her gaze snapping back to the queen, but she knew it was too late.
“Griddle, really? You’re jealous of her?” Amusement danced in Harrow’s eyes, and it absolutely did not belong there.
“I’m not jealous of a fucking corpse.”
“Mm.” Harrow’s tone told her that she absolutely, 100%, did not believe her. The queen drew back, smirking up at her knowingly. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner. It makes so much sense now. I wondered why you hated her so much.”
“I’m not fucking jealous, Nonagesimus.”
“It’s alright, Griddle. I understand.” Harrow leaned against the obsidian slab, twirling the flower all the while. “I do spend a lot of time here, with her, don’t I? I’ve given her so much of my time, so much of my focus.” She tilted her head, the gold of her facepaint glinting in the candlelight. “I’ve been neglecting you quite a lot, it seems.”
Oh, God. Oh shit. Gideon grit her teeth, glared down at the queen even as her heart pounded against her breast. “I’m not neglected, and I’m not jealous.”
“Mmhm. Of course not. You hate all corpse’s equally.”
She scowled, hands curling into tight fists at her sides. “Stop trying to instigate, Harrow.”
“Oh, but I love it when you’re all fired up. It makes taking you down so much more satisfying.”
She tensed at that, her hand drifting to her sword. “I’m not in a playing mood, Nonagesimus.”
Harrow shook her head. “You mistake me, Nav. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to argue.”
“What do you want, then? Because so far all you’ve done is just confuse and irritate me.”
“Mm. Yes, I really have, haven’t I?” Harrow straightened, stepping back towards her. Gideon eyed her warily; they might have grown closer, but she knew the queen was sly, sneaky, and always had something up her sleeve. She was fully expecting to hear more smug banter, to settle the inevitable spitfire argument with a heated kiss and a promised rendezvous later.
What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for Harrow to reach up, tuck the flower behind Gideon’s ear in a tender motion, and whisper, “I’m sorry, Nav.”
She stared dumbly down at her queen, willing her brain to catch up as her heart stuttered in her chest. “You…huh?”
“I’ve let you think that your importance to me is less than it actually is. I haven’t been proactive with my affections, haven’t properly shown you how much you matter to me.” Harrow’s fingertips - cold, frosty little things - trailed across Gideon’s jawline, dark eyes following the movement. “Let me silence any doubts you have. Please.”
Kissing Harrow was still something Gideon had to get used to. They didn’t do it as often as she’d like - if Gideon had her way, she’d make out with Harrow constantly. She’d never thought so before, but now she knew firsthand that kissing Harrow was like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. It wasn’t elegant by any means - awkward at first, tentative, but after a few seconds it became warm, a brush of lips that was almost unnervingly tender considering who Gideon was kissing.
Her heart, which had already been steadily pumping loud in her ears, was thundering in her chest. Gideon leaned into the kiss, her arm sliding around Harrow’s waist to tug her close. Cold hands pressed to her chest, no doubt feeling the thundering pump of blood through her veins, and Harrow let out a pleased little noise in the back of her throat.
“Are you excited, or nervous?” Harrow murmured against her lips, her eyes fluttering open to look up at her intently.
“Not sure,” Gideon told her, voice low as she drew back a little. “Maybe both.”
“Mm.” Harrow’s hands slid lower, trailed over her muscular abdomen to rest at her hips. She traced the design etched in Gideon’s belt, her head tilting upwards. “May I..?”
Gideon nodded, quiet as she watched Harrow slide the belt free. Her sword went with it, laid against the nearest pew, and although she was far from it, Gideon suddenly felt very naked without her weapon. She tried not to fidget, watching as Harrow brought her attention back to her guard, hands trailing down her shirt before cold fingers dipped underneath, her nails scratching lightly against Gideon’s abs.
“You trying to seduce me, your majesty?” Gideon joked, hoping it hid her nerves. It did not. Harrow gave her an unamused look before she tugged the shirt up and off, letting the fabric fall to the floor and taking in the way goosebumps traveled across Gideon’s skin, the way she shivered in the chilly air.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your physique, Griddle,” the queen told her. Gideon shivered as cold fingertips traced her hip bones, trailed up her stomach to rub gentle, soothing circles against her ribs. “You are, forgive my boldness, one hell of a specimen.”
“Gee, thanks, my liege.”
Harrow hummed thoughtfully, flicking her eyes upwards to meet Gideon’s golden gaze. She kept her eyes fixed there, unbroken as she leaned forward, her lips brushing lightly against the curve of Gideon’s breast. Dark eyes glinted with satisfaction at the sharp breath the guard took, her lips curving in a smirk.
Gideon shivered as those cold, delicate hands trailed up, cupping the meat of her breasts while Harrow’s lips drifted across her chest, leaving behind a trail of kisses. She wasn’t used to the queen being so…tender with her. Harrow looked like a frail little twig, but Gideon knew all too well that there was immense power under that skull face paint. This was still new to them both. Sometimes Gideon wondered if Harrow herself was shocked by her own gentleness.
“Mm…” She bit her lip, eyes shuddering closed as Harrow’s lips sealed over her nipple. God, it fucking threw her off, how warm Harrow’s mouth was in contrast to the rest of her. She arched into the heat, a groan slipping out as she felt Harrow’s tongue lap at the sensitive nub, sending little jolts of electric pleasure straight between her legs. She lifted a hand, fingers sliding into dark locks in a loose grip, unsure if she wanted to hold Harrow there forever or pull her off as the stimulation became almost overwhelming. “Fuck…”
She risked a glance down, biting her lip as she took in the intensity of Harrow’s eyes on her. Her breast was smeared with gold, Harrow’s face paint steadily being ruined as she dragged her tongue upwards, giving Gideon’s nipple one final flick before she shifted her attention to the other breast. The guard shivered, her free hand reaching back to grab onto the pew behind her, not trusting her legs to keep her steady as she sighed, eyes sliding shut again as she drank in the pleasure.
Harrow was far too fucking good with her tongue. It was like she had some magical power over the muscle, flicking and curling it with ease that put Gideon’s self-proclaimed eating out skills to shame. Harrow knew, too, knew all the little tricks to get Gideon under her, and she used this knowledge well. She was using it now, sucking gently, her hands trailing along Gideon’s side, lower and lower until they were dipping below the waist of her pants, cold fingertips sending the guard shivering as she became very aware of the heat coiling between her thighs.
She gasped sharply, eyes flying wide when Harrow’s hand dipped into her pants, cupped her loosely, the cold touch contrasting delightfully with the warmth there. The queen pulled back, smirking up at her knowingly.
“My god, Nav, you’re practically dripping,” she murmured, and fuck, it wasn’t fair how sinful she sounded. Gideon shuddered, fighting the urge to grind into her hand; she wasn’t that desperate. Yet, anyways.
“Wonder why that might be,” she managed to get out, hating the way her voice cracked. Harrow regarded her thoughtfully, fingers slowly closing the distance, stroking along her cunt in slow movements that had Gideon’s knees weak in seconds. She tightened her grip on those dark locks, swallowed hard. “Fuck, Harrow, please…”
“Please?” The queen cocked her head, her smirk twisting into a smug grin. “I’ve barely even started and you’re begging already? I thought you had more resolve than that.”
“Harrow, I swear to God…”
“And what do you swear, hm?” Her tone shifted, dropping low and dark, and had Gideon’s pulse throbbing between her legs. “You aren’t religious. Do you think He would even hear you? Would He even care?” She leaned up, lips brushing along Gideon’s jaw before she kissed her throat, lips hot against her skin. “You can swear to Him all you want, but we both know that at the end of the day, the only one you’d get on your knees for is me.”
God, if Gideon wasn’t holding onto the pew she’d probably have dropped to her knees immediately. Her head was an overwhelming buzz of want, need, give. She took the risk, releasing her death grip on the pew to instead grip onto Harrow, dragging her close and crushing their lips together in a heated kiss. The queen let out a surprised squeak against her lips, but she wasn’t fazed for long; Gideon felt her freezing hands settle at her hips, curling around the waist of her pants and tugging almost impatiently. Harrow had absolutely nothing on Gideon strength-wise, but the power was completely in the queen’s hands, and Gideon was all too happy to let herself be pulled around, moving with Harrow’s less-than-graceful movements until she felt her back hit the edge of the altar, the shock of cold obsidian making her grunt in mild discomfort.
“Can’t believe you wanna fuck me in a church,” Gideon murmured against her lips, grinning at the little huff she got in answer. She let herself be manhandled - well, as well as Harrow could manhandle anything - onto the freezing stone of the altar. She shivered but tried to maintain some semblance of composure, leaning down to pull Harrow back into another kiss, cupping the queen’s face gently in her warm hands.
Harrow’s lips weren’t exactly soft. There wasn’t much about Harrow that was soft; she was all sharp edges and reserved demeanor, all teeth and very little flesh. But kissing her was on a cosmic level of epic in Gideon’s mind.
It was a brief, soft moment, between Harrow’s insistent movements and Gideon’s own, steadily intensifying desperation, where they just…were. Just basking in each other, lit by the glow of a hundred candles, the bleak world outside unable to touch them. It was sweet, warm, and so wildly unlike anything Gideon ever expected from Harrow. There were a lot of things she’d never expected from Harrow that had surprised her as their relationship had progressed. She couldn’t deny that she loved it.
Gideon shivered as she felt a cold hand trailing down her side to settle at her waist, felt the sharp prick of nails digging lightly into her skin. The other hand was sliding up, fingertips trailing across her ribs before nestling flat between her breasts. She felt pressure there, breaking the kiss to let herself be pushed back so she was lying down on the cold obsidian beneath her. She opened her eyes, peering up at Harrow through her lashes, and fought off a tremble at the predatory look she saw on the queen’s face.
“What now?” she said, trying to sound cocky and instead sounding breathless. “You just gonna stand there, or - shit, Christ!”
The obsidian was suddenly cracking open around her, the loud sound briefly deafening her; from the cracks, skeletal hands rose up, grabbing onto her, wrestling her wrists above her head and holding her arms down firmly to the cold surface of the altar. Gideon snarled, squirming, yanking the best she could, but the hands held fast, keeping her down despite her efforts.
“Shh…” Harrow’s voice drifted to her, breaking some clarity past the initial panic. Gideon sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to still, though the tension remained as she lifted her head, scowled up at the queen.
“What the fuck, Harrow?” she spat.
The queen smirked, reaching down to push Gideon’s legs open so she could step closer. “It wouldn’t have been a very fitting altar without some bones in it,” she said. Her hands were trailing up and down Gideon’s thighs, making the guard shiver beneath her. “And you always have a hard time staying still when I ask you to.”
“You know there’s like, ropes for that, right?” Gideon eyed the hands holding her, and gave another experimental tug. “Like, I’m all for spicing shit up, but…this is a little…”
“Unorthodox?”
“Fucked up, I was gonna say.”
Harrow laughed - a literal, honest to god laugh. It wasn’t a cute sound; in fact, it could have been considered horrifying to anyone who knew Harrow personally. But it still sent Gideon’s pulse thrumming, had her stomach fluttering with affection.
“I hardly think it's hindering you in any way, Nav,” Harrow told her; as if to prove her point, the queen slid one hand up along Gideon’s thigh, pressing her palm firmly between her legs. The guard gasped, hips bucking up into the touch, and God, the satisfied little smirk that Harrow gave her sent liquid heat pooling in her gut.
“So,” Gideon managed to choke out after a moment, “what, uh…what now? You gonna fuck the life out of me in the name of the Tomb, or something?”
“Or something.” Harrow tilted her head, her gaze predatory and intense, and Gideon had never felt more like prey in her entire life. “See, Griddle, I feel that I’ve misled you.”
“Oh?” God, her voice was betraying her, wavering in a way that made her want to curl into herself and hide. “How…uh, how so?”
“You don’t seem convinced of my affections.”
“Oh, for fuck’s…” She sighed, let her head rest back - which, she decided, was a mistake, because the view she had was full of blonde hair and chains and illuminated tapestry.
“I worry that you mistake my devotion to the Tomb as taking precedence over our relationship. That, perhaps,” the queen continued, hands stroking up and down muscular thighs, “I haven’t given you the attention you require. So. I’m going to fix that, right now.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“Quiet.” Her tone was sharp now, a serrated edge that had Gideon’s mouth snapping shut and her head lifting to look up at the queen. Harrow’s eyes were dark, watching her closely, and her expression practically screamed “Stop with your bullshit, or else.” Her hands stilled, gripping firmly as she leaned in, bones dangling from her neck and tickling against Gideon’s chest.
“I’m not a moron, Gideon.” The use of her name had the guard tensing up, the seriousness of the moment settling over her like a heavy weight. “I notice the dirty looks, the tension you carry whenever she’s brought up.” The queen nodded to the tapestry, her eyes locked on the guard spread out before her. “I know you’ll never admit that you envy her, envy the Tomb. I know you think I care more for them than for you.”
Harrow’s gaze softened slightly, so quickly if Gideon had blinked she’d have missed it. The queen leaned down, lips ghosting against warm skin. “You probably worry that I’ll think badly of you if you’re honest with me,” Harrow told her. “You carry the past with you like it’s a second skin. I see how it nearly breaks you, constantly.” Gideon shivered, stared up into dark, inky eyes as the queen lifted a hand, fingertips brushing against her cheek. “I wish you wouldn’t carry so much, Nav.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond, how to even begin to unpack all of that. She just stared dumbly up at Harrow as the queen stared back at her, something silent and heavy lingering between them. Part of Gideon desperately wanted to shrink away, to backtrack and scramble out of this moment like a runaway convict. But she couldn’t bring herself to actually do it.
Truth, it turns out, hurt like an old, infected scab wound. Not quite sharp, fresh pain, but something old being picked at, reopened and observed in its half-healed state. She knew the wounds were there - God, she’d lived with them her whole life, bleeding out all over her memory. But she’d slapped bandages over them, hidden them from her sight, pushed on despite the pain. She was familiar with it. Hell, it was almost comforting to her now, as twisted as that was. But now she felt them all, cracking open, oozing out honesty into her eyes, her voice, her face.
Despite fighting Harrow almost all their lives…she couldn’t fight this.
“I don’t know how to put it down,” she said finally, her voice quiet, low and dripping with honesty.
Harrow’s expression softened slightly, a barely noticeable change, but Gideon noticed. Of course she noticed. “You don’t have to drop it,” the queen told her. “I can’t expect that of you. I know you too well, Griddle.” She leaned down, lips pressing gentle kisses to Gideon’s ribs. “But I want to help ease the strain, if I can.”
“Why?” Gideon shivered beneath her, let her eyes slide shut.
Harrow paused, drew back. Gideon risked a glance, tensing as she took in the queen - standing between her legs, looking up at the tapestry, the candlelight reflecting off her gold and setting her aglow.
“Why?” Harrow’s voice was quiet, low, and there was an edge to it that Gideon had heard before - when she was serious, when the words were laced with direct intention. “Because I may be queen, and have a duty to the Tomb, to the Ninth…but I love you.” Those dark eyes - so black, so dark, like the depth of the universe where stars didn’t dare shine - locked on her again, and Gideon’s breath froze in her lungs. “You have my heart, Gideon Nav.”
The shock that radiated through her was like a nuclear blast of raw, unfiltered emotion. She stared, open mouthed, at the queen - her queen, her Harrow - and suddenly her eyes stung, her throat felt tight, her chest felt like it was a crushing weight holding her heart back from exploding out of her. Every ounce of dignity left her all at once, left her open like a fucking book, and Gideon had never felt her body betray her this much in her whole life.
Say it back. Say it the fuck back. Holy shit, you dumb lesbian moron, SAY IT BACK.
“...That’s really gay, Harrow,” came out of her mouth instead, voice dry and weak, and Gideon instantly wanted to die.
Harrow blinked down at her owlishly, and Gideon swore she saw a hint of a smile on the queen’s lips. “Sorry,” she mumbled quietly, feeling the blood rushing to her face, eyes darting away. God, why was she like this?
“I expect nothing less from you, Griddle.” Harrow’s hands were on her again, gliding up her thighs, fingertips trailing along the waist of her pants. “But now you know. You’re important to me, Nav, more than you realize.”
She shivered, let her eyes close again. She wanted to hide, she wanted to pull Harrow close, she wanted, she wanted, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach for it. It was pathetic, honestly, that after everything - even after this, after a literal declaration of love - Gideon was afraid that Harrow didn’t want her.
“Nav.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
“Nope.” She squeezed her eyes tighter, shook her head, because God, she knew if she opened her eyes Harrow would see, Harrow would know.
“Nav.”
That was all the warning she got before the obsidian was cracking beneath her head, before she felt skeletal fingers grabbing ahold of her hair and forcing her head up. Gideon grit her teeth, kept her eyes closed, even as her heart started up its rapid-fire artillery against her chest.
She startled, eyes snapping open when cold hands cupped her face - and that was it, she was lost, falling into starless skies that bored deep into her soul. She was laid bare, she knew it, everything out in the open, and Harrow’s brow was furrowing, her eyes narrowing, her beautiful, brilliant brain working behind those inky eyes.
Gideon was fucked.
“You still doubt me?” the queen murmured, and God, she actually sounded hurt.
“No,” Gideon uttered, eyes widening, the heat flooding through her immediately freezing. “No, Harrow…”
“Hush.” Harrow pressed a finger to Gideon’s lips, her tone turning sharp. “Hm,” she said, thoughtful and intense, her eyes searching Gideon’s face. “I should have realized that you’d need more convincing. You often do. You’re honestly quite the idiot at times.”
“Hey.”
“I told you to hush.” Harrow frowned down at her, then drew herself back. She seemed to be in her own head for a moment, and Gideon eyed her warily, because when Harrow came up with ideas it very often included Gideon suffering in some way.
Suddenly, she saw those inky eyes lighting up, saw the twitch of a smirk on Harrow’s chapped lips.
Oh, God. Oh shit.
“Well,” Harrow was saying, “since words are not enough, I’ll have to prove my affections another way.”
“What - oh, fuck…”
Harrow was dragging her pants down, so swiftly that the sudden shock of cold air made Gideon squeak before she was suddenly gasping, eyes widening as Harrow pushed her thighs apart. The heat from before was suddenly surging to the forefront again, melting the ice that had settled in Gideon’s veins, and she was suddenly acutely aware of the desperate throbbing between her legs.
“Harrow,” Gideon choked out, hoping the queen didn’t notice the way her thighs were shaking already, “we’re in a fucking church.”
“I’m aware.” Harrow’s hands were gliding back up her legs, keeping them held apart, keeping her exposed. “We’re in the chapel of the Tomb, which you avoid and I spend most of my time in, and you are laid on the altar like a wonderful little sacrifice.” She tilted her head, her eyes reflecting the candlelight in an ominous glow. “And I’m going to prove my devotion to you, right here, in front of the Tomb, and the body beyond, and when you’re crying out my name, it will be a proclamation to God and the universe that above all, I am devoted to you, Gideon Nav.”
She leaned down, ignoring Gideon’s flabbergasted stare, and pressed a kiss to her stomach. Her eyes were locked on Gideon’s, her intentions clear and evident, and her lips quirked in a smirk as she said, “Be loud.”
Then she was dropping to her knees between Gideon’s thighs, and she was dragging her mouth down, down, down, and then her tongue was dipping low, then back up to circle her clit, and Gideon was arching up into that sweet, delicious heat, a loud groan escaping her as pleasure sparked through her - so much, it was so much after having nothing, and if she hadn’t been held down by several bone hands she’d have probably lurched off the altar from the stimulation.
Harrow was too talented with her mouth, it wasn’t fair. She was putting Gideon’s self-proclaimed skills to shame. Her tongue dragged up, licking from her opening to her clit, sending electric shivers shooting through Gideon’s body. It was like lightning shooting from her clit to spear through her nerves, sending trembles up her bones, sending tremors throughout her muscles, and Gideon was so sure that she was going to fucking die, because it felt too good, too much, oh God.
“Harrow,” she choked out, struggling to catch her breath as Harrow lapped at her ravenously, “oh my fuck, mmmn…”
The queen hummed between her legs, her hands sliding up to rub soothing circles against her thighs. Gideon bit her lip, eyes heavy as she struggled to focus; the skeletal hands were loosening, slipping back into the obsidian, and her head dropped back, her vision unfocusing as the pleasure swarmed her mind, clouding the edges and turning her brain to complete mush.
She was falling so fast, her resolve chipping away, cracking like ice under pressure. Her hips were rocking up, grinding against Harrow’s tongue, desperately chasing that teasing heat. Harrow was meticulous, tongue swirling in slow movements, her fingers rubbing gently against shaking thighs, and Gideon was whining, high and needy, and couldn’t seem to stop herself.
She gasped, startled by Harrow’s fingers down, down and spreading her open, slowly, so slowly, and Gideon groaned loudly, hips rolling to press down against the digits.
“Fuck, please…” She whined, rocking impatiently, straining against the hands still holding her down. “Please, fuck me, c’mon…”
Harrow hummed again, fingers stilling as her tongue dragged against her clit, making Gideon moan loudly. The queen’s eyes were on her, Gideon could fucking feel them searing into her. Watching her struggle to stay intact, holding back from falling apart, from falling into the abyss of pleasure Harrow was steadily pushing her towards. They’d only just started, and she was so close, how was she so close already?
It hit her hard, the pleasure cresting as Harrow’s lips sealed over her clit, sucking hard, sending Gideon crashing into that pool of pleasure. “Fuck,” she choked out, her hips bucking pathetically before she was slumped back, breathing hard, letting the orgasm wash over her in warm waves. Harrow let out a pleased sound between her legs, clearly satisfied with herself, and then she…
She…she kept fucking going.
That blissful little haze of pleasant after-tingles suddenly became razor-sharp overstimulation that had Gideon crying out, her eyes flying wide as Harrow’s tongue dragged across her clit again, picking right back up where she’d left off, and it was too much, too much, too good, oh God -
“H-Harrow,” she gasped out, hips jerking in an attempt to pull back, to get away from that horribly perfect heat, but Harrow wasn’t having it. The queen gripped her thigh firmly, nails digging into the soft flesh in warning as her tongue dipped, dragging up along Gideon’s pussy in a slow, agonizing motion that had the guard groaning.
She shuddered, straining against the skeletal hands, against Harrow’s grip on her, her eyes squeezing shut against the sheer overwhelm of it all. Her body was a maze of confusion, chemicals and electricity sparking and shooting through her veins, setting her nerves alight like exploding stars. God, it was so good, it was almost painful - too much, too soon, and she was going to die, she was going to break apart, she couldn’t…she couldn’t…
She shuddered when Harrow’s lips sealed over her clit again, the suction making her keen, back arching off the altar - to get closer to, or away from the pleasure, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t stay still, she couldn’t relax, it was too much -
Her eyes flew open, wide and unseeing, when she felt Harrow’s fingers sink into her finally, felt them stretching her open, thrusting slow and steady, and it was just what she needed - a new sensation to focus on, softening the overwhelming star-explosion inside her but somehow making it all the more intense as the same time.
“Harrow,” she heard herself whining, her voice broken and shaky from pleasure, “Harrow…”
Her second orgasm slammed into her like a wall - she hadn’t realized how close she was, too consumed by sensation, too occupied by the overwhelming feeling of too much all at once, and then she was drowning, pleasure crashing over her in steady waves, relentless and unending. She felt her muscles tensing and trembling, heard herself crying out - maybe screaming, who fucking knew. Definitely not Gideon, she was long gone, slumping back with shuddering gasps that left her lungs aching.
It took her several seconds to get herself to focus, to glance down at Harrow. The queen was watching her, a smug smirk on her face. Her facepaint had all but rubbed off, smearing Gideon’s thighs black and gold. She was wiping her mouth on the back of her free hand, which had Gideon frowning in confusion, because she could still feel the queen’s fingers inside her but her thighs were being held open by a firm grip, by cold fingers pressing bruises into her flesh. She strained to get a better look, and realized that a new pair of skeletal hands had sprouted from the altar, holding her open and spread, giving Harrow perfect, unobstructed access.
“...Oh,” was all she managed to get out, her brain still taking its sweet time to catch up to the rest of her. And then, again, “Oh,” as Harrow’s fingers slowly drew back, thrusting back in easily and sending warm, hazy pleasure smoldering inside her again.
“What a pretty offering you make, Nav,” Harrow told her; her voice was rough but no less commanding, smoky with confidence that had Gideon feeling almost high. “Undone by my hands and no one else’s. Perfect.”
She keened, hips arching as Harrow eased another finger inside her, the stretch so deliciously sweet. “Harrow,” she managed to utter, and God, she sounded so weak, so pathetic, but she didn’t fucking care. “Please…”
What she was asking for, she didn’t know. She had no damn idea, all she knew was that she needed more, wanted more, craved it with a desperation that was steadily clawing its way up from her core to press at her throat. Her cunt throbbed with overstimulation, but still she rocked against the fingers inside her, shuddering at the feeling of being full.
“Hmm?” Harrow was leaning over her again, those pretty dark eyes gazing smugly down at her. “What do you want, Nav?”
Gideon swallowed back the whine that was steadily rising in her throat, instead struggling to focus her too-scrambled brain to try and form a coherent sentence. “I…I want…” she tried, her words slurring as Harrow’s fingers began to thrust slowly, in and out. “Nng…please…Harrow, please…”
“I love hearing you break,” the queen sighed above her. Gideon trembled, eyes sliding closed as she felt Harrow’s lips against her skin, leaving a trail of kisses from her stomach to her chest. The fingers inside her were thrusting slowly, dragging along her walls and making her groan quietly. “I love knowing that it’s because of me,” Harrow murmured against her skin. “That you can come apart so easily when I touch you.”
“Shit…” Gideon groaned. She squirmed, hips rocking with what little movement she was allowed, desperately bucking against Harrow’s hand to try and coax her to go faster, harder, anything.
And then those wonderful, devilish fingers were pulling out, leaving her empty and aching and clenching around nothing. And she was suddenly aware of a sad, pathetic sound echoing out - like a high wail, desperate, shaky, the sound bouncing off the chapel walls - and then she realized it was her, sobbing from the sudden emptiness, babbling out “Harrow” and “please” without hesitation, and she was too far gone to feel shame, all she felt was the overwhelmingly awful, terrible sensation of emptiness, hips rutting up into nothingness.
Distantly, Gideon heard Harrow speaking, voice commanding her attention, but it took immense effort for her to pull herself together, eyes cracking open to look up at Harrow - blurry around the edges from Gideon’s unshed tears, looking so heavenly and regal despite the complete mess of facepaint. The queen was stroking her hair, speaking softly above her, and it took Gideon a moment to fully comprehend what she was saying.
“...girl, it’s alright,” Harrow was murmuring. “Such a good girl…”
Gideon shivered, uncaring as she leaned into the touch, forcing herself to relax. Well, relax as best she could. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling, from making little aborted thrusts with her hips, from making little noises of desperation. Words were beyond her at this point. Her brain was foggy, consumed with need, want, give.
“There you are,” Harrow said, when Gideon finally settled beneath her, when her eyes were clear and she was back to breathing steadily. The trembling hadn’t stopped, but Harrow didn’t seem too concerned by that. “Are you with me, Nav?”
Gideon was, in fact, not with anything, but she still nodded in answer. “Good,” Harrow said. She drew her hands back, but remained where she stood between the guard’s legs; Gideon peered up at her as the queen reached up, drawing her lace robe off, letting it slide from her shoulders to pool on the floor. “Can you tell me how you feel?”
“Mmn…” Gideon’s eyes trailed down, following Harrow’s fingers as they unclasped her bone corset. “...Heavy…and kinda…floaty?”
“Mm, but you’re capable of speaking. Good.” Harrow was watching her, the way Gideon’s eyes were glued on her hands as her fingers worked her laces and clasps free, as each piece of clothing was removed and dropped neatly on the floor on top of her robes.
She paused, when she was in only her silky chemise, and Gideon desperately wanted to break out of the grasp of the bones holding her down to rip the damn thing off. She clenched her fists, arms flexing, but she had enough cognition intact to know that if she broke free without permission, she’d regret it.
“I want to ride your tongue,” Harrow told her then, bluntly and to the point.
Gideon was pretty sure that sent the last of her resolve straight to the depths of hell, because her mouth was immediately dropping open and she was saying, “Yes, fuck, c’mere,” with zero hesitation. That desperate, aching need to be fucked was instantly replaced with the desperate, aching need to do the fucking, specifically the tasting.
Harrow lifted a brow, her lips quirking into a smirk as she drew her chemise up and over her head, and then she was standing there, naked as sin, and Gideon couldn’t hold back any more. She’d learned early on that once her eyes were blessed by Harrow’s tits, there was no stopping her from putting her mouth on them, and this moment was no different. The skeletal hands were snapping, crumbling, breaking into dust as Gideon surged up, muscles flexing and strength surging through her as she rose up, reaching for the queen and dragging her forward into an earth-shattering kiss that left them both breathless.
The hazy fog that had settled over her was fading, replaced by a ravenous hunger to taste. Her tongue warred with Harrow’s lips until the queen relented, and Gideon licked eagerly into her mouth, hands wandering across pale, chilly flesh to grope and grasp, swallowing every gasp and moan her roughness earned her. And God, had she earned this.
She could taste herself on Harrow’s tongue, but she didn’t care. If anything it made her more determined, fueled her with the strength to drag Harrow up into her lap, hands gripping firmly at narrow, bony hips until Harrow was gasping against her lips, grinding against her as the kiss became sloppy, uncoordinated as they touched, grabbed, consuming each other like fire consumed air. There were sure to be bruises, and part of Gideon was eager to see them - her handprints on Harrow’s hips and thighs, fingers imprinted into soft flesh.
She pulled back finally, sucking in blessed air, dizzy with intention. Harrow looked a mess - lips swollen, eyes hazy, chest rising with greedy gasps. Dark locks were sticking to her forehead, glued there by sweat and what was left of her facepaint. Gideon reached up, brushing back the sticky hair, her voice a guttural groan as she murmured, “You look good like this.”
Harrow’s cheeks flushed, a lovely pink shining through the smeared paint. “Shut up,” she muttered, but there was no heat behind her words.
“Uh-uh.” Gideon grinned, flopping to lay back on the altar, her hands gliding down to settle on Harrow’s hips. “No way. You made me cum twice, I’m gonna compliment the shit out of you now.”
Harrow lifted a brow, hands settling against the guard’s chest, cupping her breasts in a loose grip. “I hate compliments.”
“Sucks for you,” Gideon told her. Her grip on those bony hips tightened, and she smirked at the little gasp Harrow let out. “Now get up here and sit on my face.”
The queen sighed, muttering something under her breath, but Gideon ignored it in favor of watching Harrow scooting her way up the guard’s body. It was an awkward moment of struggling to get the position right, but after several agonizing seconds Gideon’s arms were hooked under Harrow’s thighs, and she had a handful of ass, and she was staring at the prettiest pussy she’d ever seen.
(The fact that it was the only pussy she’d ever seen didn’t matter. She loved it regardless.)
“Fuck,” she groaned out, taking in the way the flickering candlelight made Harrow glisten. She could see her clit - swollen and visibly throbbing, a tempting forbidden fruit that Gideon was all too eager to devour. Her eyes trailed upwards, past the dark curls and the soft trail that led up Harrow’s belly, to look up at the queen herself.
Harrow’s eyes were closed, her hands pressed against the tapestry, resting on either side of the illuminated figure stitched on the fabric. She looked absolutely heavenly, bathed in candlelight, naked and bare and vulnerable. Gideon decided that there was nothing that could come close to the beauty before her, not in the vastness of space or on any planet, nothing.
She kept her eyes up and open, locked on Harrow’s face as she leaned up, pressed a soft kiss to the dripping cunt hovering over her. God, Harrow was so wet, practically dripping, and Gideon loved the sensation, sighed against the warm wetness before letting her tongue lap slowly against it, savoring the flavor and the low moan from above.
She decided that while Harrow ate pussy like she was starving, Gideon went slow, like she was savoring a decadent meal. Her tongue was slow, stroking gently, working Harrow open in long stripes of heat that had the queen’s thighs trembling and her breath hitching. Gideon drew back, lips trailing wet kisses and nibbles along each thigh before she closed her lips around Harrow’s swollen clit, sucking gently, smirking at the loud gasp from above.
“God,” Harrow panted, fingers curling tightly around the tapestry, her brow furrowing. “God, yes, fuck…”
“Language,” Gideon murmured against her thigh, biting playfully at the trembling flesh there. “We’re in a church.”
“Shut up, Griddle,” Harrow groaned.
Gideon smirked, bit down suddenly on Harrow’s thigh, and relished the little squeak it earned her. She sucked hard, tightened her grip when the queen whined and squirmed.
“Gideon,” Harrow gasped, head dropping back.
She let go with a satisfying pop, taking a moment to study the bruise already forming before she lifted her gaze, golden eyes lingering on the shaky rise and fall of Harrow’s breast.
“Don’t whine,” she told her. “This is what you wanted, right?”
Harrow huffed, looked down at her with what was probably supposed to be a scalding look but all Gideon saw was the want, the desperation etched so plainly in ink black eyes. It stirred something within her - a heat flaring up, igniting something that had Gideon tightening her already bruising grip, had her lips curling in a grin as her voice dipped low.
“You wanted to prove your devotion,” she continued, keeping her gaze level with Harrow’s, and oh, she loved seeing the hazy realization in those dark eyes. “So prove it.”
She didn’t lean up this time, instead using her grip to yank Harrow’s hips down to her level, and then she was diving in, tongue dragging slickly against her. The loud moan from above spurred her on, had her lapping at Harrow’s clit with no hesitation, flicking the sensitive nub and chuckling when that earned her a full-body shiver from the queen. God, she loved how sensitive Harrow was.
Gideon loved this part, when her focus was entirely on this, on making Harrow feel good. Call her a hopeless lesbian, but she could do this all day - pleasing her queen, drawing out her pleasure and cries, reveling in the fact that she was the one who made Harrow feel this good, she was the only one capable of doing it this good, she was the reason for every twitch, and shake, and moan, and cry that echoed out. No one else was as blessed as her, no one else knew just how fucking lucky she was. And maybe it was cocky, or egotistical, or selfish - but Gideon would gladly fight an army if it meant she got to get on her knees for Harrowhark.
She trailed one hand around, fingers dipping into that blissful warm wetness, circling Harrow’s entrance in teasing little strokes that had the queen trembling and rocking her hips down.
“Yes,” Harrow was panting above her; Gideon opened her eyes, glancing up to take in the rosy flush on her queen’s skin, the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way her knuckles were whitened from gripping the tapestry so tightly, how red and swollen her lips were from biting them. “Please…”
“Mmm…” She pulled back, taking the time to drag fresh air into her lungs. Harrow shuddered over her, her chest practically heaving with each breath. “Fuck, you’re pretty…”
“Nav…”
“Ah, ah.” Gideon nipped at her thigh, dipped the tip of one finger inside, watching how Harrow trembled. “C’mon now, baby, you can do better than that…”
“Mm…”
“Hey. Look at me.”
It took her a moment, but Gideon waited patiently as Harrow took a breath, forced those pretty, pleasure-dazed eyes open and met the searing golden gaze below. Gideon’s eyes softened, her lips curling in a warm smile as she took in just how gone Harrow was already.
“There’s my girl,” she murmured; Harrow bit at her lip, a shiver running through her. Gideon pressed a kiss to her thigh, keeping her eyes fixed on inky black. “I wanna hear you say my name, baby.”
“I…I was -”
“No,” Gideon interrupted, tone firm. “My name. I want to hear you say it.” She eased her finger in further, watched Harrow’s eyes flutter, but she kept them open, kept them on Gideon. “I want you to prove your devotion, like you said. Go on, baby,” she said, jerked her head towards the tapestry. “Tell her who you belong to.”
Where she got the fucking balls to say that, to demand that from Harrow, Gideon had no damn idea. Her veins were coursing with liquid courage, with a throbbing river of possessiveness that she hadn’t realized was bubbling to the surface until now. She fully expected Harrow to say no, to end this here and now - but instead the queen was flushing dark pink, her eyes were blown wide with what Gideon could only assume was a combination of pure arousal and the shock of realization that “Oh, I’m into that, I’m really into that” that must have been going through Harrow’s head.
She watched the queen nod, her movements jerky as she lifted her head, her dark gaze locking on the gilded eyelids of the tapestry, and then she was lowering herself down onto Gideon’s tongue again, thighs trembling against the muscular arms holding her up.
“Good girl,” Gideon murmured, and then she was burying her face between Harrow’s legs, lapping at the heat there, her finger sinking fully inside and easing back out, ready to give her queen everything she could, everything she had.
She was relentless now, no longer teasing, fully focused on overwhelming Harrow with pleasure. She’d done this enough times that she knew which spots the queen liked most, which places made her quiver and cry, which ones would make her absolutely crush Gideon’s head, and which ones would have her falling like a star shower. She was going for all of them, leaving no stone unturned, her mouth working despite the ache in her jaw.
And the whole time, through the haze of blind focus, she heard Harrow above her, the gasps and moans, the shaky, breathless way her voice broke as she panted out a stream of praise, of adoration, her voice raising steadily in volume the longer she spoke.
“Yes, yes, fuck,” she was babbling, hips bucking against the unforgiving lips on her cunt, “Gideon, Gideon, please -”
She groaned against the wet heat, eyes closing as she let herself sink into the blissful cloud of servitude and pleasure, the fine line between being in control and desperately wanting to give everything up to Harrow, everything she had, everything, everything.
She felt Harrow shifting, and made the mistake of not worrying about it, assuming the queen just needed to adjust her position. Her eyes shot open in surprise when she felt chilly fingers sliding down her stomach; the queen was arched back, gripping onto the tapestry with one hand while the other was reaching back, reaching down, and then she felt Harrow’s fingers sliding between her legs again and suddenly sliding in, welcomed with eager openness as the forgotten heat of want suddenly ignited in Gideon’s gut again.
Oh fuck, was all she had time to think before she was moaning into Harrow’s cunt, hips bucking up into the queen’s hand as those clever fingers began to thrust, curling to rub at that delicious spot inside her that had heat coiling tight in her stomach. She squeezed at the handful of Harrow’s ass she still had, tightening her grip even more as she plunged back in, sucking hard at the throbbing clit on her tongue and slipping a second finger inside that seductive warmth, savoring the taste of desperation on her tongue as Harrow cried out above her.
Fuck, fuck, it was different when she was being unraveled while doing the unraveling; the pleasure coiling in tight knots inside her was spurring her on, giving her an unending supply of desire to have Harrow falling apart on her tongue. Gideon’s tongue was doing its damnedest, stroking at Harrow’s clit in long stripes that she knew the queen loved best, her fingers thrusting in and out in time with Harrow’s own hand, steadily coaxing the guard towards her own end. Her hips rocked down onto the digits buried inside her, Harrow’s palm bumping against her swollen clit with each jerky movement, and God, it felt good, it was so different when she knew they were both feeling like this, that they were taking each other apart at the same time.
This had to be heaven. Gideon wondered, briefly, in a moment of clarity, if she really deserved this - this absolute bliss, this gorgeous moment of pure, unfiltered rapture. And then she felt it - that tell-tale twitching, Harrow’s cunt clenching down, her hips making the familiar jerky movements, and Gideon sped up her movements, fingers thrusting hard as she suckled hard at Harrow’s clit, and then it happened -
It was a catastrophic climax, a chain reaction that ripped through both of them so beautifully. Harrow’s head fell back, her voice echoing around the chapel with Gideon’s name dripping from her tongue, and Gideon in turn was being dragged under, pulled into an overwhelming vortex of pleasure that had her seeing white and probably screaming, she didn’t know and she didn’t care, because she’d never felt this much before - body reacting beyond her control, hips bucking while she held onto Harrow for dear fucking life, eyes wide but not seeing a damn thing, and it was all so much, so blissfully much.
She didn’t know how long it took her to come down from the cloud she was floating on. She just knew that all of a sudden she was back in her body, struggling for breath and blinking tears from her eyes as she stared up at Harrow - looking equally as undone, leaning against the tapestry and breathing heavily, her forehead pressed to illuminated thread and her eyes closed, her face bare aside from the few smears of black and gold that clung to her brows and forehead.
All the strength that had been surging through her was long gone. Gideon managed a weak pat on Harrow’s ass before her arms gave up, flopping to the side as she rested her head down. The queen let out a grunt, peering down at her with hazy eyes.
“Hey, sexy,” Gideon said, her voice a raspy wreck.
Harrow let out a huff, pushing away from the tapestry. Gideon took notice of the fact that her thighs were sprouting several bruises, and had yet to stop shaking, and couldn’t hold back the satisfied grin.
“Gonna make it?”
“Don’t gloat,” Harrow grumbled, but it was way too fucking late for that; Gideon was already high on pride, and she had no intentions of coming down.
She helped Harrow shift, scooting the queen down until she was laying against Gideon’s chest, head resting against her shoulder. They were both sweaty messes, but fuck it, Gideon was a slut for after sex cuddles and she’d be damned if she was going to miss out on them just because they were laying on an altar.
Harrow grumbled something into her neck that she couldn’t quite catch.
“Huh?” She poked at bony ribs gently, lifting a brow at the growl it earned her. “What’d you say?”
Harrow struggled a moment, then lifted her head, practically glowering up at her. “You made me rip it,” she said grumpily.
Gideon blinked at her while her brain fought to process just what “it” was. Then the realization dawned on her, and she snorted out a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” Harrow snapped at her.
“It’s hilarious.”
“You made me tear it, Nav! Do you know how expensive it was to commission?”
“You did that all on your own, baby,” Gideon chuckled. “I didn’t tell you to cling to the damn thing like that.”
“And what, pray tell, was I supposed to do?!” Harrow scowled at her, her brows knit together in annoyance. “I couldn’t not hold onto something.”
“I have hair, Harrow.”
The queen huffed again, eyeing the auburn mess on Gideon’s scalp. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” she muttered before she laid her head down against Gideon’s shoulder again.
“Next time? Are we gonna make fucking in the church a regular thing?” Gideon grinned, looping one arm around Harrow’s shoulders and tucking the other under her head. “So blasphemous, Nonagesimus. Never would’ve thought you had it in you.”
“Oh, my God, shut up.”
“Wow, taking the lord’s name in vain, too? So sinful.” She chuckled at the groan Harrow let out, deciding to ease off the teasing. She couldn’t really be too cruel, after all - Harrow made her cum like, three times, and she was pretty sure she’d died there for a moment. It was going to take a hell of a lot to even begin to return the favor.
She stared up at the ceiling, watching the torn tapestry shifting from a breeze coming in from somewhere. The cold would start bothering them eventually, but for now they were warm, pressed close amidst the candles. The pleasure had left a wonderful, pleasant heat hovering on her skin, comforting and heavy in a soft way that made her want to close her eyes and snooze.
Her stomach had other plans. Gideon hadn’t been lying earlier - she was still starving, and now her stomach decided to make it both of their problems by growling loudly.
Harrow lifted her head, gave the guard a flat stare. “Really?”
“Listen, we can’t all live off of spite and goth aesthetic, okay?”
The queen rolled her eyes as she sat up, sliding off the altar and crouching to pick up her clothes. Gideon sat up, groaning as her back protested. She slipped her own clothes back on easily, tying the laces of her boots before she stepped up behind Harrow, her hands coming up and smacking the queen’s away before taking over tying her corset.
“Why do you always pick the most complicated fucking outfits?” she complained after a moment, tugging the laces in place.
“You mean to tell me you don’t like seeing me dressed up?” Harrow cast a disbelieving look over her shoulder, dark eyes sparkling with amusement. Gideon snorted, tying off the laces, then taking a moment to lay her hands flat against Harrow’s sides. God, she was so tiny, so frail looking, who would have ever imagined that she would be the one to tear Gideon apart and then put her back together?
She hesitated, then leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to the queen’s exposed shoulder. She felt Harrow pause, just for a moment, before leaning back into the guard’s arms. It was a small moment - rare and tender, a softness that neither of them indulged very often, and it had Gideon’s mind lingering on heavy thoughts - on her own bullshit, on the fact that Harrow loved her. Her, Gideon motherfucking Nav, the dumbass who was so caught up in worrying about if she was even deserving of love that she hadn’t even realized that Harrowhark had picked up on it. Had decided to act on it, had proven to God and the Tomb and every other fucking deity whose name they didn’t know that above them, her heart belonged to Gideon.
“Nav?”
Harrow’s voice pulled her out of her head, had her blinking and stepping back. “Sorry,” she said, reaching up and running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to get the wild locks back into place. Her finger brushed something cold and organic, poking her ear as she pulled it out of her hair.
The flower had survived their act of devotion, Gideon realized. She twirled the stem, watching the petals as the candlelight set them aglow with warmth. She was impressed, honestly, because they had really been going at it, and yet this delicate little thing had managed to make it unscathed.
Gideon’s gaze shifted focus to the delicate queen instead, pulling her lace robes back on and situating her many bones back into place. She’d never asked Gideon to prove her love to her, not once. Did she worry, too, that she wasn’t enough? That she didn’t deserve Gideon’s heart?
She stepped close to Harrow again, ignoring the puzzled frown she gave the guard. Golden eyes met abyssal black ones, like the sun shining into a new solar system, and Gideon decided in that moment - as she oh-so-tenderly tucked the flower behind Harrow’s ear and watched the pink flush returning to her cheeks - that the next chance she got, she was going to flip the script, eradicate any doubt from her queen’s mind.
Her fingers brushed Harrow’s cheek softly, watching the way those inky eyes fluttered from the affection. “If you’re finished praying, your highness,” she said quietly, “might I suggest we get some breakfast and, I don’t know, maybe fuck off to your chambers for the rest of the day?”
Harrow let out a soft huff of laughter, but her eyes glittered with interest. “I suppose I can make the necessary arrangements to make that happen,” the queen told her, turning her head to press a chaste kiss to Gideon’s palm.
The guard grinned. “Hell yeah,” she said, and caught Harrow’s jaw before the queen could turn away, leaning down to kiss her - properly, all warm softness and affection. Harrow sighed into it, cold hands lifting to rest lightly on Gideon’s biceps. They parted after several indulgent moments, with Harrow still flushed a pretty pink and Gideon’s lips spreading in a crooked grin as she said, “We’re gonna sin so hard today.”
“Christ, Nav, shut up.”