Chapter Text
Gideon has seen tits before- probably more than anyone else in the empire. Objectively, she should be a little desensitized, especially when the tits in question are just the barest hints of fat resting on a ribcage.
But Harrowhark Nonegesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House, has fucking nipple piercings.
“Are those… bone?”
Harrow very nearly smiles.
“They’re mostly practical,” she says, gesturing at the constructs to push Gideon’s legs closer together, “If someone were to try to deprive me of bones to raise, they may neglect to check such a sensitive area.”
“Mostly practical?” Gideon asks warily.
Harrow climbs onto the cot, straddling Gideon’s thighs and running blunt nails down her abs.
“They also feel really good when I touch them,” she murmurs, like it’s a secret.
Gideon is still reeling from that when Harrow’s hips rock and grind wetly along the underside of her temporary anatomy.
“Shit!” she cries out, her arms jerking against the bony hands holding them.
But Harrow doesn’t seem to care that her cavalier is having to bite her tongue to not come her brains out because she keeps doing it: moaning and rubbing herself all over Gideon with reckless abandon.
“Ha!-Harrow!,” Gideon cries out, arms straining against the constructs, trying to get out just for something to hold onto because right now she feels like she’s rocketing through space without a shuttle.
The necromancer’s hips stutter as she moans louder, probably literally getting off on Gideon struggling beneath her.
“...my cav, my cav, mine, ” she mumbles, eyes squeezed shut and legs trembling.
It’s obvious she’s getting tired, but she’s also getting close and even though Gideon has never seen a woman orgasm outside of the glossy pages of her magazine or the shitty little mirror in her cell she needs to now.
The constructs crumble into dust and before Harrow can even open her eyes Gideon has wrapped her hands around bony hip bones and pulled.
Harrow, for the first time in her entire goddamn life, lets herself be helped. She leans forward on her hands still digging into the solid abs beneath them and relaxes into Gideon’s strong arms bodily moving her forward and back along the shaft in a harsh grind that’s just as likely to ruin the both of them.
“Fa-aster, Gideon,” she pants, all the venom and barbs retracted from her voice, “I need-”
“I’ve got you,” Gideon says tightly, and finds that she means it. Whatever this hellhole of a planet has in store for them, she’d keep her necromancer safe. She’s Gideon Nav, Cavalier Primary of the Ninth House and–
Harrow tenses up and cries out, shaking as her orgasm rips through her.
Gideon bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood and keeps helping Harrow rock gently against her to ride it out until she finally collapses bonelessly onto Gideon’s chest, her cheek pillowed against a hard nipple.
Harrow’s bird-like ribs are expanding and retracting against Gideon’s and it’s so much somehow. Gingerly, Gideon’s hands release bruised hipbones and slide up on either side of Harrow’s vertebrae. Her skin is soft–not at all the waxy, leathery, thing it should be–and she’s warmer than Gideon could have imagined (not that she ever did imagine anything of the sort, not about Harrow).
When their breathing starts to settle a bit, Harrow sits up again and her black eyes seem to bore into Gideon’s flesh, pinning her.
“You did well, my cav,” she says primly.
So they were still playing the game after all.
“Thank you, my lady,” Gideon responds warily, wondering just what the necromancer has in store for her now. It wouldn’t surprise her at all for her cruel mistress to just get up and walk away, leaving her to deal with her own arousal. Or maybe she’d find a way to make sure Gideon couldn’t get off at all. She ignores the way her dick twinges at the thought to consider at a later date.
“I’m glad you didn’t come without my permission,” Harrow says, shifting her hips and stealing Gideon’s breath, “I would have been very disappointed, but since you’ve been so good…”
She lifts her hips, but then a shadow of doubt passes over her expression when she sees just how big Gideon is.
“You don’t have to,” Gideon starts, strangled with concern because her tiny necromancer couldn’t possibly be delusional enough to think that–
“I want to,” Harrow says with a huff, the facade of noble necromancer dropped in favor of being the same annoyed Harrow that Gideon had grown up with, “Don’t patronize me, Griddle.”
Gideon’s mouth opens to point out just how insane Harrow has to be but promptly snaps shut as her dick is grabbed and aimed.
“God, at least, shit, Harrow,” Gideon grunts, “Let me stretch you with my fingers first.”
Harrow pauses, her hips weak and trembling where they hover over the tip of Gideon’s dick.
Experimentally, she sinks a little and Gideon has to clamp down on her lip again because warm and wet and tight, but she can see that Harrow’s brow is furrowed in discomfort.
Gideon doesn’t give her any more chance to hurt herself, grabbing her hips and easily flipping them over on the stupid cot.
Harrow looks up at her with shocked humiliation, but Gideon just props herself up with one arm and pushes two fingers of her other hand into her open mouth.
Out of some weird compulsion that Gideon still doesn’t understand, Harrow begins to suck. Her tongue is a rigid, slimy, thing until it begins to slip between her knuckles and curls around her fingertips.
Those black eyes are still fierce with derision, but when Gideon starts to thrust in and out of her mouth they go liquid, pooling with desire.
“You’re really fucking hot like this, you know that?” Gideon says casually, trying to ignore the aching between her legs.
Harrow’s brows furrow in dissent, and she twists her head to try to get the fingers out of her mouth, but Gideon just pushes in a third, easily stopping the necromancer from freeing herself.
For now, at least. The necromancer could have constructs dropping from the ceiling at any moment, ripping her cavalier to shreds with less effort than it takes her skinny ass to climb all the stairs in Drearburgh.
But Gideon is hyper-aware of the fact that she doesn’t , that her deadly hands stay curled around muscled biceps but don’t bother to push them away.
Interesting.
Satisfied, Gideon pulls her fingers out with slick pop and doesn’t bother with any more formalities, cupping between spindly thighs and sucking in a harsh breath when Harrow moans.
“I’m gonna start with two,” she says carefully, swirling the fingers in question around Harrow’s clit and pulling staccato pants from her, “And then we’ll go from there, alright?”
Harrow turns her face away, cheeks flaming red, but she nods and Gideon counts it as a win.
Sliding into someone else is different than when she does it to herself (no shit) but it’s good. There’s no sensation feedback as she curls them, so she has to rely on the tiny movements of Harrow’s hips, her noises, and the fluttering of unfamiliar muscles around her.
Suddenly it hits her that she’s having sex.
At this stage it really shouldn’t be such a shock, but there’s something unbearably intimate about the heat between their bodies and the space between their breaths.
“Can you handle another one?” Gideon asks roughly, her dick bobbing between her legs with barely restrained eagerness.
Harrow nods, apparently done with words and still not looking in Gideon’s direction.
Harrow is so slick and inviting that it's easy for Gideon to thread a third finger with the others and as she presses back in she watches Harrow’s bottom lip disappear between her teeth, her back arching to accept the intrusion.
It’s incredible and beautiful and Gideon really wants to fuck her.
She thrusts slowly and carefully, spreading her fingers as much as she can as she pulls out and curling them when they go back in, hitting a spot that makes Harrow whimper on every pass.
“I’m gonna,” Gideon starts, then has to stop to swallow the incredible amount of spit in her mouth, “I’m gonna try getting inside you now, okay?”
Harrow’s hips buck upward in way of answer and Gideon feels another trickle of arousal skitter down her spine.
She pulls her fingers out completely, ignores the urge to put them in her mouth, and lines up with Harrow’s entrance, watching her face carefully.
Then she starts to push in, encountering real resistance now. Harrow’s brow furrows again and Gideon finds herself talking before she can make herself shut up.
“Relax, baby, I got you,” she murmurs, “You can take it, you’ve been doing so good for me.”
Harrow finally turns her face and looks up at Gideon, an aching sort of openness in her eyes that rips and tears and turns the whole world upside down.
“That’s it,” she continues, easing in a millimeter at a time, “Let me in.”
Harrow shudders, relaxes, and then Gideon’s pelvis is pressed up against someone else’s and there’s a molten heat all around her that’s going to burn her up from the inside.
“So good,” she gasps, keeping pressure but holding still, “Are you okay?”
“Griddle,” Harrow grits out, “Shut up and fuck me.”
Gideon grins. That’s the Harrowhark she knows.
“As you wish, my lady,” she says somberly, ignoring Harrow rolling her eyes in favor of giving her what she wants.
Despite Harrow’s apparent urgency, Gideon is still slow and careful at first: pulling out almost completely and then sinking back in and drinking in the moans that Harrow can’t seem to keep from letting out.
Weirdly, she remembers what it felt like the first time she realized she was kind of good with her longsword. Her muscles are bunched with restrained strength, and she feels so damn capable, like she’s finally doing something worthwhile.
Harrow is squirming beneath her now, her nails digging into Gideon’s immovable biceps and her legs coming up to wrap around her hips to pull her in faster.
Her eyes are still open, watching with an expression that looks a little like desperation.
“Please,” she whines, and again Gideon wonders if she’s shuffled off the mortal coil into some unlikely heaven, “I need more.”
“Touch yourself,” she commands, and Harrow sucks in a breath before unlatching one of her hands and sliding it down between their bodies.
Gideon leans back to watch, moaning softly when she sees that two of Harrow’s fingers are moving in tight, practiced, circles against her own clit.
“You’re good at that,” she murmurs, speeding up slightly and letting herself sink deeper so her pelvis presses against Harrow’s fingers, “What does the Reverend Daughter think about when she’s desperately getting off in her chilly tower cell?”
Harrow moans, her breaths coming in shallow pants and her hips rolling upward to take Gideon faster, harder.
She’s obviously close again, and Gideon wants badly to follow her over the edge.
She takes the hand still shining with Harrow’s slick and brings it up to pull experimentally on the ivory jewelry on Harrow’s chest, and curses when Harrow clamps down around her, back arching as she cries out.
“Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” Gideon chokes out, her hips stuttering while she continues playing with the piercing, “Touch the other one for me.”
Harrow obeys again, her fingers twisting and pulling and her hands kneading harshly. Gideon braces herself before following suit, gasping when Harrow immediately responds to the mauling at her breast with an absolutely filthy moan.
Her inner muscles squeeze around Gideon’s dick like they want nothing more than to suck her soul out, but Gideon groans and presses on, fucking her with a wild abandon that makes Harrow cry out loud enough to wake the dead.
“I’m gonna, my lady, please,” Gideon gasps out, feeling like her entire being is in the space between Harrow’s legs, like she’s only moments away from a death she’d gladly welcome.
Harrow’s fingers twist into Gideon’s hair, pulling her down roughly and smashing their mouths together. She’s all teeth and tongue, but Gideon moans wildly into her mouth. Just as abruptly as the kiss had started, it’s over and Harrow pulls her head back. Her black eyes are still blown out and glassy, the depths of them trapping Gideon.
“Come,” Harrow orders, and Gideon sees white.
She’s only dimly aware that their mouths are connected again, that Harrow’s nails are digging into her lower back as they both gasp and moan and cry their way through life-changing orgasms. Everything that Gideon has to give comes out of her, but Harrow gives just as much in the space between their breaths.
She’s trembling, just barely holding herself up so she doesn’t crush Harrow, who looks similarly wrecked. A small, bony, hand is resting on her cheek and they’re still breathing each other’s air.
“Gideon…” Harrow starts, and in typical Gideon fashion she finds a way to ruin it.
“I can’t feel my legs,” she blurts, waiting for Harrow to scoff and push her away and for things to be normal again, but instead Harrow laughs.
It’s a surprisingly sweet sound, made all the sweeter for the knowledge of how rare it is, and Gideon can’t help grinning.
“My cav,” Harrow says, “You are an oaf.”
All the sting of poison is out of it, and instead there’s a lightness. Like a long shared joke.
“My lady,” Gideon says with a flutter in her chest, “You’ve totally been reading my confiscated magazines.”