Chapter Text
Camilla Hect– Ms. Hect to those to whom she was not acquainted, Cam to Palamedes, who knew her too well, and Camilla to those who landed somewhere in the broad spectrum in between– was a woman of precision. She spoke when she was asked a question and had an answer. She acted only when she could commit to the action fully and was ready to follow through. Her meticulously-planned, color-coded day planner would make a grown man weep. By Palamedes’ estimation, she had exactly one flaw, and that was her stubbornness. Camilla, who agreed with Palamedes’ analysis fifty percent of the time, agreed that she had one flaw but disagreed that it was stubbornness. Anyone who had spent more than five minutes would agree that Camilla was bullheaded, and often that trait served her well; her true flaw was hidden, as any true dark secret would, unknown to all but herself and her better half.
Deep down, Camilla was a messy bitch who lived for drama.
The office that Camilla and Palamedes shared was walled with glass panels, lending the space a kind of fishbowl quality when viewed from outside. Normally, Camilla despised this; it made her feel watched whenever she was trying to get work done at her desk, and so she made every attempt to take her laptop to the lounge or the lobby or the little pavilion outside when it was sunny. However, as she grew more and more invested in the little melodrama playing out between her coworkers, Camilla found that her office was prime real estate. It was simultaneously far enough away that Camilla could watch without being too obvious and close enough to eavesdrop.
“You’ve been at your desk a lot more lately,” Palamedes said to her one day. Anyone that didn’t know him like she did would think it was an attempt at idle small talk. Palamedes was a master of ‘just making conversation’.
“More to see from here,” she said.
“I’ve noticed,” he replied. Of course he had. Everyone in the office with an ounce of observational skills and two brain cells to rub together (about half the floor, by Camilla’s estimation) knew that Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus were an HR disaster just waiting to happen.
Palamedes took a sip of coffee (lukewarm– it had sat untouched on his desk for the last two hours. Camilla suspected strongly he’d forgotten it was there until just now) and followed Camilla’s gaze out the glass wall. As if on cue, Gideon was rounding the corner at the end of the corridor. Her shirt was wrinkled but tucked, and it was late enough in the day that a few curls of red hair were beginning to spring loose from the stern application of gel applied this morning. She had a hefty manila file folder under her arm; both hands were shoved in her pants pockets.
“No-nages-i-mus,” she called, drawing out each syllable.
Harrow, who had been sitting and glaring at her screen (Palamedes suspected she was nearsighted and needed reading glasses badly. Camilla suspected that it was just her resting face) made an exaggeratedly disgusted noise and turned her ire from the monitor to Nav, who had slouched herself against one side of the cubicle doorway.
“Speak up, Griddle, I don’t believe the accounting department heard you.”
“And after I went to the trouble of getting you such a lovely gift,” Gideon said, and took out the manila folder to flourish it at Harrow. “These need to be processed and input by tomorrow.”
Harrow sized up all five-foot-seven of Nav, glared at the folder, and turned back towards her screen dismissively. “It can wait. The last files you gave me were sloppy, even for you. Check it over for errors while you wait.”
“There aren’t any. Also, you’re a dick,” Gideon said. “Take the damn files.”
“What are you typing?” Pal asked, sotto voce.
“Hush,” Camilla said. Harrow had said something and she’d missed it. Her voice didn’t carry like Gideon’s did.
“I am leaving the files on your desk,” Gideon was saying. “I am walking away. It is no longer my problem.”
“I find one typo and they’ll be right back on your desk.”
“Do whatever, not my problem.”
“I have enough work to deal with. I will not shoulder your incompetence.”
“You’re just salty I get my work done early and you take forever.”
“I do it properly. ”
“–But as much as I love catching up, I’m on lunch, and I’m not arguing with you if I’m not getting paid to.” Gideon said. She rolled her head back and forth on her neck as though trying to stretch a stubborn crick on her neck. “Really great talking to you as always. You really brighten my day.”
Gideon made to leave, shoving her hands back in her pockets. There was an awkward little shuffle as she turned, realizing that one of the twins from PR had rounded the corner and was pushing her cart through the corridor. A silent conversation played out as Cam watched. Gideon smiled at the Tridentarius twin– it must’ve been Coronabeth– as she passed. Harrow, who had been looking at Gideon’s ass when she turned, noticed Gideon notice Coronabeth and made a worse face than she was already making. She must have made a sound, because Gideon turned and said, “What?”
Palamedes watched Gideon leave, then looked down at his computer. Camilla had just shared the file with him. Camilla watched him as he opened it. His eyebrows lowered and creased, then raised an inch, then another half inch.
“You’ve been documenting every interaction?” he asked finally. “Jesus, there’s…how far back does this go?”
“Not every interaction,” Camilla said. “I assume they glare at each other in the bathroom or lounge occasionally.”
“Date, time, duration…what’re these numbers?”
“Number of possible handbook violations,” Camilla said.
“You’re certainly thorough.”
“It’s more of a pet project. Feel free to add to it.”
“Is the Christmas party incident in here?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Palamedes did not reply. He was thoroughly engrossed in the extremely detailed report Camilla had been working on for the better part of the quarter. “Interesting. Interesting. ” He glanced up at Cam over the rim of his glasses. “Can I ask,” he said, straightening up, “What you’re doing all this for?”
Cam shrugged. “Documentation purposes. Technically these two aren’t in our department, but when they inevitably have some kind of run-in with some higher ups at HR, I’ll have a very thorough paper trail.”
“Ah,” Pal said, and drew out the syllable the way that he did when he thought Camilla was wrong. “You think this is going to end poorly.”
“I don’t think, I know. The writing’s on the wall,” Camilla said.
“I’m not so sure, personally.” Palamedes said. “In fact…how about a little wager?”
Anyone who didn’t know Camilla would say that her expression didn’t change at all when she said, “That depends. What are the terms?”
A smile crept into the corners of his mouth. “If you’re right and they end up causing an office-wide shitstorm with their obvious sexual tension, you can choose what we do for this year’s annual road trip. If I’m right and they can resolve their rivalry by realizing their feelings like normal, well-adjusted adults without involving HR, I’ll choose.”
It must have been obvious that Cam was interested. She furrowed her brows and sucked at the inside of her cheek for a moment. The annual road trip was a tradition honored by both of them for the past eight years or so. Palamedes had been trying to get her to settle for something cushier this year, somewhere with a spa since they could afford it. Cam had been needling him for years to take a fishing trip in the mountains, which Pal had refused on account of his horrible allergies, bad joints, and squeamishness with fish guts. “Deal,” she said finally.
“We’ll shake on it, then,” Palamedes said, and stuck out his hand in kind.
Cam grasped it tight. “Think they’ll do something before the year’s up?”
Palamedes chuckled. “Please. I’d be shocked if something doesn’t happen before the end of the month.”
******
The door of the storage closet slammed close. In the dark, fumbling hands grasped at clothes, warm bodies pressed urgently against one another.
“This is a bad idea,” she said, her hot breath ghosting against the tender skin of her butch’s neck.
“I’m full of them,” her lover replied, and kissed the woman so fiercely she felt a little sting of teeth on her lip and the coppery tang of blood. Two pairs of hands were exploring the other’s bodies recklessly, fumbling with the buckle of the belt, rucking the hem of a dress higher on a thigh.
“ Fuck me,” she breathed, and shuddered against her, arching her back. “Ah…fuck, you’re so big…”
“You take me so well,” purred the butch, and she braced herself against her girl’s hips and thrust. The girl gasped and bit back a moan. She arched her back against the supply closet door and whined. “Fuck, don’t stop–”
Gideon’s desk phone rang. Shit. She’d just hit a rhythm with this scene.
“This is Nav,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Hi, this is Isaac,”
Gideon squinted. “Who?”
“The new intern? Yeah, the copy machine is busted, Mrs. Pent said to call you. So.”
Gideon gnawed the inside of her cheek. The machine in the second-floor workroom was a deeply troubled hunk of metal from the mid-90s that broke every third time you used it. Usually whenever an error light started flashing someone from IT would come down and reset it, but half the IT staff got laid off last year. Gideon had, once, assisted an elderly coworker change the ink cartridge, so now every time IT was busy someone from that floor called her . On the upside, she was getting shockingly good at fixing ancient copy machines.
She dragged herself away from chapter 3 of the piece she’d tentatively titled Late Night Overtime . “I’ll be right down,” she said, and hung up. She had gotten into the horrible habit of writing smut at work when she had a few free minutes. Gideon had had a lot of time on her hands and since she technically had her own office for the time being, she decided to work on a few pieces of literature. Fine literature. Regardless of whether or not it was mostly about having nasty gay sex in increasingly creative positions. It wasn’t like she was slacking off, she told herself. If anything it was good for her morale. No harm, no foul.
It wasn’t until she’d gone upstairs, spent the better part of an hour fucking with the demented copier, fixed it, and already started heading back downstairs that the thought occurred to her: Did I switch tabs after I hung up? I must have, right? Gideon felt an uncomfortable lurch in her stomach, like she’d missed a stair. Don’t panic, Gideon thought, power-walking down the hallway to her office. What’re the odds that someone–
Gideon froze in the doorway. Oh god. Oh fuck. Her vision tunneled suddenly, and all she could see was the text document pulled up on her desktop and the shocked face of Harrowhark Nonagesimus.
Harrowhark broke the protracted silence first. “Gideon.”
“I was just upstairs,” Gideon said, absurdly. Her voice cracked a little, and she disguised it with a cough. “Fixing the copier.”
Harrow’s voice was high and strained-sounding. “I finished processing those files,” she said. She wouldn’t make eye contact with Gideon but horrifically, Gideon could not bring herself to look anywhere else beside Harrow. It was like she’d died on the spot. It was worse. Corpses wouldn’t have to think of something to say next.
“Thanks,” Gideon managed.
“That’s all. Excuse me–” and Harrowhark pushed her way around Gideon and quickly down the hallway beyond.
Gideon’s life was over. There was no question of if Harrow had seen it; the look on her face told Gideon everything she needed to know. Oh god. Gideon sat down in her chair. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she thought. Maybe she could pass it off as…something else. She glanced sideways at the story she’d been writing. The story about a strong, cocksure butch seducing her goth lesbian coworker.
“Oh god ,” she whispered, and buried her face in her hands. She’d rather have Harrow walk in on her naked. She’d rather have Harrow hit her with her fucking car. Somehow it was worse that she hadn’t said anything about it, that Harrow of all people was shocked into total silence. What if she went to HR about this? Would Gideon be reprimanded? Fired?
Gideon closed out the tab without saving. Fuck her life.
******
If Harrow decided to start writing down a list of all the things that irritated her about her job, the word count would rival Dostoyevsky. She hated the fluorescent lights and the canned buzz they made that no one else seemed to hear. She hated the way the man next to her cubicle blew his nose every morning and how wet it sounded. She hated the monotony and the break room microwave that smelled like wet cabbage. She hated the gossip and inane office politics. She could spend pages upon pages describing in detail the bodily harm she wanted to inflict on the next person in earshot who said “ working hard or hardly working?”
And yet, all these irritations and more were nothing compared to the absolute torture it was to work with Gideon Nav. From the first time they’d met, Harrow had been convinced Gideon was made in a lab somewhere, created with the sole purpose of being Harrow’s own personal waking nightmare. Harrow made it clear to every person working there that she worked best when she was left alone as much as possible so she could do her work and go home. She didn’t go to any work-related function unless it was mandatory. She clocked in every day on time, down to the minute, did her work, and left. Most people respected this and left her the fuck alone. Gideon Nav was not most people. At nine in the morning, Gideon would appear, obnoxiously chipper (she was a morning person, of course, because all the worst people were) for a quick ‘good morning and don’t you look terrible ha-ha, was your coffin uncomfortable last night?’ At noon, she’d be lurking in the break room, ready to pester Harrow with questions about work that Harrow knew good and well she already knew. Three p.m.? Great time to stroll over to Harrow’s desk and dump a pile of work to be processed, never mind that it was surely full of stupid errors that Harrow would be expected to fix.
She laughed too loudly, her vocabulary was obscene, and she showed up everywhere , like a terrible song you couldn’t get out of your head, but it wasn’t the cherry on top. Being annoying was one thing. Harrow had met plenty of annoying people– more annoying than Nav, even– and they had all learned eventually to stop bothering Harrow eventually. No, it wasn’t enough to be obnoxious and arrogant and a pervasive presence in the office. Gideon had to be smoking hot as well. The line of her jaw, the soft curve of her lips, the wide slope of her shoulders and back, her lopsided smile and warm liquid-amber eyes were slowly driving Harrow insane. Heaven help her if it was a warm day and Gideon had pushed up her sleeves. The taut muscle of her forearms made Harrow want to self-immolate.
It was unclear whether Gideon was aware of the effect she had on her. She desperately hoped not. Reading people was never Harrow’s strongest suit, which never had mattered before. Harrow put great effort into distancing herself from people whenever possible, and yet, Gideon seemed to want to close that distance at all costs simply to annoy Harrow. Harrow was terrified that Gideon saw the way she looked at her. Every gesture, every expression had to be analyzed: did Gideon see Harrow’s eyes flick down to her lips that time? Was she stretching during that meeting, or was she deliberately taunting Harrow with the flex of her biceps straining underneath her shirtsleeves? What was that sideways glance? Did she know? Does she know?
It didn’t help matters that Harrow hadn’t gotten laid in a long time, and hardly had any time to take care of herself in recent days. Harrow glanced at the thick file folder Gideon had left on her desk. It felt like an intrusion in the tight, beige cubicle. She sighed and started to process the files she’d left. Gideon wanted to see fast? She’d show her fast.
When the files were processed– in record time, and without any errors, mind you– Harrow stretched and got up to pay Gideon a visit. Just as she’d expected, Gideon had made at least three or four mistakes, and Harrow wanted to give her a piece of her mind.
But Gideon wasn’t in her office. At this point, the logical thing for Harrow to do was to turn around and walk back to her desk. This was the first critical error in judgement that Harrow made. Instead, she glanced behind her. Pulled the door shut a little ways. She’d just spotted a duffle bag on the floor next to Gideon’s office chair, and her curiosity was piqued.
Mistake number two: she crouched down next to the duffle and unzipped it slowly. It was a little scuffed and smelled vaguely of unwashed socks. Harrow had seen Gideon carrying it in the mornings and, upon discovering a pair of tennis shoes, realized that it must have been her gym bag. Images of Gideon sweating and grunting entered her mind. Something came over her. When she thought of this moment, later on, she speculated that she must have been ill, or delusional, or possessed. She dug frantically into the depths of Gideon’s gym bag. Harrow wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for until she found it. Wadded up at the bottom was a handful of black fabric Harrow felt her heart race as she unfurled it delicately and realized it was a pair of boxers. The images of Gideon working out were quickly replaced with Gideon in the locker room. Gideon peeling off her sweat-soaked underclothes. Gideon running her hands over her body, wet and glistening in the showers. For a second Harrow feverishly wished that she was born as the grody shower curtain in a planet fitness locker room.
Mistake number three was the most fatal. The other two mistakes could be played off, potentially, as motivated by spite or nosiness. The third mistake was stupid, shockingly inappropriate, and deeply motivated by lust. Harrow straightened up, still holding the underwear. For a second, her mind was completely overtaken, and she held it up to her face.
The handle on the door turned. Harrow’s eyes flew open just in time to lock eyes with Gideon Nav.
For a single, eternal second, Harrow felt her soul die.
“Gideon,” Harrow said. Gideon seemed frozen in the doorway, face a mask of horror.
“I was just upstairs,” Gideon said finally. “Fixing the copier.”
Harrow realized with dawning mortification that she was still holding Gideon’s underwear behind her back and dropped it quickly. Gideon coughed.
“I finished processing those files,” Harrow replied, and affixed her gaze on the floor. She couldn’t look Gideon in the eyes. There was a tiny, tiny chance that Gideon might not have seen what she was doing when she came in, and Harrow was certain that if she looked into her eyes again somehow Gideon would know for sure.
“Thanks,” Gideon said, and her voice had a husky rasp to it that, even in her humiliated state (or because of it?), did something to her.
“That’s all,” Harrow said. Her eyes grew hot then. She was terrified she might cry. “Excuse me,” she said, and she made her escape, pushing past Gideon and walking as fast as she dared out into the hallway. She made a beeline for the restroom, closing herself in a stall and burying her face in her hands. What the fuck had she done? Had she lost her goddamned mind?
Harrow whispered in the cold and quiet bathroom: “Fuck my life.”
Chapter Text
Two days after Palamedes had made his wager with Camilla, he was late to work. It wasn’t the first time, although he hardly made a habit of it. He’d been a little indulgent with the snooze button, and then the shirt he’d set out to wear ended up having a weird stain on it he’d forgotten about, and then he’d been too optimistic about how long he had to grab a coffee before work.
He wasn’t the only one. He had no sooner stepped foot in the elevator than a harried “hold the elevator!” echoed down the hall. He stuck his foot in the closing doors; they retracted to show him the flushed face of Gideon Nav.
“Morning, Gideon,” Palamedes said.
“Hey, Pal,” Gideon said, and shuffled in next to him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run late,” he said.
“Yeah. I, uh, overslept.”
The tone of her voice was off. Palamedes observed Gideon casually as she punched in the floor number: shirt ironed, which was rare. Both a jacket and tie were present; she sometimes wore the former, but almost never the latter. There were dark circles under her eyes, and…Palamedes was certain he caught a whiff of rum and cedarwood. Was she wearing cologne? Palamedes said nothing but filed it away in his brain, under ‘pending review from C. Hect.’
But before he’d had a chance to utter so much as a ‘good morning’ to C. Hect, Camilla had fixed him with a terse look and said: “Something’s happened.”
“I noticed,” Palamedes replied. “Just bumped into Gideon on the way up.”
“Hm,” Camilla said.
Palamedes filled Cam in on the details. Her expression did not change.
“ Hm. ” she said again.
“What’s up?”
“Gideon didn’t oversleep. She was at the gym this morning.” Cam said.
That one made Palamedes pause. “Camilla,” he said. “Why do you know that?”
Cam looked sideways at him. “I see her leaving the gym most days on my morning run.”
“I see what you mean. Odd thing to lie about.”
“Sextus, did you think I was stalking her?”
“No. Well…probably not. So what happened?”
Camilla was silent for a long time. The corridor outside their office was uncharacteristically quiet. “I don’t know,” she said at last.
*****
One day after Palamedes had made his wager with Camilla, Gideon had come to work exactly on time. Normally she would go and bother Harrow on her second and third trips to get coffee– she had tried, the once, to bother her before her first and the retaliation was so swift and so mean that even Gideon decided it was for the best she didn’t– but today she took a circuitous route around the perimeter of the floor just to make sure that she didn’t pass Harrow’s desk. She cloistered herself in her office and set about her daily work feeling jumpy. The hours passed at an agonizing pace. She kept glancing over at her office door, anticipating someone to drop by and chat about her flagrant violation of acceptable use policy. By the time lunch break rolled around, her nerves were so frayed she began to feel almost annoyed that they were taking this long to do it.
After lunch, she found herself staring blankly at her computer screen. She’d been trying to read the same line for about four passes, but her brain was broken somehow and didn’t let her process the words before her. She dropped her chin into her hands. Maybe Harrow hadn’t said anything at all , Gideon thought to herself. Then: hah. As though Harrow would pass up that chance. Harrow hates your guts. Gideon let her head fall from her hands to smack gently against her keyboard. Onscreen, a long string of “mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm–” began snaking its way across the monitor.
She found herself unable to focus for most of the day. The deluge of urgent tasks needing her attention had flooded her desk neck-deep in paperwork and sticky notes. She was the only one working in this department since Cyth just never showed up one day with no explanation. Unfortunately for Gideon, who had just been promoted to this position two months ago, Cytherea was a load-bearing employee, and Gideon had been dealing with the aftermath. The nature of her department was feast-and-famine. She dealt with long stretches of no work at all (that she usually spent writing smutty literature), followed by hectic periods of chaos where she was entombed in stacks and stacks of paperwork. It seemed today was one of those latter periods. Gideon pushed her shirtsleeves up and set to work.
By the time she’d hacked the teetering pile down to the last few files, she was alarmed to realize that the sky outside had already grown dark. She stood, stretched her stiff shoulders, and picked up her duffle bag. She noticed that one pair of underwear had fallen out; she had to get her shit more together. When she opened her office door, the whole floor was quiet and dark. Everyone else except the janitor had gone home.
“Working late tonight, Griddle?”
Everyone else except the janitor, and Harrowhark, who had been lurking just outside her office. Gideon fought the urge to jump out of her skin like a looney tune.
“I– I guess,” she managed to stutter. For a second there was a horrible bloated pause, the both of them just standing there looking at each other. Gideon turned to leave. “Wait,” Harrow said. She took a step forward. Gideon took a step back. Repeat until Harrow was standing just inside Gideon’s office. Harrow shut the door behind her. “We need to talk.”
Gideon’s mind raced. Of course Harrow wanted to watch her squirm. Doing it when no one else was around to witness whatever torture Harrow was putting her through did not bode well. Harrow remained quiet, those dark eyes boring into her. Gideon took another step back, for safety reasons.
“Then talk,” Gideon said, when she was damn near her wits end.
“Last night,” Harrow started. She crossed her arms. “When I was in your office–”
“Right.” Gideon said.
Harrow closed her eyes and was quiet for a moment. When she opened them, her eyes were cold. “I believe we’re both aware that it was reprehensible.”
Gideon swallowed. It wasn’t the adjective she’d use, exactly. “Listen,” she said. “I don’t want to get HR involved here. Drag us into a whole thing. I–”
Gideon was about to say “I’ll leave you alone forever, I promise,” when Harrow interrupted. “I don’t want that, either.” Harrow took a step towards her. Gideon’s head was spinning. If Harrow wasn’t going to tattle, then…
Oh, Gideon thought to herself. I think I’m being blackmailed. It made sense. Harrow was a spiteful prick, but she wasn’t the type to snitch to HR, not when she could leverage it instead.
“Okay,” Gideon said. Her back was against her desk. She planted both palms against it to brace herself. “What do you want?” Staring down Harrow felt like staring down a circling mountain lion. Gideon steeled her face into what she hoped was a blank “Spit it out,” she blurted desperately.
Harrow almost looked startled for a moment. “What I want,” she repeated. She closed the gap, stepping forward until she was inches away from touching Gideon. Gideon gripped the edge of the desk, but did not back down. She steeled herself, holding her breath. Harrow was distractingly close and (Gideon realized with dawning horror) a little bit pretty.
The tiny, awful boner voice in the back of her idiot head piped up: Maybe she liked what she read.
Gideon was still recovering from that thought when Harrow said: “You know what I want.”
At this point, Gideon was certain that she’d experienced some kind of neurological event that would make her hallucinate. She had done shrooms once. It was nothing like this. Harrow’s eyes flicked down to glance at Gideon’s mouth. In that moment, her soul left her body, and Gideon was rendered insane and stupid. She closed the gap and kissed her.
In a moment of sheer incredible luck (or was it sheer incredible misfortune? Gideon could barely string two cogent thoughts together, as it was) Harrow kissed back. Her mouth was small, and her lips felt soft and warm and nice, which were all adjectives that Gideon would never in a million years have used to describe Harrowhark Nonagesimus.
Oh my god , Gideon thought. She’s into it. What the fuck. What the fuck ‽
Harrow’s tongue ( Harrow’s tongue!) pressed gently at Gideon’s lips and Gideon met it with her own. The kiss turned from soft and almost shy to sloppy and desperate quickly. Gideon’s stomach flopped upward into her chest like she was in an elevator that had sharply dropped. Harrow’s hands went up to Gideon’s collar and fumbled with the buttons. Gideon, whose brain had gone fuzzy from overload and was now being fully piloted by the part of her that hadn’t gotten laid in over a year, made a wild grab at Harrow’s tits. There wasn’t much, but it was more of a handful under Harrow’s black sweater than she’d expected. Someone moaned. Gideon had the horrible suspicion it was her. Harrow had gotten her top two buttons undone and was kissing a path down the side of Gideon’s neck. Each kiss felt like it ignited a sparkling heat beneath Gideon’s skin.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Gideon hissed, but instead of stopping, she occupied her hand with Harrow’s other tit. It was definitely Harrow this time that moaned, her lips vibrating against the hollow of Gideon’s collarbone.
“It’s probably a–” Harrow bit off another noise, less of a moan more of a whimper this time– “–This is definitely a bad idea.”
“I’m full of them,” Gideon breathed, and slipped her hands underneath Harrow’s sweater. Harrow shuddered, but did not recoil. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and her nipples were already stiff underneath her shirt.
Gideon palmed Harrow’s chest and considered her next move. Okay. Harrow was into her smut, enough to quote it back to her, so what about the smut did she like? Gideon thought about the protagonist of Late Night Overtime. She was a stereotypical bad boy loner with a soft spot for her lover, nothing too elaborate, just sticking with the tried and true cliches. Character work was secondary to the sex scenes, so Gideon had painted with a broad brush and let the audience fill in the details.
While Gideon was considering the best path forward, Harrow needed no such time for deliberation. Her hands wandered down to Gideon’s belt buckle and began to tug it loose. Gideon tore her gaze from Harrow’s hands to her face and studied it in the dim light. Her lips were parted, her face flushed, but her eyes were full of chilly focus. Gideon figured she’d been overthinking it; Harrow’s prerogative was always to do whatever the hell she wanted. She was blackmailing her into sexual favors. All Gideon needed to do was let her order her around a bit. If Gideon was a little too into it, that was Gideon’s problem.
Harrow tugged Gideon’s pants down around her hips and sank to her knees. Gideon sucked in a breath of cool air, gripped the edge of the desk tight, and tried not to pass out.
********
That morning, Harrow had come into work exactly on time and set to work with the steely determination of someone desperately trying not to think about what had happened yesterday. What Gideon seemed to have seen could be discredited. It was her word against Harrow’s, and Harrow was determined to be the very model of discipline, efficiency, and appropriateness. She tore through the files assigned to her like a forest fire. By the time lunch break rolled around, she had already completed her allotted tasks for the day and was getting a head start on tomorrow’s.
“Nonagesimus.” Harrow looked up from her computer screen and her heart plummeted into her stomach. One of the HR goons, Colum Asht, was darkening the entrance of her cubicle. Harrow breathed deep and remembered the plan she’d concocted while lying awake last night in humiliated agony: deny everything. Stick to the provable facts. Point out her flawless employee record, if pushed.
“Asht,” she said. “What brings you by?”
“I apologize,” he said, and Harrow braced herself. “But another member of your department is out today. Think you could fill in for them during the meeting tonight? I know it’s short notice.”
Harrow blinked. “I can.”
He looked relieved. “Great. I’ll email you the details.”
As he was turning to leave, Harrow said: “Is there anything else?”
Colum scratched at the stubble growing in on his chin. “I don’t believe so. Why?”
“No reason.” Harrow paused. “Gideon hasn’t been down to your floor today?”
“Who?” Colum asked. “Oh– Nav. Red hair? No, I haven’t seen her. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Harrow said quickly. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”
“Great. Thanks again,” Colum said, and left.
So Gideon hadn’t said anything. Good. Now Harrow could put it out of her mind. She turned back to the task at hand.
Except it wasn’t out of her mind. Harrow had seen the look on Gideon’s face, and it had not escaped her notice that Gideon hadn’t so much as dropped by to pester her with questions. She hadn’t even heard her obnoxious hyena cackle, and that was audible from as much as six cubicles down. It wasn’t gone from Gideon’s mind, and that idea bothered Harrow deeply. Gideon was so thoroughly repulsed by her that she had shut herself in that awful little storage closet office without so much as a peep. Harrow felt her stomach sour. Her diet today had consisted of three cups of coffee and half a pop tart. She excused herself to the bathroom and did not return until she had stopped shaking.
The meeting ran long and was boring. Harrow stayed quiet through most of it, pretending to take notes while she drew concentric circles in her notebook. By the time it was over, most of the office had clocked out and left. It was already dark out. Everyone was gone.
Everyone, apparently, for Gideon Nav. Harrow was seized by the same urge she got looking at a crusted scab– the self destructive urge to pick at the wound, to see blood well under the surface. She found her feet heading towards Nav’s office before she’d thought of what on earth she would say.
Harrow was within a few inches of the door when it opened. Gideon’s face went from tired to shocked. Harrow was caught in the moment, pinned like a taxidermied butterfly. At length, she asked:
“Working late tonight, Griddle?” Good , Harrow thought. Keep it casual.
Gideon shrugged. “I– I guess.” She paused for a second, then turned as though she was making a quick exit.
“Wait,” Harrow said. She needed to apologize, at least, before Gideon slipped away. She stepped into Gideon’s office and shut the door behind her. People were still lingering around in the hallways socializing after that meeting. The last thing she wanted was eavesdroppers. “We need to talk,” she said. Harrow opened her mouth, looked into Gideon’s eyes, and lost her train of thought entirely. Gideon’s hair was falling boyishly onto her forehead, her amber eyes burning holes right through Harrow. Her collar was unbuttoned at the throat, and Harrow forced her eyes to stay on Gideon’s and not wander down towards that soft expanse of neck. Gideon looked tired around the eyes; tired and a little wary of Harrow. She’d never seen her look that way at her before. She felt a lump form in her throat.
“Then talk,” Gideon said. The lump doubled in size.
“Last night,” Harrow started. She hated this. Her desire had been laid bare. She may as well be naked before Gideon. Harrow shivered. Crossed her arms. “When I was in your office–”
“Right.” Gideon said.
Harrow closed her eyes. She could not bear to describe what had happened aloud. She’d already relived the whole scene over and over in her head. Apologize , she scolded herself. You came here to apologize. “I believe we’re both aware that it was reprehensible.”
Gideon made a small noise in her throat. “Listen,” she said. “I don’t want to get HR involved here. Drag us into a whole thing.”
A combination of relief and nausea crashed into Harrow like a wave. “I don’t want that, either,” Harrow babbled. She took a step towards Gideon imploringly.
“Okay,” Gideon said.
A glimmer of hope sparked in Harrow’s chest. Maybe Gideon wouldn’t hate her forever. Maybe…
Harrow looked into Gideon’s eyes. “What do you want?” Gideon asked.
Harrow became unmoored again, swept up suddenly in a rush of indecision. Gideon’s voice was low and raspy. What did she want. What did she want. What was the right answer? Of course Harrow knew what the truth was. She wanted Gideon, carnally, in several ways, in several places and positions. She wanted very badly to look at Gideon’s mouth.
Of course, she couldn’t say that. She forced herself to hold her gaze, for her eyes not to wander. Those aureate eyes did not falter. Gideon was the wronged party here; surely it was up to her to determine what the terms of their relationship were from now on?
“Spit it out,” Gideon said, and Harrow could have melted into the ground.
“What I want,” she repeated. Why ask, if it was so obvious? Gideon had her pinned and wriggling. She had avoided saying it so far. She stepped forward shakily, until they were a breath away. Harrow could feel her heart hammering in her chest. “...You know what I want.”
Gideon was so close, but she hadn’t flinched away, not yet. Harrow lost control of her faculties and glanced at Gideon’s mouth. The longest second of her life ticked past, and then a miracle occurred.
Gideon leaned forward and kissed her. Harrow couldn’t believe what was happening at first. She leaned into it, hardly believing herself as she did. Gideon Nav was kissing her, and her body was reacting like a flame to gasoline.
Moments later, after an eternity of kissing and groping, Harrow was tugging desperately at Gideon’s pants. She was wearing plain gray boxers underneath, a tint lighter than the pair she’d swiped from her gym bag yesterday. Harrow considered the scrap of dignity she had left and discarded it in favor of licking her way down Gideon’s happy trail. She caught the elastic of Gideon’s underwear with her teeth and tugged them down.
She felt a rush of trepidation down her spine. Harrow was ashamed to admit that she’d pictured what Gideon looked like under her clothes on a few occasions. In her feverish imaginations, she did not have time to linger on what lay between Gideon’s legs before Gideon thrust herself into Harrow’s mouth, rutting against Harrow’s willing tongue until she finished rough against her face. Harrow had spent many a night of sweat-soaked shame on that idea.
Now Gideon Nav, naked from the waist down, was laid out before her. Between those strong thighs, she was flushed and glistening, just as Harrow had pictured, but it was…different from her fantasies. There was something delicate about Gideon in this moment, and Gideon had never been delicate a day in her life. The sudden vulnerability terrified Harrow, and so she righted the situation the only way she knew how. She knelt, tucked her hair behind her ears, and took Gideon into her mouth.
Gideon moaned. She was warm and slick between Harrow’s lips; she tasted just like she smelled. Everything else melted away– the annoying buzz of the fluorescent lights, the scrape of the shitty carpet on her knees, the anxiety, the ever-present shame. Her mouth and nose were full of Gideon, and Gideon was being poured into her and making her blissfully warm with want.
“Fuck,” Gideon moaned. Her voice was muffled. Harrow looked up at her. Gideon was covering her mouth with her hand; when she caught Harrow’s eyes, she moaned and thrust forward into Harrow’s mouth, canting her hips slightly to match the rhythm of Harrow’s tongue. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Harrow felt a bloom of lightness in her chest. Good. She wrapped her arms around either side of Gideon’s thighs, snaking her hands up and around to cup Gideon’s ass. She felt the muscle beneath flex on every thrust and Harrow sighed contentedly into Gideon’s cunt. Harrow opened her mouth wider as Gideon’s thrusts came faster. This was just as Harrow had pictured, and better. She was on her knees as Gideon used her to make herself feel good, completely surrendered, totally at her mercy.
Harrow felt Gideon dribble down her chin. She let it fall into her lap. Gideon fell silent above her, then shuddered powerfully into Harrow’s mouth. Harrow felt her twitch under her tongue– once, twice, and Gideon’s hands were suddenly in Harrow’s hair and holding her head as she came. Harrow closed her eyes and breathed deep. She thought hazily that she could die happy now.
********
Gideon’s heart did not stop pounding the whole bus ride home. It did not stop pounding as she walked up to her apartment, did not stop as Gideon ate dinner or watched TV or brushed her teeth. As she lay in bed that night, she found that she was staring at the ceiling, body spent, wide awake with her heart thumping like a kickdrum. Maybe she should go to the hospital. Maybe she was going to die.
Her head was full of Harrow. About how she’d looked up at her as she sucked her off, about the way the tips of her ears flushed pink and her lashes framed her eyes. Gideon had been helpless under Harrow’s touch, had been completely undone by her in a way that Gideon had never been before. It was incredible. It was the most intense experience Gideon had ever had. She was being blackmailed and used for her body (her incredible body, by the way, it should not be left unsaid) and the worst part was that she was really into it.
“I thought I had at least a little pride left,” Gideon said, and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw stars. Was she really that hard up for sex? Was she so horrifically down bad that she was just going to ignore the several thousand red flags that seemed to make up most of Harrow’s elemental composition?
Yes. The answer was a resounding yes. Gideon would not lie to herself. She knew that if Harrow called her right now and asked Gideon to strip naked and bark like a dog for her, she’d do it.
Gideon went to the living room. She ate three Oreos and washed a Benadryl down with half a cup of milk. She would have to conk herself out tonight if she wanted a wink of sleep. As she passed her reflection in the hallway mirror, she said aloud to her reflection: “You’re screwed, pal.”
Even with the assistance of drugs, Gideon slept fitfully. She woke up early the next morning, finding herself not really any more rested and yet wide awake. She hit the gym hard that morning, sweating out the previous day’s tumult of emotions, and that made her feel a little better. Then she got home and got to thinking about it in the shower, and after a brief and guilty session of rubbing one out, she was feeling strange and queasy all over again.
For the first time in quite some time, Gideon agonized over what to wear. She found herself wondering what Harrow would like to see, which was insane, but she couldn’t put it out of her mind. She didn’t want to seem like she was trying; she didn’t want to not seem like she was trying. Gideon settled for her third-best shirt and second-best jacket, and paired it with her first-best tie, but only because it matched the jacket. She even put on a scented oil she kept for first dates, just a little behind the ears. That would probably just be enough for Harrow to only notice if she got close enough. Probably.
Gideon deliberated long enough that she missed the bus she usually took and ran late. Palamedes held the elevator for her as she sprinted into the office foyer.
“Morning, Gideon,” Palamedes said. He seemed to Gideon to be a decent nerdy kind of guy. Gideon didn’t know a lot about him except that he was friends with Camilla and that he played D&D. Gideon faintly remembered a conversation back during the Christmas party they’d had about tabletops.
“Hey, Pal,” Gideon said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run late,” he replied.
“Yeah. I, uh, overslept,” Gideon lied. She fixed her tie in the reflection of the elevator doors. The tie looked stupid. She shouldn’t have worn it. She looked at her slightly warped reflection and thought, yeah. You’re screwed.
Notes:
It's about time I come clean and admit that I'm really not sure what the difference is between a 'mature' and an 'explicit' fic. This one is going to be mostly porn, albeit plot-relevant porn, so it stays explicit for now I suppose. Thank you for reading.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Thank you to everyone! I'm going to try and update this fic every other week or so; been very busy lately so haven't had as much time to write. This chapter therefore has not been beta read so please bear with any typos or mistakes. As always, thanks so much for commenting, everyone has been very lovely. I've missed writing fic so much <3
Chapter Text
“It’s killing me,” Palamedes said. “Isn’t it killing you?”
Camilla studied her cup of yogurt and pressed her lips together. “Hmm.”
“It’s killing you,” Palamedes asserted. They were eating lunch in the west stairwell, their little spot out of the way with a good view of the park nearby. There was a table there that no one used, and it was always quiet.
“It’s killing me,” Camilla admitted. “But I’ll figure out what’s going on eventually. It’s not like either of them are subtle.”
Palamedes nodded, but Camilla could tell he wasn’t really listening. He had started to gnaw on a hangnail on the side of his thumb. “You know,” Palamedes said. “I think we should just try talking to them. Figure out what happened.”
Camilla shook her head. “These things have to be observed from a distance. Like a documentary on National Geographic.”
“Cam, they’re our coworkers, not a herd of gazelles.”
“Not gazelles, no,” Camilla said pensively. “Crocodiles. Jackals, maybe.”
Palamedes was back to his gnawing. It had been a bad habit of his since childhood that he would pick at any little texture; she had practically had to tape gloves to his hands during his acne-filled pubescence. “Don’t you think they could use a bit of advice?” he said.
Camilla frowned. This, too, was another compulsion to pick. Palamedes could never leave anything well enough alone. “That’s beside the point,” she said. “Of course they could. However, we have an arrangement, and you just want to put your thumb on the scale.”
“You really think my advice would be enough to keep those two out of trouble? You have such faith in them.”
“Maybe I just have faith in the quality of your advice.”
“You flatter me. Look. You already go past Gideon’s gym every morning anyway, right? What would be the harm in gathering a little more intel?”
“Hmm.” Camilla was pretending not to be interested. She knew she shouldn’t bother; Palamedes knew how to read her, and her curiosity was driving her just as mad as it was him. “Maybe. Are you going to try and talk to Harrowhark?”
“Mm-hmm. Not sure if anything will come of it, though.”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty persistent.”
********
Harrow had spent the last fourteen hours in a heady, dazed stupor. Every ten minutes or so, she would remember something else, and a wave of terror and arousal and regret and embarrassment would overwhelm her and her mind would go blank. It had taken only the slightest suggestion that Gideon was interested in her and within five minutes she’d been tearing Gideon’s clothes off in the middle of the office. The humiliation of it was so overwhelming that Harrow felt like she was going to start screaming and never stop. She’d spent a full five minutes after brushing her teeth just staring into the sink, red-faced and wide-eyed, after remembering what Gideon Nav’s cunt tasted like.
Work was no better. Every time she tried to set her mind to the task at hand, she felt her mind drifting. Gideon was running late today. Harrow had never seen Gideon run late before. It probably meant nothing. Unless it meant something. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to prevent herself from trembling all over. How was Harrow supposed to act around her now? What was she meant to say?
Harrow reasoned that it probably didn’t mean anything at all to Gideon. She had eyes; she knew that at the very least Gideon was completely out of her league. She saw the way Gideon looked at other women who captured her interest; she had never looked at Harrow like that, not ever. Sex was the only thing that Harrow could offer to capture Gideon’s flighty, shallow affections.
Gideon was late by a full twenty minutes when she finally burst through the office doors that morning. Harrow looked up when she heard the doors open. The moment she saw Gideon, she felt as though the air had left the room. There was something about Gideon that made her difficult to look upon. She somehow took up more space than she ought to, lit the air around her brighter than Harrow could stand.
She was coming right this way. Harrow was aware that she was staring, but she couldn’t help herself. Gideon looked up at her and for a brief, terrible moment, their eyes met. Gideon had such beautiful eyes, remarkable even from a distance, lit up like drops of amber held up to the sun. Harrow felt her heart stop.
And then Gideon dropped her gaze and rushed past. Harrow felt a fleeting jolt of pain; a rush of full-body coldness. Normally Gideon would have said something. Even a quick few words. The pain had scarcely had time to register before Harrow’s cold shell of anger and indifference began to reharden. Why had Harrow expected anything different? In fact, this was the ideal outcome, Harrow thought to herself. She’d fucked Gideon. It was an unfortunate lapse of judgement that she’d gone and slept with the most obnoxious prick in the office, but now that she’d gotten it out of her system, she could move the hell on.
Harrow felt herself getting more irate the more she thought of it. The longer she sat, the angrier she felt, and the warmth of her ire was familiar and comforting. Before now she’d had no idea how to feel about anything, but she knew very well how to be angry.
********
Gideon hid in her office and put her head in her hands. She’d told herself on the elevator ride up that it would be business as usual. No more circuitous routes to avoid Harrow. No more tiptoeing around to avoid running into her. Harrow had caught Gideon in the act of some humiliating workplace impropriety and they had settled the score. Now it was business as usual. Anything else might arouse suspicion from their coworkers, or worse, suspicion from Harrow .
And sure, embarrassing as it might be, Gideon had held a tiny spark of hope that maybe now that they’d fooled around a little, things would be…different. She didn’t know how she wanted it to be different. Maybe Harrow would be a little softer around the edges. No– softness was too much to expect; acknowledgement, perhaps, some kind of uneasy tolerance of Gideon’s presence. Maybe then Gideon could stop giving Harrow such a hard time, and things would settle into something resembling a truce.
That hope was squashed like a bug when she’d locked eyes with Harrow. There was no ounce of softness or tolerance in that cold, angular face. Gideon had been on the receiving end of Harrowhark’s withering glares dozens of times in the past; when Harrow bothered to look at her, it was the usual expression she wore. It hadn’t really upset her in the past. To be honest, Gideon had made a hobby of pissing off Harrow just for the fun of winding her up, but today was different. Gideon felt herself deflate as soon as she was pierced by the full brunt of Harrow’s contempt.
Right, Gideon reminded herself. Harrow hates your fucking guts. Late-night blackmail hookup or no. Expecting that night to have changed something between them made the assumption that Harrow was normal and not a hateful little freak. Normal people might have office romances, or coworkers-with-benefits, or whatever the hell. Normal people were also capable of human emotions, and had beating hearts.
Gideon felt like a fool. A sweaty, overdressed fool wearing fucking cologne . Gideon leaned as far back as her chair would allow and groaned. Harrow still hated Gideon. Nothing had truly changed. But…but last night, Harrow had kissed her back. And then she’d…taken it even further. Clearly, Harrow’s contempt for Gideon was not getting in the way of Harrow’s good time. Were they back to hating each other? Or…back to hating each other, and also we’re having sex? Was it just once, or was she on the hook to be Harrow’s boytoy from now on? Gideon’s head began to hurt. She needed coffee.
Of course Harrow was in the lounge. It was only 10 am, it was time for her second one of the day. Gideon had already walked in, too, so she had to commit. She had to act normal.
“What’s up, sugarlips?” Oh god. That was not normal.
Harrow’s head whipped around. The look she’d given her this morning was practically warm compared to the full arctic blast of Harrowhark’s ire. Gideon felt as though she was at real risk of being turned to stone on the spot. She tried her best not to visibly shrivel under the force of it.
“Can I speak to you,” Harrow hissed. “ Privately?”
Gideon let herself be taken to a small, vacant office. She made the mistake of looking down as they walked and realized Harrow was wearing a skirt that fit just right around the hips. Gideon swallowed hard and tried to force herself to un-notice. Harrow closed the door behind them.
“It is imperative,” Harrow hissed, “That you keep what happened between us.”
Gideon felt herself flush. “Yeah.” Harrow was still staring at her, so Gideon fixed her gaze on the ground. “Isn’t that kinda the whole point?”
Harrow let out the breath she’d been holding. She didn’t look not pissed, but she was bristling less now. “Good. So we’re in agreement.”
“Yeah.” Harrow was still staring at her, and so before Gideon could stop herself, she asked: “So…is that it, then?”
“Is what it, Griddle?”
Gideon paused. Took a breath. Forced herself to look Harrow in the eyes. “Was last night a one-time thing?”
Harrow was silent for an agonizing ten seconds. “I didn’t say that,” she said at last.
Gideon felt a strange, nauseous plume of excitement bubble in her chest. Harrow was standing very close to her again, she noticed.
“Okay,” Gideon said, to break the silence. “Good.” She re-remembered about the skirt, then, and glanced down. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched Harrow’s waist.
Was it her imagination, or did Harrow’s breath hitch? Gideon looked up at her face. Harrow was still glaring at her, but there was something of the same haziness in her eyes that there had been last night, the same slight part in her lips. Gideon felt dizzy suddenly.
Harrow could have slapped her hand away, could have called her names or pulled away. She didn’t. Instead, she reached up to grab Gideon’s tie– thank god she’d worn a tie!– and pulled her down to kiss her.
********
Gideon had cornered Harrow when she’d gotten up to pour herself a coffee. Harrow should have known she was done for the second she’d heard Gideon’s smug “What’s up, sugarlips?”
Harrow’s face burned. She whipped around. She felt ready to unleash every insult she knew on her, to really lay into her. The fucking gall of her, to ignore her in the office and wait until they were alone to tease her? The fucking temerity on this slimy, womanizing pig, the fucking balls—
“Can I speak to you,” Harrow spat, “ Privately. ”
There was an office a few doors down that had been under construction for a bit after a pipe had burst. Half the carpet had been torn up, and no one had ordered the new sections of carpet to be re-installed yet. In the meantime, people were using it to store extra tables and chairs; it was dark, and still smelt slightly mildewy, but it was secluded and no one went back there, so Harrow could tell Gideon what was what without having to worry about being overheard.
What Harrow had planned to do was to tear Gideon a new asshole. Tell her exactly where she could shove it. In a certain sense, she had. In a more real sense, she had folded like wet cardboard the second Gideon insinuated she wanted more. Harrow was not gentle when she’d pulled Gideon down to kiss her; she was not gentle when she raked her nails through Gideon’s hair, or when she took her lip between her teeth and bit down. Gideon’s responding yelp of pain was delicious, and Harrow swallowed it, rolling her tongue into Gideon’s warm mouth. She felt like she was burning up from the inside, hot with rage and desire that started in her gut and burned its way up her throat and down to her cunt.
Gideon had only taken a moment to recover before she fought back. She pushed Harrow back against the wall and kissed her so aggressively that Harrow felt herself gasp. Gideon’s hand slid up her leg and toyed with the edge of Harrow’s skirt, running her thumb just underneath the hem.
Gideon broke the kiss. “I was thinking about last night,” she said. Her lips were flushed; her hair a mess. The low rasp of her whisper made Harrow shudder. “And I wanted to return the favor.”
Harrow felt a warm throb down in her lower stomach and a rush of instinctive humiliation reminded her that she was angry with Gideon. “Fine,” she said dispassionately, as though her panties weren’t currently soaked. “Do it, then.”
Both of Gideon’s hands were on her thighs, shoving her skirt back and grabbing at Harrow’s ass. She was– oh, fuck– lifted into the air and placed on a meeting table nearby. She flinched a little at the cold laminate on the exposed backs of her thighs, but she didn’t have to think about it for long because Gideon was kissing her again, insistent and sloppy. Harrow felt the sting of teeth at her bottom lip; she gasped a little, startled.
“You could stand to be a little less of a bitch,” Gideon said.
“Don’t you have better things to do than talk ,” Harrow growled. Gideon grunted and shoved her hand up her skirt, pressing against Harrow’s cunt. Harrow moaned, a pathetic, half-choked noise that rose to her lips against her will. Warm fingers wrapped around the waistband of her panties and pulled them, slowly, down her legs. She shivered at the feeling of the cold air against her. As she looked down to see Gideon kneeling between her legs, Harrow became suddenly aware of where they were and what they were doing. Anyone could walk through that door. It wasn’t locked. There were blinds over the windows, but come close enough and put your face to it and anyone could see what they were up to. Harrow felt her heart flutter, a taboo thrill run down her spine. Gideon rucked her skirt up, exposing Harrow totally now. Harrow was helpless beneath her. She caught her eyes again; dark gold, like thick honey. Harrow felt herself lose her breath again, and Gideon’s mouth was on her.
Harrow wanted to say something coherent when she’d opened her mouth, but all that came out was a long, stuttering “ Aaah.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, suddenly terrified of being loud enough for someone to hear. Gideon licked Harrow again, a slow, broad stroke from the bottom of her cunt all the way up to her clit. Harrow shuddered, arched her back, and came. It was so sudden that it startled her; she convulsed and bit down on her own hand to keep from crying out aloud. She was being flooded with white-hot pleasure so intense it became pain. It was almost too much; she tangled her hands in Gideon’s hair, fully intending to pull her off of her aching cunt, but as she did the pleasure mellowed and softened. Gideon slowed her movements, kissing her open gently. She was good at this. Her eyes fluttered open and met Harrow’s. She knew she was good at this.
“Do you get a lot of practice,” Harrow said, managing to keep the tremble out of her voice.
Gideon took her clit between her lips and released it with a wet pop . “A little.”
Harrow could not find it in her to hate Gideon as much as she wanted to, at the moment. She could feel a second orgasm brewing in the pit of her stomach.
********
Gideon had had a bit of practice. However much Harrow wanted to imply that she hadn’t. Sure, she was zero for zero on any actual relationships, but she’d had some flings here, some friends with benefits there. It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She was good at sex, at least, but most people she’d caught feelings for didn’t really want to start anything permanent with her. Gideon tried not to think about what that said about her.
But why bother thinking about that now when there was a pretty girl tangling her fingers in Gideon’s hair? Harrow’s nails dug into her scalp and Gideon tried not to whimper. Come to think of it, Gideon had no idea why she’d been so opposed to hooking up with Harrow last night. Harrow shuddered and gasped beneath Gideon. Gideon felt lightheaded. They should not be doing this. Not here. Fuck, but she was beautiful. Gideon pressed her tongue to Harrow’s center and Harrow’s whole body tensed. Gideon’s head was trapped by a pair of scrawny but surprisingly strong thighs. Gideon opened her mouth obediently, letting Harrow fuck herself against her willing tongue. If Harrow suffocated her, Gideon thought feverishly, she only had one or two regrets.
Harrow came silently, mouth open, back arched, clit spasming between Gideon’s lips.
********
Harrow’s head was still spinning as she pulled her skirt back on and fastened the buttons on her shirt. Gideon was running a hand through her hair and wiping her mouth, her gaze fixed elsewhere. She was worried, for a moment, that Gideon would speak. Instead, the long silence unfurled inch by inch between them.
“See you at work,” Harrow said. She wasn’t certain why she’d said it. It seemed like the sort of thing someone would say. She took a breath. “And–”
“I know.” Gideon said. “Tell no one. See you around, yeah?”
Harrow made a vague noise that she hoped would signal affirmation and went to leave.
********
When Naberius Tern was in the ninth grade, the Tridentarius twins had peer pressured him into smoking a cigarette with them on the porch at their parents’ Christmas party. This was the first of many bad habits that he would pick up over the years, and by far the most irritating. At the current moment ten years later, Coronabeth was on one of her ‘trying to quit’ phases, and Ianthe had long since kicked the habit except for at parties, so Babs had to take his smoke breaks alone. The closest exit door to his desk was down this little hallway off the lounge, and there was almost never anyone there, which was ideal. He didn’t mind smoking on the second-floor patio next to Abigail from accounting, but god forbid she was with her husband. Man could talk the ears off just about anyone, and Naberius was not in the mood to chat today.
He was mildly surprised to see that today the usually-desolate corridor he took to get to his regular smoke spot was occupied. He had no sooner made the turn into the hallway next to the break room than he noticed that girl from the Christmas party leaving one of the empty offices, followed shortly afterwards by one of the other employees on the floor– what’s her name. It was something boyish, Griffin or Gavin or something.
“Well, that’s none of my business,” Naberius said aloud, and went to smoke
Chapter 4
Notes:
No pornography in this one. Next time, pinky swear.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Naberius came back from his smoke break, the sisters were gossiping.
“I heard she killed someone.”
“You can’t be that gullible, Cor, it wasn’t anything like that.”
“Then tell me and stop teasing. What did you hear?”
“Identity fraud.”
“No kidding?”
“Heard it from one of the H.R. people.”
Naberius went to his desk. Coronabeth was way behind on her work at this point, and Naberius knew the second it hit four p.m. she’d be asking Ianthe and him to help her catch up. Ianthe had been done for hours. She was deep into hour two of playing solitaire on her desktop. I never turn in anything before the deadline, she’d told him once. I like to keep expectations low so they don’t give me any extra shit.
“They cleared out her desk last week, so it looks like it’s final,” Coronabeth was saying. “Now it’s only Gideon in that office. I think they’re supposed to be interviewing for replacements soon.”
“What’s the name of that girl from the Christmas party?” Naberius interrupted.
Both of the sisters turned suddenly as though they hadn’t noticed Babs had been there.
“You reek,” Coronabeth said. “Ugh, ever since I quit I can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke.”
“You’ve only stopped smoking a week ago,” Naberius said.
“It really is disgusting, Babs,” Ianthe drawled, without looking up from her screen.
“You are insufferable ,” he said to Ianthe.
Just as he had started to walk away, Ianthe said: “You’re going to have to be more specific. What girl from the Christmas party?”
Babs paused to think about it. “Gothy. On the short side. Used to have a buzz cut?”
Ianthe glanced up from her game of Solitaire. “Harrowhark, from downstairs. Why?”
“No reason.” He turned to walk back to his desk. “I saw her a second ago, that’s all.”
Coronabeth leaned in. “Oh, do you have tea?”
Babs paused. “Well. It could be nothing,” he said. On cue Coronabeth leaned in. He paused to maximize dramatic effect. "I saw her and Gideon were coming out of a storage room together.”
“What? When?”
“Just now.”
“ Just now,” Coronabeth said. She turned to Ianthe. “Don’t they hate each other?”
“Why are you asking me,” Ianthe said. “We fucked, maybe, one-and-a-half times. It’s not like I’d keep tabs on her.”
“She’s cute, though, right? What if she and Gideon are–?”
“What, in a storage closet at work?” Ianthe said. “Not likely. Harry’s the kind of girl that considers turning the lights on to be a little too kinky.”
“What else would they be doing?”
“Literally anything else. Babs, get back to work.”
Naberius rolled his eyes. “Coronabeth has work too.”
Ianthe stroked Coronabeth’s head. “Coronabeth can do whatever she pleases.”
*****
Harrow was, at the moment, wrestling with the coffee machine in the break room. She had already coaxed it, threatened it, and turned it off and on again several times when she heard a voice behind her.
“Is it still broken?” She turned. It was a man from her floor, although she could not at the moment summon his name to mind. He wore glasses, and was the kind of thin that made her think of a ferret, or a rat that had been stretched. His pants were just a little short around the ankles, and Harrow noticed absently that he was wearing two slightly different-colored socks.
“Here, let me,” he said.
She let him prod at it for a bit. He turned it off and on again.
“I’ve already tried that.”
“Hmm.” He pushed his sleeves up. He opened a panel, fiddled around with some internal component, and turned it back on again. “That should do it.”
The both of them watched the coffee maker intently as it rumbled back to life and immediately began making a noise reminiscent of a blender with gravel in it.
“Ah. Well.” The man pushed his glasses up his nose. “I think there’s a machine with coffees next to the third-floor bathrooms.”
Harrow hated the cloying sweetness of the canned stuff, but it was better than no coffee at all, so she followed him. His name finally came back to her as they started climbing the stairs. “It’s Sextus, isn’t it?”
“Palamedes,” he said. “Harrowhark, right? I think my office is right across from yours.”
“Nice to officially meet you.”
The third floor was quiet and uncomfortably warm. As they both examined the options in the machine, Palamedes said: “Which one do you want?”
“I’ll probably just go with that one,” Harrow said. Palamedes reached to punch it in, and she said: “Oh, you don’t have to–”
“Consider it hush money for what I did to the machine downstairs,” Palamedes said.
Harrow relented. The cans landed in the tray, and Palamedes passed her one.
“Thanks. I needed this.” Harrow cracked it open and sipped. It was cold, and if she swallowed it fast the bitterness lingered longer than the sweet.
“Yeah?” Palamedes said.
Harrow didn’t like talking about anything, on principle, but she felt like her head was going to explode if she didn’t. So she cautiously said, “I’m just a little tired. It’s been a trying few days.”
“Personal stuff or work stuff?”
Harrow hesitated. “Personal. Well…both. I haven’t been sleeping well. And Gideon’s getting on my nerves, a little, is all.”
“Gideon?” Palamedes asked. “Are you two not on good terms? I got the impression you were close.”
Harrow felt the bottom of her stomach fall out as though she’d skipped a step. “What gave you that impression?” She asked carefully. There was no way he knew. Although, in retrospect, they hadn’t been particularly cautious. Fuck. She needed to be more careful.
“Just what I’d assumed. You know how friends like to rib each other, give each other a hard time. Cam and I fight like an old married couple.”
“It’s not like that,” Harrow said quickly. “At all.”
“What’s it like, then?”
“She’s just…difficult to get along with,” Harrow said.
“In what way?”
“In every way.” Harrow thought for a bit. She took another sip of coffee, swallowed it quick, and said: “She’s constantly bothering me. She half-asses her work and tries to put it on me instead. She’s loud, she annoying, and she doens’t know when to fuck off and take a hint. She’s a lazy, condescending prick.”
“Whoah,” Palamedes said. “Has she ever done anything that…crossed a line?”
Harrow knew he hadn’t meant the innuendo, but her face burned anyway. “Well. No. Not technically. She plays nice around other people, but I know she looks down on me.”
“Hm,” he said contemplatively. “That’s how it is, huh?”
“Mm.” Harrow hazarded a bigger gulp and winced.
“I guess it isn’t surprising that she rushes her work. She’s the only one in her department right now. The only other person who knew the system was fired not too long ago.”
Harrow looked up from her can. “She never mentioned that.”
“Apparently it was a whole thing. Security had to be called to drag her out. You really didn’t know?”
“I had no idea.” Harrow was about to say that she didn’t talk to many people in the office outside of Gideon, but she thought that might sound a bit too pathetic. “So…who’s Camilla?” Harrow asked, to be polite, and to change the subject.
“She’s my best friend. She works here, too.” Palamedes wiped a sheen of sweat from his upper lip. “Jesus, it’s warm up here. Is the AC even on?”
“Did you two meet here?”
“She got me the job,” Palamedes explained. “We’ve been together basically forever.”
“That must be nice,” Harrow said. She’d never had a best friend. All the friends she had growing up had long since cut all contact. The silence stretched on for a little longer than she meant it to, so she said: “Listen. Let me pay you back for the coffee.”
“You’re awfully suspicious of a free coffee,” Palamedes said. “Relax. I’m just buying something for a friend.”
“But we aren’t friends,” Harrow said, and immediately wished that she hadn’t said it, and also wished very badly to die.
Palamedes, the saint of patience, laughed. “I guess not. But we could be, if you like.”
“Maybe.” Harrow did not want to look him in the eyes. “Um. We should probably head back now.”
The whole way back, they talked about movies they’d seen lately. Palamedes did most of the talking, but Harrow let him without too much fuss. By the time she went back to her desk and finished the coffee, she had almost gotten used to the taste.
********
Maybe it was because Babs had brought her up earlier. Maybe it was because Ianthe was bored, or horny. Whatever the case, she found her thoughts turning towards Harrowhark. They’d met through some app a few months back. It was purely a sex thing, and not a particularly remarkable sex thing, either. If she’d realized they shared the same employer when she’d swiped, Ianthe probably wouldn’t have bothered getting involved. She liked her hookups brief, casual, and with a clean break whenever they got clingy. Ianthe had one too many friends-with-benefits relationships sour into enemies-with-restraining-orders; it was an unpleasant surprise when Harrow had turned up at the work Christmas party.
Luckily for Ianthe, she needn’t have worried. Their paths rarely intersected, and on the rare occasion they did, Harrow barely acknowledged Ianthe’s presence. She was just as stony and cold at the office as she was in bed. So Ianthe had written it off as a near-miss, promised herself she’d do her research when on the apps, and moved on.
And yet, the idea of her hooking up with Gideon bothered her. It didn’t bother her because she thought it was actually happening. From all appearances, they couldn’t stand to breathe the same air. It didn’t bother her because she had any kind of feelings for the girl, either. Honestly, she hadn’t really thought of her in months. It was a secretive third reason that Ianthe hadn’t figured out yet. At any rate, she was definitely going to make this someone else’s problem.
Notes:
I am turning a big dial that says "Ianthe" on it and constantly looking back at the audience for approval like a contestant on the price is rice
Chapter Text
When Cam had gotten up that morning, she’d had a plan to run into Gideon outside her gym when she finished her morning routine and strike up a conversation with her. Palamedes had already squeezed a conversation out of the recalcitrant little ice queen Harrowhark; extracting the information she wanted from Gideon should be comparatively easy. Striking up conversations with anyone was not her favorite thing to do, but at the very least she could not let Palamedes have a win on her.
Making the jog down was easy. The trouble was, Gideon took a little while longer to leave the gym than she’d expected, so Camilla ended up having to linger outside. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. As the twenty-fifth minute rolled by, she began to wonder if Gideon had left already. It was here that she probably should have just gone home, or at least waited another five to see if Gideon would emerge, but Camilla was nothing if not stubborn. She decided she’d just stick her head in and see if Gideon was still there.
She had barely begun to scan the perimeter of the room before an employee– a short and uncannily stealthy woman– appeared out of nowhere.
“Good morning,” she said. “Have you been here before?”
It was then that Camilla saw Gideon at the weight bench in the corner, re-racking and wiping down her equipment. Camilla’s mind began to race through various scenarios.
Scenario One: Camilla lied and said yes. The employee would ask her to sign in with a nonexistent membership. This would be problematic for obvious reasons.
Scenario Two: Camilla said no. The employee would obviously offer her a membership, which she did not want. She could explain, honestly, that she was waiting for someone. That posed another, more complex problem. The employee would expect Gideon and Camilla to be acquainted. If Camilla acted as though they were nearly strangers that happened to bump into one another, the employee would suspect that Camilla was some kind of creep, and if she acted as though Gideon was a cherished friend, Gideon would think she was some kind of creep.
Technically, she had followed Gideon, someone who did not know her but she knew about, to her gym. This counted as creep behavior, but Camilla was trying to ignore that.
Strategically speaking, Camilla had been placed in a no-win scenario, and there was limited time for her to make a decision with how to proceed. There was no lie she could think of to say and justify why she’d walked in, and the honest answer made her sound like a fucking lunatic. She met the gym employee’s eyes. In what Camilla was convinced was the best tactical decision, she said: “I have not. I would like to join your gym.”
By the time the sign-up process was complete, Gideon had already left through the side door, and Camilla was stuck for another ten minutes while the woman at the front desk printed her a badge.
It would have to wait until tomorrow.
* * * * * * * *
It was Ianthe, not Camilla, who got to Gideon first.
“Good morning,” Ianthe said.
Gideon nodded at her and went back to screwing with the copier. “I’m almost finished if you want it.”
“That’s alright,” Ianthe said, and went to sit on the table. After a moment, she said, “So I heard you and Harry are fucking.”
Gideon made a strangled noise that could be generously described as something between a cough and a hamster being stepped on. “What? Harrow? Ha. Ha-ha. That’s…that’s real funny. No. Also? Gross.”
Ianthe let out a high titter. “So it’s true?”
“I just said–” Gideon said, and paused. Her face was hot, and she was shit at lying. “Did Harrow tell you?”
“Not as such,” Ianthe said. Gideon hadn’t really spent much time talking to her. She worked on a different floor, different departments altogether, so their paths never crossed much. All she knew was that she was always lurking near Coronabeth and her entourage. They were allegedly identical twins, although they looked less like twins than anyone Gideon had ever seen. Perched atop the table, legs crossed and smirking, she looked like someone had deflated Coronabeth and slathered her with a generous coating of superiority complex. The next thing out of her mouth made Gideon like her even less. “Harrow and I,” she paused and examined a fingernail, “...used to be involved.”
Gross. Gideon imagined the two of them sucking face. Harrow would have had to use a step stool. The thought did not cheer her up any. “Okay,” she said. Her face still felt hot. She forced herself to look away and screw around with the printer some more. A nauseating trickle of anger and humiliation was slowly filling up her stomach. What the fuck was Harrow doing? The last time she’d deigned to speak to Gideon, she had basically made her take a vow of silence, and then Harrow turned around and started yapping to her ex about…whatever the hell was going on between them? Oh god, how much did she say? What did she say?
“I’m sure you made a beautiful couple,” Gideon spat. It sounded pettier out loud than in her head. She meant to make it sound like she didn’t care, which she didn’t.
“We did.” Ianthe drawled. Gross, times two.
Gideon jabbed the printer’s touchscreen. Stupid shitty printer. Stupid shitty Harrow. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just use the one upstairs. This one’s busted.”
Ianthe jumped down off the table. “No, come on, I’m not jealous. It was a long time ago.” Gideon paused. She really wanted to know what Harrow had said about her. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to know. The idea swelled and festered like a mosquito bite begging for her to dig her nails into.
Gideon shoved her hands into her pockets. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Ianthe took a pale strand of hair between her fingers and twisted it. “Honestly, I was just being nosy. What I wanted to know is what you want from Harry.”
“Why do you care?” Gideon asked. She was face-to-face with her, on even ground, and Ianthe was taller than her, which she hated.
“Because I know her. Harrowhark is…difficult to handle.” Ianthe smiled condescendingly. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
Gideon snorted. “Wow, you really do know her.”
“What me and Harry had is water under the bridge,” Ianthe said smoothly. “So. If you ever want a bit of friendly advice from someone who knows Harry, I am more than happy to oblige.”
Gideon chewed the inside of her cheek. The question was bubbling up in her chest. She could feel it coming up like vomit. She needed to ask. “What’d she say about me?” she blurted finally.
The condescending smile did not leave, but a little pity trickled into her eyes. “Not much.”
“Right. That figures.” Gideon felt her heart shrivel up and retreat down into her stomach.
“Poor baby. It is awfully difficult to keep her interested, isn’t it?” Ianthe crooned. She reached out and patted her with a bony hand.
Gideon shrugged the hand off. “I’m not interested in advice. I don’t need her interest.” It sounded like a lie, even to herself. Ianthe was still looking at her, still smug, still twirling that strand of hair between her fingers. Gideon looked away. “But if I wanted her to be into me…purely hypothetically…what’s she into?”
The corners of Ianthe’s thin lips curled. “The better question is, what isn’t she into?”
“Sunshine? Laughter? Colors other than black?” Gideon said.
“I meant in bed,” Ianthe said, and sighed. “That girl is insane in the sack.”
“...Hmmh,” Gideon said.
“Bondage, toys, anal, threesomes, foursomes, pissplay, masochism. Name any kink, she’s practically already an expert. She’s repressed as hell, but when she lets it out? Insanity. I’m no chaste maiden myself, but that girl made me look like a nun.” Ianthe laughed again. It sounded like a cat walking across a piano.
Gideon’s face had grown hot again. “Toys, huh.” That wasn’t too weird. Gideon had some toys.
“Oh, sure. She’s a real size queen, too. The bigger the better,” Ianthe said. “She won’t let on she’s into all that, of course, not until she’s three fingers deep and suddenly decides she’s going to fist you–” Gideon felt her ass clench reflexively, “–But that’s what it’s all about for her. Spontaneity. No foreplay, just rushing right in.”
Gideon was regretting every part of this conversation. “Sounds…painful,” Gideon managed.
“The pain is the point,” Ianthe said. “For her, anyway. Like I said,” Ianthe paused to toss her hair, “I feel a little sorry for you.”
Gideon decided that it was time to leave. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Good luck,” Ianthe called after her.
This particular tidbit of information played on Gideon’s mind all the way home. It wasn’t so much the idea that Harrow had a variety of colorful fetishes; Gideon was well aware that Harrow was a freak by now. It was a bit of a surprise to know that Harrow was the type of person to sleep her way through the office, though. And with Ianthe. They were both horrible, so it made sense, but Gideon felt panicky every time she thought about her pallid face smirking down at her. Harrow could do what she wanted, of course. It wasn’t any of Gideon’s fucking business. If anything, it should’ve made her relieved to know that she wasn’t anything special, just the latest in a series of Harrow’s kinky little playthings.
Gideon took a deep breath. A plaything. She felt a mixture of annoyance and arousal, which seemed to be the default cocktail that Harrow seemed to elicit of late. She thought she’d be fine with being a plaything. As long as feelings weren’t involved, all good, she could get bossed around a bit by a girl and in exchange she’d get to engage in steamy workplace misconduct every once in a while.
It is awfully difficult to keep her interested, Ianthe had said. Gideon felt the back of her neck burn and rubbed at it with her fingertips.The last girl Gideon had been involved with had left her on read for a week before Gideon found out that she’d gotten back with her ex. She couldn’t take being discarded again. Not by the likes of Harrow. If it took a little risk to keep her attention, even if it was just as a plaything, Gideon would take it. The second she got home, she opened the shoebox under her bed where she kept her toys. Truth be told, she didn’t really have anything all that huge. The girls she’d been with who liked a big strap usually had one on hand she could use, and she didn’t use anything like that on herself.
She put the box away and put her shoes back on. She needed to make a purchase.
********
It had been a few days since Gideon had said anything more than a quick acknowledgement in passing. Harrow did not remark on this fact nor acknowledge it; in fact, she was making an effort not to think of Gideon at all. As with most tasks she set her mind to, she did so flawlessly. At one point she had gone a full three hours wherein she convinced herself that Gideon Nav had never existed at all. She was exceedingly productive as a result; all was well.
She felt very tired for some reason on the bus ride home. When she arrived at her apartment, she went directly to her bed and flopped facedown, boneless and exhausted. Her guard must have lowered, then, because suddenly her mind was flooded with awful Gideon and her crooked smile. Harrow had been so successful in forgetting Gideon that the idea of her felt like being swept up in a great crashing wave. Harrow felt the muscles in her back clench. Her skin suddenly felt too hot, her clothes too heavy against her. She tugged her sweater over her head, followed shortly by her tights and skirt until she was sitting in just her shirt and underwear.
Harrow lay back on the bed, feverishly undoing the buttons on her shirt. She closed her eyes. The image of Gideon pulsed behind her eyelids in little frantic flashes. Gideon on her knees. Gideon in Harrow’s mouth, on her tongue. Gideon with Harrow’s fingers knotted in her hair.
Harrow turned over, burying her face in her pillow. Her first thought was to struggle against it, but the more she tried not to, the more intense the visions of Gideon became. She needed an outlet. It was too much. She had to give in, just a little, or she thought that her head may explode with the pressure.
The onslaught of racing thoughts coalesced. She focused on the thought of Gideon wrapping her hand around Harrow’s throat, pressing gently, coaxing her mouth open so she could slide her warm tongue inside. Harrow cupped a hand against herself. She could feel a bead of wetness beginning to pool against the fabric of her panties. She flinched away as though it had burned her; direct touch was too intense, too much at once. But now that she had opened the floodgates, she couldn’t shut them again.
She instead went to grab a pillow and tucked it between her thighs. Better. She began to rock her hips, imagining the friction of Gideon’s knee pinning her in place. Instead, her hand went to her neck– her thumb against a pulse point just beneath her jaw, fingers splayed against the straining muscle running along her jugular. She wished those bony fingers were replaced by stronger, thicker ones, hands that wandered and restrained, hands that took and took from her until Harrow’s mind was blissfully empty.
Harrow’s mind-Gideon broke their kiss to whisper in Harrow’s ear. “Good girl.”
She whimpered into the mattress. Harrow wanted to be nothing at all except good. The Gideon in her mind grabbed at her chest, her stomach, her thighs. The fantasy expanded, blooming into heady technicolor. Gideon would be in her workout clothes, a faint sheen of sweat on her muscles and across her brow. Harrow would be naked and pinned to the wall by the solid mass of her body, squirming and vulnerable and totally exposed. In her fantasy, Gideon would be cruel and rough, and Harrow allowed herself in this conjured scenario to be pliant and submissive to her every whim. Fantasy-Gideon tangled her fingers rough in Harrow’s hair, tugging Harrow down to her knees. Harrow struggled to conjure the scent of her underwear from last week (had it only been last week?) to imagine what she would smell like when Harrow’s face was forced between Gideon’s legs. In her fantasy, stripped of everything including her pride, Harrow would bury her face between Gideon’s thighs. She would rub herself against her shamelessly, panting, breathing her in, letting the scent mark her as Gideon’s.
She was humping her pillow furiously now. Her thighs began to burn in protest, the joints of her ankles creaking. In a moment, it would not be enough, and Harrow would need to touch herself.
“Go on,” Fastasy-Gideon said. Harrow imagined her pulling down the waistband of her shorts and boxers. She would tug Harrow’s head to meet her, and Harrow’s mouth would already be open and obedient, ready to be used. Gideon would thrust into her, Harrow’s tongue slick and ready to work against Gideon’s clit; her mouth would flood with the taste of her. “Fuck, that’s good,” Gideon would grunt. She would feel the rumble of her voice from beneath her, and Gideon would feel it when Harrow whined into her cunt. When she’d used her mouth enough, Gideon would cruelly rip her away. “That’s enough,” she’d say. “Turn around.”
Harrow paused, disoriented and hazy, to shrug off her shirt and strip off her underwear. She wanted to feel the cool air on her back and shoulders for this part. Fantasy-Gideon bent her over; Harrow would place her hands on the wall, stick her ass and cunt out so that Gideon could see every inch. Gideon would pull her open, just to lord it over her, just to feel the trickle of wetness between her thighs, then cruelly retreat. Harrow was whimpering now, so in the fantasy she would, too.
“Please,” she would say.
“Please what?”
Harrow grazed her finger across her clit and rubbed herself in tight circles.
Fantasy-Gideon’s hand would come down on her ass. Harrow would cry out to feel the hot sting of it, but Gideon would be relentless. She would spank her twice, three times, four, too many to count, until Harrow was crying out in pain and her cheeks were pink and hot and Harrow was dripping obscenely down her shaking thighs and onto the floor. She’d never worked up the nerve to ask to be spanked before, not in real life. Harrow was too full of shame and pride to have asked.
She was a creature bursting with sin twice over. The sin of lust left her brimming with desire, the sin of pride left it unasked and unfilled. These sins called for punishment. That was what she needed so desperately. She was a poorly healed bone; she needed to be broken once more, to be reset and healed into something whole.
Something about the thought made tears well in Harrow’s eyes, and they spilled into her fantasy, too. Fantasy-Gideon noticed them and scoffed cruelly.
“Pathetic,” she’d say, and then she would slide one thick finger into her cunt. Harrow’s unoccupied hand mimicked the gesture, adding one finger, then two when one was not nearly enough. She closed her eyes and saw stars. Harrow moaned into her pillow, rocking back onto her hand. She could feel her orgasm simmering in the pit of her stomach. She was so close.
“Mercy,” she would cry, but Gideon would bring the hand not inside Harrow up to press the back of her head down.
“Take it,” Gideon would murmur to her. “Be a good girl and take it.”
Harrow cried out and came sooner than she’d wanted, shuddering and squeezing around her fingers in wet bursts. It lasted a long while, stretching further and further until Harrow felt herself snap.
She withdrew shakily. Her bedspread was wet. She would care about that later. She curled into a tight ball on the bed and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning; the usual shame began to set in. Her apartment was suddenly too quiet, too cavernous. She pulled the covers over her bare body. Harrow could feel the weight of everything settling in on her as the post-orgasm glow began to fade, and the air around her turned cold and sharp. She wanted to turn herself inside out and scrub her insides. She wanted to empty herself until she was void of desire, a pristine shell, a hollowness. Most of all, she wanted to sleep.
Just for a little while, she promised herself. She would not dream of Gideon.
Notes:
The fateful strap sucking is coming next chapter. I know a few of you have been waiting very patiently for it <3 As always, thank you for reading.
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