up against these things I can't see

[undonewithout]

It isn't every night that Harrow crosses their narrow hallway in the middle of the night, slipping quietly into Gideon's room--but it's most of them. The solidity of her cavalier's presence, even deep asleep, is a greater reassurance since last month's disappearances, the inexplicable vanishing and subsequent return that still triggered an alarm response at the back of her brain.

Most things in and out of Darrow did, as Gideon was annoyingly apt to point out, but that didn't change the truth of it.

Tonight, Harrow wakes with a jolt to the sound of passing sirens, the tone close enough to the panicked klaxon of the Mithraeum bells that she scrabbles her way into a sitting position before she's even fully aware, fumbling for the sword that should be at her side in its protective coffin of bone. It's not here; it never was, but as the blue and red flash of lights filters into her room she tears the sheets towards the end of the bed in a half-awake and desperate search. Reality catches her after only a minute, less than that, but her pulse still pounds in her ears, her breath coming in jagged, helpless gasps. Execrable flesh magician though she is, she knows enough to slow the beat of her heart and purge the remaining adrenaline from her system. It helps, just enough.

She's fully awake now, though, alone in the ruin of her bed, and falling back to sleep here seems all at once impossible. Quickly, she slips out of bed and goes across the hall, listening at Gideon's closed bedroom door for a moment before she turns the knob and pushes it ajar. She can only just see the shape of Gideon curled under the blankets, warm and solid and deep asleep; she stays in the doorway for another moment, watching her, before she takes the last few steps to the edge of the bed and curls in at her side.

Comments

[wedobones]

It's a combination of the use of her name and the naked desire in Harrow's voice, something she'd never expected to hear, makes her head spin.

"I can do that," she says, swallowing as she shifts position, leaving her hands where they are as she leans up to kiss Harrow.

[undonewithout]

This kiss is as perfect as the last, another entry in a list of things that's already longer than she expected. She returns it, slow and careful, focusing on the warmth of Gideon's mouth on hers and the still-light touch of her fingers along her sides.

[wedobones]

Gideon takes it easy, lets Harrow be the one who controls it, the one who sets the pace. She keeps her touch light and, when she makes a soft sound against Harrow's mouth, she feels herself blush.

[undonewithout]

They stay like that for a while, kissing, Gideon touching her gently just beneath the hem of her shirt. The sound Gideon makes cuts through her, pleasantly. If there had ever been a moment where Harrow imagined the dark and fractured universe that might've ensued if she'd surrendered herself to Ianthe on those long, cold Mithraeum nights, she thinks now that this might be its opposite: warmth and comfort, gentleness she might not deserve but that she opens herself to like a flower seeking the sun.

"Gideon," she says between kisses, low and halting. "How can I touch you? I want to...tell me something easy like this. Simple. I want to try."

[wedobones]

She can't think. She doesn't have a clear thought in her head for a moment.

"The backs of your fingers on my belly under my shirt?" She says. "Would that work?"

[undonewithout]

Harrow had asked the question in honest, blind faith, asked it because she wanted it answered, but Gideon's response still causes her head to reel and her nervous system to flood with some new, impossible mix of adrenaline and arousal. Being too hasty is as dangerous as delaying too much, and Harrow thinks over the question for only as long as she dares.

"One way to find out," she says, half to herself. She turns her hand, skimming it first over the thin fabric of Gideon's shirt, feeling the soft cotton and the firmer muscle just beneath. It takes only the turn of her wrist to catch the hem of her t-shirt with a fingertip; as she slides her hand further underneath, Harrow's face pinches in determined, stoic concentration. With nothing in the way, the heat of Gideon's skin is blazing, the definition of her abdominal muscles distressingly present.

[wedobones]

Gideon finds herself almost holding her breath as Harrow touches her, first on top of her shirt, then under it. She swallows, her hands frozen at Harrow's sides, two fingertips still pressed against her skin.

[undonewithout]

There are so many more points of contact between them than this, but Harrow tunes in to the press of those fingers against her sides and the touch of her own hand on Gideon's belly. Using the backs of her fingers makes it more detached, but there's still no way to fool herself that she's doing anything other than this--than touching her, even lightly. With infinite care, she moves her hand, a trailing sweep over Gideon's belly that makes her shiver.

"I think this is working," she says, her eyes moving up to center on Gideon's face. "Right now, it's...not so bad."

[wedobones]

Harrow shivers and Gideon shivers too when Harrow strokes her fingers over her skin like that.

"Okay," she says, nodding slowly. "You can... anything you want. Even if it's just that."

[undonewithout]

The relief she feels at that is another terrible wave, a comfort and a gentleness she never expected from Gideon--from anyone, but least of all her. There was too much damage between them, too many years of hurt and hate and resentment, but maybe all of that is what could make this possible. She keeps up the sweep of her hand, nodding faintly, her teeth worrying the kiss-flushed curve of her lip.

"You don't have to stay still," she murmurs. "Your hands. You can move." She swallows hard. "I want you to keep touching me."

[wedobones]

"Tell me where?" asks Gideon, her fingers tensing a little bit. She's a little bit taken aback by how turned on the thought makes her, the heat that stirs. "How much?"

[undonewithout]

"Stay at my sides, but go up," she says. Answering the question is the easiest part; she's been making demands of Gideon and everyone else for years, and though her tone is wildly different now, the topic unbelievable, the act itself is normal enough. "No further than the ninth rib, and you can use two fingers, either side."

[wedobones]

Like any good and virtuous child of the Ninth, Gideon knows exactly which is the ninth rib. Okay, she's neither good nor virtuous, not a son or daughter of the Ninth, but she still knows which rib Harrow means. Carefully, she slides two fingers on each hand higher, following the straightness of Harrow's sides, achingly aware of how easy it would be to shift her hands slightly and graze her thumbs over Harrow's nipples, hard and obvious under her thin shirt.

[undonewithout]

Gideon's hands slide higher, and higher still, and as she passes each furrowed line of bone Harrow counts back from twelve. She makes a shaky sound after nine, her fingers twitching against Gideon's belly, her hips shifting slowly to one side, then the other. "Definitely thought I'd need to remind you which one that was," she says, a faint smirk at the corner of her mouth. "You were paying attention."

[wedobones]

"Only to Aiglemene," admits Gideon, suitably sheepish. "Good place to stab." She presses lightly between Harrow's ribs. Harrow shifts her hips on top of her and Gideon makes an undignified noise.

[undonewithout]

"Aiglamene was the only one you ever listened to," says Harrow, another low shiver rippling through her when Gideon's fingers press inwards. "And I definitely think you tried to stab me there once. At least."

The sound Gideon makes cuts right to the center of her, making everything clench in a way she can't ignore and wishes she found more unpleasant. It takes her a moment, but she turns her hand, rotating her wrist until she can press her palm to the flat muscle of Gideon's belly. She keeps it there, still but for the minute tremble of her fingers, letting the close, living feeling of it settle over her.

[wedobones]

Once again, Gideon goes very, very still, her hands under Harrow's shirt, and she aches to move her hands, to touch more of the girl in get lap. Instead, she shifts her hips, pressing her thighs more firmly together. It's too easy to imagine Harrow's pale hand other places.

[undonewithout]

Harrow moves with the shift of Gideon's hips, rides out the action from her perch in her lap. Her hand doesn't move any further than Gideon's do, and they stay just like that for one breath, then another, and another after that. The beat of her heart is strong and rapid, loud in her ears.

"I don't think I can move," she says. "Not more than this. But if you kiss me...I might be able to manage that. If I stay like this, and you kiss me." She reminds herself with a sharp internal lash of thought that this is enough, more than she'd thought possible. It doesn't divert the humiliation, the disgust with herself, but it tempers it enough to let her breathe under the weight of it.

[wedobones]

"Okay," says Gideon, nodding. She keeps her hands where they are and leans up to kiss Harrow, harder and hungrier than she'd dares before. She can feel the muscles of her belly trembling. She moans.

[undonewithout]

It's on the edge of too much, but she wants it, her head swept clean of any other thought but that. Gideon moans into her mouth and Harrow trembles, returning the kiss with nipping teeth and a low, helpless sound of her own. Her hand twitches against Gideon's belly, her fingertips pressing in for the briefest of seconds.

[wedobones]

She kisses Harrow and Harrow kisses her back, moans and bites at her mouth, and it's more than Gideon can comprehend, more than she ever thought she'd deserve.

"Harrow," she breathes, her hands trembling with the effort of not moving them, not touching Harrow anywhere she hasn't said she wants to be touched.

[undonewithout]

Gideon's never said her name like that. She's heard it in anger and sorrow, fear and the mocking smugness of their childhood debates. Once, at the very end, with a kind of peaceful certainty--the first fissure in the network of cracks that further obligated Harrow to the decision she made and the work she'd set forth afterwards. None of it ever sounded like the Harrow Gideon breathes out now. Head spinning, she kisses her hard, then pulls back with a filthy, shuddering noise.

"That's it," she says, taking her hand out from under Gideon's shirt. "I can't...no more, Nav. Not tonight."

[wedobones]

The breath that shivers out of Gideon is shaky and she leans her head forward, her hair slipping over her forehead as she swallows and nods. She gives Harrow one last squeeze and then takes her hands out from under her shirt.

"This is it," she says. "This is how you're going to finally manage to kill me." She looks up and smiles. "I love you."

[undonewithout]

Harrow manages a laugh at that, short and surprising in its delight despite the twisting reminder at the back of her head, the quiet voice that tells her Gideon's death at her hand wasn't as pleasant a thing as this. She can't ignore it, not fully, but it's far enough away that she can slip from its grasp for now.

Gideon's eyes meet hers, her red hair spilling over her forehead, and Harrow's heart stutters in her chest. "I love you," she echoes.

[wedobones]

Gideon's smile at that is bright and open and she risks one more kiss, this one pressed just to Harrow's cheek. "Is that what you're sleeping in or do you want me to go and get something for you?"