oh if you knew just what a fool you have made me

[undonewithout]

They find their way into the new shape of things over the next month. The barriers and boundaries, walking the tension between what Gideon desires and what Harrow can allow, all of it kept secret and safe within the walls of their apartment. It doesn't always work; there are fights and frigid silences, Gideon throwing herself into workouts as an act of aggression and Harrow immersing herself in a book or Sextus' latest draft of theories and theorems with as much pointed intensity. When it's successful, though, when all the fractured pieces of themselves come together into some temporary whole...

Harrow does not find it unpleasant. Not entirely.

She insists that they act no different than usual in public, still necromancer and cavalier, still as Ninth as they can be in a pre-Resurrection backwater. It's the only way it can work, and though Gideon makes no secret of her opinion, grumbling at home and out, trying to catch Harrow's hand or stand a little closer than ordinary, she bears it with an aggrieved stoicism that sets Harrow's teeth on edge and almost amuses her all at once. She harbors no illusion that Gideon's patience will last forever; this new change will soon find itself brayed to the world--or merely to the Sixth (bad enough, and Harrow already suspects the Warden and his Hand know some scrap of it anyway) and Maeve (even worse)--but for now something close enough to privacy reigns between them.

The one topic Gideon can't let go, refuses to let go despite arguments and at least three battles with constructs, is the idea of a date. The term isn't unfamiliar, nor the concept, but both strike Harrow as wholly unnecessary. They know what they are, what they've become to one another; that should suffice, and yet for her cavalier, it's only the beginning. She wheedles and pleads, starts dropping it into conversations at points both ludicrous and logical, and while Harrow will never admit to being worn down, she's intelligent enough to see that getting this out of Gideon's system may be the only way of shutting her up.

The one least liable to result in questions or a disapproving look from Sextus, that is.

Gideon picks the day, and Harrow the place. At the appointed hour, they set off for Petros Park, Harrow casting furtive looks at anyone they pass and keeping her hands tightly folded, her arms rigid to discourage any soft touch or brief tangle of fingers. "I forbid you from enjoying this," she mutters as they walk, when everyone else is out of earshot. "So wipe that smile off your face. You look like a loon."

Comments

[wedobones]

Gideon has literally never been this turned on in her life. She's so turned on that it's actually painful. She keeps touching Harrow, keeps kissing her, waiting to be told to stop, or further instruction, or anything that Harrow wants next.

[undonewithout]

She can't think of anything other than this for a long time, her world narrowing to the touch of Gideon's hands and the taste of her mouth, the sound of their breathing and the firm solidity of her body underneath her. Eventually, Harrow finds her voice, resting her forehead against Gideon's and letting out a shaky breath. "I love you, Gideon."

[wedobones]

Gideon lets out a shaky breath of her own, her forehead resting against Harrow's, her hands still for a moment. "I love you too," she says, her tone almost disbelieving. "I love you so fucking much."

[undonewithout]

There's always that cold voice at the back of Harrow's mind at times like these, the one that reminds her of her unworthiness, of the inexcusable things she's done--to Gideon, to the other sons and daughters of the Ninth, the crimes and violations she's wrought from even before the moment of her first breath. Gideon says I love you, and that voice says You shouldn't, and Harrow has to work at listening to only one of them. Tonight, she manages it, her fingers gliding over Gideon's jaw, tracing the bone just under the skin.

"Keep going," she says, then stops again, her cheeks flushing red. Harrow at a loss for words is a rare thing, humiliating and helpless, but the vastness of the possibility in front of her--everything they could do, everything she might find herself able to allow--leaves her floundering.

[wedobones]

Keep going could mean any number of things, and Gideon finds herself staring, her hands still on Harrow's tits, her skin unbelievably warm against Gideon's palms. "Oh, shit. You're...really going to have to tell me what keep going means."

[undonewithout]

The look on Harrow’s face gets tighter, tenser, a wild spark lighting the darkness of her eyes. Every fiber of her is caught on the edge between fleeing in humiliation and surrendering to the mystery, letting herself finally give in to all of Gideon’s fantasies—or some of her own. Gideon stares at her, and she stares back, the moment stretching thin between them until she looks away.

“I don’t know,” she says, sick with shame, disgusted by her ignorance and the heat of her desire. “I just don’t want you to stop.”

[wedobones]

She's never seen that look on Harrow's face before, so she has to just enjoy it for a moment. She rolls her wrists, squeezing Harrow's tits, leaning up to take a gentle kiss. She rests her forehead against Harrow's. "Let me make you come. Let me try, at least?"

[undonewithout]

Harrow makes a soft noise when she’s kissed, humiliated by how unsteady it sounds—how unsteady she feels, pinned under Gideon’s delight at her uncertainty. Her eyes flutter closed as their foreheads touch, her pulse loud in her ears.

“You can try,” she says, each word feeling like a step towards her doom. “I want…I want you to try.”

[wedobones]

"Oh, my God." Gideon has imagined Harrow saying some variation on that so many times, and not once did she come close to what it feels like to hear it in reality.

"Can we lie down?"

[undonewithout]

Her eyes still closed, Harrow nods, momentarily uncertain of her ability to speak. She shivers at the motion, the way Gideon's hair brushes against her forehead, the low sound of the other girl's voice. Everything points towards this being a decision she cannot trust--and has to, now that it's been made.

"In the bedroom," she finally manages to say. "Please."

[wedobones]

Gideon thinks about it for a moment and then she shuffles her weight forward to the edge of the sofa and lifts. It's a bit wobbly until she finds her centre of balance and wraps her arms around Harrow, one arm under her ass to support her weight.

"Okay?"

[undonewithout]

"Emperor's blood, Griddle," Harrow says as Gideon picks her up, her face burning at the steady pressure of her arm along her ass. It's not the first time Gideon's held her like this, not the first time she's been carried, but there's a different weight to it now, a new charge. Rather than pull away, she relaxes into it, letting herself rest within the confines of Gideon's arms, one ear pressed close enough to her chest to hear the beating of her heart.

The sound of it is still a marvel, after everything.

"Okay," she says, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards even as her stomach flips.

[wedobones]

"Okay," echoes Gideon, turning in the direction of their bedroom. She's carried Harrow a bunch of times but it definitely feels different this time.

In their bedroom she puts one knee on the mattress and carefully lays her girlfriend down.

[undonewithout]

Harrow grits her teeth against the soft and utterly humiliating sound that wants to spill forth when Gideon lays her down on the bed, an action full of more gentleness than she once might have thought the other girl capable of. Shifting up to settle her head more comfortably on the pillow, she looks at Gideon as she looms above her.

[wedobones]

What she wants to do is peel Harrow's underwear down and bury her face between her thighs, but, contrary to popular belief, she was also born with a modicum of sense. She lies down next to Harrow, her nose brushing against her cheek.

"Sure?"

[undonewithout]

"Not even remotely," says Harrow, trying to laugh and only managing a weak, strained sound when Gideon nuzzles at her cheek. She balls one hand into a tight fist, breathing in shakily as she turns to look at her. Her dark eyes are wide, the panic in them slowly giving way to something close to a horrible, shameful anticipation. At the sight of Gideon's strangely colored eyes, so close she can see the flecks of brighter gold within the iris, her heart stutters in her chest.

"Tell me what you...how you..." she attempts and fails, her cheeks flushing a darker red. Her lips press together for a moment in a thin and furious line. "I am too ignorant to direct you in this, Nav. You have the advantage. Try to contain your delight."

[wedobones]

"I'll definitely do my best," says Gideon, as solemnly as she can manage. She props herself up on one elbow, fingers of her other hand pulling Harrow's shirt up a little.

"With my fingers," she says. "Slowly. It'll feel really good, I promise."

[undonewithout]

She'd thought the knowledge would help quell the tight knot at the pit of her stomach, and seen from a certain light, it does; it's not nerves but heat that lances through her when Gideon offers that scrap of explanation. Her breath shivers as her shirt's pulled up those few inches, her eyes still fixed on Gideon's.

"Okay," she says. "I'll stop you if I need to."

[wedobones]

"Okay," echoes Gideon. She bends her head, her red hair a tumbled curtain across her forehead, and takes a kiss. At the same time, her fingers skate down the smooth skin of Harrow's belly, brushing against her waistband.

[undonewithout]

Gideon touches her and Harrow tries to give herself over to it, focusing on Gideon's lips on hers, on her fingertips as points of heat moving slowly downwards. She squirms, ashamed to realize it's not avoidance but avidity, a reflex she's unable--or unwilling--to quell.

[wedobones]

She's still getting used to it, slowly but surely -- how it feels when she makes the Reverend Daughter of Drearburh squirm like that. Gently, so carefully, she eases her fingers under the waistband of Harrow's leggings, sliding her hand between thin, soft layers of fabric to cup Harrow's cunt through her underwear. It's the first time Harrow's ever let her touch her like this, touch anything except her tits. Gideon goes slowly so she doesn't spook her.

[undonewithout]

The slow pace is a blessing and a curse all in one; she has time to get used to this, each of Gideon's moves telegraphed before they happen, but the clarity of each new and careful touch means there's no ignoring it, no pretending it's anything other than what it is. Gideon's fingers curve over the thin stuff of her underwear, the warmth of her skin lost in the heat that's pooled with embarrassing quickness between Harrow's thighs, and Harrow's breath stutters.

"Gideon..."

[wedobones]

"Please don't tell me to stop," breathes Gideon, her voice rough in her throat, her hand still between Harrow's thighs. Gently, carefully, she traces the tip of one finger over the shape of Harrow's cunt through thin fabric. How wet that fabric already is is enough to make Gideon's own cunt throb so hard it almost hurts.

[undonewithout]

"I'm not going to tell you to stop," says Harrow--before she can talk herself into doing exactly that. Gideon's fingertip against her there, pressing just firmly enough to trace the shape of her through damp cotton, has her making a low, helpless sound. Her hips lift like they have a mind of their own, a will she can't wrest control of right now, pressing just slightly more into the touch.

[wedobones]

Gideon doesn't know for certain that that's the truth, but she's going to keep going while she can. It occurs to her that nobody else has ever touched Harrow like that. She wonders whether Harrow touches herself, and knows better than to ask. Harrow lifts her hips and Gideon groans. "Tell me I can."