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“Aw hell, Nonagesimus, what the fuck?”
“Griddle.”
Gideon seldom found herself speechless, but this would pretty much do it. She’d wanted to go to bed. She’d just wanted to go to bed. And instead, she’d been greeted by the most troubling sight of her young life— Harrowhark Nonagesimus, laid across the huge four-poster necro’s bed, completely nude barring face paint and bone jewelry. Not only that, but staring directly at her.
“I don’t want to know.” It suddenly occurred to Gideon that she could avert her eyes from the slight form of very naked necromancer, so she did, and she made haste to leave the room.
“Get back here!”
“Not getting involved."
Gideon power-walked past her and into the anteroom and let the door slam behind her for good measure.
Almost immediately, a knock at the door.
“Griddle, we need to talk.”
"I don't know what you think you're doing but I'd really appreciate if you did it far, far away from me."
Harrow let out a sigh so robust that it could be heard through the door.
"That's the problem, I’m afraid. It has to involve you.”
“I’m sorry, in what universe do cavalier duties, which I’ve still never officially agreed to, by the way—“ Gideon hissed. “—include me having to deal with you naked?” Harrow didn’t answer. “Well, I guess there was the Avulsion trial but I certainly would have nope’d out if I’d had any warning.”
More silence.
“Spill it, Nonagesimus, or I’m going to bed and sleeping soundly, knowing we will never, ever speak of this again.”
“It’s quite simple," Harrowhark said cautiously. "I’d had my suspicions, with the intermingledness of the cavalier’s and necromancer’s belongings in the lyctoral labs. But then, this afternoon, I found a very… telling piece of art. It looked to be a religious relic.”
“‘Telling?’”
“It appeared to be a cavalier. She was tall and… buxom and posing rather lasciviously, scantily clad. Not really clad at all, I suppose."
“Hot.”
“Nav!”
Gideon flipped her off, then promptly realized that the gesture would go unseen. “And you finding a painting of a naked chick with a sword leads us here how?”
“It is a strong piece of evidence toward my theory. I’ve extrapolated that there may be a certain… physical intimacy connected with the ascension process.”
“You think so?”
“It would answer some questions. The origin of the discouragement of siblings serving as necromancer and cavalier, for example, or of parents and children playing those roles. The taboo might itself serve as an extra layer of protection for the integrity of the process.”
“Get to the point.”
“I find myself wondering if a radical approach might be required in this case. I’ll admit it’s a long shot, but we've exhausted all of our other leads. Perhaps we will find some greater understanding through… that kind of intimacy.”
Gideon logically understood the words that Harrow was saying, but at some point in the process, they'd failed to compute. She pushed open the door to see Harrow, standing in an even more hunched posture than usual, now wrapped in a comically large overcloak (Gideon’s?). She looked for all the world like she’d swallowed something caustic and was now patiently awaiting its erosion of her stomach lining.
“So you want me to fuck you?”
“It would likely need to be… reciprocal.” Harrow said quietly. "The relationship is meant to be a symbiotic one. Mutually beneficial. It stands to reason that this would be no different."
Gideon burst out laughing.
"Oh damn, you almost got me with that one. When'd you grow a sense of humor, anyway?"
"I'm not joking."
"Whatever you say, lugubrious lady."
"Griddle."
"Oh man, that's rich. 'Hey Nav, sorry about the years of unending torment, I’ve decided my odds at sainthood are better if I get all up in your business?”
“That’s a massive oversimplification of the theorems underlying—“
“‘Gee, Reverend Daughter, how’d you achieve immortality?’ ‘Well, it turns out my cav’s got quite a knack for—“
“Will you stop!” Harrow shrieked. “All you needed to say was no.”
“I didn’t say no.” The words were out of Gideon’s mouth before she could consider them. Harrow’s eyes went massive and seemed to stare directly into her soul.
“You didn’t?”
“Nope." Gideon, upon very brief introspection, found that she had no good reason to refuse, even if Harrow did smell like bones and look like a burial shroud fucked a cave. The fact of the matter was that she was being propositioned by an actual girl and it seemed a shame to look that gift horse in the mouth. “Matter of fact, you can do whatever you like to me, provided you’re not too chickenshit.”
“Very well. Take off your clothes.” Harrowhark didn’t look at her when she said it.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Gideon said, injecting as much bravado into her voice as she could. “You’ve gotta take off the paint, though.”
“What possible difference would that make?”
“Well, for one thing, it tastes awful.” This was true. Gideon had gotten sacramental greasepaint in her mouth enough times to know that it left a nasty, vaguely metallic film in one’s mouth.
“You intend to kiss me.” It wasn’t a question. The expression on Harrow’s pointed little face was hard to read.
“Wouldn’t it be weirder if we didn’t? Kiss, I mean? If your theory's all about necro-cav intimacy, that seems like step one.”
Gideon had scarcely finished her sentence when Harrow’s mouth slammed into her own. It could hardly be called a kiss, not that Gideon had much frame of reference. Harrow’s mouth was hard and unyielding and very still, mashed against her own like she was trying to shove Gideon using only her lips. It was incredibly unpleasant. Gideon wanted more. But...
“God, what did I just say about the face paint? You taste like a candle.”
“How do you know what candles taste like?” Harrow shot back.
Gideon bit back a retort and composed herself.
“We can take off our paint together. Come on.”
There was an odd familiarity in the silence between them as they stood in front of the bathroom mirror, removing their paint. Their fingers brushed once, in the pot of cold cream, and it sent a shiver through Gideon's body.
She tried to keep her focus on her side of the mirror, on the task at hand, but found her eyes continually wandering to the wet rat of a girl beside her. As Harrow's paint melted away, smooth brown skin appeared, the skeletal mask morphing into something uncomfortably human. She wasn't all that bad-looking, really, Gideon thought with a start. Might even be pretty if she wasn’t, you know, her.
“How do you not get pimples?” Gideon asked before she could stop herself.
“Superior genetics,” Harrow answered, not sparing a glimpse in Gideon’s direction. When at last her face was fully bare, she said coldly, “There. Blasphemous enough for you?”
“Never.”
“You’re impossible. Really, I don’t even know why I bother with—“
And then Harrow could speak no more, because Gideon was kissing her again. Not the easiest task because goddamn, Harrow was tiny and that was going to be hell on her neck if they kept it up long enough. She couldn’t bring herself to care too much though because that was Harrow’s tongue stroking gently against her lips. So sue her, that was incredibly interesting, regardless of the evil bone gremlin it was attached to.
Gideon parted her lips and then Harrow’s tongue was in her mouth. Harrow's movements were clumsy but assertive and maybe it felt a little like she was trying to gag Gideon with her tongue, but the knowledge that there was a girl kissing her (with tongue!) covered a world of hurt. She tasted like spit and a little like blood and Gideon couldn't find it in her to be bothered by it.
They kissed for long enough that Gideon felt herself start to grow dizzy (whether from a lack of oxygen or something else, she couldn't be sure.) Gideon pulled back for a moment to gasp for air and Harrow, not missing a beat, used Gideon’s weight to knock her off balance and crowd her against the wall. She hooked a finger into the collar of Gideon’s shirt.
“Take this off. I don't appreciate having to repeat myself."
Gideon pried Harrow off of her and whipped off her shirt, then her bandeau. She certainly wasn’t self-conscious about her body, it served her well and looked damn good doing it, if she might be so bold. Still, Harrow’s incessant staring, black eyes big as saucers, made her squirm.
“What, never seen a pair of tits before?”
Harrow growled under her breath and cupped Gideon’s breasts in her hands in a semi-convincing gesture of confidence. Huh. Gideon hadn’t thought they were all that sensitive, but Harrow’s hands felt so different from her own-- maybe she did need to do some further exploration.
Harrow’s slim fingers brushed over her nipples and Gideon shivered in spite of herself. She touched more assuredly, chasing Gideon's embarrassingly rapid breaths. Harrow’s lips nuzzled at her neck, and then she bit down, hard, and Gideon yelped. It hurt, fucking obviously, but it also sent a current of heat through her body, straight to the growing throb at her hips.
“Will you let me touch you?” Harrow asked, sounding a bit out of breath. Gideon nodded and tried not to look overeager. Harrow unfastened Gideon's pants for her and let her pull them down and kick them aside.
Harrow, who was still very close in her airspace, so close that Gideon could see the faint worry lines already etched into her forehead, grabbed at Gideon's underwear and pulled it to the side. It felt uncomfortably vulnerable, almost more so than had she been fully nude.
She touched, very gently, more at hair than flesh, and Gideon hissed at the contact.
“You’re aroused.”
“I should hope so,” Gideon said, half-strangled.
“Have I done this to you?”
“No, it was the ghosts-- fuck off."
“Fascinating,” Harrow mused, and then proceeded to do the same motion as before and watch Gideon squirm. “You’re quite responsive.”
“So are you gonna actually do anything here? If your theory states that you’re becoming immortal after I bust a nut, you’d better get to it.”
Harrow made a face like she’d bitten into a lemon. Nevertheless, she curled up her fingers and Gideon steeled herself to last longer than a few seconds (and wouldn't that just be typical) until—
“Ow!”
Harrow removed her hand like she'd been burned.
"What?”
“What the fuck was that?”
“I was under the impression that you wanted me to… stimulate you.”
“Yeah, not fucking use me as a scratching post!” Harrow stared at the floor. Gideon, whose rational brain had gone entirely offline the moment Harrow had manhandled her against the wall, took a deep breath and tried a more subtle approach. “Is the… claw thing what usually works for you?”
“No,” Harrow said primly, then failed to elaborate.
“So what do you do?”
“I fail to see how that’s relevant.”
“Oh my god, it’s bones, isn’t it? You’ve totally got a bone dildo.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Ah, you didn’t deny it!”
“I do not pleasure myself with bones, you miserable excuse for a life form—“
“So what, you humping your pillow then?”
Harrow was suddenly very still. Gideon began to cackle.
“Hey, nothing wrong with that. Pretend it’s a hot chick and go for a ride, I see the appeal.”
“We needn’t discuss this further.”
“Oh man, it’s a good thing we don’t have to share a bed, or I’d be wondering what kinda mess I was sleeping in.”
“Are you quite done?”
“Sorry, sorry.” Gideon took a moment to compose herself. “Okay, so maybe we leave this up to the experts.”
“As skilled as I’m sure you are at masturbation, that doesn’t address the underlying issue.”
Gideon took Harrow’s hand in her own and guided it to her clit. Harrow blinked long and slow as Gideon pressed down on her fingertips and led her in the little back-and-forth motions she tended to favor. Ah, yeah, that was the stuff. Harrow’s fingers were daintier than her own, and certainly not as strong, but the lack of nails involved in this approach was a definite plus.
As Gideon guided her, Harrow grew more confident in her strokes, rubbing in a steady rhythm that was— okay, pretty fucking perfect and less disconcerting at Harrowhark’s hand than she’d expected. Gideon hissed out a breath as the pleasure in her belly began to ramp up, and decided (probably unwisely) to let Harrow take it from here.
Harrow startled when she realized she’d been left unsupervised, but before Gideon could complain, resumed. She used a bit more surface area of her fingers, Gideon noticed, but then Harrow made a long stroke downward and wow, okay, that was new and very, very good.
“Do that again,” Gideon blurted.
Harrow tried again, but the angle wasn’t quite right. Fine, but not world-shaking.
“Lower.”
Harrow brought her fingers to Gideon’s entrance hesitantly. Gideon, lightheaded and a little dizzy from pleasure, couldn’t even parse how she felt about that potential turn of events.
“No, not that— fucking, no, up on me, down on there, that part of your finger there, the bony bit-“
“The distal interphalangeal.”
“Yeah, sure, the— ohh, holy fuck, just like that.”
Harrow honest-to-God smiled. Her smile was nice and the friction was delicious, just this side of too hard, and yeah, okay, Gideon might have trouble going back to doing this solo now. The familiar coil of orgasm started to tighten in her pelvis and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting to be taken by the wave.
"I should make you beg."
Harrow said it as though the thought was obvious but had only just occurred to her. And then her hand was still.
"Oh, you fucking bitch," Gideon half-groaned.
"I'm waiting."
Gideon desperately tried not to grind on Harrow’s hand. Her thighs trembled with effort and she prayed Harrow hadn’t seen.
“Unless you’d rather I stopped?”
Gideon shook her head.
“I didn’t think so,” said Harrow, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at the edge of her mouth. “You know what to do, then.”
Gideon breathed deep and slow and prepared to spear the remainder of her dignity through the heart.
“Can I come?”
“Try again.” Harrow’s face was utterly serene now, almost the expression she wore in leading prayers.
“Can I come, please.”
“Technically an improvement.”
“Harrow, please, make me come.” Harrow raised her eyebrows slightly. “Please let me come or my clit’s gonna fall off.”
“One more time,” the Reverend Daughter of Drearburh implored her. Her fingers shifted against her then, barely more than a twitch, and it was torturous.
“Please, Harrow.” God, she hated how her breath hitched. “I need it, please make me come.”
In a split second, Harrow’s hand was moving again. After a brief moment of fumbling she had resumed her rapid, steady strokes to Gideon’s clit. Gideon couldn’t help it, she whined low in her throat and bucked into Harrow's touch. She leaned forward, seeking contact with Harrow’s body, seeking warmth, connection, anything to be closer to Harrow who was definitely going to be the death of her. Her voice was shockingly gentle when she said,
"Come for me."
Gideon didn't have time for a witty response because holy hell, she was coming, what the fuck, and it shot through her body like electricity. Harrow kept up the pressure and Gideon felt so overwhelmed, endorphins lighting her up from her head to her toes. It was bright and powerful and all-encompassing.
When it ended, Gideon was breathing hard into Harrow’s neck, trying both to refocus her eyes and remind herself that this was her arch-nemesis and she would absolutely not be asking for an encore, no matter how much she wanted to. Yeah, she’d just come as hard if not harder than she had that first glorious night with issue 24 of Sensual Seventh, but that was irrelevant. Her legs felt fluttery and unstable. Gideon wondered if she might fall if not for Harrow holding her up.
Harrowhark, being a prick as usual, turned away from Gideon without a second’s hesitation and began washing her hands in the sink.
“Go back to the bed and we’ll resume,” she instructed. “I’ll not be deflowered in a washroom.”
Gideon scarcely had time to snicker at Harrowhark’s seemingly unironic usage of ‘deflowered’ before she realized the unfairness inherent to that statement. She adjusted her underwear, which had likely been sticky before and were only going to get more so now— what was the etiquette here? Could she excuse herself to change or was that rude? Should she take them off and do the rest of this commando? That felt like a lot, so she left them on, resigning herself to some degree of post-nut grossness.
Gideon shuffled into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed. It was, notably, much more comfortable than the pile of blankets she’d slept in for the past year or more. Necromancers really did have all the luck. She let her body melt into the mattress and enjoyed the residual jolts of pleasure in her hips and the tepid sleepiness behind her eyes. She let herself rest for only a moment before a familiar, sharp voice was saying,
“Are you really napping right now?”
“Nah,” Gideon said, blinking open her eyes to see Harrow’s sharp-angled face glaring down at her. Harrow really was pretty, Gideon realized with a start. Straight black eyelashes framed her big, dark eyes and her brave little mouth was still pleasantly red and swollen from where Gideon had kissed and bit it. “Just relaxing. If you want, though, we could skip a few steps and just take care of things like this.” Gideon gestured lazily to her mouth. “Hop on, morbid maiden.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me. Climb aboard the Nav Express. First stop… the dining car.”
“That’s vile.”
“Spare me the outrage, Nonagesimus, do you want my tongue inside you or not?”
“As charming of an image as that is, it seems counterproductive for me to smother you or break your neck. Spinal cord repair has unfortunately eluded me thus far.”
"So no head?”
Harrow huffed and laid down beside Gideon. Through her teeth she said,
“I suppose if you insist, you can… perform cunnilingus on me. Like this, with me on my back, to avoid injury.”
“Ooh, talk dirty to me.”
Before Harrow could object, Gideon turned to kiss her again because that little pinch of her mouth (some might even deign to call it a pout) made her look extremely kissable. Harrow’s lips were pliant and soft and as she twined her tongue with Gideon’s, it occurred to Gideon how easy this was. Kissing Harrow was nice, actually, and now that Gideon was getting the hang of the breathing part, it felt natural, like they could do it for hours. She’d probably keep finding new things to keep her attention, from Harrow’s little hums against her lips to the pleasant weight of Harrow’s hand at the base of her skull.
Harrow broke off from the kiss and after a deep, shuddering breath, removed the overcloak, which on closer inspection, yeah, was definitely Gideon’s, and tossed it aside.
There was so much visual stimulus to take in all at once. Gideon had seen glimpses of her necromancer in the buff, but now she could actually look. So she did.
Harrow looked scrawny and frail, as necros tended to, but there was a slight softness to her form that Gideon hadn’t anticipated. Maybe the more consistent nutrition she’d been getting at Canaan House was doing something after all. There were curves there, albeit itty-bitty ones, and Gideon felt overcome. She’d never gotten to see a real-life woman like this. Regardless of what happened next, the view alone put today probably in the top three days of her life ever.
The slight slope of her stomach, her spindly arms, small breasts with stiff, dark nipples caught her attention, the tantalizing patch of black hair between her narrow thighs. She was struck with a desire to leave no inch of Harrow’s small body untouched. So she climbed on top of Harrow and kissed her like her life depended on it.
Once Harrow started to wriggle beneath her, she moved her lips to Harrow’s jaw, then her slender throat. The idea of giving her a hickey was enormously appealing, if only because she knew it would make Harrow scream when she saw it in the mirror, but she figured she shouldn’t push her luck.
She continued downward, kissing and nipping at Harrow’s shoulders, her collarbones, her sternum. When she’d reached Harrow’s tits, she paused to consider her approach.
“Can I?” Harrow nodded, not meeting Gideon’s eyes. She took a nipple into her mouth and licked cautiously at it. Harrow whimpered and grabbed aimlessly at Gideon’s shoulders. “Is that good?”
“Yes,” Harrow breathed. “More… more of that.” So Gideon obliged her, tracing over its texture with her tongue, then proceeding to suck. The sounds Harrow made, the shifts in her body language to urge Gideon closer, the feel of so much skin against her own, it was all too much, but also not enough. Completely intoxicating.
Gideon switched sides to give the other reverend titty some attention too, and Harrow seemed to be holding on by a thread. Gideon would pretty much be happy to stay like this for the foreseeable future. She abruptly realized that she could probably get Harrow’s whole boob in her mouth and definitely wanted to give that a try.
“Griddle, enough, get on with it,” Harrow urged, gaze still firmly on the ceiling. Gideon wasn’t about to disobey a direct order, so she abandoned her academic pursuits and scooted herself down the bed, until she was eye-level with Harrow’s hips.
“Yeah?” A near-frantic nod. She maneuvered Harrow’s thighs onto her shoulders for the optimal angle and— holy hell— was greeted with a stunning view, somewhere close to a flower, rosy brown and glistening in the low light, the little bead of her clit swollen and needy. Damn. Every bit of Harrow was pretty. This was bucket list material, for sure. Gideon dipped her head and prepared to take the sacrament.
At the first touch, the salty tang of her coated Gideon’s tongue. It was like nothing she’d ever had, not exactly sweet, but wondrous all the same. Harrow’s whole body had gone very stiff, her hands balled into fists. She muttered something rhythmic under her breath and Gideon wondered if she was praying. Thankfully for Harrow, this was the pinnacle of all Gideon’s experience, all her study. Her magazines, despite what everyone around her seemed to think, had plenty of instructive and educational value. Not only did she read the articles, she’d practically memorized them. She was born for this moment and she knew exactly what to do.
Gideon pointed her tongue and began to trace over Harrow’s clit: A…B…C…D…E…F… Harrow, who had been breathing heavily a moment before, had gone totally silent underneath her. Okay, no dice. Perhaps a new approach. G…I…D…E…
“What— what in the name of the Emperor do you think you’re doing?”
Harrow was looking down at her with the kind of aggravation usually reserved for Gideon forgoing her paint.
“Uh. Eating you out?”
“Are you trying to do tricks?”
“It’s called technique, maybe you could learn a thing or two.” Gideon did not consider how Harrow might practice or utilize said technique in the future.
“It feels like you’re trying to duel my genitalia with your tongue.”
“Do you not… like it?”
“You’re doing too much, it’s awful,” Harrow huffed, shifting her hips. “Don’t try to get…fancy.”
“Not fancy. Got it.”
Gideon tried again, licking a slow and deliberate line, and again, and again, softening her tongue and exploring all the territory before her and okay, Harrow didn’t seem to be glaring at her anymore, so that was something. She placed a long, apologetic kiss to Harrow’s clit and then, as delicately as she could manage when everything down there seemed so damn tiny, took it between her lips and sucked.
Harrow nearly squealed at this, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
“It’s okay,” Gideon soothed. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” So she did.
Gideon devoted herself diligently to the task before her. Obviously she’d known (or to be honest, she’d hoped) that Harrow would be wet, but she was still appreciative of just how wet she’d gotten. Gideon had made that happen and that absolutely ruled. The slick sounds of her mouth on Harrow were nearly enough to make her blush— then Harrow let out another sharp, high-pitched whimper and Gideon was sure her whole face was on fire.
She’d realized that if she really concentrated, she could suck Harrow’s clit and give it little kitten licks at the same time. This was clearly the right move, as Harrow was making horrible breathy wounded noises that should not have been turning Gideon on like they were. She’d just come and already she felt the familiar pangs of desire stirring again. She thought about Harrow inside her this time, Harrow’s nimble fingers filling her up, stroking and easing that deep, primal ache. That thought was way more appealing than it had any right to be.
Harrow had tangled her fingers in Gideon’s hair and was tugging hard. She panted to the ceiling like she’d been jogging (a hilarious image) and Gideon willed herself to focus on nothing but the task at hand. In spite of Harrow’s earlier objection, this was a bit like a sparring match, really— you tried something out, waited and observed, and adjusted as necessary to take your opponent down. Well, Harrow wasn’t exactly her opponent at the moment and technically Gideon was the one going down but—
Harrow mumbled something under her breath that turned into a stuttering moan halfway through.
“What was that?”
“Hold my hand,” Harrow said, almost pleading. “Gideon… hold my hand.”
Without hesitation, Gideon took her hand. Harrow squeezed, hard, and every part of her was shaking, the pitch and volume of her sounds increasing as Gideon moved with her, letting her grind against her face. Then, all at once, Harrow went completely still, crying out something that Gideon sincerely wished was her name as her orgasm tore through her. Gideon, hoping the mags wouldn’t burn her twice, kept up her motions, trying to prolong Harrow’s pleasure as long as possible and guide her through the aftershocks.
She was still breathing hard when she nudged Gideon away. Gideon found herself wishing she could have seen Harrow’s face, she probably looked so pretty when she came. Before she could interrogate that particular thought, Harrow grabbed at her and pulled her back up to lay beside her. Harrow crushed her mouth to Gideon’s, stealing the breath from her lungs in what was less of a kiss and more of an attack. She made a tiny, surprised noise in her throat when she tasted herself on Gideon’s lips. God, that was so fucking hot. They kissed until Harrow’s exhales were less frantic and she really must have made a mess of Gideon’s face because even her cheeks were wet. Gideon pulled away to look and oh fuck, were those tears in Harrow’s eyes?
“Are you crying?”
“No,” Harrow snapped.
“Are you okay?” Since when had she cared about that?
“Of course I am,” Harrow said haughtily, despite the obvious tears running down her cheeks.
A less mature, less evolved Gideon Nav would have taken this opportunity to laugh in Harrow’s stupid face because the most powerful necromancer the Ninth had ever produced was apparently, of all things, a sex crier, and that was objectively funny and could provide verbal ammo for years to come. But Gideon was nearly 20, and a House cavalier primary to boot (if only by a technicality), so she felt herself above such things now. Still half-drunk on Harrow, she instead gathered her tiny necromancer up in her arms. Gideon moved an unruly lock of hair that had stuck to Harrow’s forehead and kissed her now-exposed temple.
Harrow almost seemed to relax into the embrace for a single moment of perfect stillness. Then she froze.
“Gideon. Did you feel anything?”
Gideon waggled her eyebrows and was promptly smacked for it.
“Not that, you imbecile— did you feel anything necromantic? A transfer of thalergy or thanergy? Any shift in our connection?”
Gideon shrugged.
“I just work here.”
“Fuck!” Harrow flopped onto her side, pointedly facing away from Gideon. “You will speak of this… dalliance to no one.”
Gideon decided to push her luck, just for one last moment, and pressed one more soft kiss to the back of Harrow's head.
“Whatever you say, my shrouded seductress.”