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1.
To be clear, the whole thing was Gideon’s idea.
Harrow didn’t get it at first, but when she showed up to the professor’s office just past two, the way that Nav’s eyes darkened upon seeing her was enough for Harrow to immediately understand the appeal.
Harrow was caught, struck wordless in the doorway beneath the spotlight of Gideon’s attention. Nav’s jaw ticked, and Harrow felt the tightness between her legs gather on a near Pavlovian reflex. Gideon was taking in the sweater, the collared blouse, her gaze clinging to the hem of Harrow’s pleated skirt, pink and reaching with unwarranted ambition towards her uppermost thighs.
Gideon’s eyes finally flickered up to hers.
Very softly, she said, “Lock the door, Harrow.”
Harrow did as she was told before stepping into the small room.
Packed bookshelves lined the space, photo frames squeezed in among the literature. The frames displayed pictures of Gideon in Europe, Gideon at graduation, Gideon on her wedding day. Harrow tried not to linger too long on that last one, and instead looked towards the storm of flesh sitting at the desk in front of her.
Gideon was even more handsome up close.
Her gravitation was fully pronounced now, drawing Harrow across the room and past the desk towards the articulated lines of her arms, her broad shoulders, and the patchwork of ink that constellated from her wrist before disappearing into the rolled up sleeves of her sweater. A pair of glasses sat delicately on her nose. By the time Harrow caught up with her surroundings, she was standing near enough that her legs brushed Gideon’s knees.
“I assume that you’re here to refute your final mark,” said Gideon.
For a moment, Harrow only stared at her.
Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that right?”
Harrow felt herself pulled in two opposite directions. On one hand, she had never needed to refute a single mark in her life. On the other, Gideon was a marvel—thighs spread apart with an irreverence that suggested the space between them could be filled at the snap of her fingers, eyes confident, expectant. And yet—
“That’s quite the assumption,” Harrow said despite herself.
Concern flitted across Gideon’s face.
“Am I wrong?” she said, gentler now. Harrow recognized that she was being offered an out. Gideon reached for her comfortingly, fingertips brushing the soft hollows of Harrow’s knees. It was the phantom of a touch, the gesture that undid her.
No, Gideon wasn’t wrong.
“Tell me what I need to do to bring my grade up.”
Gideon’s frown was comical. “You sure?”
To punctuate her surety, Harrow slid directly into her lap. Gideon made a strangled noise.
“Tell me what I need to do,” Harrow said. She leaned in close, mouth brushing the outline of Gideon’s ear. Harrow felt her shiver, and then those hands slipped beneath her skirt, moving upwards. Harrow’s eyes fluttered briefly shut.
“Be convincing,” Gideon rasped.
Oh fuck, Harrow could be convincing. Her focus turned singular: the heat of Gideon's skin, the way she smelled, the nearly choking desire to be closer. Harrow fumbled urgently with Gideon’s sweater, shoving the fabric up to get her hands on bare skin to feel the muscles of Gideon’s abdomen shifting beneath her palm. She wanted to put her mouth there. But Gideon’s fingers closed around both of her wrists before Harrow could unbutton her trousers.
“Wh—”
“Not like that,” Gideon said firmly.
Harrow stared in confusion, but Gideon’s only answer was to draw her closer until their chests met. Their bodies lined up. Every place where Gideon was pressed to her ached; breath against her ear, waist solid and warm between Harrow’s thighs, bringing Harrow’s hands up to cling to the sides of her neck.
Gideon reclined backwards, keeping Harrow on top, watching, palms guiding her hips into languid motion.
“Oh,” Harrow sighed.
“Perfect, Harrow,” Gideon murmured. “Show me what it looks like when you get what you want.”
Harrow was breathless. She let memory take over, hips anchored down, riding slow and hard into Gideon’s lap. Stunning heat sparked where fabric rubbed against her centre, and when Gideon’s hips snapped purposefully into hers, Harrow’s vision turned briefly white. She let out a cry, lost quickly to the wet warmth of Gideon’s mouth.
They kissed roughly. Good, and sloppy, and too much, and not enough. Her hands roved the edges of Gideon’s face, Gideon’s tongue licking into her mouth and drawing out another incoherent whine. Something brushed Harrow’s cheek, and she heard her name, Gideon’s voice asking her softly to open her eyes. She did, and the light caught through Gideon’s glasses. Harrow realized, with a flood of affection, that her lenses were smudged.
“Professor.”
Gideon was too busy admiring her to catch the address, which Harrow supposed was sweet.
With a little more force, she repeated: “Professor.”
Nav snapped out of it, and looked at her with small, apologetic cringe. “Call me Gideon.”
“Gideon.” Whatever. This was Gideon’s fantasy. Harrow would do whatever she asked, much too preoccupied with getting Gideon’s fingers inside her to care. “Please.”
“Please what?”
Harrow grasped at Gideon’s hand along her neck, pulling it slowly over her collarbones, down between her breasts, and further, until it hovered right where she needed it.
“Fuck me,” she insisted.
“I thought you wanted to work for the grade,” said Gideon, relenting. Knuckles stroked along Harrow’s centre, over her underwear.
“Just how—oh god—how low is this fucking grade?”
Gideon shoved the soaked fabric aside. She made an incredulous noise at either the question, or how easily her fingertips slipped along Harrow’s cunt.
“Gideon,” Harrow gasped.
“I don’t know,” Nav mumbled dazedly. “Like, a forty percent? Fuck, babe, you’re so wet.”
What.
Harrow pursed her lips.
WHAT.
“I beg your pardon?”
Gideon stared at her. Harrow could tell that her allegorical dick had gone instantly flaccid. Her own desire took a hard left.
Cautiously, Gideon said, “Harrow?”
“Did you say forty?”
Gideon removed her hand from Harrow's underwear, and placed it on her hip. With her other hand, she scratched the back of her neck. A nervous tick. Her wedding band glinted from her ring finger.
“Griddle,” Harrow continued. “I haven’t gotten anything below a ninety since seventh grade.”
“I know,” Gideon said. “It’s just—it’s for the roleplay.”
Harrow looked away, heart squeezing in discomfort.
“Sweetheart—”
Harrow shook her head sharply. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling prickly, embarrassed by how much the suggestion had gotten to her.
“Harrow—”
“The roleplay should be semi-realistic.” Harrow’s voice sounded very high-pitched, even to her own ears. She didn’t understand why her chest felt tight.
“I know, honey. I was just going to apologize for upsetting you.”
Gideon touched her cheek, brows furrowed in tender exasperation.
“Oh," Harrow said.
Frustrated, Harrow slumped forward like a deflated balloon, and hid her face in her wife’s neck. Gideon’s hands stroked down her back.
“I didn’t realize it would hurt your feelings,” Nav said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” Harrow said. After a moment, the needling presence of Gideon’s concern became too much, and she sighed. “It shouldn’t hurt my feelings. This is stupid. I’m a professor.”
“It’s not stupid,” Gideon murmured. “You’ve been under so much pressure to succeed since we were kids. It makes sense that it would still have an impact.”
Harrow squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ve ruined it, haven't I?”
“You didn’t. I’m glad you stopped me.”
Harrow muttered into Gideon’s carotid artery, “I love you.”
“Say it to my face, prof,” Gideon teased. Harrow ran her teeth over Gideon’s neck just to be difficult, and pulled a surprised moan from her throat. “Harrow!”
Harrow pecked the spot she had bitten, and moved to cover Gideon’s cheeks, chin, and forehead with a flourish of soft kisses.
“I love you,” Harrow announced. When Gideon blushed, Harrow plucked the glasses from her nose. “But these ridiculous smudges—”
“I knew you were going to say something,” Nav groaned. Harrow used her sweater to clean the lenses before sliding them delicately back onto Gideon’s face. Gideon watched her with a honeyed expression. “We don’t need to try the roleplay thing again.”
“No, I liked it.” She did. She’d wanted it so badly. Gideon studied her, and Harrow very nearly dragged her wife’s fingers back inside her to consider the qualitative evidence. “You were so good, Griddle.”
“I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“Perhaps some discomfort is productive here,” Harrow said, playing absently with the neckline of Gideon’s sweater. “How might we mobilize sexual roleplay to unpack my unhealthy relations to academic success?”
Gideon was trying very hard not to smile. “I don’t know, baby. How?”
“I’m glad you asked.”
“Of course.”
“Well,” Harrow continued. “With a trusted partner, that’s you, Gideon—(“Thanks.”)—intercourse might act as a means to examine new formations of power that exist independently from institutionalized measures of self-worth.”
“Okay, Foucault.”
“That’s hardly Foucauldian.”
Gideon winked at her. “You know I always love internalizing your disciplinary power.”
Harrow groaned. She pulled at Gideon’s sweater. “I really liked the roleplay, Griddle.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to do it again, if you want to.” She considered Nav’s face, suddenly serious. “Did you like it?”
Gideon’s cheeks darkened even more, looking very much like the tail end of a sunset.
“I liked it maybe too much.”
Harrow felt herself growing warm again. “Then it’s agreed. We can workshop it.”
Gideon hummed. She ran her hands up Harrow’s thighs. Harrow melted, earthen beneath her touch and sighing into the shivery tremors. Nav tilted her chin up and kissed her.
“Love you,” Gideon murmured. Harrow’s lips parted, fingers carding through Gideon’s undercut, taking her tongue into her mouth. Gideon palmed over her ass. She tore her mouth away to add, “I’m super into the skirt, just FYI. Like, super into it.”
“You might have even been afforded the opportunity to fuck me in it,” Harrow said. “If it weren’t for that grade...”
“I’m being deprived,” Gideon said glumly.
“I’ve never gotten a D in my life!”
“I give you the D whenever you ask for it,” Gideon said. Harrow’s face predictably soured. “Honey, you skated into that one.”
Harrow kissed her to shut her up, and they made out until somewhere out of sight, a duck began quacking. Gideon pulled back incredulously, and Harrow laughed.
“What the fuck?”
“That’s my alarm,” said Harrow. Her wife made a bereft noise when Harrow left her lap to dig through the purse she’d abandoned on the floor. “In case we lost track of time.”
“You made an alarm?”
“I made two, actually. You know how you get with your head between my legs. It was a precaution.”
“Oh, how I get?”
Once the quacking stopped, Harrow settled back into Gideon’s embrace, stretching out against her spouse’s chest. Gideon’s arms looped around Harrow’s waist, fingers reaching out to stroke the ring that Harrow had just returned to her left hand.
“Do you have a meeting soon?” Gideon asked. She shifted, pressing her mouth to Harrow’s shoulder as she peered over it to check her own to-do list. “Shit, I have so many fucking papers to mark. And a diversity council meeting at 4.”
“I have a supervisory meeting in half an hour,” said Harrow. “And then a virtual conference after that. What time will you be home later?”
“I don’t know.” Gideon settled her forehead against the back of Harrow’s neck. “I’m sorry. I just want to be able to hand back my students’ papers before announcing their next assignment.”
“Don’t apologize, Griddle. I get it.” The duck alarm started up again and Harrowhark cut it off with a guillotine’s swiftness. “Although, you know we have an office at home.”
“I can’t concentrate when you’re there.”
“When I’m there?” Harrow scoffed. “You mean when I’m in the living room? You’re acting as if I sit on your desk with my legs spread.”
“Oh, now I’m really not gonna get any work done.” Gideon’s mouth slid into an unhappy pout as Harrow stood, straightening her skirt. Gideon stared at her ass forlornly. Harrow kissed her head.
“I’ll see you later?”
“Do your meetings from my lap,” Gideon whined.
“My colleagues wouldn’t be able to focus with you around,” Harrow said, gathering her purse. “Neither would I. Have fun marking. Make sure to eat.”
“Come over here, and I’ll eat very thoroughly,” Gideon called back.
Harrow flipped her the bird on the way out. Gideon’s responding laugh was an uproar of brightly-coloured wings.
2.
“Oh, fuck, Harrow, you’re so good for me,” Gideon sighed. Distantly, she realized that some strange noise had started up from behind her desk, but then Harrow’s tongue was on her clit, and all of Gideon’s concerns dissolved into a torrent of ghghghghgh.
“Any louder, and you’ll be announcing it to the entire hall,” Harrow commented.
She’d pulled back to mark the inside of Gideon’s thigh with her teeth. Gideon couldn’t stop staring at her—dark eyes coy beneath the thick fringe of lashes, her smile pronounced against Nav’s skin as she held their gazes, dipping her tongue back in.
“You want that, don’t you,” Gideon gasped. Harrow let out a soft hum, her nails digging harder into Gideon’s hip bones, anchoring Gideon more firmly against her mouth. “You want everyone to know what a good girl you are. Fuck. Holy fuck.”
Gideon realized she wanted it too. She could imagine someone passing outside her office, hearing the low, wet noises of sex, the murmurs of praise while Harrow staked her claim across Gideon with her mouth.
Let it be known that Dr. Gideon Nav was wifed up as fuck to the hottest and nerdiest woman in the world. Hallelujah, amen.
Despite the vocalizations that were free real estate, the office door was assuredly locked. Harrow on her knees, Harrow in her ridiculous skirt, and her thigh high socks, and her perfect hands pressing Gideon’s hips into the wall—that was for Gideon, and Gideon alone.
Harrow stroked her tongue up faster, and Nav’s whole body coiled tight, one hand shooting out to grab the bookshelf, the other buried in Harrow’s hair. Her wife moaned, fingers spreading Gideon apart as well as she could with her pants around her ankles.
“You’re incredible,” Gideon murmured. “Harrow. Harrow—fuck. What the hell? Hang on a sec.”
There really was something happening at Gideon’s desk. She closed her eyes, trying to push through the fog of desire to figure out the source of the noise. She frowned deeply when she realized.
“Harrowhark,” Gideon whined. “Your phone.”
It was the duck alarm again.
“Ignore it,” Harrow said, and returned to her task.
“I can’t orgasm with a duck in the background—oh, oh—fuck! ”
“Yes, you can,” Harrow mused. Slim fingers moved inside Gideon now, and okay, fine, yeah, she probably could. Gideon clutched the bookshelf harder to steady herself as release coiled up tighter and tighter between her legs, and the stupid alarm shifted into background noise, everything gone dull to the technicolor of Harrow's lips, pulling her—pulling—
The crack startled them both.
Harrow let out a yelp when the bookshelf came crashing down.
Instinct had Gideon shifting to shield her wife with her body, a protective hand touching Harrow's head.
A dust cloud rose up from the mess, which was embarrassing as hell.
“Balls,” said Gideon.
Harrow was peeking around Gideon’s bare hip. Several books were scattered next to her, but her wife looked unharmed. The duck was still going.
“Are you hurt?” Gideon touched Harrow’s cheek.
“I’m okay.” Harrow looked up at her, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Gideon said. She hadn't gotten to orgasm, but that wasn't exactly life-threatening. They stared at each other, and Gideon laughed a bit hysterically. “Sweetheart, please get the alarm.”
A knock came from Gideon’s office door as soon as Harrow crossed the room to silence it, and she whipped around to shoot Gideon a look of horror.
“Hey, Nav?” That was the English professor—the archivist and medical humanities guy—from the office across the hall. “I heard a crash. Are you alright?”
Gideon glanced at the debris of literature across her floor, and then at her spouse, glaring at her while frantically doing up the buttons of her blouse. The sex hair on Harrow was incredible. Shit. It was like their honeymoon all over again.
Harrow snarled, “Griddle, pull your pants up!”
“Uh,” said Gideon. She raised her voice and tried to sound casual. “Hey, Sex Pal! Yeah, all good!”
Palamedes hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, totally!” Gideon’s voice cracked. She struggled to button her trousers. “Just dropped some books!”
“It sounds like you dropped the whole shelf,” Palamedes said.
“That’s what I meant!” Gideon agreed, and then instantly wanted to pass away. Harrow groaned.
“Griddle, I need to go,” she whispered urgently. “I have to teach a class.”
Palamedes asked, “Is there someone else in there with you?”
“Go,” Gideon assured her. “It’s okay, I’ll clean up here.”
“Make Sextus go away first.”
“How the fuck do I do that?”
“Gideon?” said Palamedes.
“Yeah, it’s Harrow,” Gideon said automatically.
“Oh. Is she alright?”
“Twenty minutes!” Harrow exploded. Gideon stared at her in surprise. “Sextus, respectfully, I am trying very hard to get even twenty fucking minutes of alone time with my wife right now, so could you please bugger off?”
“Harrow!” Gideon scolded. The duck alarm started up again and Harrow ended it.
On the other side of the door, Palamedes chuckled. “Right. Sorry about that, you two. Enjoy your time. Nav, let me know if you need help with that shelf.” He said shelf like he didn’t completely believe there was a shelf involved. When they heard his retreating footsteps, Harrow slumped against the door.
Gideon gathered up her wife. Harrow collapsed limply with her face against Gideon’s tits.
"One round with you," Harrow was muttering. "One-bloody-go, that's all I'm asking for."
“Are you upset?” Gideon whispered.
“No, I’m horny.”
“How long until your class?”
Harrow lifted her head to check her phone. “Thirteen minutes.”
“I can work with thirteen minutes.”
“Gideon,” Harrow sighed. Her smile looked exhausted. “I want to be able to take my time with you.”
Gideon leaned down, eyes closed, and let their foreheads press.
“I hate this,” Gideon huffed. “Wanna try tonight when we get home?”
“Sounds good,” Harrow agreed, and they stayed like that for a moment longer.
Gideon knew they were fooling themselves. She loved her wife, and sex was always good with Harrow. But mind-blowing sex—slow and drawn out sex, a whole 24 hours in bed and needing to change the sheets after sex—was far and few between as of late. Most days, they were both too tired after work, and passed out the minute they curled up together. The rare moments that Gideon and Harrow were able to make time were usually quick and rushed. Maybe it was a testament to their relationship that they could both bring each other off within ten minutes, but it wasn't quite as satisfying.
Gideon missed her.
After Harrow had scuttled off to class, Nav worked on pushing her shelf upright. She glanced around at her books. A bright glint caught her eye, and Gideon yelped when she saw her favourite photo frame laying face down on the floor.
It was her and Harrow on their wedding day, three years ago in June. The image had caught Harrow mid-air; it was the moment Gideon had lifted her off her feet during their first dance as newlyweds.
The glass frame was miraculously perfect. Gideon placed it in a new spot at the corner of her desk.
3.
To: Gideon Nav [1 Nov 2021 2:12pm]
Hello Gideon. I hope you’re keeping well. I’m so sorry but Sextus acquired the flu, and I have to take his place moderating the humanities research panel. Can we reschedule our roleplay plans this evening? Apologies again. I’ll make it up to you. Yours, Harrowhark
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [1 Nov 2021 5:29pm]
Hi Harrow. Sorry for the late response. Don’t worry about the plans—I understand. I’m buried in work right now too. We’ll try again another time. I still don’t understand your aversion to texting, but I like your email sign off. Yours, Gideon
-
To: Gideon Nav [7 Nov 2021 11:00am]
Hello Griddle. Do you think we could bring your strap into the roleplay? No pressure. Also, I’m dropping by the supermarket after work. Please remind me what you need. Yours, Harrow
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [7 Nov 2021 12:42pm]
Harrow. Are you just thinking about strap at 11 in the morning? Doesn’t your intro gender and sexuality course start at 11? I’m flattered, and yes, I’m happy to bring Gideon II into the roleplay. We should be careful around my shelves though. I just rearranged them, and you get kind of grabby when I’m inside you. Grocery list: avocados, English muffins, frozen strawberries, peanut butter. Yours affectionately, Gideon
-
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [14 Nov 2021 4:44pm]
Love. I’m so sorry, but can we rain check today? One of the grad students I’m supervising was in crisis earlier, and I got behind on other commitments trying to help them out. I love you. So sorry. Yours sincerely, Gideon
To: Gideon Nav [14 Nov 2021 4:50pm]
Darling, it’s okay. I know how hard it can be. Don’t worry about it, and I hope your student is alright. I love you. Yours tenderly, Harrow
-
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [18 Nov 2021 7:32pm]
Hi love. I might be home late tonight. I’m just trying to crank out the last of the grad app reference letters. Please don’t wait up. Yours most ardently, Gideon
-
To: Gideon Nav [22 Nov 2021 10:47pm]
Gideon. It is nearly 11pm. Don’t tell me you’re still working. Come home, Harrow
-
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [24 Nov 2021 6:30pm]
Dear Harrow. Did you just have a pizza delivered to my office? Precisely at dinner? I promise to give you a million orgasms over the winter break. I wish I could see you right now. Yours irrevocably, Gideon
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [24 Nov 2021 6:44pm]
OH. SO YOU DO KNOW HOW TO USE TEXT MESSAGING! That garter is beautiful, honey. Would I be able to rip it off you some time? Yours squirtingly, Gideon
To: Gideon Nav [24 Nov 2021 7:00pm]
“Squirtingly” is a made-up word. As per your request—yes, you may. But only using your teeth. Yours fervently, Harrow
To: Harrowhark Nonagesimus [24 Nov 2021 7:11pm]
All words are made-up, babygirl. Check your phone for a surprise. Yours ever, Gideon
4.
Harrow knew something was wrong when she showed up at the professor’s office, and found Gideon snoring with her face against the desk.
She closed the door, locked it, and still her wife didn’t budge. Tossing her purse into the opposite seat, Harrow crossed the room to touch a hand to Gideon’s curls, perching on the edge of her desk.
The bookshelf had been righted since the last time they’d tried the roleplay bit, about four weeks ago. Gideon’s extensive collection of poetry was arranged by last name. Their wedding photo was sitting in the corner of Gideon’s desk now. Harrow’s eyes softened. Beneath her fingertips, Harrow’s spouse made a small, unhappy noise.
“Hi angel,” Harrow murmured when Gideon blinked at her.
“Fuck,” said Gideon.
She shot upright, face shining with a thin film of sweat. The lenses of her glasses were smudged. Her voice sounded all wrong. She studied Harrow with an expression that was closely approaching devastation, eyes cutting down to her outfit.
Harrow went with a different skirt than the last time, pleated black with dark tights lining her legs to accommodate the November weather. She’d even worn a garter, figuring Gideon would appreciate it. The guttered look on Gideon’s face made her heart sour.
“Darling,” Harrow tried to smile. She didn't want to feel upset. Gideon was just as tired. “It’s okay—”
"I’m so sorry.” Gideon rubbed a hand down her face. “I completely forgot. And you got all dressed up. Fuck. Harrow, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s nothing,” Harrow insisted, despite having spent the last two hours getting ready.
“It’s not nothing,” Gideon said.
Gideon’s eyes were red and smudged with fatigue. Harrow's wife sniffled, and at first Harrow thought she was crying, but then Gideon turned to the side and let out a loud sneeze.
“Gideon.” Harrow felt anxiety wrap a hand around her throat. “You’re sick. You need to rest.”
Gideon let out a wilted laugh.
She hung her head. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I know.”
“Oh, Griddle.” Harrow slid urgently off the desk to embrace her. Gideon’s cheek rested against Harrow’s belly, and Harrow smothered her just a bit, trying to quell her own panic. The back of Gideon’s neck was hot, sweat gathered in her undercut. “Let’s go home.”
Gideon let out a noise of protest. Harrow heard her swallow painfully, before she said, “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Not anymore,” Harrow said. “Work is secondary.” She squeezed her wife’s shoulders. “I’m not budging on this. I think you have a fever. We’re going home.”
At first, Harrow thought Gideon was going to argue with her. She didn’t move. And then Gideon spoke very quietly.
“I’m so tired, Harrow.”
Harrow felt her throat tighten. She held Gideon closer. “I know.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Harrow said.
She lifted Gideon’s chin upwards, and found tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, auburn lashes wet with them. Harrow gently slid off her wife's glasses. And then she reached backwards for the tissue box that Gideon kept for students who cried during office hours.
Harrow dabbed, slow and methodical, along Gideon’s face.
She could chart home along these contours; the slope of Gideon’s brow, the swell of her cheekbones, her orbital sockets, her full lips. Harrow pulled out a tube of lip balm, and applied some liberally to Gideon’s chapped mouth, before she went about trying to fix the lopsided halo of her curls. Her glasses came last, cleaned against the fabric of Harrow's sweater, and placed back on the sweet curve of her nose. When she was done, Harrow kissed the spot between her eyes.
Gideon watched her with trembling, crystalline awe.
“Let’s go home,” said Harrow.
-
Despite the circumstances, Harrow found herself unseasonably happy. Gideon was asleep behind her, nose buried in her hair, and clinging to Harrow’s waist. Harrow traced her finger along the inked designs on Gideon’s forearm, each one a visual ode to a favourite poem.
Tomorrow, Harrow would drag her wife into a hot shower, and spend the rest of the day with her in bed. Not quite what they were going for when they’d discussed leaving work at work and more quality time together, but their lives were busier now—Harrow would take what she could get.
Gideon moved around behind her, sniffling.
“Griddle? Are you okay?”
“My nose is plugged,” Gideon croaked, shifting onto her back. Harrow reached over, elevating Gideon’s pillow before curling up to her side. “Harrow, you’re going to get sick.”
“Don’t care.” Harrow laid her hand defensively over one of Gideon’s boobs. “Not taking feedback at the moment.”
Gideon lolled her head onto the pillow and grinned. “I've got nothing but praise anyway.”
-
“Bend over,” said Harrow. Gideon did, and Harrow frowned. “More.” And then: “More.”
“I’m bent as fuck.”
“Over the sink, Griddle.”
“It’s not going in,” said Gideon.
“Because you need to tilt the—there!”
Gideon hated it, but Harrow grunted in satisfaction when the saline fluid started coming out of Gideon’s nose, and continued to benevolently brush her teeth. Gideon glared at her in the bathroom mirror, but remained hunched over with the Neti pot spout attached to her nostril. Harrow ignored the look for some time, hovering like a militant crow with a mouthful of toothpaste bubbles, bundled up in one of Gideon’s sweaters.
More stuff dribbled out of Gideon’s opposite nostril. Her head still hurt like a bitch.
“Don’t look at me like that,” said Harrowhark, foam lining her mouth. “This will make you feel better.”
This will make you feel better was Harrow’s new favourite sentence. This will make you feel better, she said, while rubbing green oil all over Gideon’s back. This is an old family cure, she insisted while forcing Gideon to suck on a whole cube of ginger, it will make you feel better.
“A nap will make you feel better,” said Harrow now, after they were both finished in the bathroom. Rather than use brute force to get Gideon into bed, Gideon noticed that her wife played it more strategically now. Harrow stripped off her sweater—Gideon's sweater—leaving her in just a t-shirt, which was also Gideon's. Gideon watched her bare legs move along their bedsheets, and had several thoughts.
"Come here, Griddle," said Harrow, and then very seductively flopped onto her back and spread out her arms.
Grunting, Gideon crawled into them, and mumbled happily when Harrow let her use her boobs as a pillow.
Yes, she gave into Harrow's feminine wiles quite easily these days.
-
“Gideon?”
Gideon looked up, the spoon dangling out of her mouth. The moon and hall light flooded dimly in a pool around the kitchen entrance, and this was where Harrow stood, squinting around in her underwear and one of Nav’s old shirts. Gideon plucked out her headphones, and the music spilled, muffled across the space.
“It’s two in the morning,” Harrow said.
“I got hungry,” Gideon said. The wires of her earphones tangled up, clinging to her hoodie. She held the spoon in one hand, reaching her other arm out to invite Harrow to curl up against her. “What are you doing up, baby?”
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Harrow said, coming to stand between her legs. Their heights nearly matched with Gideon seated at the kitchen island. Harrow bumped their heads together in salutation. “Are you eating peanut butter out of the jar again?”
“Listen,” said Gideon. “I’m hygienic. I used a different spoon each time.”
Harrow glanced into the sink. Four spoons. Gideon tossed her fifth spoon in, and screwed on the lid of the peanut butter jar.
“You’re feeling better?” Harrow asked. Gideon nodded, tugging her wife closer.
“Thanks to you,” she murmured, and Harrow beamed at her sleepily. She had deep shadows beneath her eyes and pillow marks all over her left cheek. Gideon pressed her mouth there, breathing in skin that was soft and smelled like home. “I don’t really want to go back to work.”
“Cancel your seminar tomorrow and give the students the participation mark,” Harrow suggested. She let out a breathy whimper, tilting her head skyward as Gideon explored further down her neck, hands stroking the backs of Harrow’s thighs. Harrow’s pulse beat steadily beneath her lips, and she flicked her tongue out for a more thorough inspection. Her wife’s voice was airy, hands clutching at Gideon's arms. “I’ll cancel my meetings. We can stay in.”
“Yeah?” Gideon pulled back to grin at her. “For real?”
Harrow nodded. “I think we deserve it.”
Gideon kissed her. Harrow tipped her body into hers, like a squirmy, sexy Neti pot, pouring herself into Nav's mouth, arms dangling limply over her shoulders. When Gideon started moaning, Harrow pulled back, looking very amused.
“You taste like peanut butter,” she said.
Gideon covered her mouth. “Is it bad?”
“Brush your teeth before bed,” Harrow said, and pecked her again. So not that bad. She patted Gideon’s shoulder and left her hand there, squeezing in a way that failed to be subtle. Gideon raised a delighted eyebrow, but Harrow moved smoothly on before she could start teasing. “What are you listening to?”
“Here,” Gideon offered Harrow one of her earphones. After a minute, the ghost of a smile flickered across Harrow’s face. She palmed over Harrow’s ass, singing badly in her other ear, “I just wanna take the time, I know all the things you like—”
“This sounds incredibly horny.”
“You like?”
“Maybe a little."
Gideon swayed her shoulders and head in time to the music, guiding Harrow’s hips with her hands until her spouse caught the beat.
A memory of Harrow’s waist flashed across Gideon’s palms. Elsewhere; other times. Harrow tugged her to her feet the moment before the crescendo. Gideon fell in love with her all over again.
They danced, Harrow’s hand cupping the back of Gideon’s neck, body tilting to the music hanging between their chests.
Harrow spun like a moon, back pressing into Gideon front, and drawing Gideon's hands around to follow the revolutions of her waist. Gideon was struck with the deep ache of missing her. She was so beautiful. Bed-ragged and sleep-deprived, chin tilted with quiet joy as she rested her head back on Gideon’s shoulder.
Time longed and swayed. The song ended, the music turned softer. Harrow yawned, nearly a deadweight, and likely would’ve flopped to the floor were Gideon not supporting her.
Gideon kissed her ear. “Is it bedtime?”
“Please.” Harrow yawned widely once more, and Gideon plucked the earphones from both of them before gathering Harrow up off her feet. The smaller woman didn’t protest. Her head lolled as Gideon carried her into their bedroom, not quite catching the thing that her wife mumbled against her neck.
“Say that again, sweets?”
“I’m so wet right now.”
Gideon almost fell over. Her throat felt ironically dry as she laughed, depositing Harrow onto her side of the bed. She couldn’t even keep her eyes open. Gideon pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Tomorrow morning, okay?” said Gideon. “We can do whatever you want.”
Harrow made an affirmative noise. In another second, she was snoring.
After she brushed her teeth, Gideon went out of her way to set an alarm.
Incredibly, Harrow didn’t rouse when the quacking started. It was weird, but Gideon figured she was just more tired than usual. Once she’d silenced the duck, Gideon took it upon herself to wake up her wife the old-fashioned way.
Her lips and teeth against Harrow’s shoulder first, then to her jaw, her ear, her neck. She used to do this more often, back before they both got so busy. The thought made her chest hurt; the hurt quickly translated into wanting.
“Wake up, baby,” said Gideon. To the lack of response, she ran a hand through Harrow's hair. Harrow let out a sound that seemed vaguely pained, and Gideon curled over her protectively. “Harrow? You okay?”
“Yeah,” Harrow said, her voice hoarse with sleep. “I’m just tired, I think. But I’m alright.” Harrow reached around for her. Gideon caught her hand, bringing her fingers up to her mouth to be kissed. “Come here.”
The blankets tangled as Gideon shifted on top of her. She tracked her lips down Harrow’s throat, riding the motion of her larynx as she swallowed, before kissing further down. Her wife was starting to give rise; breath coming in soft moans, her knees lifting up to bracket Gideon’s hips, sweaty palms gliding up her back beneath the hoodie.
“Harrow,” Gideon said. “Tell me what you want.”
Almost immediately, Harrow’s expression tightened.
Her nails pressed into Gideon’s back, and Gideon was wondrously awed for half a second, thinking that Harrow was orgasming from just thinking about it.
But then Harrow sneezed. Once, twice—
Three times. Right in Gideon’s face.
Fantastic.
“I’m so sorry,” Harrow gasped.
“Honey, it’s fine.”
“Oh fuck me.” Harrow collapsed back onto the pillow. She covered her eyes and let out an anguished noise. Suddenly, the fatigue made more sense. “I think I caught the fucking flu.”
5.
“Are you alright, Dr. N?”
Harrow glared at the greyish fumes puffing out from the fourth floor of the English building. According to the fire marshal, only the graduate student lounge had taken damage, and nobody was hurt. That last bit would remain true until Harrow got her hands around the neck of the moron who thought it was a good idea to leave a whole chicken roasting between classes. In the grad lounge oven. On the day that Harrow was finally going to get railed in her fucking office.
Adjacently, Harrow noted that Gideon would find the story hilarious, and she took the note down on her phone to tell her later.
“Dr. N?”
Harrow blinked.
The person who’d spoken was one of her undergrads. Isaac Tettares was bundled up in his puffer coat and full winter gear, watching her in concern as she stewed malignantly on her frigid bench.
“Yes,” Harrow said. “I’m alright, Isaac. Just a bit cold. Thank you for asking.”
One couldn’t even smell the smoke from Harrow’s lecture hall, but being in the same building, they were forced to evacuate anyway. She shivered in her cardigan. Any second now they would be allowed to return inside. (This is what Harrow had repeated to herself for the past thirty minutes.)
“Hey, you should at least offer her your scarf,” Harrow heard someone mumble.
“Huh?”
And then an attractive voice purred: “You want my coat, Professor?”
Harrow's head snapped to Isaac in shock. Isaac was gaping at the upperclassman next to him, who was shrugging out of a denim jacket, green hoodie obscuring their head. It must’ve been them who had spoken. Harrow watched in slight panic.
“Oh, goodness, no.” Harrow would rather freeze than take a student’s jacket. “I’ll manage—Griddle?”
The hood had slipped down to reveal the familiar disarray of curls. Gideon winked at her brazenly, and placed the jacket over Harrow’s shoulders. It was fleece-lined. Nav was god-sent.
Gideon sat down close to her on the bench, arm around her shoulder.
“You're gonna get sick again if you're not careful, sweet thing. Where’s your jacket?”
Isaac made a choked noise. Harrow looked at him, and followed his gaze to Gideon’s hoodie. Gideon’s wet hair, grey sweats, and the pink Jansport, and the mouth so close to Harrow’s ear.
“Isaac,” Harrow blurted out. “This is my colleague, Dr. Gideon Nav. She’s faculty. An associate professor here, and the chair of the graduate English program. She teaches some of the senior-level lit and poetry seminars. You might have seen her around. Since she’s faculty.”
Harrow wondered if she was being clear enough.
“Hi,” Gideon waved, curb-stomping any lingering uncertainty. “I’m her wife.”
“Oh,” Isaac realized. “You’re a professor. True. Sorry, I thought—” He looked at Gideon’s hand, which had migrated to Harrow’s leg, and then away. “Anyway, yes. Cool! Nice to meet you Dr. Nav— gottagobye!”
Harrow groaned. Gideon leaned in even closer to Harrow’s face.
“He totally thought you were banging a student,” Gideon teased. “My fine ass hasn’t aged a day since undergrad.”
“Everyone who can see us probably thinks I’m screwing a student, Griddle. Look at you. You’re carrying a Jansport." She scowled. "And what are you doing on campus? Wednesdays are your day off."
Gideon's day off—no checking her Inbox, no marking, no lesson-planning, no work, as Harrow put it. She was militantly determined to make sure her wife was seeing this through.
“I just came back from the gym, I swear,” Gideon insisted softly. “Staff gets free membership of the facilities." She poked Harrow’s thigh then, enunciating. “Where. Is. Your. Jacket?”
“In my office,” Harrow grumbled. “They’re definitely not going to let us back in there for a while. Which ruins our roleplay plans. Once again.”
Gideon pressed a slow kiss to Harrow’s temple, letting her mouth linger there. “Maybe it’s not meant for us, babe. It’s okay to throw in the towel.”
“But you wanted this,” Harrow said passionately. “You were so enthusiastic about it. You give me everything, Griddle. I just want to do the same.”
“You do,” Gideon promised. She took Harrow’s hand in her own, twining their fingers. “Please don’t ever doubt that. You give me everything too.”
Harrow leaned her head on her wife’s shoulder. After a while, she said: “My office is probably going to smell horrible for a week.”
“Okay, but did you hear how it started?” Gideon said excitedly. She shifted towards Harrow, conspiratorial, knees bouncing with enthusiasm. “You’ll literally never guess it.”
Harrow was so deeply in love with her. She did her best attempt at a curious brow. “Tell me.”
“Oh, it's so good.” Gideon started laughing. It was so typically Griddle to begin wheezing before she had even started the story. “Hold onto your butt, baby. This might be the funniest thing you’ll ever hear in your life.”
Once they were allowed back inside, Harrow let her class out early. She unhooked her laptop and turned off the projector as the lecture hall emptied, leaving only Gideon in the front row, slouched back in her seat, and reading.
“Stay,” Harrow had said to her. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. N.” Gideon dragged her back for a second to kiss her with tongue. Harrow swatted at her while Gideon dodged easily.
“That is highly inappropriate,” Harrow hissed. “We are in public.”
“I used to finger you in the back row of our third year poetry class,” Gideon hummed, and tossed herself into a seat. “And that was when you were still in denial over the fact that you like liked me." She sighed. "Undergrad. Damn. Those were the good old days. Aside from us not being married, of course. Obviously.”
“You’re saying that undergrad was good because you got to finger me during lecture?” Harrow said incredulously.
“I mean, if we’re talking specifics, Harrowhark, you actually let me finger you anywhere on campus, and also off-campus—”
“Not true!”
“—but there was just less responsibility back then. People told me what to do, and I did it well. A prof says to write a 3000 word paper on Ovidian elegy, and I write an A+ 3000 word paper on Ovidian elegy. A pretty girl says fingerbang me Gideon, and I fingerbang her so hard she comes screaming my name in the middle of an Audre Lorde close-reading. Life was simpler.”
Harrow stared at her. Gideon beamed, hands raised innocently in surrender.
“Sorry, sorry, I swear I’m done. I’ll be a good girl now.”
That had all happened about five minutes ago.
Harrow watched Gideon silently. Desire, sharp and irrational, had seized across Harrow’s limbs, down her belly, between her legs. Gideon was being a good girl now, hunched over a book, waiting patiently for Harrow to finish up.
“Gideon,” Harrow called. Her wife’s gaze snapped to hers. Obedient, attentive.
When Harrow didn’t continue, Gideon tilted her head. “Baby?”
“Can we attempt the roleplay one more time?” Harrow said. “I want to try something different.”
+1
Harrow’s instructions were simple: dress casual, come to the office, be open and receptive to further instruction.
When Gideon showed up to her professor’s office just past two, she was wetter than a river, and open and receptive as fucking hell.
Harrow rose out of her desk chair as she walked in, and Gideon’s ears pricked up like a hound’s, heart beating faster when she heard the clack of heels against hardwood. Harrow paused at the edge of her desk. Indeed, thin black pumps with thin, mouth-watering straps around her ankles, brought Harrow’s eye level conveniently up to Nav's mouth.
She was wearing a deep red blouse tucked into a very tight pencil skirt. Gideon wondered dazedly where the zipper was, and how she could undress her as fast as humanly possible.
“Hello Gideon,” Harrow smiled. “Done staring?”
“I’m sorry,” Gideon blurted immediately. “You—I—”
“Sit,” Harrow said, gesturing toward the student chair. She perched on the edge of her desk, waiting. Gideon sat her ass down. “Do you know why I asked you here?”
Harrow hadn’t said. Gideon could only guess. “A bad grade?”
Harrow shook her head, and a strand of hair fell into her face. Every part of Gideon's body wanted to sweep it back behind her ear.
“On the contrary, you’re doing very well in my class,” Harrow said.
Gideon’s brows furrowed. Harrow’s hand twitched in her lap like she wanted to smooth them out. If there was any air left in her lungs, she would have laughed at how bad they were at pretending not to be married.
Harrow continued, “This meeting isn’t about your grades, Nav.”
“Then what?”
A heavy, swelling pause.
Harrow’s next words seemed to fall from an infinite height.
“I’ve noticed the way you look at me in class.” Gideon met Harrow’s gaze. “Yes, exactly like that. Your eyes get so dark. What goes through your head when you look at me that way?”
A curtain seemed to drop around them, blurring out the rest of the world, and leaving Gideon blissfully submerged in quiet.
The only thing that mattered now was Harrow, and Harrow was waiting for an answer.
“I think about touching you,” Gideon said.
“Where?”
“Anywhere you’ll let me.”
Harrow rose from the desk and stepped closer, towering over her. Her hand trembled the barest amount as she gripped Gideon’s chin.
“That’s dangerous,” Harrow said. “You know that, don’t you? It’s inappropriate. I’m your professor.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
Gideon thought about it.
“I wanted you,” she began, and Harrow startled, recognition fracturing across her face. Gideon continued, old words rising off the tongue: “I wanted your kiss on the skin of my soul. And now you say you love me and I stand despite the trillion treacheries of sand.”
Harrow’s eyes fluttered shut.
“That’s why,” Gideon shrugged. Simple, really. Harrow knew the rest of it.
Harrow made a desperate noise, and for a moment, Gideon thought the charade was over. The grip on her jaw tightened and un-tightened, until finally Harrow exhaled. She lifted her lids, and the world came back again.
The room felt different, the reformed lines and boundaries of their roleplay washed in like a tide, striking and urgent. What Gideon needed from her, what she needed so badly—she hoped that Harrow could understand, that she was up for it.
“Are you open to taking instruction today, Gideon?”
Fuck. That’s her girl, rising to the occasion like the evening star.
“You know that I am,” Gideon said.
“Then take my clothes off.”
Fuck. Where to start. Harrow squeezed her thighs together as Gideon contemplated, and in a lightbulb moment, it occurred to her that this was weeks and weeks in the making. Nobody would disturb them now. She wanted to draw this out for as long as they both could last.
Gideon began at the hips. Harrow watched as hands stroked the swells of her coxae, before carefully untucking the silk top from her pencil skirt. The buttons of her blouse were undone next. Gideon worked attentively, quickening her pace to the increasing rise and fall of Harrow’s chest. On the last button, the sight of lace made her stop.
“Harrow,” Gideon breathed.
The fabric was iridescent, glittering shyly in the soft office light. Nav tugged the blouse off her shoulders, fully revealing the bralette, which was sheer enough that it exposed nearly every inch of Harrow’s small, perfect breasts. Gideon cupped her with both hands, and Harrow swayed.
“Take it off,” she commanded.
Gideon felt sad to see the thing go, but she was also fairly certain that if she couldn’t get boobs in her mouth within the next thirty seconds, then she’d die, and Harrow would be upset with her. As the bra came off, Gideon got to watch Harrow’s back arch, her tits pushed forward as Gideon pulled the garment over her head. Her hands fell to Gideon’s shoulders.
“Now put your mouth on me.”
Gideon’s lips closed around one of Harrow’s dark, raised nipples, stroking with her tongue, hands anchored to Harrow’s hips. It had been so long since she'd gotten to do this. Harrow's skin tasted the same as it did her dreams, warm and sweet as ever. A hand rose into Gideon's hair, and she glanced up to meet her eyes as she laved her tongue over Harrow's other breast.
Once Harrow’s tits were glinting, Gideon traced downwards, leaving her breasts by way of the warm field of skin between them. Gideon laid a kiss to Harrow’s solar plexus, and a sound punched out of her, breathless, heaving. Gideon parted her mouth to taste, dragging her tongue flat up the trembling flesh.
“Please,” Harrow murmured.
Gideon stopped, and her lover shook.
"Please."
“You don’t have to say please,” Gideon said hoarsely. “I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me. Don’t say please.”
“Fuck me then,” Harrow’s voice came out in a rush. It sounded like begging, but when she caught Gideon’s eye, the frantic urgency crystallized into determination. The instructions tumbled out, rough and nearly neglected. "Fuck me," she commanded. “Gideon, make me come,” Harrow said. And then, “On the desk,” and then, “Take my skirt off.”
Gideon drew her hands around the circumference of Harrow’s waist, finding the zipper on her skirt and yanking sharply down. The skirt fell, and Gideon dragged Harrow’s underwear—gorgeous, the same colour as the bra—down until all the fabric was pooled at her feet. The inside of Harrow’s thighs shone with slickness.
“Oh, Harrow,” Gideon said. She looked down at Harrow’s heels unsurely, fingers tracing down her inner thighs. She hesitated, and Harrow gripped her chin, eyes molten.
“Leave those on.” Oh fuck yes, fuck, fucking fuck. “Griddle, if you don’t fucking kiss me—”
Gideon kissed her and swept her up in one smooth motion.
Their lips met feverishly. Harrow was hot and parted, so Gideon stroked her tongue inside her mouth, one hand beneath her ass, the other doing a clear sweep of any books on the desk. Things tumbled to the floor with a careless clatter. Harrow’s legs locked around her waist, getting arousal all over the front of Gideon’s hoodie and trousers.
“Gideon,” Harrow was gasping. Gideon set her wife down, and spread her out like a feast. Yes, she had missed this. Hands roaming peaked breasts, her face, her arching back. Gideon touched a hand to Harrow’s belly to get her to lay down, muttering a quiet fuck when she did, her thighs falling instantly open. Wetness shone from her curls; lovely, glistening, dark.
Gideon dropped to her knees.
When was the last time they'd done something like this? Weeks ago? Gideon couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten to disappear between Harrow's legs. It had probably been too quick, a moment stolen on a morning that they'd woken up fifteen minutes before their alarm clock. Her wife wouldn't have even undressed, just kicked off her sleep shorts, and guided Gideon's face down until they were out of time.
Perhaps this was why Harrow was such a mess. Why Gideon had to keep a banded arm over her hips to hold her down, Harrow's lower body bucking almost violently before she even tasted her. Clarity struck Gideon then, between the thighs clamped around her head, so tightly that she could only see the gasps collapsing out of Harrow's flushed chest, her whole frame tight with tension, heels crossed like swords against Gideon's back. Like Harrow was attempting to trap Gideon; like Harrow was scared that she wouldn't be able to keep her there.
It broke Gideon's heart just a little.
"Baby, wait," Gideon murmured. She pulled away, and Harrow's voice cracked wordlessly into the air. Gideon stroked the thighs on her shoulders. "Harrow. Look at me, please."
Harrow rose up onto her elbows and looked at her, watery-eyed. "Why did you stop?"
"We have time," Gideon said.
Harrow stared at her in confusion.
"We can go slow," Gideon continued. "I know things have been so busy lately. I'm sorry. I never wanted to make you feel neglected. But we have time now. We don't need to rush, I'm not going anywhere."
Harrow's legs slowly unclenched. The pressure of her heels lessened against Gideon's back.
"You never made me feel neglected," Harrow said. Gideon raised an eyebrow at her, and Harrow huffed. "Okay, maybe a little. But I could never stay mad." Harrow reached down and found her hand, twining their fingers together tight. "You stretch yourself so thin because you can't stand to fail anybody. Because you want everybody to be okay. Work is only work for me. I just want you to be okay."
Gideon released a breath that she didn't realized she'd been holding.
"I'm going to step away from some commitments in the new year," Gideon murmured. "So all I have to think about are my seminars, and my grad students, and my perfect, wonderful, and genius spouse, who has never gotten a D in her life." Harrow looked at her doubtfully, and Gideon laughed. "With exception for all the times when she very persuasively asked for it."
"Why are you like this?" Harrow snorted, and Gideon felt a hundred times lighter. She brought her mouth back down to Harrow's skin, whispered her name.
"Lay down again," Gideon said.
They went slower this time. Harrow's hips moved like honey as Gideon licked into her, their hands remaining joined against the desk. Gideon kept her other arm looped around one of Harrow's thighs so that her cunt stayed flush against Gideon's mouth, growing so wet that Gideon's chin and neck must have been soaked by her. Harrow's breath came in quick, sharp gasps that were familiar, fogging up Gideon's head with memories. This was the pleasure that Gideon knew, the kind that Harrow deserved. She flattened her tongue against Harrow's clit, adjusting her hand down so she could press two fingers inside her.
Harrow’s hips shot skyward.
“Harrow!” Gideon narrowly dodged. She craned her neck above the desk to check in. "Sweetheart?"
"Sorry," Harrow gasped. "Fuck. Don't stop."
"I literally almost head-butted you."
"In the pussy?" The word from Harrow's mouth was so obscene that Gideon had to laugh.
"What, are you into that?"
"Shut up," Harrow groaned, her mouth twitching up into a smile. "No! God! Why do I—" She cut herself off, and tugged at Gideon's shoulders. "Get up here, Griddle."
Gideon grinned back at her, rising up to stand between Harrow's legs. Harrow tugged at her hoodie. “Take this off."
When Gideon moved to pull the hoodie off, she removed her sports bra along with it, and shivered with the slight cold. Harrow’s expression was well worth it; eyes glowing warm as they took in her bare torso, her tits, the ink along Gideon’s arm. Harrow leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, before trailing her mouth along the inked river, the peculiar little goat, the mountain rising in front of the sun. Gideon smiled, feeling Harrow linger there for a moment longer.
"Gideon," Harrow said, and Gideon looked at her, their brows so close together now. Harrow took her arm, fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand back between her legs. She watched Harrow's face as she sunk her fingers in; the slow part of her mouth, eyelashes fluttering as Gideon's hand buried inside her to the knuckle, again and again.
Harrow clutched at her shoulders. Gideon pressed her mouth to Harrow's forehead.
“I love you,” Harrow whispered, hips tilting. Her heels dug against the back of Gideon's thighs. "It's been so long. Been waiting for you. Missed you—"
Harrow cut off with a cry, holding Gideon close as her whole body seized, as she trembled apart.
“You okay?” Gideon asked, for Harrow was slumped against her shoulder. Her wife tilted her head up, and Gideon finally got to brush the hair from Harrow’s eyes.
“I’m wonderful,” Harrow said, leaning into her hand. “And you?”
“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” Gideon said. “I feel really good.”
Harrow made a pleased noise, and nodded. “We’re not done yet. Take your pants off."
Gideon got away with kissing her just a little bit longer in Harrow’s post-orgasm leniency. Then Harrow reached around and pinched her butt, before leaning away, reaching over to fumble through one of the drawers in her desk. Then Gideon couldn’t move fast enough, all her clothes flung to the floor just as Harrow pulled the double-ended strap and bottle of lube out in front of her.
"I do remember promising the intervention of a strap," Nav said. “You came prepared."
“I have to set a good example for my favourite student,” Harrow rolled her eyes, before adding: "Intervention, Gideon? Really?" Professor Wife, so fucking picky. "Maybe the addition," Harrow continued. "Or the mobilization. Deployment, perhaps."
Harrow was ridiculous, but Gideon had been a writer long before she became a professor, and could easily navigate nerdcore foreplay. Their little spin on the teacher/student thing was honestly doing it for her. She took the strap from Harrow and bonked her on the knee with it before saying, "Intervention is more effective in this context. Consider the root word."
"I know what intervene means, Griddle. To interrupt or intercede."
"To come between," Gideon suggested, driving home the point by brushing her knuckles, slowly at the aforementioned between.
"Oh," said Harrow.
Gideon winked at her. “So, are you wearing this or me?"
Harrow helped to ease the shorter end of toy between Gideon's legs. She tucked a groan into her wife’s neck at the sensation of being filled, the sparks of pleasure as Harrow adjusted it, their gazes strung helplessly together. And then Gideon lowered Harrow down on the desk, and for a second, she just admired her. Naked with just her heels on, staring up at her with Gideon's hoodie laid out beneath her back.
"Well?" said Harrowhark.
Her legs locked around Gideon’s hips as she first pushed in. Harrow murmured her name, and Gideon craned her neck to watch the strap disappear inside her.
“How’s that feel, gorgeous?” Gideon kept one hand on Harrow's waist.
“So good,” Harrow whispered, eyes half-shut. “Pull out almost all the way before you—yes, Gideon, like that,” she sighed as Gideon tried the movement. This was the kind of fuck Harrow always wanted, Gideon realized, although she’d never made her need so clear before. The whole thing was making Gideon even wetter. “Follow through. Like that. I want to feel your hips press—” Deeper. Gideon reached around to unhook Harrow’s legs from her. The range of motion wasn't it.
“Keep these open for me,” Gideon murmured, spreading her wide.
Gideon rocked into her the way Harrow liked, the position bringing her cock even deeper. Harrow gasped, hands shooting out to scrabble along the desk before she found an even better place for them on Gideon’s ass. One hand flat on the desk surface by Harrow's shoulder, the other on Harrow's thigh, she stroked into her until they were both groaning. Harrow's eyes were closed, small tits moving as they fucked, mouth open and so perfect that Gideon bent forward to kiss her.
"Right there," Harrow groaned against her mouth. She clung harder to Gideon's ass, gasping clipped breaths so loud it nearly drowned out the filthy sound made each time their hips met. Gideon's own pleasure was rising on some peripheral horizon, not quite there, beckoning her closer in the moments that she ground against Harrow's body. She snuck a hand down to play at Harrow's clit, and Harrow squeezed her even tighter. Gideon kissed her roughly before her mouth moved to her wife's ear to whisper praise. She was so good like this. Legs spread for her, and ready, and taking it.
Harrow came around her with the world’s most tremulous sigh.
Gideon held her through it, Harrow's legs trembled as Gideon stalled their motions, pulling out as gently as she could. More arousal wept from Harrow’s cunt, and Gideon felt warm all over just from watching her.
“Gideon,” Harrow murmured, getting onto her elbows. “Sit on the desk."
"What?"
"Sit." Gideon sat. Her end of the toy shift as she did so, and Harrow got a look on her face that promised trouble, before reaching out and slowly shifting the end that had been inside her.
"Is that working for you?" Harrow said attentively.
"Shit," Gideon grunted. "Yeah. Yeah—"
Harrow swung one leg over her lap. She looked at Gideon for permission, and Gideon nodded frantically, helping to guide her down, before saying: "Holy fuck."
Harrow kissed her cheek.
"I'm in love with you," Gideon said.
"I know, darling," Harrow said, and started to move like something out of a dream. Gideon's hands moved over her waist, her hips, down to her ass, the wetness still gathered along her inner thighs. Harrow was pulsing on top of her cock, driving pleasure into Gideon as she moved the strap with her own body, waist beckoning like the night in the kitchen, and the many nights and months and years before that.
"Is this what you've been wanting, love?" Harrow murmured, one hand on Gideon's jaw. "Me riding you in your office for everyone to hear? Like the first time we tried the roleplay?"
Gideon laughed breathlessly. "All I wanted was you."
Harrow kissed her. Arms wrapping around Gideon's neck and bringing them closer. Their chests pressed as Harrow ground down on her, the corresponding part of the toy shifting, the drag of her clit against Harrow’s pubic bone overwhelming and beautiful.
"Like this?" Harrow whispered, so close. Gideon nodded, mouth parted, wordless. She angled her hips, and there it was, her horizon somewhere buried between Harrow's thighs, and sparkling. So close.
“Oh god,” Harrow gasped, like she could see it too. She moved faster, faster, and their hands shot out at the same time to move between the other's legs. The space between them became indistinctive. Harrow was trembling. Their bodies moved like a current together with sweat coming off each of their skins, as Harrow drew her fingers against Gideon’s clit, once, twice—
Gideon broke, gasping into Harrow's throat, flooding up, and rising, and sinking to the repeated whisper of her name.
There was a hand brushing through Gideon’s hair, afterwards.
“Harrowhark,” Gideon murmured. She ran her nose up the side of Harrow’s sweaty neck, kissed gently over her pulse. “You okay?"
Harrow shifted lazily on top of her, and let out a quiet noise. "Help me up?" Gideon took her hands, supporting her as she rose up onto her knees off Gideon's strap, and hovered while Gideon slowly worked the toy out. Once the strap was placed on the desk beside them, Harrow collapsed back in her lap. Gideon looked at her wife. Harrow was already watching her.
“Oh, we were phenomenal,” Harrow mused.
She looked ridiculously fucked out. Gideon stroked her cheek, admiring her handiwork. Harrow stretched out a leg, and Gideon noticed the brief spot of discomfort on the corner of her mouth.
“Why don’t we go to bed?” Gideon suggested.
She shifted, reaching forward with Harrow between her arms to undo the straps on her heels, before sliding them off her feet. Harrow sighed gently, and Gideon leaned down to kiss her mouth before she picked her up, padding barefoot to the office door with Harrow wrapped up like a koala in her arms.
“I’m so glad we used the home office this time,” Gideon grinned.
"Yes," Harrow agreed. She dug her heel teasingly into Gideon's ass. "You'd never get away with this on campus."
She walked them butt naked across the first floor of their home, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, where Gideon tucked Harrow carefully beneath their covers.
“Get me a sweater, Griddle,” Harrow called, when Gideon dipped quickly to the bathroom to dampen a cloth for her. “Please and thank you,” she added at the last minute.
On reflection, Gideon had no idea why it took so long to figure the student/professor thing out.
Newly clothed in underwear and a fresh shirt, Gideon wandered back to bed. Harrow shrugged on the sweater that Gideon offered her—one of Gideon’s own—and laid back while Gideon passed the cloth down the insides of her thighs, softly between her legs. When she was done, Gideon set the cloth on the bedside table, and sank into the arms that immediately opened for her.
Gideon nuzzled her face into Harrow's neck for a long while, feeling fingers brushing through her hair. No alarms went off. No knocks on the door, or fires, or students, or illness, as Gideon breathed Harrow in, and the light shifted across their bed. It was still only afternoon, and they had the rest of the weekend to do absolutely nothing, except maybe each other.
“They say sixth time’s a charm,” Gideon commented against Harrow's skin.
Harrow let out a snort. “It really shouldn’t have taken us six tries to figure it out. It seems obvious now. You love it when I tell you what to do.”
“I think I was just very attached to those short skirts.”
“Don’t sound so despondent, Griddle. I can wear the skirts around the house for you.”
“Oh fuck yeah, that would be bangin. Thanks, honey.”
Harrow groaned right in her ear.
Gideon was laughing, brushing her mouth all along Harrow’s neck, up to her jaw and to her mouth. Harrow kissed her. Quiet settled over them. Their legs twined together beneath the covers, Harrow’s fingers creeping down to Gideon’s bicep to trace what Gideon knew to be the sunlit peak on her arm. Sightless, Gideon felt Harrow’s eyelashes like butterfly wings, soft and miraculous against her cheek.
Harrow murmured, “Have I told you that I’m in love with you lately?”
Gideon smiled. Only every day.
“Tell me again.”