Chapter Text
Madeline and Helen kissed like they were each trying to extract a forbidden confession from the other.
Searching. Insistent.
Feverish, and a bit French.
Madeline couldn't tell who held the reigns. She may have been pressed up against the door with nowhere to go but further into Helen, but Helen’s clenched fist on Madeline’s hip told Madeline one thing:
Helen didn’t want to let go.
Madeline didn’t want to wake up.
It must be a dream, insisted the rapidly-shrinking part of her brain where reason and coherence sometimes lived.
Breathing into and around this woman made Madeline feel ethereal. Never mind that she was entirely straight—or so she assumed, she hadn’t really pondered it lately, had she? And weren’t labels a bit unglamorous, anyway?—and never mind that there remained the heavy matter of her own academic and legal future.
Why had they gone to Helen’s office in the first place? Madeline’s memory wiped itself clean from the moment plush red lips landed on hers.
Time bled sideways.
When Helen wrapped a cool, manicured hand along the base of Madeline’s throat and gripped with a whisper, Madeline moaned. She clapped her own hand on top, massaging the pronounced veins untouched, today, by any jewelry. Moaned again.
Obscenely loud for a Monday morning at noon.
When Madeline ran her tongue along Helen’s bottom lip, Helen moaned back. It reverberated up her throat, deathly low and deliciously uninhibited.
Madeline gulped it down, greedy for more.
(She was learning on the job, and was proving to be a quick study.)
“H—Helen—you’re gonna—gonna kill me. And then I’ll die.” Madeline managed to get out, entirely unsure if she was yelling or whispering. “I’ll just die. I’ll be dead. And then we’ll have an en—entirely different lawsuit on our hands.”
“Mhm.” Helen nipped at the delicate skin underneath Madeline’s jaw. At some point she'd pocketed her glasses and Madeline felt like whimpering at the loss, but she would rather sell her entire wardrobe than pop their sweet, bitter bubble.
Helen’s pupils glowed with lust and terror at the same time. She looked Madeline in the eyes and nodded.
“Fight back, then.”
Madeline gasped.
She had loosened her grip on the middle of Helen’s blouse, but it didn’t take much maneuvering to slip further into her blazer and palm her hand over the full weight of her breast. At the same time, she took a blind chance, wrapping a black-stockinged leg around the back of Helen’s knee.
Helen tumbled unceremoniously into her with a huff and a small yelp. Madeline was now well and truly pressed into the door, enveloped in rich red warmth.
She squeezed hard enough to make Helen’s breath hitch louder.
“I knew you were staring.” Helen murmured, pulling back enough to look Madeline in the eye. Her lips were wet, and a tiny lipstick smudge blossomed near the corner. “That first day.” She pressed her mouth to Madeline’s again, a chaste kiss—like she could no longer go more than 20 seconds without doing so.
Wasn’t Madeline supposed to be the desperate one here?
“I couldn’t h—help it.” Madeline countered, panting. “Do you really blame me?”
I didn’t want to help it, Madeline wanted to say.
“Not quite. Not when it’s you.”
She didn’t know where to touch. She wanted to touch everywhere at once.
Helen let Madeline explore for a moment, both of them staring at the small hands now cupping her chest, deliciously pronounced even in a suit jacket. Through the multiple layers of fabric Helen appeared to feel it, shuddering as a pink-tipped nail scratched over where Madeline guessed her nipple might be. She was right on target.
Not when it’s you. Not when it’s you. Not when it’s you.
“They’re real, by the way.”
“Fuck.”
“Well said.”
“Can I—I—I wanna see—”
“No.” Helen growled out the word, almost as if it pained her to do so. “Clothes stay on.”
Madeline drew her lips back in with a mewl, hooked on the drug of her and high—high, so high, and climbing higher still.
“Lest anyone.” She kissed Madeline again. “Come.” Another kiss on the apple of her cheek. “Knocking.” A final kiss to the shell of her ear.
She swirled her tongue around Madeline’s diamond earring and sucked.
A small flood rushed between Madeline’s legs. She was slick, aching, in desperate need. This was a sick extension of her shower fantasy. It couldn’t be real.
Her professor. Her stern, straight-edged, sharp-as-an-arrow professor.
Had they met in a past life? Madeline thought it likely for them to end up killing each other, if they had.
Maybe this was the zombied afterlife, and Helen was just priming Madeline to take a fleshy bite of her meat for morbid sustenance.
At 12:07 p.m. on a Monday afternoon in late October, Madeline Ashton decided that she would let her.
She would let Helen take a bite.
Whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed to keep them in the orbit of one another.
Helen tasted like oranges and lavender, too. What Madeline wouldn’t give for the room to collapse around them…
Begrudgingly slipping her hands from Helen’s blazer, Madeline moved them up to her face. Curls of burnt auburn fell around the pale skin. Her lips parted, breath shallow, and a faint, knowing smile twitched across them. From this close, Madeline could count the faint lines of age around each green eye.
She would gladly withstand the slap received if she pointed this out, for Helen Sharp was beautiful.
She was beautiful.
With guard up or guard down, she was beautiful. There was no other way to put it.
God, was Madeline in trouble.
She stroked her thumb over the apple of Helen’s flushed cheek anyway, and leaned in to press a slow, languid kiss to her swelling lips.
Slow and sweet.
(Maybe too sweet.)
Fully under her spell, Madeline smiled; but Helen suddenly froze, and the impact hit them both as if a pound of heavy snow had fallen from the ceiling.
“Wha—”
Sharp knuckles rapped three times on the door, smacking Madeline in the ear. Helen jumped back, eyes wide and horrified, hands already scrambling to smooth her outfit down and wipe the lipstick from her mouth. Almost as if she had a track record of finding herself in this exact situation.
There was no time for Madeline to ponder that.
For the next 10 seconds they communicated in utter, brutal silence. Madeline rushed away from the door at the harsh point of Helen’s finger, crossing the room to the chair where she’d previously sat.
Her heart pounded. She might pass out. The air between them grew cold, and Madeline suddenly resented Helen for teasing, teasing, teasing, only to finally pounce during a time and place where they surely wouldn’t be safe?
It was selfish. Selfish and wrong and conniving and utterly inappropriate.
(Perhaps Madeline was only telling herself these things to remedy the pain of no longer being pressed against what had quickly become her redheaded center of gravity.)
“Helen?” The velvety, vaguely-European voice rang out from the other side of the door. Madeline bit her lip furiously, palms pressed flat against Helen’s desk, head bowed in disbelief.
Another knock. “Helen? I have a case that needs your attention.”
Helen gave Madeline a desperate, ripping glare. She squeezed her eyes shut for barely a count of three, and then opened them with a silent exhale—a wash of forced composure. When she pointed again at the chair, finger trembling, Madeline sat in immediate obedience, praying her own lipstick wasn’t on the other side of her face.
She didn’t have time to dig into her purse for her trusty compact mirror.
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened here. Nothing at all.
Helen pulled open the door and Lisle’s frame appeared in view. Her eyes darted immediately to Madeline, now sitting on the receiving side of Helen’s desk.
Hands folded in her lap. Legs crossed, black heel bobbing. Ponytail immaculate. A portrait of academic and personal perfection.
“I apologize for….interrupting.” Lisle spoke the words slowly, but there arrived no tone of suspicion; just curiosity, it seemed, as to why Madeline would need a closed-door meeting after only the first day of her internship.
“None needed.” Helen’s voice was steady given the circumstance, but from the angle where she sat Madeline could see something Lisle could not:
Helen’s left hand behind her back, fingers crossed tight. Literally. Madeline would laugh if she wasn’t half-terrified, and still half-dazed from the buzz of Helen pressed up against her.
“Ms. Ashton and I were wrapping up. First day business. You know how it is.” She wrenched her hand from behind her back and gestured for Lisle to enter the room.
Madeline understood the subtext even if she didn’t want to. She rose on wobbly legs with pink bag and purse in hand, and forced her mouth to offer Lisle a polite smile on her way out.
Lisle did not quite smile back.
Before Madeline could offer Helen one last glance, one last telepathic message, one anything, she found herself back in the warmly lit hallway.
The door bearing the label Helen Sharp, J.D. clicked shut with a devastating, final reverberation.
✦
Madeline should have taken the hint to exit the premise of Sharp & Von Rhuman entirely. She should have fled the scene in search of Stefan’s salon. Or her currently-unmade bed. (She would blame Helen’s existence for the sudden uptick in her out-of-character untidiness.) Or maybe the continent of Australia.
She’d never been there before. Would they let an aging failure of a law student who just felt up her female professor cross the border?
Madeline wasn’t so sure.
And yet, she made no effort to leave the office. Her heels felt glued to the expensive carpet. It was an empty scene around lunchtime, and her fellow interns had certainly fled for their next class, which Madeline now remembered she was also expected to attend.
Shit. It was Torts and the professor was a haughty though unfortunately-dull man who could’ve been Ernest’s third uncle twice-removed, for all Madeline knew.
But Madeline was sick. Yes, she was sick. She’d woken up with a pounding headache. And she’d just received a lip service treatment that tripled its intensity.
“Are you absolutely positive?”
Madeline heard the words through the door, muffled and slightly hushed but enough for her to make out. She pressed her ear to Helen’s door.
She wasn’t eavesdropping. She was just doing research.
(Right?)
“It’s her.” Helen’s voice. “I’m certain. She admitted it. I haven’t a damn clue how we let this slip through the cracks.”
“An uncanny accident, I’m afraid.” Lisle.
Madeline found herself annoyed by the way this woman’s tone remained absurdly even, regardless of the situation.
“It goes without saying, Helen, that you cannot allow her to intern here if she’s quite literally being sued by our client.”
“Of course.” Helen’s words were clipped, almost as if she were in pain. Madeline hoped she was imagining it. “But—”
“Oh no. Do not tell me you’ve grown soft over her.” Lisle again. Almost taunting.
And again, Madeline stopped breathing.
“I h–haven’t done any such thing.” A hitch in her breath. Despite her shock and embarrassment, Madeline grinned to herself.
“But she is my student, Lisle. Her enrollment at Harvard has nothing to do with her entanglement with our admittedly private law firm. And she—”
“She’s what?”
“She’s, well—a bit older than you might assume.”
Madeline flinched. Rude.
“And?”
“She’s getting the degree in the first place to defend herself Mr. Menville — against us. I’m supposed to keep teaching her and give her the tools to win her case? Again, against us?”
“Bold of you to assume she has what it takes at all.” Lisle’s voice dropped lower.
Madeline bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood.
“....Even if that’s the case…” Helen sounded exasperated. She didn’t sound convinced. Or maybe Madeline was just convincing herself that Helen didn’t sound convinced because she was convinced that the truth of Helen’s lack of faith in her would really kill her and—
Madeline needed a nap.
But sleep could come later. Helen and Lisle’s conversation was not over.
“Or what? We fatten her up like an animal for slaughter?”
“That is the nature of the job, Helen. Yes. A hard truth of life.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Drop the case. We can afford it.”
Lisle laughed—the first time Madeline heard her do so. It was sharp and bitter; more of an exclamation of disbelief than a sound of genuine amusement.
(It was colder than the warmth of Helen’s laugh. Madeline felt a sudden sense of protectiveness wash over her. She felt like stepping in between Helen and Lisle to shield Helen from the cold. She didn’t exactly need any more than she already possessed.)
“We absolutely cannot afford it, and that you know well.”
Helen muttered something in response too quiet for Madeline to pick up, but she caught the words ‘rearrange’ and ‘nonsensical.’
“You’re losing your ability to separate morals from ethics, my dear.”
“Don’t start with that.” Helen’s voice shook with anger. “And don’t ‘my dear’ me.”
“Hel…”
“Don’t ‘Hel’ me, either. Jesus Christ.”
A beat of silence. Madeline hoped and prayed they weren’t locked lip to lip.
“Give me a day or two to figure it out. I’ve already told her to drop me and register for a different course section. But the case—”
“The case will remain with us.”
“Might I remind you that the name engraved first on these doors is Sharp?”
A pulse returned to the juncture of Madeline’s thighs without her permission. She squeezed them together.
Damn, that was hot.
Another beat of silence. Too long. She could no longer hear voices. It came rushing to Madeline all at once, the realization that soft footsteps were approaching the door and her ear—still red from Helen’s kisses, Helen’s teeth—remained on the other side.
She bolted.
If only her pink scarf hadn’t slipped off and fluttered towards the ground in the process.
✦
The rest of the afternoon passed, grey and exhausted. Static-filled. Madeline made it home in one piece, and though she half-considered calling Stefan to debrief particular events in which she was sure he would take interest, she fell asleep on the couch before dialing.
She wrenched her eyes open a completely indiscernible amount of time later, aware of two furry somethings napping on her stomach. Light poured softly through her balcony window, fading fast with the afternoon.
Madeline’s stomach growled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything, and her skin felt as crumpled as her work clothes truly were. She needed a reset.
Reset, and then attempt to tackle the simultaneous, intertwining problems currently stacked so violently on top of her.
Despite her attempt to take as quick a shower as possible—lest she slip into the… detour of the night before—Madeline’s hand found its way between her legs as soon as she turned the water up to scalding.
She came twice in a row. Once for her. And once for Helen.
How very egalitarian of her.
✦
Even having been bathed, lotioned, and perfumed, Madeline remained uneasy.
She could re-register for a different section of Civil Procedures. That was the least of her worries, regardless of how much it would hurt.
Would Helen give in to Lisle and continue to represent Ernest? Madeline couldn’t bear the thought of having to stand across from her former classmates and receive a royal fucking-over for the withholding of assets that were surely hers to begin with.
They were hers. Ernest had never cared for Brusier, had never cared for Lady, had hardly even cared for the abundance of clothing he bought her in college to supplement her meager income. Why did he want it all back? Unless there was a larger, more personal secret he was keeping from her, Madeline didn’t see a reason for Ernest to require her return of expensive lingerie sets.
It seemed true: certain men never grow past college if there’s not a pressing need for them to do so.
Madeline pondered this while she fed the pets and herself, made her bed, and arranged—only to rearrange, and rearrange again—the spreads of decorative pillows sprinkled around the apartment.
She would sleep early tonight, and she would rise early tomorrow. She would walk with her head held high to Harvard’s Admissions Office, and politely request a transfer of course section. It was early enough in the year for most of her former classmates to forget about her, anyway.
Although Madeline certainly didn’t like feeling forgettable.
That was the first step. She hadn’t a clue how to handle the redheaded cloud hanging over her head. Maybe she should wait for Helen to make the next move, and in the meantime attempt to forget about what may or may not have taken place behind closed doors.
(Madeline could still feel Helen’s fingerprints on her skin as if she’d been burned. She’d gladly let it fester towards infection.)
It took only a few pages of the newest Vogue for Madeline’s eyes to grow heavy as she resettled on the couch in her most decadent pink robe; the one that made her feel like a princess.
Even all these years later.
Willing herself not to fall asleep yet—it was barely 7 o’clock—Madeline flipped through a spread on upcoming accessory trends (white and yellow plaid? In October?) and felt a jolt of electricity zap through her when she saw it:
Her pink scarf.
Of course she was ahead of the trend; she’d bought it months ago at a boutique in L.A. before she made the move to Cambridge. It was a raspberry-colored silk, with delicate beading around the edges. A shame it now had to be associated with such an out-of-body day, but Madeline could always wear it another time, she supposed. Except—
“No!” Madeline smacked a palm against her forehead, the noise stirring Lady awake. She offered up a pitiful meow.
“Not now, baby girl.” Madeline groaned, realizing where her scarf lay—and it certainly was not in her closet.
There had been a more noticeable breeze against her bare neck when she’d fled the law firm and rushed out onto the street. It must have slipped off in her bustle to get the hell out before Lisle reopened the door. But then that would mean the two of them must’ve seen—
Oh God.
Another humiliation point for Madeline. Not the fun kind.
She jumped up, digging through her clothing racks for some outside-appropriate clothing.
(The pink lingerie was an afterthought, really; Madeline would later tell herself it was just what she saw first.)
Then came the flowy navy blue dress and heels. Sensible heels for the evening; just an inch or two to make her feel comfortable. Lightweight denim jacket, hair drying and brushed, a dusting of blush and mascara and lipstick.
And perfume, of course. Where would she be without it?
Madeline was going back to Sharp & Von Rhuman for that scarf.
That damn scarf and certainly nothing or no one else.
✦
The sun set just as Madeline made it back to the office. It didn’t feel forbidden what she was about to do; just naughty enough to feel exhilarating. A breath of fresh air she’d needed all day long.
Besides, it was her scarf.
Good thing she didn’t need to break in. The door was unlocked, and she slipped into the entry hallway without a sound. The lights were dim, and there was no one to greet her at the front desk, but it didn’t appear as if an alarm would go off at any sudden movement.
Madeline was just here for her scarf. With her luck Helen hadn’t even noticed, and Madeline could glide down the hallway, place it delicately back in her purse, and be on her not-so-merry way.
If only.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Madeline whipped her head around, just steps away from Helen’s door. She locked eyes with the woman herself, who was stirring a spoon into a steaming mug of tea and staring at her with a flat, knowing expression.
Of course.
Of course she’d taken off her blazer and rolled up the cuffs of her blouse. Of course she’d unbuttoned the top buttons and was providing Madeline with a more than excellent view of cleavage she’d almost, almost, almost had the chance to truly get her hands on.
Of course she wore her glasses. Of course she appeared a bit softer at night, a bit sleepier, and somehow more intense all at the same time.
“So—”
“Not robbing me, I hope.”
Madeline shook her head furiously, sure that the blush she’d applied was no longer technically necessary.
“I left my—” Madeline started, clutching her purse to her chest. “Wait a minute.” She narrowed her eyes at Helen. “What are you doing here?”
Helen stared. “Well, I happen to own this place.”
“But it’s past 5 o’clock.”
“Indeed.” Helen hadn’t moved an inch. “Work doesn’t always stop when it’s supposed to. I hope this isn’t breaking news to you.”
Madeline shook her head.
“My s—scarf. I was wearing it earlier. It’s pink.”
“You don’t say.”
Madeline rolled her eyes up at the ceiling.
“I do say, actually. I must’ve left it here, there’s no where else it could be—”
“Oh, it’s here. I found it on the floor after Lisle left.” Helen paused, and offered her nothing more. Madeline jumped back in.
“And?”
“And…what?”
“Well, I’d like it back, please, if you don’t mind! Talk about the withholding of assets!”
Helen let out a deep sigh, shaking her head up at the ceiling.
“Jesus. Fine. Follow me. And keep the door open.”
Madeline blushed more, following Helen with her eyes as she waited for her to pass, before trailing behind her. It seemed silly; she, Madeline, was closer to the door. She could’ve easily gone in for the scarf and the two of them wouldn’t have to go back and forth, would they?
But Madeline suddenly felt more awake than she had all evening. Interesting.
So she followed.
Helen pushed the door open and made an irritated beeline for her coat stand, where Madeline noticed her scarf dangling gently from an otherwise-empty peg.
Helen looped it around her fingers and pulled it down, turning to Madeline.
“Eavesdropping is not the most admirable of habits, Ms. Ashton.”
Great. Just what Madeline suspected.
“Neither is talking about someone behind her back.”
“Yes, except that’s what I do for a living.”
“And I won’t have a living if you follow Ernest through court and let him destroy me!” Madeline exclaimed, shocking herself that the thought had been living on her tongue. She didn’t come here to talk about this. She was going to let Helen figure it out, in hopes that she could continue a fulfilling law education on a path as smooth as a ballet slipper.
But life didn’t always work like that, Madeline was beginning to realize. She looked down at her toes.
“Sorry.” She mumbled. “This is stressful, you know?”
Helen nodded, stern expression beginning to soften. “I do. I apologize for that.”
“Thank you.” Madeline murmured, more moved from the words than she would ever let Helen know.
She held out her hand. Helen placed the scarf in her open palm. Their fingers didn’t touch.
Madeline ran her thumb gratefully over the soft fabric. She could smell oranges again.
Helen was too close.
“Do you wanna, um…” Madeline started, unsure of where exactly she was headed. “Should we…”
“Talk about earlier?” Helen offered. Her voice was low.
Too low.
Madeline nodded silently. She watched as Helen took a few steps back, resting her hands and hips on the edge of her desk. She looked half-irritated, half-wrecked.
Madeline wanted nothing more than to crawl inside of her mind and take a look around. Among other things.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Helen shook her head. “Ms. Ashton, you’re my—I mean, I’m your—”
“You can call me Madeline, you know.” To her own ears, her voice was small, almost pitiful. She couldn’t help it. It hurt, the way Helen insisted on professionalizing.
“I mean…I snuck into your office. And spent some considerable time earlier pressed against the door with your mouth all over me.”
Saying the words out loud lit a small fire within Madeline. Sudden anger rushed through her chest. How could Helen possibly think avoiding all of this would make it easier?
Helen hummed, looking at the other side of the room. Avoiding Madeline’s eyes. She shifted her lower half, and Madeline was not ignorant to the fact that the subtle movement caused her legs to spread apart.
Barely more than an inch, but Madeline noticed. Maybe running away and picking this conversation up over the distance of a telephone cord would be safer.
But those legs. And those pants, the cut of which worked hard to tell Madeline the lie that she was taller than she really was.
Madeline didn’t care. Her chronic heel-wearing told some lies of its own.
“Helen, look at me.” Her words came out rough, more of a sour cherry than the usual sticky sweetness.
Helen looked. Her jaw was set, and she didn’t appear to be breathing. In her eyes, an oncoming storm.
Her hair was thicker in the evening humidity, bordering on frizzy.
Madeline needed to tangle it in her hands.
“Just… talk to me.”
Silence.
“About any of it. Any of it.”
More silence.
How cowardly of her.
Madeline couldn’t take another second. She’d never been one for a temper, and she only found it ladylike to yell when she was correct (which, admittedly, was often.)
“Fine. Fine! I’ll talk.” Madeline huffed, shaking her head aimlessly. “Which probably isn’t what you want, so maybe if I do it long enough you’ll actually remember how to use the English language and you’ll stop me.”
Madeline was pacing back and forth now, marking the carpet with sharp movements of her heels.
“I know I can’t be in your class anymore. I know that. I’m going to Admissions tomorrow, by the way! So don’t—I just—I must have worn out-of-season Prada in a past life or something because there is no way I deserve Ernest of all people getting tangled up in our—I mean, my—and, you know what, Helen?” Madeline almost yelped, starting to get out of breath. She put her hand on her hip and turned to fully face Helen, who remained frozen as stone.
“If you’re going to go ahead and fuck me over in court, the least you could is fuck me first! Like, come on!”
Helen inhaled sharply, cocking an eyebrow. She blinked rapidly, chest heaving in utter perfection.
It took a comical second for Madeline to gasp and clap her hand over her mouth, but the words remained in the air. She couldn’t put them back in.
She braced for a slap across the face, but it never came. A much better response was on its way.
Helen waited for a moment. A moment that felt like a year.
Until she snapped her finger and pointed down. The sound cracked like a gunshot amidst the silence of the empty office.
“Bend over the desk. Hands behind your back.”