Chapter Text
There were many times in Harrow’s youth where she had envisioned Gideon leaning over her body, hands covered in Harrow’s blood. Usually, these visions were nightmares. Occasionally, they came close to materializing. And one night, years and years ago, they became reality.
Now it was happening again.
But this time Gideon’s hands weren’t squeezed around her neck, and Harrow’s nails weren’t digging into Gideons’s face. Harrowhark wasn’t kicking up at Gideon, trying frantically to escape. No, far from it.
Tonight Griddle’s hands were peeling off the necromancer’s panties, and Harrowhark was lifting her legs to make it happen faster. An observer might consider her pliant, but it was not so. She was simply… attempting to find some relief from her pains, and this would help. A clothed clitoris could only feel so much.
Gideon tossed the last of Harrow’s clothes onto the floor.
“You’re picking those up later,” Harrowhark informed her. Gideon made a face that implied she would not be doing that, and promptly spread Harrow’s legs, already snaking her hand from Harrow’s thigh to her cunt.
“What are you doing?”
Gideon froze. “…Massaging?”
Harowhark groaned, rolling her head back. “Gideon. I’m not… ready for anything.”
“Um, you seemed pretty ready a second ago. Have you already forgotten the moans? The moans… sometimes I can still hear their voice…”
Harrowhark frowned. “A moan or two doesn’t mean I’m about to take three fingers.”
“I wasn’t going to-”
“Griddle,” Harrowhark interrupted. “You can’t just expect me to just get off after a few minutes of heavy petting.”
“Well damn, Harrow, how many minutes do you need? You know what?” The redhead straightened. “I’ll show you heavy petting.”
The Reverend Daughter was pushed back, her legs strewn to the air.
“Griddle-” She chided, but Gideon’s head was between her thighs before she could say anything more. The nerve of her bondswoman was untenable, but Harrow’s legs relaxed further apart. “That is not heavy petting.”
Gideon didn’t respond- her mouth was busy. She was nipping at the meat of Harrowhark’s inner thighs, working her way up. Harrowhark was sure it was slick- the blood, the traitorous wetness from the massage. It was hard to gauge how wet, what with Griddle getting her disgusting saliva everywhere. A dull throb started to pulsate in her core.
Harrow squirmed at the unusual feeling.
Griddle seemed to take that as a sign. She brought her mouth to Harrow’s slick opening, and Harrowhark had to stop herself from bucking against Gideon's face.
The warmth and wetness of Gideon's mouth against her arousal... It was enjoyable, and it had been expected, but she didn't think it would happen so quickly. She had intended to have more control over the situation, to guide things, to go slowly- but this was acceptable. This way, she had to do almost no work, hardly had to move. This way, she could be serviced as one in her station deserved. She exhaled.
Already Griddle was licking at her inner folds, exploring her, tasting her. The sensation, the sound of Gideon eating her out...She had to remind herself to breathe, to relax the muscles of her abdomen.
Griddle moved up to her clit, and Harrowhark experienced a sheer panic, unthinking. Her thighs attempted to clamp together despite Gideon's broad shoulders. Her body had been starved of touch for nineteen years, and now it didn't know how to react. The intimacy of it-
Gideon's tongue brushed over the hardened bud of flesh, and Harrowhark tensed against her sheets, overwhelmed. Pleasure, fiery and all-consuming, licked through her. She gripped the sheet under her, balling her hands into fists.
Gideon's tongue stayed, circling, teasing at her clit. She felt Nav smile against her inner thighs.
"Bet you wanna take three fingers now, yeah?" she said, her breath hot against Harrow's cunt.
Harrowhark Nonagesimus was a woman of the lord, a priest of the tomb, but she was also wet, and now annoyed. She made the executive decision to put her holiness aside, and ground against Gideon’s mouth.
To her dismay, Gideon pulled back.
Harrowhark frowned and looked down - and froze. Gideon looked- well, she looked a mess. Pupils dilated, sweat beading on her forehead. Her jaw and mouth smeared with blood. She was very nearly beautiful- in a disconcerting sort of way.
“Gideon,” Harrowhark said, but it sounded like a whine, a pleading.
Using Griddle’s actual name, her real name, seemed to convince her of something. Her brow furrowed.
And then she buried her face between Harrow’s legs again, ignoring Harrowhark’s gasp, and repositioned. She brought her hand from its grip against Harrow’s hip to Harrow’s cunt. And quickly, allowing Harrowhark no time to prepare, her thick finger tested Harrow’s slick opening. Gideon was breathing hard now too, hot against Harrow's labia. Her finger pushed past the resistance of Harrow's cunt. She slid it inside until it could go no further. Harrowhark's head lolled back.
How was it that Gideon was so good at this? The dirty magazines? Perhaps all religionless heathens were inherently sexual...
Gideon's finger retreated and then pushed back in, and then curled. Harrowhark's breath caught. She wanted to dig her heels into the bed, but her ankles and feet were still rested on Gideon's back.
Something warm dripped down her thigh.
Gideon’s fingers, Gideon's mouth-her tongue circling Harrow’s clit, her lips kissing the sensitive skin surrounding... it was almost too much, almost unbearable.
Regardless, a second finger joined the bloodbath, and Harrowhark felt herself being stretched out as Gideon pushed both digits into that slick warmth, and then out, and in again.
Harrowhark was tightly wound creature- or at least she had been before this. She rarely allowed herself degeneracy, and now that she was partaking, she didn't know how to stop it. Her body, now spoiled with the closeness and intimacy of another, craved more. She ground against Gideon’s fingers with a fervor.
As she fucked herself on the two digits knuckle-deep inside her cunt, she wondered idly how she was going to be able to preach at the pulpit tomorrow. How to stand in front of her followers as though she was free of sin... How could she preach when just the night before, she was getting fingerfucked by her nemesis, by her servant? How could she preach with Gideon in the same room as her?
But then - by the Emperor- Griddle started sucking at her clit, and Harrowhark stopped being able to think of anything at all, save Gideon and her admittedly talented mouth.
The fingers inside her, the suction on her clit- she was starting to feel lightheaded.
Her inner walls twitched around Gideon’s fingers, pleasure creeping up. Something sparked inside her- Gideon was curling her digits inside Harrowhark again.
Perhaps Harrowhark had made a mistake, letting Gideon have so much control.
Her toes curled.
Pleasure, now, in waves... It was tight in her stomach, snaking desire, lust almost fulfilled.
She ground against Gideons fingers, mouth-
She was writhing against the bed. Her hips bucking uncontrollably.
Gideon didn’t let up, and Harrowhark found herself pleading, begging, - “Gideon, Gideon, Gideon-”
And then she was coming-
Coming with Gideon's fingers fucking her, coming with Gideon's mouth at her clit.
Warmth blossomed in her stomach- the feeling good, the feeling right.
She clenched a fist in Gideon's hair, grasping, yanking, and then she kept coming, or maybe came again, it was getting hard to tell.
She squirmed, she pleaded, she moaned until that need finally relaxed its grip -until she was nearly fulfilled. Until her walls clenched around Gideon's fingers again and again and again...
When Gideon finally drew her fingers out of a boneless, delirious Harrowhark, it was done.
Gideon fell onto bed, exhausted. Harrow’s dried blood decorated her fingers. She was going to have a hell of a time cleaning under her fingernails tomorrow. Harrowhark was blissed out, or maybe just passed out, next to her. Looking at the necromancer turned sexed-out rag-doll, it was hard for Gideon to ignore the wetness between her own legs. The necro had painted Gideon's face with blood and whatever the fuck squirt was made out of, and then had just tapped out.
She sighed. Necromancers were so selfish. She would just have to rock one out against Harrow’s thigh for tonight. Maybe tomorrow they could try for three fingers. Maybe even in the pulpit after the morning sermon... She smiled and closed her eyes. There was always tomorrow...