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Come and Play (Everything’s A-OK)

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Harrow rubs her thumb over the phone in her pocket. Technically, it’s warm from her body heat and not the text message she’d gotten on the way home from work, but the difference doesn’t matter. She'd swear that her internal temperature ticked up a notch after she got that message, anyway. The weight of the bag over her shoulder is more proof that she’s here, that she’s wanted, that she’s welcome.

Sometimes her girlfriends overwhelm her. They’re all physical creatures. They work out together, express their affection with easy shoulder checks and hip bumps that would knock Harrow over. But they always include her. And what they’ve asked of her-- she can do this for them. It warms the blood in her veins, makes her heart beat a little faster to think about it. She's looking forward to it.



They’re in the home gym-- of course they are. It’s Monday after work. Normally, they're wrapping up when Harrow gets home this late. And they are, after a fashion.

Gideon’s buck naked and holding a plank. Her sculpted arms are trembling, and her face is pressed into the golden curls between Coronabeth’s thighs, who’s splayed out over a weight bench like a Baroque nude. Harrow takes a moment to appreciate the taut curve of Gideon’s ass, the definition in her back and thighs, and then a moment more to savor the way Corona has thrown her head back with the effort she’s clearly expending not to thrash so that Gideon can reach. Cor’s breasts heave with her breathing, which might be a sign of abandon, and might be Coronabeth theatrics. Harrow never knows which, but it's effective (and delightful) either way.

“Gideon. Your form is slipping.” Cam’s leaning nonchalantly against the power rack. Her expression never flickers, but she’s got a lazy hand resting on the inseam of her yoga pants in deference to the scene before her. “Fix it, or you have to stop.”

Gideon groans, but she fixes her form and makes it another twenty delicious seconds before her arms give out and she faceplants onto the padded floor under the bench. Corona flings an arm over her eyes and whines.

By way of hello, Harrow drops her bag onto the floor. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Corona props herself up on an elbow and gives her a half-hearted wave.

“Harrow,” says Gideon, sounding breathless. She levers herself up off the ground so that she’s kneeling between Corona’s thighs. 

“You made it,” says Cam. She meets Harrow’s eyes and flicks a glance down at the bag. “I’m glad.”

Harrow lets a conspiratorial smile show, just for a moment. Long enough for Cam to catch while Gideon and Corona are distracted. "I'm glad, too."

The moment passes, and Cam turns to Corona before the blonde can catch on. “Get up,” she tells her, and then, when Cor moans a little and arches on the bench instead of following directions, she infuses warning into her tone-- “I know you can do it.”

Harrow waits until she's sure that Cam has Corona well in hand before turning to Gideon. "I brought you something." She crooks a finger, and Gideon pushes up onto her feet with apparent effort. That means they went hard in their workout. That’s fine. What they're about to do will barely register as a bit of extra conditioning.

"In the bag?" Gideon asks, like she's looking for permission.

This will never fail to make something clutch in Harrow's chest, the way Gideon yields to her when they're in private together. The way her strong, competent girlfriend puts her body and her heart so easily into Harrow's greedy hands. Every time, Harrow swears she'll rise up to deserve it. To hear Gideon tell it, she always does. "Go ahead," Harrow says.

Gideon slides open the zipper. Sees the straps, the silicone. (Everything is purple with gold sparkles, which is the price of letting Coronabeth bankroll the toy box. Not that anyone minds.) " Fuck yes," she murmurs to herself. To Harrow, she adds: "You want me to put this on?"

"Please." Harrow lets the word curl out around both of them, good as her fingers wrapped around Gideon's wrist.

"There's another one here," Gideon observes as she sorts out the straps and puts on her harness. 

Cam saunters over. "I'll take that." She plucks the other harness from the bag and strips off her yoga pants in a blatant display of thigh and buttock that's transparently calculated for Harrow's benefit.

Harrow has no idea how she ended up with a trio of girlfriends who look like this. It doesn't seem just.

And yet there they are, casually stripped to the skin while Harrow hasn't so much as undone a single button of her shirt. Harrow gets to see them happy. It means more than she ever thought she could have.

Even though she prepared for this, it's not the kind of day where she can pull self-confidence around herself like a shroud, muffle out all the loud parts of her brain, disappear into a persona to truly become the girlfriend who can put Gideon on her knees with a gesture, make Coronabeth scream, convince Cam to bare her throat and get herself off grinding against Harrow's thigh. Those are the good days. Today… today is not one of them.

Instead, she searches out the water bottles-- three of them, scattered over the gym and predictable empty.

She collects two in the crook of her arm and brandishes the third as proof of her good intentions. "While you're doing that, I'm going to refill these."

Cam smirks, like she knows what's going on in Harrow's head. (She should. Harrow texted her and told her.) But instead of telling everyone else, she just says: "Hydration is important."

Harrow busies herself at the little sink Gideon installed in the garage-gym, letting the task fill her hands and empty her mind.



By the time Harrow turns back, Cam has finished directing the set-up. She knows the best settings on the gym equipment by heart. It's still breathtaking to look over and see Corona, laid out on all fours over a pair of weight benches with her knees just wider than hip width apart.

It puts Corona's cunt on display, pink and wet with Gideon's saliva, like something out of one of Gideon's magazines. Harrow would feel awkward about it, except that she knows Coronabeth loves this. Cor proves it by looking over her shoulder at Harrow and arching her back while she gives a little wiggle.

"Behave," Cam tells her, adjusting a buckle on her thigh.

Corona stops shaking her rear while Gideon makes her final adjustments. Harrow watches, looking for a place where she can fit herself into the proceedings. Cam catches her eye, and Harrow remembers the message. They’re not wasting time, then.

As discussed via text, Harrow nudges Gideon's shoulder. "Go on. Line yourself up, but don't penetrate her. Not yet."

Gideon, who's a lot sharper than she lets on, sizes Harrow up. "You and Cam planned this."

There's no point in lying. "Yes. Now go."

Gideon wraps a fist around the base of her cock. "Hot damn," she murmurs, mostly to herself, and does as instructed.

It's novel to have Gideon in bed-- or so to speak-- while Gideon still has all her words. Usually, Harrow tries to render her speechless with pleasure as quickly as she can. It's gratifying to know that even in situations like this, Gideon is just as enthusiastic, even though Harrow hasn't overwhelmed her with anything.

At the other end of the bench setup, Cam's on her knees in front of Corona. She's drawn Cor's head up with a hand wrapped around the base of Cor's neck, and Corona's eyes have gone impossibly bright.

"Still okay?" Cam is asking Cor, to the accompaniment of some of the most intense eye contact Harrow has seen in her life. 

"Yes, Cam, please," says Corona.

"Tap out if you need to," Cam reminds her, and then she's guiding the tip of the toy between Corona's lips. They're shiny like Cor reapplied lip gloss before they started, and as Harrow watches Cor's eyes close and her cheeks hollow, sees suspiciously long lashes glint gold against her cheeks-- begins to suspect that she actually did. Apparently, Harrow isn't the only one who got pointed text messages about preparations for the festivities.

Gideon's knuckles have gone pale on the padding of the bench with the effort of remaining still with Coronabeth Tridentarius laid out right in front of her. She's being very patient, poised at Cor's entrance, so Harrow makes her way over to tell her so.

One of the nicest things about having Gideon Nav on her knees is that Harrow doesn't have to reach up to run her nails through the short hairs at the nape of Gideon's neck. She gets to see Gideon glance up at her when she does it, gets to watch Gideon's whole-body reaction to her posture of approval.

Gideon's breath goes ragged when Corona starts to squirm. Cor's making gorgeous muffled noises around the toy in her mouth. Harrow almost wants Cam to make Gideon keep watching this, still and unmoving, trapped in stillness between a threat and a promise. Almost.

Even Harrow isn't that cruel.

Since she's there, she presses her hand to the small of Cor's back, and Cor stops squirming and looks to Cam.

"Look at you," says Cam, evidently well-satisfied with the spectacle and Harrow's negligible contribution. "Go ahead, Gideon. Slow."

Gideon whimpers as she obeys. The long press in draws the first moan from Corona-- not rare; Corona is notoriously vocal-- and Gideon gives them both a moment when she seats herself, hips flush against the voluptuous curves of Corona's derrière. Cor's thighs twitch with the effort of holding still. Cam lets the moment stretch without intervention, and then-- "Well done, both of you. You can move. Make me proud."

The toy in Cor's mouth stifles her cry. Gideon looks like she wants to ease into things, drawing back at a measured pace, but Cor snarls and slams her hips back, anchoring herself with thumbs hooked into Cam's harness.

Gideon's hot focus has gone searing, but she points it safely away from Harrow. "Fine, princess," she says before she lifts Cor's hips slightly and thrusts hard, using the kind of force that Harrow can't tolerate and Coronabeth loves.

It's a glorious cacophony of lewd noises, flesh slapping against flesh as Corona whines and growls and moans loud enough that the neighbors could hear, if all their neighbors weren't currently in this garage-turned-gym. She has no shame. Harrow envies her.

By the strain in Gideon's thighs, Harrow thinks that Gideon's looking for a rhythm, but Corona has gone wild, fucking herself with abandon in spite of an impressive effort from Gideon and Cam to coordinate their movements. Therefore, it isn't surprising when one of Gideon's thrusts coincides with one of Cam's, and Corona chokes on Cam's strap-on.

"Cor? Cor!" Cam snaps, sharp as any of the toys in Harrow's more intense collection, and Corona keens but comes to a stop. Gideon freezes as well, planting her palms on the bench and catching her breath.

Cam pulls on Corona’s hair until violet eyes flutter open and meet hers. “Today? Are you sure?”

Cor can’t talk through the toy in her mouth, but she makes a broken, desperate sound. Apparently, that’s what Cam needed to hear. Her fingers cup the bowl of Corona’s skull delicately, in exquisite contrast to the rough strokes she takes into the back of Corona’s throat. Cor chokes, and chokes again. Tears bead in the corners of her eyes and her hands clench around Cam’s hips for traction.

“You’re gorgeous,” says Cam, over the high-pitched whine Cor can’t stop making.

"Fuck," says Gideon, fervently. She's still frozen, almost as much of a spectator as Harrow is. 

"You're not just there to look pretty, Nav," Cam says. She's admirably composed, given the circumstances, voice betraying only the faintest constriction in her throat as Corona triumphantly swallows her length and leaves a smear of lip gloss on her harness.

"Fuck," says Gideon again. She draws in a ragged breath and begins to move again-- gone are the measured strokes she'd tried to lead with, and in their place shallow rutting. She experiments tentatively with the angle, craning her neck to catch the edges of Corona's face in profile, an effort that turns out to be unnecessary. When she finds it, Corona interrupts a moan with a sharp inhale of breath, just the far side from being accurately described as a squeak.

That leaves Harrow free to revel in the flex of Corona's spine, the gorgeous jiggle of her breasts and belly as she moves against the force of Gideon's thrusts, the subtle collapse of her weight onto the benches as her arms and legs give in to the pleasure. She can tell that Gideon’s tenuous control is slipping by the movement of her shoulders and sharp tilt of her neck. Only Cam would appear unaffected to an outsider-- but Harrow knows her well enough that she can tell by the way Cam shifts her weight from knee to knee that Corona is under her skin in more places than the rows of red crescent-moon fingernail marks.

Harrow doesn't know how Corona is getting enough air as Cam fucks her face, but the steady increase in volume reassures Harrow that she can breathe adequately. There's a faint grey track of mascara running down from the corners of Corona's eyes, and that means premeditation: Harrow has seen Corona cry in earnest with less disruption to her make-up.

Her girlfriends don't need her here. They've already worked through the negotiation and the preparation. Cam asking Harrow to bring the toy bag was a kind touch, but Cam could have just as easily formulated a plan that didn't include her.

Is it strange that being disposable to the scene reassures Harrow? Because they don't need her, but they invited her anyway. Even though Harrow had texted that she wasn't sure she was up to participating-- Cam had made it clear that she was invited. It's an honor.

And, though Harrow will never admit it out loud, this is ridiculously hot. She may be re-evaluating her desired level of hands-on involvement.

While she's thinking about it, she can trail her fingertips over the small of Corona's back, drawing patterns in the sweat misting the skin. She doesn't have to make a decision. Not until she's ready.

Corona lasts longer than Harrow expects before she keens, shudders, and gives Cam's hip two short, sharp taps. Gideon freezes, hips barely an inch from Cor's ass.

Cam pulls herself free. "How are you doing?"

Corona stretches and hums, a movement that impales her on Gideon's strap.

"Words, darling," says Cam.

"So good." Corona's voice is raspy. Her mouth is ruined-- gloss smeared, lips swollen. "Want to taste you."

"No," says Cam, which isn't usual and piques Harrow's interest. "I want to wait. I know you can go again, and I want to finish with you."

"I can't feel my legs," says Corona, in tones that suggest it's meant as a compliment. 

Harrow's pretty sure that's technically inaccurate. Still, in deference to needs as stated-- "Gideon, come here."  At Harrow's command, Gideon pulls out with extreme care and crosses to stand at Harrow's elbow.

"Want to stay and watch?" Gideon asks, which is a leading question and betrays Gideon's preference. But-- Harrow has nothing else planned for the evening, some curiosity about the proceedings to come, and notable interest in giving Gideon the things that she wants.

"Fine," says Harrow.

Gideon settles onto the floor, leaning up against the rack of weights, and pats the mat between her spread thighs. It's a gloriously obscene picture: Gideon, damp red curls on full display below the glistening purple toy still jutting from her hips.

Harrow considers this invitation. "Really, Griddle?"

"I can take it off--"

"No, leave it." It's such a good picture, and it moves something in Harrow she doesn't want to think too closely about. She toys with the top button of her vest, comes to a decision, and shucks the vest, leaving her in her shirtsleeves. It means she can feel the indelicate press of silicone just to the left of her lumbar vertebrae as she leans shamelessly back against Gideon's naked torso.

Gideon's hands settle, warm and heavy, on her hips. An invitation, an offer for comfort, and never a demand. Harrow resists the urge to squirm.

Across the room, Corona has rolled shamelessly off the benches and sprawls over the mats on the floor like a beached starfish.

"Did you think I was done with you?" Cam asks her.

Corona pouts, all gilding and artifice. "Maybe? You won't let me--"

"You have to earn that."

Corona holds out for maybe twenty seconds before all the fight visibly goes out of her posture. "How?"

Cam rakes her eyes over Corona's curves. "Are you too sore to ride me?"

Instead of answering, Cor makes one of her noises.

"Sit on the bench and wait."

Because it's Coronabeth, "sitting" on the bench looks a lot more like posing. It's lost on Cam, who makes her way to the gym sink, where she rinses saliva and lip gloss off the toy in a gymnastic maneuver that showcases her flexibility.

With Gideon behind her, Harrow can't tell which performance she's watching, but either way, it works. Gideon's hands press flat against her hips. Her thumbs slip under the front tail of Harrow's no-longer-tucked shirt and find the soft skin of Harrow's belly. Harrow allows the imposition.

As Cam saunters back and lowers herself to lie supine on the mat, Harrow cranes her neck back to look at Gideon. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Fuck yes." Gideon sounds breathless, but she bends her head to give Harrow the kiss that Harrow hadn't quite wanted to ask for: a simple thing, lips pressed against lips. It grounds Harrow, and she relaxes.

By the time they break apart, Corona has straddled Cam's hips and sunk halfway down onto her. She hooks a hair elastic off her wrist and pulls her blonde curls into a ponytail.

It's probably too late to avoid tangles, Harrow muses, which means it's all for the show. Understandable, because Harrow can see Cam's slack-jawed face from across the room.

Corona leans forward and begins to move on top of Cam, Cam's hands guiding her hips in a show of impressive restraint for anyone who has The Breasts bouncing in their face.

Then again, Cam has always had more restraint than Gideon, whose hands are sneaking up under Harrow's shirt to her rib cage.

Harrow doesn't allow her eyes to budge from the show Cam and Cor are putting on for them. She pitches her voice so that only Gideon will hear it clearly. "If you're going to put your hands there, Griddle, do something useful with them."

Gratifyingly, Gideon's abs clench. A startle reflex. Harrow has scored a point.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Harrow goes on. "You aren't subtle, Griddle."

No startle here-- that's expected-- but there is a faint press of the toy against Harrow's lower back. Gideon can't keep her hips still.

"You mean I can--" Gideon sounds overawed. That never changes, no matter how many times Harrow offers Gideon her chest.

"Don't keep me waiting."

Without further delay, Gideon presses her palms over Harrow's breasts.

It's barbells today, and they have to catch their breath in unison when Gideon's thumbs find the little balls that flank Harrow's nipple.

"Have I ever told you how fucking hot these are?" Gideon pulls on the barbell, a gentle tug that nevertheless sends Harrow's head crashing back into Gideon's shoulder.

She has, but rarely in the moment. It's safer if Harrow captures all of Gideon's attention straight off the bat and locks her words away with it. "Don't you dare stop." She can't keep the words from coming out a little breathless. It feels so good.

Before them, Cam has also succumbed to the pull of nipple: she's crunched up to get her mouth on Cor's tits. Corona guides Cam’s face where she wants it with one hand on Cam’s jaw, utterly shameless, glorying in her element.

It makes Harrow bold.

She unbuttons her trousers and slides her hand into her underwear. It really does not take a lot, not with two of her girlfriends blatantly fucking in front of her and Gideon solid at her back with her hands up Harrow's shirt. Her release threatens her with the first firm push of finger on clit, and she pulls back accordingly. 

Gideon's breath curls around the Harrow's helix cuff. "Do you want me to--?"

"I want your hands exactly where they are." Harrow forms the words haltingly. Gideon's palms are so big and so rough, and Harrow's nipples fit so well between Gideon's fingers. Gideon can hook a phalange under either side of each barbell and roll her palms until Harrow quivers into pieces under her hands.

"All right, night boss," says Gideon. It's not submission but diminutive, affection in the syllables whatever the dictionary has to say about anything.

Harrow rubs the outside of her own vulva and lets Gideon carry her over the first crest.

Across the room, Corona is slowing down. Harrow comes again, gently, while Corona eases herself carefully off of Cam's strap, a third time while Cam pushes Corona onto her back, straddles her torso, and begins working her way up. They're talking-- Harrow can see their lips moving-- but Harrow's ear is pressed hard against Gideon's sternum and she can't hear the details. Gideon's heartbeat thuds in time with her own, and that's more important than anything anyone could say right now.

Eventually, Harrow pulls her hand out of her underwear and bats Gideon's hands away from her breasts. "I suppose you think you've earned a reward." Orgasm has sharpened her into a glittering creature. Not a universally-beloved butterfly like Corona-- maybe a beetle, all hard carapace and sharp pincers.

Behind her, Gideon chokes. "Harrow--"

But Harrow doesn't need begging, not tonight. Not when Gideon has all her joined-up words and has been murmuring filth into her ear all night. She slides her hand behind her, finds Gideon where she's drenched, flattens her palm. It’s awkward to maneuver around the harness, but Gideon is far too worked up to care.

"Harrow, fuck, Harrow," Gideon chants into her ear, as Harrow's fingertips slide over her slick folds.

Enough of this angle. Harrow loses her patience and twists around, shoves Gideon down onto her back. "You've been so patient, haven't you?"

"God, Harrow--"

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes-- " Gideon uses a tone that makes Harrow consider wrenching the toy from its harness and using it on her, but it's just so delicious to have Gideon sprawled out beneath her with purple silicone jutting up uselessly into the air.

"Good," says Harrow with finality, and bends over Gideon to fuck her in earnest. This angle is a lot better, and sweat mists Harrow's brow as she finds the driving pace that will make Gideon squirm under her.

On a whim, Harrow unbuttons her shirt with her off-hand, wrenches up her undershirt. It's absolutely awkward, but well worth it when Gideon's eyes fix onto her nipples and Gideon's hips jolt onto her hand. 

Vaguely, she senses Corona's hands skimming down her body and between her legs to finish herself off as Cam trembles on top of her. She lets it recede into the background, because she needs all her faculties to cope with the woman in front of her.

Harrow can tell Gideon is trying to behave, to help, to work with her to make this good for both of them. But there are no handholds on the smooth mat of their home gym, and unless she's restrained, Gideon writhes. Harrow wishes that she could keep up with the kind of abandon Cor used to fuck herself earlier, but they've learned how fragile Harrow's bones are the hard way, during the Great Lawn Game Debacle. (In retrospect, Harrow should have known better than to jump off the gazebo roof onto Gideon's back in order to distract Gideon from scoring the go-ahead point. She blames the combination  of alcohol and competitive contagion, and does a better job of minding her own limits now.) So: Gideon can't stop writhing, Harrow likes her wrists in the proper number of pieces, and Harrow doesn't yet know how to reconcile these facts. It's not a problem yet, because Gideon loves being denied, but eventually Harrow's fingers will prune and even Gideon will want release more than the thrill of the game.

She’s thankful when Corona comes over, all mussed hair, smeared makeup, and flushed cheeks, to catch up Gideon's flailing hands. "This okay?"

"It's perfect." Harrow smiles, the kind with teeth in. Gideon, who knows how this goes when Cor's there to help, swears and cranes her face so that Cor can kiss her. That leaves Harrow free to fuck Gideon properly, with all her weight leaning on one of Gideon's heavily-muscled thighs.

After the build-up, it doesn't take long before Gideon shatters in a torrent of profanity. Harrow works her through it, judges when the sensitivity overtakes the pleasure, and withdraws, leaving Gideon sprawled on the floor to catch her breath. It is triumph, sublime and irrevocable, to have done this with them.

"How are you doing, Harrow?" Cam asks as Harrow tugs her camisole back over her breasts.

"Very well," says Harrow, meaning that they don't need to continue on her behalf. She could go again if she wanted to, probably, but she'd rather drag Gideon into the shower and scrub all the sweat off her girlfriend's skin. Maybe leave a couple extra marks to go with it. Then, once she's clean, she can wrap herself up in the ludicrously fluffy hoodie Gideon had gotten for her their second Christmas together, the one with the plush embellishment. (“What is this even supposed to be?” Harrow had asked, fingers moving convulsively over the soft fabric. “A dragon,” Gideon had said. “So I can be a knight, and then you can eat me.” Harrow had shoved her away, and then put the hoodie on anyway.)

When they’re all out of the shower, they can eat actual dinner. Harrow will make sure none of them fall back into bed together before they consume nutrition, which is a role reversal that still warms her heart.

She's got her buttons done up before Gideon struggles into a seated position. “Cam, did you know Harrow would join us?”

"I invited her," says Cam, trying to seem neutral and inscrutable rather than smug and well-fucked.

"You knew she'd want in." Gideon shimmies out of the harness and retrieves her clothes-- folded!-- from behind the chalk bin.

"I had a guess," says Cam, and then, "I had hopes."

Harrow takes hold of Gideon's wrist and struggles with words. There's too much emotion, and she doesn't want to make a big deal of it-- this thing where she can have them like this when she's in the mood, and in a thousand other ways when she's not. And, in the end, she doesn't have to say anything at all: Cam squeezes her shoulder and Cor bumps her hip, and then Gideon follows her up the stairs and into the shower.

She's so damn lucky.