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as holy as a prayer

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Just to make things clear, Harrowhark didn’t mean to fall asleep. She definitely didn’t mean to fall asleep like this, pressed close into Gideon, her nose pressed to Gideon’s neck and their bodies intertwined like lovers. Still, here she is, squinting against the bright morning light of Canaan House, in a bed that is decidedly not her own and fully secured in the strong, muscular arms of her cavalier. It was a moment of weakness that had even led Harrow to Gideon’s bed— for sleeping only, mind you— and Harrow planned to leave once Gideon fell asleep. Instead, it seems Harrow fell asleep first.

Harrow lifts her head from the crook of Gideon’s neck and tries hard not to stare. There’s a light dusting of freckles that have started to appear on her cavalier’s face smooth face, the small and admittedly endearing smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she sleeps. And of course, there’s Gideon’s arms. They’re wrapped tightly around Harrow’s middle, sitting smooth and toned, at the perfect viewing height to admire, to think about them straining with strength and effort as Gideon hovers over her, that ridiculously hot smirk on her lips as she leans down to leave a bruising kiss on the side of Harrow’s neck.

Quickly, Harrow shuts down that thought. She is not going there, she refuses to admit that her mind has ever gone there. But as Harrow shifts in Gideon’s hold, trying to squirm her way out before her thoughts wander into a more dangerous zone, she realizes that the reason Gideon’s biceps look so defined is because she is holding Harrow quite tightly. So tight, in fact, there’s no way for Harrow to escape.

This is not hot, Harrow reminds herself. It is not arousing in the slightest, it’s inconvenient and inappropriate and— she moves again and accidentally grounds into Gideon’s hard, muscular thigh, which had slipped between Harrow’s legs sometime in the night.

Harrow breathes in sharply at the pressure, holds herself together for approximately two more seconds, then resigns herself to her horny fate. The Ninth House has always prided itself on discipline, Crux had always told Harrowhark how well she holds herself together, but she’s never been good at it when it comes to Gideon Nav.

As subtly as she can, Harrow pushes into Gideon again, more intentionally this time. Her head swims and she bites back a moan as her clit drags along Gideon’s thigh. Harrow glances up at Gideon, whose eyes are still shut and breathing evenly. Once sure that she’s still asleep, Harrow grinds into Gideon again, over and over at a steady pace. Her eyes are squeezed firmly shut and her breath is coming out in staccato panting, but Harrow doesn’t care. At any moment Gideon could wake, but instead of mortification it only sends another shock of thrill and arousal down between Harrow’s legs.

She allows herself to think of Gideon as she moves against her, to imagine that the other girl is awake and enjoying this as much as Harrow is, perhaps rubbing herself against Harrow’s bony side at the same time and never letting go. Her muscles would bulge and pull Harrow even closer to her, like she wanted them to become one, and she’d get Harrow off with hooded eyes and the deep moans that Harrow always pretended not to hear coming from her cell late at night.

Harrow lets one hand gingerly run up the length of Gideon’s arm as she angles her hips to slide against her thigh again. She wants to leave marks on the tanned skin, the crescent moons of her short nails and a trail of hot, sticky saliva as she leaves her mark on Gideon. As she lays her claim and her devotion.

This is not the first time that Harrow has pleasured herself to Gideon, even if not physically against her. After searing arguments and close fights that easily could’ve evolved into fists or kisses, Harrowhark has stomped off to her private quarters with an arm shoved beneath her robes and reanimated skeletal hands pulling at her short hair like she desperately wants to feel Gideon’s do. Her mind is well versed in conjuring images of Gideon Nav on her knees at Harrow’s feet, mouth hot and wet between her legs. It’s as practiced as painting a skull on her face in the morning, as holy as a prayer.

All at once, as she needily grinds on Gideon’s bare thigh, enclosed in her arms and pushed on by her hot breaths— breaths Harrow can easily imagine are purposeful, and turned on against the shell of her ear and back of her neck— it feels completely new. It feels like the first time she successfully moved bones from a plate, it feels like taking off in a ship taking her away from the Ninth House, it feels like—

“Gideon,” Harrow all but whimpers as she nears her climax.

Her movements are practically feverish now, pushing down onto Gideon like it’s her newest religion, moaning and rolling her hips and pressing her face back into the addictive smell of sweat at the nape of Gideon’s neck. At this point, Gideon’s leg is slick with Harrow, she slides against the toned muscle with ease.

Harrow’s hands are fisted tight in Gideon’s flimsy undershirt, and she wants, oh does God fucking know how she wants to pull it right off, to take in Gideon’s enticing breasts properly and pull her nipples, hardened most likely from the chill, into her mouth and never let go. To bite and lick and extract every plea and moan from Gideon Nav’s goddamn mouth. No, she needs it.

She runs her tongue over her wet lips, trying to imagine the taste of Gideon, thick and intoxicating. She pictures the way Gideon would be wet as she is panting in Harrow’s ear, something that feels so real in this moment, and begging to eat her out. Harrow thinks about the way she’d run her thin fingers against Gideon’s clit, slow and teasing before pushing her fingers inside her. She’d make Gideon moan so loud that every goddamn House in the galaxy might hear her, might know that it was Harrow who made Gideon Nav come the hardest she ever will. Harrow would make her feel so good that she’d be left with bruise marks where Gideon clung to her with all her ridiculous strength.

It’s that thought that sends Harrow over the edge, and as she cries out, grinding harder and faster into Gideon’s thigh for more, Gideon’s arms force Harrow further into her chest, and she feels even more than hears Gideon moan into her hair, stuttering and weak, “Fuck, Harrow!”

Gideon pushes her hips up into Harrow right as Harrow is grinding down, and their moans of pleasure blend together as Harrow then Gideon come. They move against each other a few more times through it, and Harrow can’t resist pressing a searing, open mouthed kiss on Gideon’s lips. Gideon immediately reacts, her tongue licking into Harrow’s mouth with the same desperation she feels in herself. For the next few moments, or perhaps an hour, hands roam beneath shirts and saliva drips from open mouths, and it should be disgusting but Harrow’s never found anything hotter in her life.

Finally, after collecting her thoughts a bit, Harrow pulls away. She looks down at Gideon, straddled between her legs. There’s a fine line of spit spanning between their mouths, and Harrow severs it with her tongue, a movement not lost on Gideon, whose golden eyes grow darker.

“When did you wake up?” She tries to sound demanding, but it comes out as a breathless pant instead, her cheeks bright red.

Gideon has the audacity to grin at her, smugness dripping off of her in waves. “Before you decided to start the hot morning sex. Thanks, by the way, no complaints from my end, my shadow mistress.”

Harrow stares at her, incredulous. She wants to make another hole to swallow her into the ground. “You— you were —Griddle, what the actual fuck! You just let me think—what the fuck!”

Gideon laughs. “Relax,” she says, tilting Harrow’s chin down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is fond and casual, and somehow that makes Harrow’s heartrate rise even higher. “It was good. Like, really good.” She slides her hand down Harrow’s body slowly, over her breasts and stomach and hips, stopping on her inner thigh. Harrow makes no move to stop her. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind going again, maybe contribute a bit more in all my sexy glory.”

Despite being quite turned on, Harrow rolls her eyes. “I cannot stand you,” she tells Gideon primly.

“We’ll see about that,” Gideon hums. Harrow opens her mouth to reply, but the thought flees as Gideon lightly pushes Harrow onto her back and pushes her legs open.

As Gideon descends on her rapidly throbbing cunt, Harrow decides this is more important anyway.