Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Wicked Witch of the West made great, hefty swoops through the sky, putting her earned skills of airborne travel to effective use. The end of her battered broomstick cut straight through the air, with her leaning forward to expedite her journey just beneath the clouds. The icy wind rippled through her clothing as well as hit her hands and face rather harshly, though she had grown fond of the chilling touch as her years of soaring passed.

Despite the bitter and bleak climate around, Elphaba would periodically feel a hearty pulse of warmth emanate from her chest and spread through her body, a pleasant, even comforting feeling settling in her limbs. The sensations also came accompanied, she noticed, by a queer rising feeling in her chest, as if with heavy anticipation. Of course, this had nothing to do with the act of flight itself, or fear that someone might spot her, for she now lacked any apprehension of governmental seizure. She was well accustomed to the fact that, in order for the land of Oz to function in the way The Wizard intended, fear must burn in the hearts of every Ozian; and so, the Wicked Witch of the West must always remain.

No, her anticipation had more to do with her soon-approaching destination. As she neared it, the streams of yellow brick twisting and winding up luscious, green hills, her face relaxed. Where all of these roads converged was, of course, the strikingly glamorous and equally strikingly green Emerald City. The brilliant towers which stretched far into the sky, nearly at her level of elevation, glimmered vibrantly even when enveloped in the blanket of night. The soft, pale moonlight bounced upon every surface of the glassy city, causing the entire capital to emit a constant viridescent glow.

Elphaba had no trouble locating the destination, partially due to the aforementioned illumination of the capital, but she figured that even if she were completely blind, she’d know just which protruding tower to dip down into.

It was the one in which Glinda the Good Witch resided, of course.

And this visit held a different quality, for everyone in Oz knew, including herself, that Glinda the Good and Captain of the Guard, Fiyero Tigelaar, had been newly betrothed to one another. 

Even with the blackness of the sky, the Emerald City was bustling with all sorts of people, commoners and royal guards alike, all playing their merry part in this theatrical mock-up of a civilization. With the city’s liveliness buzzing below her and every gateway mightily guarded, Elphaba thought it smart to maintain a dashing pace. 

Certainly, she didn’t harbor any serious fear of getting caught; it was more so that it was such a nuisance to endure the spectacle that comes with being spotted when one is a Wicked Witch. Each time a commoner pointed up into the air with a shaky finger and gasping mouth, thus sounding the alarm of another hate campaign, it seemed that the number of wanted posters with her face multiplied the very next day. And particularly now, with the enthusiasm surrounding Glinda and Fiyero’s marriage, the last thing she needed was a hysteria concerning her being seen in the heart of the city. 

Scowling even at the thought, she gripped the length of her faithful broom, long fingers grating against the worn wood, and soared high above to keep a safe distance. Then, when she knew she was obscured enough, dove headfirst towards a specific tower—one of the lower ones, Elphaba was amused to note. How noble of the Good Witch, choosing to stomach the sight of every-day people on the street when peering over her balcony. 

Elphaba caught herself in the air, hovering above the balcony’s balustrades just briefly to peer through the sliding glass door which led into the Good Witch’s bedchamber. Though she couldn’t see much in the dimly lit room, the faint candlelight at its farthest wall was enough to allow a rush of energy to surge through her, a juvenile thrill as to who awaited behind the glass.

Every interaction she’d had with the political captive brought forth a familiar sort of catty dialogue between them, littered with bitter criticism and sentimental, personal attacks. The women would shoot poison at the other, each word laced with mockery and misdirected anger that aimed to hurt. It was when either one experienced the most powerful feelings they would have in months.

Elphaba knew it to be true on Glinda’s part because when she’d arrive, the Good Witch always had on her stony, frankly miserable face that she wore when alone, and spoke to her in a short, curt manner—but as they’d fall into their inevitable argument, it seemed that the spitting remarks would just spill from her. Her face would grow red with fury, she’d throw whatever important parchment she was holding to the wind, choosing to ball her fists instead, and stomp her heel a bit childishly. It was so clear that Glinda’s words had been brewing in her mind for who knows how long, and this was her opportunity to let everything explode. It was a sort of anger that was exhilarating and freeing—a feeling which Glinda certainly wasn’t allowed to have.

Elphaba knew it to be true on her own part because, of course, she felt it herself. When Glinda begrudgingly met her eye, she felt the hair on her neck rise along with the speed of her beating heart. Immediately, she itched for the arguing. And then it would come, slowly and subtly, through little remarks, and when it was Elphaba’s turn to get angry, she was almost quaking with suspense. She felt said anger pulse through her fingertips and pound through her head, and for once allowed it to explode out of her mouth. 

It was the sole instance in which either woman could afford to get overtly emotional, both being someone who lived in their own version of solitude and thus harbored immense suppression.

This is why Elphaba’s thumb tapped fervently at her broomstick as she dismounted, and why she felt a tugging at the corner of her lips as she approached the sliding glass. Behind it would be someone who wasn’t out to destroy her, or shriek in terror; those came very few nowadays. 

She looked to see that the emerald-colored security bar wasn’t in place tonight. She grabbed the marble handle, and gradually slid the mass of green-stained glass to the left.

Well-versed in the art of secrecy and invisibility, Elphaba made sure to move the door with absolute silence. Her heels were soundless as she placed one foot over the boundary line and into the spacious room.

Her eye was first drawn, as it had been the two times she’d visited before, to the head of rather frazzled, golden hair facing the wall. Glinda the Good was sat at the end of the room in a magnificently gilded chair—a throne, should Elphaba call it?—with her arms atop a fine mahogany desk while she leant over, apparently hard at work. She had one hand entangled in her silky scalp, pushing her weight on that elbow, the other holding a large, white quill and scratching away.

She found Glinda’s bedchamber to be a rather fascinating place in comparison to the rest of the Emerald City, for it was the only site in the capital that wasn’t so absurdly green. She wondered how well Morrible and the Wizard took to that, but she also doubted they visited the place often.

The enormous bed, positioned off to the left, was surely spacious enough to fit a menagerie, and cloaked with luxury, cashmere linens of a deep navy color—though, the linens weren’t neatly tucked in, and instead bunched up and uneven. The canopy’s frame was a rich, dark wood gilded with a humble silver that traversed down to the bedposts. White drapes of a thin silk cascaded down one of the bed’s sides, the other one hanging haphazardly above the canopy. Through the silk, Elphaba could see sky-blue satin pillows strewn about the bed messily. 

She pulled her eyes to the wardrobe armoires and tall dressers lined around the perimeter of the room, cabinets and drawers opened to varying degrees and overflowing with its contents. Those varied as well, from piles of lavish clothing to stacked parchment sheets and folders threatening to spill over every drawer.

The disorderly nature of the scene was highly unusual for Glinda. Elphaba allowed herself to slip into the memory of their shared dorm at Shiz, how vexingly spick and span her portion of the room was, and how she’d constantly badger Elphaba to straighten things up on her side (despite them being perfectly neat to Elphaba’s standards). She extracted herself from the memory, so as to stop the perfume and warmth from filling her head all over again. 

Due to the vast distance between Elphaba, standing just in front of the balcony, and Glinda the Good, seated across the room, Elphaba surmised that she wouldn’t be able to walk over without her footsteps making at least a little noise. So, she mounted her broom and promptly hovered above the rug-cloaked floor, not needing to grip the broomstick for such a short trip. 

The room was rather gloomy, shrouded in shadows with only a faint glow coming from where Glinda sat. She neared Glinda's throne, peering over her shoulder to see a lone candle flickering softly, as well as disorderly stacks of parchment littered across the desk’s surface. 

Even with Glinda’s apparent fatigue—and perhaps frustration, what with her hand gripping at her hair—it was a mellow scene. Softly blurred and domestic.

“Hullo, Glinda the Good,” Elphaba said.

She saw a sliver of Glinda’s rich hazel eye as she slightly turned her head, before the Good Witch screamed and sprung from her seat. In doing so, she thrust the magnificent throne back into Elphaba’s broomstick, causing her to just barely falter mid air.

“For the love of all that is Good!” Glinda shrieked. She clutched her quill with such intensity that a few feathers from its vane fell to the floor, and iron gall ink splattered in her palm.

Elphaba peered down at her, expression calm. What a fitting choice of exclamation. Even what folks shout in surprise is rehearsed here…

As Glinda stood bolt upright with a delightfully stricken expression, Elphaba was now offered the sight of her luxurious, dark-crimson robe, which she held tightly across her chest in shock. Long and elegant, it was trimmed with fur and had intricate, embroidered patterns all along its outer lining. The velvet parted mid-calf, which shadowed her matching fur slippers. How darling!

“What in—?” Glinda craned past Elphaba to see the opened sliding glass door, then stared back up at her, fire in her eyes. Perhaps it was the candlelight. “How did you—!”

“Finish a sentence and I may be able to provide an answer,” Elphaba said, not having moved an inch since Glinda jumped from her seat.

“Why do you choose to plague me so!” Glinda burst out, hands balled at her sides.

Elphaba turned on her broom, drifting about the air in a casual way and raking her eyes over the grandiose room, as if she just now thought to survey it.

“A plague, am I?” she asked impassively.

“Yes, a curse! A hex!” In her peripherals, Glinda cast her quill to the desk in a forceful way. “You’ve bewitched me, haven’t you?”

Her lips curled at one corner, and she turned to meet Glinda’s gaze. “Do you feel bewitched by me?”

Silence hung between them, so thick that Elphaba felt it in each slow breath she took. Glinda’s big eyes searched hers, lips parting and eyebrows raising for just a moment, before she tightened her jaw and furrowed her brow. Elphaba quirked her head to the side, satisfied.

Glinda threw a frustrated hand in the air and whipped around, her fine, golden curls bobbing over her shoulders. She gathered a disordered stack of parchment and tapped them on their narrow edge to bring them together neatly.

Elphaba’s eye lingered on her hands, slender and delicate as ever, though she noted faint wrinkles on her knuckles and a natural tremor to them. Her eyes flitted up to the Good Witch’s face, and for the first time, she saw the indents along her forehead and between her narrow brows. Behind her eyes was an ever present sagacity and complexity that very rarely revealed itself when she was Miss Galinda Upland, her horrible roommate. Yet it was constant, Elphaba came to realize amidst her visits.

She also caught sight of the thin, silver band around her fourth digit, which Glinda hadn’t had on display during her last visit. It was simple and gleaming and real and Elphaba looked away.

A queer notion which Elphaba wasn’t keen on confronting trickled into her head just then—that Glinda might really have grown into a different woman. Not a new woman, rather one that Elphaba just didn’t know. 

She was conscious of her own advancing years, and supposed she might have the same traits, if she cared to find a mirror. And she seldom found herself anywhere near water, so she wouldn’t ever be subject to her reflection… The weight of time settled uncomfortably atop her shoulders, and she suddenly felt the need to shake it off.

Elphaba surged forward on her broom and hovered at Glinda’s side. 

“I always marvel at how bland this space is,” she remarked, gazing around again at the oddly unfurnished room and high ceilings. Granted, there were a few cabinets, a bed, and a desk, but it truly was barren, given how spacious it was. “Though, it’s touching how humble you remain, Glinda the Good.” 

Wherever the Good Witch moved as she gathered up whatever it was from the desk, Elphaba followed, always in her peripherals. Glinda had a rigid, constricted face, but was rather bug-eyed as she determinedly ignored her.

“It’s terrible how hard they work you, really.” Glinda swiftly turned on her heel and started across the room. Elphaba dipped down and accelerated her broom at a steady pace which matched Glinda’s walking speed. She leaned forward, hands resting atop the broomstick casually. “I think I can see your under-eye circles. Do you rest well, Glinda? It’s much needed, and for someone as spry and lively as I”—Glinda’s lips tightened; Elphaba’s smiled—“my slumber is of the highest concern to me.”

Glinda arrived in front of an unorganized dresser and pulled out a large envelope, stuffing the stack of parchment inside unceremoniously.

“I hear of a wedding,” Elphaba said. She rode up to the highest point of the dresser and sat atop it, broomstick laid beside her.

With a subtle roll of the eyes and a click of her tongue, Glinda sifted through a catalogues of folders.

“Ah, Fiyero,” she sighed. “Charming Fiyero. How is he, anyhow?”

Glinda didn’t cease her searching, but her hand on the drawer’s handle tightened. “As though you haven’t a clue.”

“I sincerely don’t;” Elphaba said, not bothered, “why, he hasn’t dropped by in so long now.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Glinda said, shoulders tensing as her hands searched with more vigor. “What was it? Two months?”

“That is fairly distant, Glinda the Good,” Elphaba said, patronizingly.

A visible shiver ran down Glinda’s neck, and she squinted for a moment, holding something back. Elphaba was getting tired of Glinda avoiding her gaze. Yes, it was that horribly-concealed facade of disinterest she always put on, she knew, but still, couldn’t she spare her a glance or two?

It was of note that Glinda only chose to speak when it was to attack Fiyero and Elphaba’s meetings. This was a reoccurring event that held true in both of Elphaba’s previous visits. Perhaps it was the safest thing to mention first, so Glinda felt more willing to speak when he was brought up. He was the only thing connecting the two aside from themselves. 

“You’re thrilled for wedlock, I’m certain,” Elphaba said, dropping down from the cabinet with her broomstick in one hand, her feet meeting the floor for the first time. “The exuberance radiating off your every feature is a bit much. You could bother to tone it down.”

Glinda swiveled away from Elphaba, clutching a few folders in her arms and making her way back to her mahogany desk. Elphaba followed on her feet quickly, an indignance rising in her chest. She didn’t think she could tolerate another second of seeing the back of those bouncing curls, no matter how fine they were.

“It’s a pledge to a permanently loveless life,” Elphaba called. “You trap yourself needlessly, going through with it. Do you know how to do anything but trap yourself?”

Glinda’s steps stuttered and she came to a slow halt. Staring at the back of her stilled, silent figure brought upon a hollow dread inside of Elphaba.

“You make it a point to bedevil me,” Glinda’s voice came with a tremor, “to torture me, and I cannot, were I given a millennia, think up a reason as to why.”

Elphaba’s skin prickled.

“I am here, and I never leave”—Glinda turned to face Elphaba, growing louder—“and you seize that opportunity. You relish in seeing me in bonds. I have a public to attend to, a civilization, a country, as well as a husband, and a Wizard. I’m sorry that you cannot fathom the significance of anything besides your own wicked business, but this does hold significance. What I do matters.”

“My wicked business,” Elphaba started hotly, “is that what you call it?”

“I don’t know what to call it, Elphaba!” Glinda shouted, throwing her envelopes to the floor with outstretched arms. “For you still, even as a fugitive with nothing to lose, remain obscured in the shadows of your reticence.” She advanced slowly, and Elphaba’s chest rose and fell unsteadily. “You’re arrogant to a degree I can’t even begin to wrap my head around! You tell no one anything, out of fear you dare not confront, and have the cheek to come here and behave so slovenly and self-assuredly.”

“Fear!” Elphaba exclaimed, feeling the heat rush to her head. She leant back and unleashed a cackle. “Fear is not what I harbor, you silly woman, and not for anyone belonging to the Emerald City, most certainly!”

“You dare to call me a silly woman?” Glinda’s eyes were bulging, utterly stunned. “You still have no idea just how valiantly I’ve run this sinking ship of a city! You still think I’m Galinda, don’t you?”

Her gaze pierced Elphaba with cold contempt and her lip was curled with a touch of disgust. Elphaba sought to match it.

“No,” Elphaba said simply, with a brief head shake. “No, Galinda is gone. Galinda and I had a common motive, a common dream. Galinda and I—” An image from lifetimes ago, centuries ago flashed through her mind—of the Ozdust Ball. Galinda’s cradling, warm thumb swiped her tears away, her immensely profound eyes gazed into her bleary ones. 

Her gut twisted, and she willed herself to pull herself from the wretchedly tender memory. “Galinda and I had an understanding of each other. She peered through my soul and has been the only person to have done so since.”

Glinda searched her in that painful way, her eyebrows threatening to turn upward.

“But she’s gone. Dead.” Elphaba clutched her broomstick with an iron grip. “Though, she didn’t die that dusk when I departed—that was still a tender, wracked Galinda, which I have…which I had the utmost sympathy for.” 

She swallowed, her temper rising with each second Glinda dared to listen to her. She should’ve scoffed and turned away, she should’ve interrupted her, she should’ve left the room—but she stood, watching Elphaba intently.

“No, it was afterward,” Elphaba continued, “when she looked upon the magnificence and glamour of this city, when she heard the sweet songs of praise, when she looked at Morrible and the Wizard, and thought, ‘Although this is rather stifling, perhaps I could climb my way up. Perhaps it’s best to go with the safe path.’ That was when my good friend Galinda died.”

Glinda, having remained eerily statuesque during Elphaba’s spill of feelings, allowed herself to blink and raise her head to survey Elphaba.

“Now all that is left is a mere character,” Elphaba said. “Glinda the Good Witch.” A poisonous laugh escaped her. “Please.”

“It is not needless,” Glinda said quietly.

Elphaba had to search for what she was referring to. The marriage, did she mean? What had she said herself? Her eyes, against all of her wishes, snapped to the band of silver around her finger, repulsion swelling in her chest.

“Explain it to me,” Elphaba replied, leaning on one heel. “Explain to someone as wicked and black-hearted as I how a miserable matrimony with a miserable man is the smart political play.”

“It is meant to happen,” Glinda said through gritted teeth, though her chestnut eyes flitted about in a shrinking way. “It was—carved in stone the day I joined this empire. It is the natural next step. What, are we supposed to stay in a juvenile courting stage forever? We mature, and with that comes the necessary consequences following our decisions.”

“You speak of marriage as a consequence!” Elphaba ejaculated, throwing her hand up.

“He’s yours, anyhow!” Glinda shouted. “What is it you desire from me? What else can I say? You know his heart belongs to you; why do you come along and thrust the fact upon me endlessly? You know the marriage has no sentiment. Do you get a wicked thrill hearing me say it? Is that what you want?”

“I haven’t thought about Fiyero since I arrived on your balcony.”

“You’re a damned liar, clamoring for attention, and I’m the only one who you can extract it from.” 

“I? Clamoring for attention?” Elphaba said. She couldn’t even find it in her to laugh. “I, and not yourself?” Instead, she hardened her face. “On that day, you signed a contract to make it your life’s purpose to clamor for attention. Don’t force your sick burdens onto me.”

“Correct, you!” Glinda insisted. “You clamor for attention! You who speak to no one, you who have no friends but the wild’s animals, you who visit your old friend’s bedchamber in the dead of night to terrorize her!”

“You pray for my terrorizing!” Glinda’s breath hitched. Elphaba felt an inward triumph, having struck the correct chord. “You dream of it! There’s no place else where you feel so much as when I’m in this room.”

And an odd thing happened: Glinda's eyes raked over Elphaba’s form rapidly, then drifted up to her eyeline, where they fluttered and held a hunger that Elphaba hadn’t seen in so long—before they snapped shut tightly. 

Elphaba, disconcerted, reviewed her own words to explain the reaction. She couldn’t really have dreamt of it, could she have? Was it perhaps the wording of ‘feel so much’ that evoked something within Glinda? Was it the assertiveness of such a bold statement? Glinda did like a brazen quality from Elphaba, once upon a time…

“St—stop,” came a murmur from Glinda. She looked to the ground in a rather distressed way. 

Elphaba didn’t stop, of course.

“It means nought,” Elphaba said, “that the people of Oz believe you to be the savior of our society, the celestial spirit of charity, the benevolent epitome of goodness. You can propagate my wickedness, how every Ozian should be frightful of fabricated stories, but—”

“They frighten each other with their own stories.”

“Be it what it would,” Elphaba disregarded, eyes narrowing, “you’re their advocate for all things against me. But they’ll never know that when you lay your pretty head on your pillow every evening, the star of your dreams is none other than the Wicked Witch of the West.” Elphaba took a step closer. “That’s so, isn’t it, Glinda the Good?”

Glinda held her robe close to her chest and curled in on herself, shaking her head. “Don’t—don’t call me by that name.”

Elphaba’s eyebrows raised. 

“Do you concede?” she asked with wonder. “Do you truly admit, to the Wicked Witch’s face, that perhaps you aren’t the goodliest?” A dark eye, veiled in the shadow of its furrowed brow, opened to glare up at Elphaba. “That, perhaps, you’re flawed like any other? Like myself?”

“I admit,” Glinda said shakily, “that when you call me it, the title is tainted by your persisting scorn and mockery. If you see me as just Glinda, be as respectable as you claim to be and call me by that.”

Elphaba relaxed. “What does your betrothed Fiyero Tigelaar call you by?” She was eager for Glinda to flare up again. “It’s hard to imagine what affectionate names a despairing man such as himself would use.”

As expected, Glinda did flare up.

“Wedlock is what’s right,” she stated firmly. “Shouldn’t you understand following your head rather than heart?”

And like a perfect dance, Elphaba flared up as well.

“I shouldn’t, for I never have!” Her bottom lip quivered, fury reigniting within her. “Is that what you think that was? Discarding my heart’s desires?”

“Wasn’t it?!” Glinda cried. “Did your heart never lie with…?” She turned away, a hand shielding her face. 

Lie with whom? Lie with what?

And so Elphaba asked: “Where do you think my heart should’ve laid?”

Her own tone may have been, she thought, the softest it had been yet. 

Glinda breathed slow, shallow breaths into her trembling palm, eyes shut tightly. After a moment’s silence, she muttered, solemnly shaking her head, “You can’t be here.”

“Can’t I?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I go wherever I see fit,” Elphaba stated coldly, feeling a regained power. “No force can rid me from that privilege, and every one who has made that effort has suffered defeat.”

Glinda sighed and brought her lithe arms up to clutch her scalp. She seemed so vexed—perhaps in general and with Elphaba—to the point of exhaustion. The cold power Elphaba had felt dissipated into an embarrassed warmth in her cheeks. She suddenly felt rather unintimidating.

“Why are you here?” Glinda said weakly, her golden locks shivered with her grip. “Why? Why is this happening? What have I done to warrant this? Why!”

Elphaba watched the faint glow of the candlelight flicker against her figure as she thought to herself. Her shoulders relaxed. “I…cannot say.” 

For she did not know. She had arrived here under the guise of being interested in the whatabouts of Glinda, particularly due to the upcoming ceremony. There was an eagerness to come that she did not wish to confront, and the more this conversation progressed, the closer she was being pushed to confronting it.

“Your presence,” Glinda said, running a soothing hand down her face, “is not…good for me.”

It was ineloquent wording, much too simple for someone of Glinda’s capacity. And it struck Elphaba in the heart. She took a hesitant step closer.

“It’s not—It only reminds me of…!” The soothing hand wasn’t enough, for Glinda tensed and furrowed her brow all over again. “Oh, just leave…”

Another step. “Glinda.”

Glinda backed away, now hugging her own arms with stiff shoulders. 

“Glinda, you know I can’t stand it when you don’t meet my eye,” Elphaba said lowly, reaching a hand out. 

The action felt innate, as clear as day, and she wondered how long it had been since she reached a generous hand out in that manner. She didn’t know why she held it out, where it was intended to go—her shoulder? Her forearm? Her hand? 

But it was knocked away with a shocking force and a grunt from Glinda, making Elphaba promptly recall why she stopped giving helping hands out so long ago.

The area where Glinda’s hand struck her forearm still ached when she withdrew it back to her side. Elphaba opened her mouth to say something angry, something witty, perhaps something very foolish, something, when Glinda was suddenly in front of her. Two hands gripped at her shoulders, holding Elphaba so securely in a way that made her acutely aware that she hadn’t felt another’s touch in ages.

Glinda’s face was shockingly close, a mere foot away, which was nearer than Elphaba ever expected their distance to get that night. 

Her eyes were shut tightly, her grayish under-eye circles as prominent as ever, head bowing down from what appeared to be physical pain. Her angular visage was more angular than ever—she looked rather gaunt and unwell, so pale that her skin seemed to glow against the soft moonlight, blurring at the edges. The sight had an otherworldly quality to it that was reminiscent of how she’d appear in Elphaba’s visions during sleep. 

Glinda’s rosy lips thinned into a quivering line. “I can’t stand this, I can’t stand you!”

Elphaba respired short, imperceptible breaths, allowing the words to settle between the both of them. They had unfailingly met this point before in past visits, and Elphaba knew it best to let her grapple with her words and choose her next ones carefully. These declarations had yet to be spoken to anyone up until that moment, in a fit of emotion, and one can’t trust another to speak clearly and honestly when overcome with feeling. So she looked at Glinda, into her rich eyes, now wide and stirring, the most lively part of her otherwise dulled face, and waited for her to speak.

“In the purest meaning of the phrase, I can’t stand you,” she said again. “Seeing you! You and all your physicality, right here! Your presence! How could you not understand? Is your social output so scarce that you’re growing dafter by the day?”

The confessions—were they confessions?—struck Elphaba. Well, she supposed she knew that Glinda seeing her might bring upon vexed and unkind feelings, but the meaning behind not being able to stand her seemed to extend past petty annoyance. It was the notion that Elphaba’s physical existence was just too overwhelming for Glinda that made her freeze momentarily.

“It kills me, it brutalizes me! My gut churns and my heart sinks and my limbs go numb and I can’t breathe!” She gripped Elphaba harder now, as if to call for her undivided attention for her next words. She already possessed it, even so. “Do you know that whenever I stroll upon the skirts of this city, I purposefully avert my gaze from the posters with ridiculous mock-ups of you, because even seeing something meant to resemble you is too much?”

Elphaba recalled the exact banners and posters she referred to, the ones of her nasty green face, stretched with wrinkles, and her hands—claws, rather—gesticulating menacingly at passersby on the street. She scowled at viewers with sharp, rotting teeth on display and piercing, yellow eyes, effectively instilling fear in the souls of pliable children and sensible adults alike. 

She blinked, her breath caught in her throat. What did it mean, seeing the posters was too much? When Glinda did let her eyes fall upon the posters, what exactly did she feel?

“Even a shoddy distortion of you is enough to pull me into an inescapable melancholia!” Glinda grasped the fabric of Elphaba’s shoulders, and pushed her with a weak force that nevertheless sent her stumbling back. “Just opening my eyes at daybreak and gazing at the hue of this city is a daily torture!”

Warmth bloomed in Elphaba’s chest, which perhaps shouldn’t be the appropriate response to a despairing woman clutching at her, but the words confirmed the slightest bit of sentimentality within Glinda, which was enough. She suspected that, after the dynamic they once had, Glinda must muse about her the same way she did Glinda, though she often cast the thoughts away, thinking she must be out of her mind. Never in a millennia could she have dreamt up the notion of Glinda loathing the color green because it reminded her of Elphaba.

“And the worst of it? Would you like to know what stamps me into the ground and pulverizes me to bits? It’s when you come along, and have the gall to pretend as if you don’t care. As if this is a joke to you, as if seeing me means nothing anymore!”

Their meetings had never gotten to this point before. Elphaba sincerely didn’t know what to say. 

“But I see through you, just as you said I once did,” Glinda continued, shaking her head resolutely. “I know you feel the same thrills that you claim I feel from this. You can act all you wish, but it’s in vain, for I know you. I know you, Elphaba.”

Elphaba had no courage in her to keep the fire roaring inside of her. So she took just one more step forward, and their bodies almost brushed against each other now. She gazed down at Glinda with an earnestness that felt so foreign for her body, and Glinda gazed back with a sudden fluster.

“What do you know about me, Glinda?” Elphaba asked softly.

She had no expectation of what Glinda would say; perhaps she just needed someone to tell her about herself. Perhaps she needed to hear it from the only one who ever could.

There was a clear shift in Glinda’s demeanor, from indignant to startled to hesitant all in the span of a few fleeting moments. Behind her eyes was a frenzy of thoughts, like a thousand memories had sprung into her consciousness again, and she was sifting through them before Elphaba’s eyes. 

Glinda released a short breath, then caught it again. Like she hadn’t just given a severely wounded and wrathful monologue, she softened completely, as if unable to help it. 

“I…I know you’re the most impassioned person alive in this country.”

Amidst the terribly affectionate proclamation, Elphaba couldn’t help but linger on the word ‘person.’ Since she could form a thought, Elphaba was well aware of her personhood, and knew it was just as worthy as anyone else’s; it was only a matter of grappling with the fact that no one in her life would ever hold that same belief. Once upon a time, one soul did see that personhood, in all its rawness, and that soul slipped away from her. She had gone years afterward being bestialized and denigrated, every day of every year filled with nothing but a promise to herself to keep her integrity and an entire country believing her to be a monstrous demon.

It wasn’t shocking to be called a person, but it had been long enough that the word settled a little heavier in her mind. And then it came to her that the word was spoken by the same mouth that smiled at her with an equalness and respect way back then. 

“And I know that every breath you take is the most valuable breath of all,” Glinda said.

Elphaba raised her brows, as if to say, ‘Is that so?’ A twinge of a smile tugged at Glinda’s mouth, though she didn’t have it in her.

“Not by reason of each breath belonging to a sought-after Wicked Witch, though that may be the reason for the rest of Oz,” Glinda continued, “but by reason of…perhaps you being a considerably valuable thing to me.”

“That’s very self-important of you, Glinda. Your opinion holds more validity than those of the great people of Oz?”

It was a diversion from having to respond with sentimentality, and she expected Glinda to go along with it and tell her to just shut up, or something of the sort. But Glinda blinked, the newfound twinkle in her eyes quickly diminishing any taunting bone in Elphaba’s body. 

“I think it does, when it’s just us here,” Glinda said, voice and demeanor all too tentative. 

An underlying statement was being made, that when the rest of Oz were absent from their subconsciouses, the two witches were the only ones who existed, and therefore held the only opinions which counted. 

Searing heat rippled in Elphaba’s stomach, and she suddenly was aware that their fronts were practically pressed against one another, their difference in stature being the only thing preventing their faces from making contact. Elphaba had never been terribly taller than Glinda, but in this particular instance, with Elphaba wearing humble black heels and Glinda wearing thin night slippers, Elphaba had a few inches on her. 

She brought a spindly green hand up, Glinda’s eyes tracking it immediately as it travelled between them to the pale face. 

When her fingers made contact with Glinda cheek, she first registered the jolt that Glinda made, then the radiating warmth from her face. Her fingertips slowly traced the cheekbone, dipping into the divot of the thinned plane. Wide, chestnut eyes stared at Elphaba almost nervously.

A strange guilt stirred within Elphaba as she surveyed the face of a profoundly fatigued woman. Perhaps it was a general feeling of sympathy or commiseration, but she nevertheless felt a brief responsibility for the sight before her.

“I meant what I said,” Elphaba murmured, thumb moving to caress the cheek. “About it being terrible how hard they work you.”

Glinda exhaled a long breath through her mouth, her chest deflating like it’d been trapped there forever. Her lips moved to speak, but they quivered when she tried, all that left being a small whine. Elphaba’s ear perked up.

“Do you ever imagine it?” Elphaba said, hand dropping to the crook of Glinda’s neck.

“Imagine…” Glinda repeated, eyes fluttering shut, as one trembling hand came to rest at the slope of Elphaba’s chest, atop her sternum.

“If you had come with me?” Elphaba ventured. “How things might have been different?”

A short, strained noise escaped Glinda, like she had been caught of something. 

“I know you don’t mean to jest,” Glinda whispered, “but you must already know the answer to that.”

And there was no mockery on Elphaba’s part, not any longer. “I do too. Not in a selfish sense, but just to think of a life where perhaps you wouldn’t be so…”

“Pathetic?” Glinda finished with a quavering laugh.

Elphaba shook her head. “Desolate.”

Her rosy lips turned downward, eyebrows upturning with emotion. She shut her eyes and melted into Elphaba’s hand, insisting on filling the space between her palm. Elphaba complied instantly, cradling her cheek carefully.

“It’s what I chose, and therefore what I deserve.” Glinda’s hand balled atop Elphaba’s chest. “How you could stand to sympathize with me is far beyond my comprehension…”

“It wasn’t a decision. Even if it were, you wouldn’t deserve a lifetime’s imprisonment for one…mistake.”

“Stop it,” Glinda said suddenly. “You were far more desolate than I’ve ever been. At least I had a semblance of a community. You’ve been—“ She inhaled sharply, visibly distressed. “You’ve allowed yourself to be—“ She pushed herself off Elphaba, and the loss was monumental to the Witch of the West. “And—and I’ve been propagating your image, me, it’s all been me—“

Elphaba rushed forward and cupped a strong hand over her mouth. Even with the impediment, Glinda tried to speak against her palm, but quickly faltered at the eyes which bore into hers. Her other hand that had been holding her broomstick, released it; the wood thudded against the tiled floor. An unassertive, pale hand came lightly upon Elphaba’s forearm.

“I know you as well as you know me. What’s done is done; you mustn't harp,” Elphaba said lowly. 

Glinda stared rather blankly at her, and Elphaba came to notice the increasing warmth of her face. The hard breaths from her nose against her green hand only intensified. With the dimness of the space, Elphaba couldn’t be certain, but she could swear a deepening of color took place in Glinda’s face.

The Good Witch seemed to find herself, and her face screwed up all over again. She shook her head vehemently against her hand.

“It’s—not that—easy,” Glinda said, muffled, weakly grasping at Elphaba’s wrist. Elphaba loosened her hand reluctantly. “You’ve been a fool to even stand here and entertain me. I don’t deserve your gaze, nor your thoughts, nor your touch. Oh, what am I doing? Go now, please, I can’t…”

“Shut your mouth,” Elphaba said fiercely. “I hate meaningless ramblings.”

Glinda’s face was grave. “Then let me make my meaning clear. Your touch brings upon feelings that are so violently strong and so familiar, and I feel immense shame at the fact.” A breath, and the flush on her face was evident now. “I think I’m sick, demented, and deranged for experiencing said feelings. Therefore, I’m imploring you to withdraw your touch, for it is making me increasingly stupid, and you ought to find somewhere else to distribute such sentimental contact.”

Elphaba’s hand moved to cup her chin and tilt it up.

“You think,” she said, “after knowing me for how long, that I would ever be in support of suppressing powerful feelings?”

Glinda let out something of a whimper. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She swallowed. “If you knew, you’d be—“

“Don't tell me what I’d do in a hypothetical,” Elphaba said. “You’re insulting me.”

“Elphie, if I have to endure your touch for a clock-tick more, I might die.”

Elphaba’s ears perked. She tilted her head amusedly. “Elphie?”

The word felt funny on her tongue, light and jubilant. It reeled her out of whatever daze they’d been sharing. How long had it been?

Glinda apparently failed to see any humor; in fact, the repetition of the word seemed to light some sort of fire in her that made her further melt into her hand and gaze unblinkingly into Elphaba’s eyes.

“Elphie,” she affirmed in a whisper, all movements still. “Please.”

Elphaba forgot what she could be begging for. It was such a rousing sight, Glinda’s round, adjuring eyes looking up at her, hand on her chest, entrusting her to guide her face. What was she pleading for? Her rosy lips looked rather lonesome; perhaps she was asking for another pair? Or was she pleading for Elphaba to advance her touch? Perhaps she was imploring her to move her hand down to her neck, to shed her luscious robe. To feel upon the expanse of her hot skin, to stabilize her, be the strong anchor she desperately needed. Or was she telling Elphaba to push her against something, or to keep going, or to never stop, or—

Elphaba’s body was engulfed in flames, and the amount of stimulation her body was experiencing was so foreign, she thought she might collapse from the effort. She hadn’t known it, but her face had advanced closer towards Glinda’s, and they were just a couple inches apart.

“I’m horrible,” Glinda said in a broken whisper. The grip on Elphaba’s collar tightened, restraint visible on her knitted features. “You shouldn’t touch me. Not in this way. You should hit me. You should hurt me, right now. I lay awake at night and marvel at your restraint. You should kill me. I want you to hurt—”

Surging forward, Elphaba swallowed her words with a searing kiss, grasping her face and ramming her lips against Glinda’s trembling ones. At the very moment their mouths converged, Glinda let out a semblance of a whine into Elphaba’s open mouth, the hand on Elphaba’s chest falling at her side. 

Elphaba pushed further with such a vigor that Glinda stumbled backward, and she gripped the Good Witch’s head with strong hands to stabilize her. She curled into Glinda, hoping for her passion to pour into their embrace.

She felt the cracks in Glinda’s plush lips, every little divot, and she was exceedingly warm. Elphaba could no longer hear the crackling of the candlelight, or the hustle and bustle beyond the balcony, or even her own breaths. The air around them seemed to still, a gentle silence enveloping their forms.

Once she needed breath, she withdrew just the smallest bit so that the moan Glinda let out would still vibrate against her lips. She respired tremulous breaths as she slowly pulled away, though she wanted to do nothing less, to see Glinda’s face.

Glinda’s lips remained parted, and if she focused, Elphaba could see a wetness glistening across them. 

Elphaba wasn’t sure what her first words should be. What does one say after initiating a kiss with the love of their past life which they’ve spoken to only twice in the past half a decade? 

Nothing, apparently, for slender fingers were slowly wrapping around Elphaba’s wrist, and Elphaba looked to see that Glinda was thinking to take it somewhere. Her other hand moved to the adjustable belt at her waist, deftly undoing the knot. The belt slipped off and fell to the floor with a soft thud, and the fronts of the robe promptly parted. 

The expanse of Glinda’s milky skin was revealed, along with the intricately-designed center gore and underband of a scarlet bra. The lace trailed along the underwire, stopping where she could see slivers of the smooth, velvety cups holding her bust. Elphaba’s heartbeat spiked as her body stiffened at the sight. 

Before she could begin to ponder excessively about the reality of the present moment, her hand was being guided straight to Glinda’s skin. The pads of her fingers made contact with Glinda’s stomach, and Glinda’s shepherding hand pressed Elphaba’s palm into the flat of her abdomen. 

Elphaba’s eyes darted to the matching scarlet undergarment hugging her hips. Wisps of blonde-ish silvery hair peered out of its waistband, and Elphaba’s face was aflame. Galinda never allowed her body hair to grow to that extent. She thought back to the vibrant fuschia of Galinda’s undergarments, her smooth, supple thighs sliding against Elphaba’s, her girlish sounds above her… 

She considered if Glinda was capable of making those same noises, given the stimulation. What might be different about the way she makes love now? She imagined potential new sounds, huskier and guttural, and felt the hairs on her own forearms rise. How thrilling the notion of change could be!

Looking at Glinda’s closed eyes and intent face, Elphaba wondered if she might be thinking back to those moments as well.

Elphaba’s fingertips were slowly lowered, traveling the expanse of her abdomen til she met the waistband. She made contact with the soft tufts and fought back a gasp, though her hand was soon moving over the fabric. 

Glinda’s chin tilted up and her eyes screwed a little tighter, perhaps preparing herself for something. It was then that Elphaba’s fingers met a dampened surface, and the more Glinda pulled her hand along, the more moisture she encountered.

Elphaba’s head was pounding, her hand shivering with anticipation.

Glinda’s lips tightened and her face twitched, visibly fighting against something within her. She directed two of Elphaba’s fingers to where the thin fabric hugged her wet slit tightly. She pressed them there insistently, sliding them up and down. Her eyes opened, and they were watchful—almost expectant.

“From a lone kiss?” Elphaba’s voice came hoarsely and more amazed than she’d have liked.

Glinda swiped her tongue along her bottom lip. “From the quarreling,” she whispered.

A sort of short groaning noise escaped from Elphaba. Something tugged inside of her, at her stomach, heat springing from her abdomen. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation by any means, as she had a great deal of time to spend with herself, but accompanied by her fingers pressing into Glinda’s clothed arousal, it was entirely refreshing.

The confession and its physical evidence bounced around Elphaba’s head as she struggled to grasp it. Was this something that happened the previous two meetings? When their altercations would intensify along with the fury within each other, had Glinda felt an intensifying of arousal, as well? So much so that her undergarment was left soaked? Did she have to change out of it and perhaps clean herself up? Did she take a shower afterward, frustrated and pent up? Given that she was aware of her own apparent arousal, she must have pondered Elphaba’s touch during their altercations, naturally.

“This is the effect you have on me,” Glinda said, “if you must know. Though I think you already do.”

She stilled Elphaba’s hand deep within her moisture. “Can you understand? Can you understand how infuriating it is when you come here, daring to speak to me in that horrendible, captivating manner of yours, and leave with no problem at all? While I’m left in this…” Glinda shuddered, her head tilting up and revealing more of her exquisite neck. “…this state?”

A network of shocking sensations cascaded down Elphaba’s body, and she bit down on her lip harshly. She withdrew her hand and, with her new autonomy over it, placed it lightly atop Glinda’s abdomen once more. Wetness trailed from her fingertips as she leisurely traversed upward.

She ventured under the robe, pushing it to the side to reveal more of Glinda’s lithe torso and clothed bust. Elphaba’s hand rested at her rib as she eyed the generous flesh of her breasts, a vivid memory coming to her of how she’d thumb softly at Galinda’s erect nipples. Her roommate would elicit a high gasp at every grazing of them, as she was exceedingly sensitive. Elphaba wet her lips and wondered if the nub was hardened behind the silk right then.

Glinda had been watching her doe-eyed, body stiffened considerably. Elphaba leant down to her ear, swept a golden ringlet behind it, and whispered, “Be at ease, dear Glinda.”

As if a spell had been reversed, Glinda’s shoulders fell with a sigh, and her eyes fluttered with a newfound relief. Elphaba smoothed her hand up her ribs and met the lace underwire of Glinda’s bra. She dipped down closer, lips brushing her ear, cheek to cheek. 

“Perhaps if you grew a backbone and told me of your”—Elphaba felt a smile coming on—“distress, I’d have done something about it.”

Glinda’s face fell into Elphaba’s shoulder, and an urgent hand came to clasp Elphaba’s wandering one. “I—I have no backbone when you’re involved.” A short gasp for air. “I did away with it so long ago.”

She held Elphaba’s hand tight, not enough to be painful, but powerfully enough to make her point of allegiance. Elphaba, not dismissively, pressed the pair of hands against Glinda’s front so as to push her back and withdraw her head from Elphaba’s shoulder.

She slumped off Elphaba with big, expectant eyes.

“You had enough backbone to show me…” Elphaba tugged at the waistband of Glinda’s undergarment. “…this much.”

It snapped back to Glinda’s skin, invoking a wonderful jolt from the Good Witch. She shook her head vehemently. “I'm so terribly weak. You render me helpless and sick. All strength leaves my bones the moment I see your radiant skin and that ragged, pointed hat sitting perfectly crooked atop your head. I dread when our eyes must meet, for the emerald glow of yours whips my heart and forces it to pound against my chest.”

“Now you’re a poet,” Elphaba said. “You shift like the seasons.”

“Oh, stop…” Glinda shook her head again. “You always make me feel this way. Always, Elphie. It’s only getting worse. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Elphaba blinked. Could she be referring to the state of her current arousal or the state of her life long-term? She suspected the latter, meaning she didn’t know how she’d manage her life with Fiyero and the Emerald City without Elphaba’s presence, but the way her legs pressed together and her hips squirmed caught Elphaba’s attention as well. Her response to either would be quite the same.

Elphaba hooked her fingers on Glinda’s lace waistband and pulled firmly, pressing the slender body flush against her.

“What do you wish from me?” she asked smoothly.

Glinda gasped, mouth shuddering open in a scandalized way as her head tilted up to Elphaba’s. Their faces were just an accidental jerking of the head away from making contact. 

“I’d never—ask anything from you,” Glinda said between intermittent breaths. “I couldn’t. How should I expect you to—Oh!”

Elphaba had taken her bottom lip into her sharp teeth, the incisors lightly piercing the delectable flesh. Glinda’s slight figure spasmed against her, and her mouth opened obediently, as if allowing Elphaba to do anything she wished. She unlatched, instantly treating the indent on Glinda’s lip with a slow swipe of her tongue. 

“What do you wish from me?” Elphaba asked again.

Glinda’s eyes were teary, her face gleaming a vibrant pink amidst the dark. “Please,” she whimpered, voice cracking.

Elphaba waited to watch a droplet finally spill from her eye and streak down her cheek. She battled the desire to bring a hand up and wipe it away, just so curious as to how Glinda might handle her crippling arousal and its effects on her emotional state. 

Something inside of her wanted to see the Good Witch outwardly plead for her by stating exactly what she wanted, rather than a broken ‘please.’ Perhaps so that Glinda could treat herself with some dignity, and perhaps because the idea excited Elphaba.

Glinda’s eyes fluttered lustfully, and she swallowed, attempting to sober herself up to no avail. 

“Elphie,” she said. “Please, baby…”

The name shot directly to Elphaba’s core, heat pulsing from her abdomen. Her eyes grew large, as did the needy desire inside of her. ‘Baby’ was a term of endearment she’d never heard from anyone save for Glinda, and it filled her with such a strong fluster back then, the same way it did now. Did she know it would have this effect on Elphaba? Had Glinda always known the name had a particular significance to her? Did she have the term sitting behind her lips this entire time, waiting to deploy it and pull Elphaba into her trap?

“Please what?” Elphaba breathed harshly now. “Say it. I want you to be good, just this once, and tell me what you want me to—“

“I want you to touch me,” Glinda whined, and in an instant, one green hand drove under her undergarment, the other holding the back of her head as Elphaba smashed her lips against Glinda’s.

Glinda unleashed a guttural moan into her mouth, clasping at Elphaba’s back. “Elphie—“ Elphaba slid two fingers along the wet heat, gathering the moisture, just to tantalize her. “Elph—Oh, oh…!”

Elphaba let her tongue slip into Glinda’s hot mouth, and Glinda received it all too eagerly, grinding down into her fingers. Her tongue slid atop Glinda’s and thrusted impossibly deep across its expanse, and that seemed to cause a swelling of emotion from Glinda. She pulled back, moaning loudly as another tear fell down her face. 

“Oh, your tongue!” she ejaculated, eyes shining with reverence. Her thumb came up to caress Elphaba’s lip. “How have I been surviving? There’s no one like you—no one can match you. That wicked, forked thing…” Elphaba listened thoughtfully as she pushed her index finger just slightly into her wetness. “Oh, Lurline, yes… How have I been surviving!”

“You mean to say he hasn’t been pleasuring you effectively?” Elphaba asked conversationally.

Glinda’s eyes darkened at the mention of her betrothed. “Nothing like you‘ve done,” she said sharply, even through her lustful daze. “Nothing. He couldn’t hold a candle to you. Nobody can.”

The Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good stood in the center of the latter’s spacious bedchamber, grasping at each other in the dead of night—and not in an attempt to kill the other. It was so wonderful to know that nobody in all of Oz could possibly conceive such an image. Touching Glinda in such a way while merely standing in such a spacious room amidst the faint illumination felt so especially improper. They had never done an act of the sort at Shiz, that was certain, for there was always a bed or a desk or a wall to support their fervent bodies. Here, in the middle of the large, lonesome room of Glinda’s, Elphaba felt a fiery thrill.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” Elphaba’s voice was cool for a woman who had her finger buried in the love of her past life. “Tell me, what exactly sets us apart?”

“Please, Elphie, I don’t want to talk about him,” Glinda breathed.

“Oh, but you must,” Elphaba said. “You’ve pledged for him to be in your thoughts for the rest of your life, isn’t that true? No, I’d like you to talk about him. Comparatively, at least, to myself.”

“Ah… You’re much crueler than you were then…” A weary smile pulled at Glinda’s lips as she rested her head against Elphaba’s chest. “Do you remember when you were putty in my hands?”

“Are you making me ask a third time?” Elphaba pushed Glinda’s weight off her and gripped her jaw with a forceful hand. Though she was steering the topic elsewhere, she held her jaw with the same firmness Glinda once did to her, when she was putty in Glinda’s hands. “I want to know about Fiyero.”

Glinda’s face shifted from wistful to brooding frighteningly fast. “As you would,” she said, bitter.

Elphaba’s heart leapt in her chest. She pulled swiftly out of Glinda and brought two hands to her shoulders.

“You are sorely mistaken,” Elphaba said through gritted teeth, “if you think any dynamic is prospering between him and I. Horrifically mistaken. Do you understand? There were traces of a sort of attraction back then, faint traces of which were never advanced. You are the only one to have touched me. You are the only one I’ve ever craved. Even now, it’s only—” She inhaled. “It’s only you.”

Elphaba brought a gentle hand to Glinda’s chin, tilting her head so that their lips brushed each other. She pressed a brief kiss against her lips. 

“Do you understand?” she asked again, softer now.

“He—he visits you,” Glinda said carefully, returning her a meaningful kiss. “I know that to be true.”

Elphaba’s hand traveled to the back of Glinda's neck as she slotted their lips periodically. “Scarcely, and for no longer than I let him. Nothing happens.”

Glinda let out a whimper, a hand coming to clutch at Elphaba’s waist. “He thinks of you so often”—a fervent kiss—“I can see it, even through his reservedness. He’s only merry when he’s leaving to see you.”

“And you think of me often, also,” Elphaba countered, her mouth opening more as she attacked Glinda’s. “What difference do his desires make? It means nothing to me.”

The relief that settled atop Glinda’s shoulders wasn’t subtle in the slightest. She sighed into her mouth, and before the Good Witch could spill into another beautifully sentimental soliloquy, Elphaba continued.

“You believe me to be far more coolheaded than I am. I do burn for you. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to think about anything else.”

“You think about me,” Glinda said through a moan. “Please, please, if you would, how do you think about me?”

She seemed to have discarded the thought of Fiyero altogether, much more interested in how she appeared in Elphaba’s mind than how Fiyero did.

“Of course I think about you,” Elphaba said, a wave of tingling lust crashing into her. An urgent desire was festering within her, threatening to burst through her skin. “I couldn’t forget your hands”—she brought one of Glinda’s delicate hands and boldly licked along her fingertips—“how they greedily slid along my body and pumped into me.” Glinda squeaked then, her hand limply falling to her side when Elphaba let go. “And I think about your golden curls,” she added lowly, and leant in to grasp at the back of Glinda’s hair, “how they bounced above me in time with our bodies.” Glinda’s mouth fell open as she allowed her head to be yanked back. “And, though I hold myself to much higher standards than the average man…” Elphaba’s hands slinked down Glinda’s sternum and to her clothed breasts, giving them especially harsh grasps. “I do often reminisce upon these succulent things.”

She admired how the exposed flesh would spill around her fingers as she bunched up the lingerie, as well as the moan that expelled itself from Glinda’s throat.

“They’re yours,” Glinda whispered fiercely. “They’re yours—my hands, my hair, my body. I want you to use me as them wish, please, please, pl—“

When Elphaba surged forward then, she had a destination in mind, and as she gripped Glinda’s face, she pushed her backwards. The two women stumbled across the room, Glinda allowing herself to be pushed anywhere Elphaba wanted. Her mouth, wide and obedient, gave Elphaba the utmost freedom to its asylum.

The mesh of fervent bodies found Glinda’s desk, with Glinda’s back hitting the edge of the tabletop. Not withdrawing her forked tongue from Glinda, she reached down to grab the back of her milky thighs, hoisted her up, and slammed her onto the expensive mahogany. Unsettled parchment fluttered around them at the impact. And an ink pot might have crashed, or perhaps a book—Elphaba’s head was pounding fast with adrenaline. 

There was a rush that came with handling another person’s body so forcibly, such a closeness and warmth amidst the drive that resonated throughout her body. Her hands raked up her soft robe, and she caressed and gripped the flesh in full. She let out a low grumbling into Glinda’s mouth, pleased at the smooth skin that bulged through her hands. Glinda shivered, perhaps at the noise, and Elphaba smiled.

“Do you always wear this”—she hooked a finger on Glinda’s waistband and pulled—“to bed? While you work?”

“Hah!” Glinda exclaimed, mouth ripping off Elphaba’s and gasping for breath. “Ah, Elphie! Your mouth…”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“I—yes, on m—most days!” Glinda answered.

“It’s what you’re accustomed to, I suppose,” Elphaba said. “You wore a different pair of magnificent lingerie every night at Shiz. Pretty and pink.”

Glinda’s eyes twinkled. “Did you like them?” 

“Well, I much preferred them off.” She mused for a moment. “You wore it under your school uniform that once. Lifted up your skirt so I could see the frilly lace across the lecture hall.”

Glinda’s mouth split into a gorgeous grin, all white teeth and fine, rosy lips. She hung her arms loosely around Elphaba’s neck, looking shyly into her lap. “It drove you up the wall when I’d mess you around…”

Both women had images of their younger selves at the front of their mind—more jovial, at ease, taking the smallest things that would end up meaningless and believing it was the most dire situation. Everything meant everything then. Elphaba thought of those juvenile, golden glasses she wore, the books she always held to her chest, the eager jotting down of notes during class. She thought of Glinda’s exceedingly swooped hair, her swan-way of gliding about, her self-assured smirk. Those grand, glorious hallways, despite their spaciousness, felt so stifling to walk through, but when she’d see that ball of pink at the end of the corridor, she found it in her to breathe.

The woman Elphaba found in front of her in the present day was just as striking, if not more. Her hair was all the more unkempt, strands of spun gold flowing down her face and jutting out from her scalp. Her face, warmly illuminated by the gentle glow of the candlelight, was rid of the excessive embellishments she once put so much effort into. Her lips were coated with a gentle gloss now as opposed to the deep pink she’d wear before. Her cheeks had a natural flush to them that extended to her neck, in place of the rosy powder she once applied.

She lost the dignified air about her, now just a quiet, somewhat rueful reservation painting her features. Her chestnut eyes, once used for extracting empathy from admiring souls, were now pools of swirling contemplation. Though, in the current moment, they bore into Elphaba’s with a fresh suspense, invoking a familiar exhilaration in Elphaba. 

She slid her hands under Glinda’s thighs and pulled her closer by the back of her knees. Glinda’s wild mouth found hers, and they were soon thrown into their prior frenzy.

Glinda’s hands raced to Elphaba’s long, frayed braids, stroking and gripping it as they breathed harshly through their noses. Elphaba licked into her compliant mouth, along her teeth and all around her tongue, letting her saliva spill into the hot opening. She wanted to properly spit down her throat, on her pulsating tongue, to see the lust develop further behind Glinda’s glazed eyes, but restrained herself. 

Her mouth wandered, planting wet kisses to the corner of her lips, then down her chin and along her jaw. Her mouth was slow and lingering there, but when they trailed to Glinda’s neck, it grew fast and wet and sloppy. Glinda inhaled sharply above her.

“Elphie, ah…! Ah!” Her hand came to the back of Elphaba’s head, not pulling her off but certainly not pushing further. She was suddenly trembling. “I’m so—Hah! So much, so much!”

Elphaba withdrew, a thin line of saliva linking her mouth and Glinda’s pulse point. 

“Since when are you sensitive there?” she asked sincerely.

She looked to find Glinda’s face bright red, a faint layer of sweat perspiring over her skin. “It’s been so long— No one’s touched me there in so… It’s good,” she said, breathing forcefully. “It’s so good, Elphie.”

The words should be pleasing, reassuring, but much to Elphaba’s rare horror, her mind morphed them into ‘You’re so good, Elphie.’ Perhaps it was just too similar to how she’d say it once upon a time, voice low and domineering. Her nimble fingers would drive into her at a remarkable pace, carving into her pulsing flesh, and she’d insist that Elphaba was taking her so excellently…

“Don’t stop, please, forgive me,” Glinda begged, stroking Elphaba’s hair. “I love your mouth, I need your mouth…”

Elphaba mentally shook herself from her weakening stupor and dove in once more. She latched onto patches of skin, sucking vigorously, before flattening her forked tongue and licking long stripes. Endless shivering wracked Glinda’s body, and the squeaks and whimpers she made danced along Elphaba’s ear most deliciously.

She slid her hand off Glinda’s waist and planted it onto the desk to support herself, and found that the parchment Glinda had been writing on prior was beneath her palm. She looked at it curiously, Glinda following suit with a clenching hand at Elphaba’s back.

“Ah, disregard it,” Glinda said with a shaking of the head. “It’s a—list of attendants for the ceremony.”

Elphaba looked up to see Glinda’s eyebrows twitch as she gazed at the parchment a bit uneasily. 

“Can I come?” Elphaba asked.

Their eyes met, Elphaba’s roguish and Glinda’s searching. The gloom seemed to lift from Glinda’s face and was replaced by an air of cheek. “If you let me first.”

Seeing the woman, previously withdrawn and somber, so at ease to the point of clever repartee and a sparkling behind her eyes made Elphaba swell with satisfaction. It was likely the first time in so long she’d been able to tease in the mischievous way she always used to. Elphaba doubted that Fiyero had the brains to grasp and play along with Glinda’s favorite game of banter, or if he did, he wouldn’t play to her liking. With Elphaba, it was natural.

Her mind wandering to Fiyero, complemented by the sight of Glinda's creamy skin and entrancing body, Elphaba grew increasingly covetous.

“You never did answer me,” Elphaba said, removing her hand from the guest list and trailing it up her torso, “when I asked what sets him and I apart.”

“You know that I revere you more than anyone,” Glinda said, eyes steadfast on Elphaba’s hand. “But if you’re truly imploring me, I am at your command.” She sighed when Elphaba’s nails scraped her ribs. “Where he is charming, you are all-consuming. Where he is vague, you are devout and zealous. Where he is a guiding torch, you are a blazing wildfire…”

Something of a growl resounded in Elphaba’s throat. She grabbed Glinda by the back of the thighs and pushed her further along the desk, with Glinda’s eyes widening but not one protest. Elphaba brought her legs onto the desk, her knees planted at either side of Glinda’s snapped thighs. She towered above Glinda, who gazed up with a shamelessly submissive expression.

“And?” Elphaba said, putting a hand on her chest to lay Glinda down, down, down onto the desk.

“And—and you’re exceedingly talented with how you touch.” Glinda’s chest caved in under her hand, and Elphaba could feel the power her touch held coursing through it. “Your hands suspect my every twitch and jerk and instinct before I do… You know my body so intimately, so intrinsically.”

“And he?”

Glinda shook her head absentmindedly, still so enamored by the hand on her chest. The attention almost unnerved Elphaba. 

“He doesn’t know anything. He asks and asks and asks. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care to. He has no agency over my body. And you, well…”

Elphaba snaked a hand along Glinda’s forearm and up to her wrist. “I have agency.”

When she pressed Glinda’s hand against the wood, Glinda extracted any strength from the appendage and let her head fall back. “You reign over me,” she corrected.

And there was no opposition on Elphaba’s side, no asking for extra assurance, no cocky ‘Is that right?’ She let her control wash over her, seep into her bones, empowering her and making her more restless by the clock tick. She gazed down at her slender, heaving body, her supple breasts under a laced bra, her lithe arms pinned to the wood, the faint traces of toned abdominal muscles. 

“His touch doesn’t render me stupid,” Glinda added. “It doesn’t render me desperate and alone.”

She wouldn’t feel alone, not if Elphaba could help it. Elphaba mirrored her pinning to the desk with her other hand, both wrists pressed beside Glinda’s head. 

“Who materializes in your dreams more often, him or myself?”

“You!” Glinda bursted out with. “Ah, Lurline, it’s you! I dream of you so often; how couldn’t I? You’re…” She scoffed lightly, gazing away. “I’ve never dreamt of him. The notion is ridiculous.”

“Quite,” Elphaba agreed. She trailed her hand down to Glinda’s abdomen, her tight muscles contracting under her fingertips. “And these dreams, of course, are wicked ones.”

Glinda’s eyes were steady on her again, guilt tainting her features.

“I’m sorry,” she said, in a whisper that was hushed but so earnest. “I don’t want them to be, but I—I’m sick, or something of the sort. Not for wanting you! But for warping your image even in the comfort of my own subconscious.”

“I don’t take that to be warping my image,” Elphaba said. “I take that as you wanting me to conquer you. To have you as my own.” She finally danced over the waistband of Glinda’s undergarment. “It’s not a crime to want.”

“I want you,” Glinda blurted, lifting her hips against Elphaba’s featherlight touch. “I want you, I want you, I want you. Take me, do anything to me, use me.”

“Use you?” Elphaba repeated, a smile tugging at her lips. She traced circles just above her clothed clit, unreasonably tormenting. It was just much too fun to see Glinda gasp and squirm beneath her. “Oh, surely you don’t want that…”

She knew Glinda wanted it, she knew that she burned for it. But how delightful it was, Glinda proclaiming her unrelenting need.

“Only if you wish for it, yes.” Glinda moved her hands to the sides of her open robe and pushed them out to reveal her full torso. The robe fell down her shoulders and hung around just her arms now. “Yes, please. I want you to. I—I know you must be frustrated in that regard, true? I…can’t imagine you engaging in many dalliances.”

Alarm creeped onto her features, constrained to appear collected. “You haven’t, have you?” she asked, voice so small and light in a way that filled Elphaba with hunger.

She hadn’t. She never had the time, and tried to persuade herself into believing she didn’t want to anyhow. But time and time again, that animalistic nature took hold of her, and she’d seek self-pleasure. The risk of exposure was always high, and she never thought once to engage in any self-serving affairs. Fiyero’s visits were dangerous as is.

Of course, Glinda’s face was already hurt at the notion, terribly distressed. Her eyes, dark and big, searched her face in such a desperate attempt to grasp onto any semblance of denial, that, no, she hadn’t been seeing anyone else. It was immensely gratifying, having the most revered woman in Oz beneath her in a naked state, both physically and vulnerably, anguished at the idea of the Wicked Witch touching someone but her. Not only was she submissive for Elphaba, but greedily territorial, as well. Elphaba thought she wanted to watch this scene a bit longer.

“Do you think so low of me now,” Elphaba started, and Glinda’s eyes were already widening, “that you believe I can’t find a willing suitor? Do you believe yourself to be so gracious and good that only you could ever—“

“No!” Glinda cried. She sat up, hands now at Elphaba’s shoulders. “No, no, that’s not—! Anyone would be blessed, privileged, to have your attention! Ah, I envy anyone who’s had the fortune of your eye meeting theirs…!” She was rewarded by Elphaba’s thumb pressing into her clit. Her eyes snapped shut, expression turning utterly pitiful. Beneath her breath, she chanted a quiet, “Yes, yes, yes…!”

It was difficult to act as though providing the slightest stimulation to Glinda wasn’t completely enthralling. 

Elphaba moved a hand to Glinda’s neck and just barely reached around its diameter. She moved forward, slowly pushing Glinda’s back to the desk. Her fine, curled locks fanned out atop the rich mahogany, and even without the thumb rubbing at her undergarment, Elphaba might be able to deduct that Glinda was drenched just from her expression. 

Elphaba leaned into her, hand confidently wrapping around her neck. “What did you mean, then?” 

“I—“ Glinda swallowed, hesitant, as though digging deep to find the answer. “I’m selfish. I—I suppose I didn’t like the idea of you…belonging to someone.” And she was ashamed again. “Which is ludicrous, because I—I have no right to you. You’re your own individual whom I’m not in contact with. You can do anything.” And then reverence, in all its eye-sparkling glory. “You can do anything.”

It may be cause for concern, for some, to view someone shift through such differing and fierce emotions, but it gave Elphaba a perverted sort of pride. 

She withdrew her body from Glinda’s, leaning back to tower over her once more. She granted her a small smile. “I have no suitors.”

“All right,” Glinda said meekly, though she was fending off a smile of her own. She turned thoughtful, searching. “And you’re content with that?”

Elphaba allowed her eyes to overtly sweep over Glinda’s body. “Not quite.”

And Glinda understood, as Elphaba knew she would, for her breath hitched and her muscles tensed. Elphaba reached a slow hand to Glinda’s breast, caressing the scratchy, laced fabric, then swiping over the flesh that it supported. Glinda’s back arched into the touch, forcing Elphaba’s hand to cup it in full.

“You’re the only one,” Elphaba said suddenly. “You’re the only one I’ve thought of having for my own.” 

She grasped the breast roughly, watching the pliable skin spill from its confines while licking her lips. Glinda moaned. “I thought it meant I was stuck in my past, stuck in my affections for Shiz and university life. I realize I was stuck in my past—one part of it.”

“Would you care to revisit that part?” Glinda asked, eyes lidded and swirling with lust. “Stomp it into the ground for good? Ruin it?”

Elphaba’s forefinger and thumb found where her areola would be and tweaked it through the fabric. Glinda jolted, fighting to stay rigid and unmoving as she held her breath. 

“You’re a devilish, dirty girl.”

“Yours,” Glinda whispered, and they were speaking so ridiculously juvenilely, so filled with the naivety and simplicity of what life used to be—and perhaps it was what they both needed. To be transported back to then.

Glinda’s hands fell to either side of her head, playing mindlessly with her splayed hair. Her hips thrusted up against Elphaba. “I can feel myself dripping…”

Sure enough, a dampness was evident atop the wood between Glinda’s legs. Elphaba dragged one finger down her clothed slit, admiring how the fabric clung to her folds. “Mmm, you can?”

She moved a hand to grab Glinda’s and pull it towards her wetness. And when directing two of Glinda’s fingers to glide down her slit, Elphaba made contact with the cold metal of her engagement ring. She felt a rush of something.

“Do you caress your wet undergarments for me at night, just like this?” she asked forcefully. 

Ah—possession it was, then.

Glinda nodded frantically, a high humming sound of affirmation vibrating through her.

Elphaba moved to her chin, pulling it down and forcibly unhinging her jaw. “Speak.”

“Yes!” Glinda breathed.

Elphaba blinked.

Flashes of graceful hands wrapping around a green neck, cold silicone pushing at her entrance, and a breathy command in her ear: Yes, what, Miss Elphaba? Her own pathetic whimpers, so sick and distressed, her lips racing to say the title, desperate to please…

Let’s see. “Yes, what?”

Glinda didn’t appear to be inside of her own body, completely enraptured by Elphaba’s existence.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The sound of it traversed down Elphaba’s neck pleasantly. She gave two pats to Glinda’s flushed cheek. “No matter how wicked you grow, you strive to be good for me.”

A needy noise slipped past Glinda’s lips. “I haven’t been good… I feel such guilt. I haven’t been good.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Glinda swallowed, a fresh layer of tears springing into her eyes. “Why have you not hurt me? Why do you entertain this?” The wetness of her lively eyes stirred within Elphaba. She wanted it to be more than just a premature sheen on the whites of her eyes. She wanted to see those tears fall. “There is nothing I can say to alleviate the injury I’ve caused. Just do something to me, something lasting, irreversible. I want to feel it. I want to feel everything I’ve—“

Elphaba slammed a hand beside Glinda’s head. Before she could think, she raised her other hand, some external force possessing the swing of her arm, and gave Glinda’s right cheek a cracking blow.

The Good Witch’s face flung to the side, eyes wide and chest shuddering with shock. In no time, a bright blotch of red developed across the patch of skin, and coming down it was a fast tear.

The room was still, as were the two women atop the desk. Elphaba could do nothing but watch above her in steady anticipation. 

Glinda breathed shallowly as her face slowly turned to her. Her left cheek, though flushed a delicate pink, was dull in comparison to the blooming scarlet of her other. Unmistakably, a voracious hunger twinkled in her eye. 

“Pathetic,” Glinda said, and Elphaba blinked. Had she the nerve?

“Repeat yourself,” Elphaba dared.

Glinda’s eyebrows twitched upwards. The tear fell down her sharp jaw, and she gave a small sniffle. “That was a pathetic strike.”

Elphaba reeled her palm back—Glinda watched it with big, glossy eyes—and connected it sharply to the same red cheek. The impact was harsher, louder, a thunderous blow to the skin resounding through the bedchamber. 

A quavering whimper was expelled from Glinda’s lips, head thrown to the side once more, this time with eyes snapped shut solemnly. Another tear raced down her cheek with more welling up at the front of her eye. 

She faced Elphaba directly again, wet eyes fluttering open. Her cheeks, stained with a glorious red, were on absolute display for Elphaba, begging to grow redder. She breathed deeply and unsteadily through her nose.

“More,” she whispered.

Elphaba’s heart raced. She suddenly grabbed Glinda’s chin, allowing strength to surge through her forearm, through her palm and digits, as she striked the same cheek. Glinda let out a squeaking, stifled noise as she was held still, forced to maintain Elphaba’s glare.

Her mouth shuddered open and she swallowed with effort. Her eyelids and under eyes were damp. “More,” she said again.

The inflamed cheek glistened with the wetness of her tears. Elphaba slowly moved her hand to rest atop it, swiping her thumb across the hot skin. It was a moment of gentle silence. Glinda’s shoulders untensed as Elphaba caressed softly. She then grasped the flesh harshly, squeezing it before reeling back and dealing another strike.

Glinda moaned, low and throaty, body shivering beneath her now.

The other side of her sniveling face was pale and as fragile as porcelain in contrast, streaked with the same wetness but without the red blemishing. Elphaba moved to caress that one, and Glinda tilted her head to reveal it to her in full. She raked her sharp nails down the skin and left white marks.

Tears spilled down Glinda’s face and she began to truly mewl in Elphaba’s hands. They fell over her fingers, warm and plentiful. “M—more, more…”

“Shh, shh…” Elphaba placed a hand under Glinda’s chin and pushed her mouth shut. “Don’t direct me.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Glinda choked out. A breathy sob; “Hurt me, I’m sorry.”

Elphaba supposed she deserved another strike. Casually, she lifted her hand and slapped her once more.

Glinda yelped, a humiliating whine following. “Yes,” she hissed, eyes shut in what appeared to be relief.

“What does”—Elphaba raised her hand, and Glinda’s body jerked—“this hand mean to you?”

Glinda bit back a whimper, a response formulating behind her blinking, wet eyes. “It’s my ruler.” And she somehow gazed earnestly at the hand that was responsible for her pain-induced tears. “It’s the object of my veneration. I worship it.”

Had all of her dignity truly dissipated?

“Yes? You’d let it do anything, wouldn’t you?” Glinda nodded frantically, but Elphaba wished to hear it. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

A cruel grin pulled at Elphaba’s mouth. “Desperate little slut.”

Glinda moaned. “I’m going to…”

Elphaba peered down to see the liquid pooling at the wood beneath Glinda’s thighs, the puddle having grown considerably. Her fabric was beyond soaked, now an almost transparent, thin coat over her folds and slit. The glistening wetness extended to her inner thighs. A vivid recollection of Galinda’s taste settled atop Elphaba’s tongue, and she licked her lips.

Could Glinda orgasm without stimulation? Was it a feasible feat? 

But then another memory came to her—how could she forget? Galinda did come undone prematurely, a few times. As a devoted giver, she’d often take her time with pleasing Elphaba, and on some occasions would come up for breath with an exceptionally delighted air. Elphaba had deduced fairly quickly, what with Galinda’s unstabilized legs propping herself up, that she’d sincerely orgasmed solely from giving Elphaba pleasure. She hadn’t been ashamed in the slightest when Elphaba remarked it.

Supported by the fact that it’s been quite some time since Glinda’s had a fine fucking and thus must be properly desperate, it was entirely possible that she was teetering on the edge at that very moment.

“Don’t you dare unless you wish to die,” Elphaba told her sharply.

“Gah… I would, at your hands…!” Glinda sobbed. “Please, Mistress, please…”

“You’ve waited this long, you can wait longer.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Glinda conceded, gasping for breath. 

Elphaba’s body hovered over hers, face lowering to her neck. It was a strikingly inviting instrument, thin and flushed.

She couldn’t wait a moment longer and let her open mouth crash into the skin at Glinda’s pulse point. Her tongue made harsh sweeps, paired with the scratching of sharp teeth. As her mouth latched on and sucked vigorously, her hands came up to confine Glinda’s to the desk.

“Oh! Ah, Mistress!” Glinda exclaimed, writhing against her hold. Elphaba remembered the previous sensitivity of her neck and felt a thrill arise. She let her weight fall atop her, pressing her fast against the wood.

Glinda tasted of the salty sweat that Elphaba knew all too well. It was her favorite flavor for years. She savored it, swirling it around with her saliva and shutting her eyes intently. It compelled her to move to other areas of her neck, to lick and suck and clean as much sweat from the delicate instrument as possible. Tongue never once leaving Glinda’s skin, she slid to the middle of her neck, unabashedly lapping at the area and letting loose crude noises. 

Glinda let loose a myriad of sounds—from an unsteady, low buzzing when Elphaba would flatten her tongue and swipe, to scandalized whimpers and whines when she’d let her teeth scrape, and gasping moans when she’d fasten her lips and suck endlessly.

Elphaba made sure not to ever swallow any pooling saliva, and instead simply let it spill out as she worked her tongue. The extra lubrication might be soothing for the countless blemishes she was leaving to the pale skin. As she traversed the circumference of the neck, letting her mouth wetten every inch of it, she felt Glinda’s breasts press into her front as she arched her body. She wanted almost needily to see and feel upon them, already fantasizing of their pliant masses, but to do so she must release one of Glinda’s hands. 

She smartly brought both hands together above Glinda’s head, taking the grasp of both into her one, and slammed it into the wall the desk was up against. Glinda was yanked up with a yelp that quickly melted into a pleased moan. She liked being handled roughly. What a dirty girl.

Now Elphaba could sit back, but before her eyes could fall to Glinda’s bust, they first drank in the sight of her work. Her wet, glistening work. Glinda’s neck was coated with a layer of gleaming saliva that dripped down her neck to her sternum, and beneath the spit was reddened, angry skin. She couldn’t wait for those marks to develop into bruises. When she’d visit again, they would be the first thing she looked for. Glinda would need an immense amount of face powder for coverage.

“Beautiful…” Elphaba leaned forward to touch Glinda’s neck, to which the Good Witch, with eyes snapped shut, revealed to her in full. “Yes, that’s it. My good whore…”

Glinda gasped and snapped her legs shut, an audible squelch sounding between them. 

Elphaba turned grave; “These are my legs, not yours.” She reached down and parted them roughly. “I want them spread.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, that aroused fluttering of her eyes coming on again. “I’m so sorry.”

She said it with so much emotion, so much insecurity, that Elphaba began to understand that she was apologizing for something broader, not just her simple practical mistakes. Elphaba felt her face soften.

Choosing to disregard her self indulgent desire of Glinda’s chest for a moment, Elphaba’s eyes fell to where she most needed contact. Her hands danced up her thighs, up to her waistband, and down to the patch of soaked fabric. She hooked a finger beneath it and pulled it to the side, stomach twisting at the sight before her. 

“As pretty and needy as ever,” she remarked lowly.

Glinda was panting in earnest now, rib cage coming in and out of prominence. Her eyes flitted helplessly from between her legs to Elphaba. And she was being so good, not asking, not pleading—just waiting for Elphaba. 

And to be quite honest with herself, Elphaba wanted to be inside of Glinda just as much. She needed to be reminded of her warmth. So she let the undergarment fall back into place briefly before pulling it down her thighs slowly, letting it hang around her knees.

Her fingertips brushed her white-blonde tufts of hair that trailed above the sensitive flesh, before dipping down and lightly touching upon her glistening outer folds, pink and tender. The sight was exceedingly exquisite and irresistible. It had been so long… She needed to have her now.

Against Elphaba’s judgements, the area was completely void of any friction, allowing her two fingers to briefly slip into her and out again.

Glinda had unleashed a short, sharp cry. Her head fell back against the wall as her chest heaved. “Oh, goodness, oh, goodness, oh, goodness…!”

“As wet as a stream,” Elphaba whispered with wonder.

She felt an incredible power, holding Glinda’s hands high above her head, having her arms stretched with her long, lithe body on display, teasing her needy pussy. It’s been much too long now.

She slid one finger inside and watched as Glinda’s body jerked violently, attempting to shut her legs to no avail. She broke a film of warm wetness and it spilled onto her hand instantly. It was hot and fast and she made it happen. She’s the reason for the humidity of her inner thighs, for the fluids smeared on the wood, for the gushing of liquids.

“How did you survive without my help?” Elphaba asked, sultry and low in the way Glinda always liked it. “You must’ve been so completely desperate.”

“I’m so wet,” Glinda whimpered, drool emerging from the corner of her lips. “I’m so wet, Mistress, I’m so wet for you.”

Elphaba hummed, soft and assuring, as she withdrew her fingertip and let it drag down Glinda’s slit. Her arousal collected greatly, dousing the first two knuckles and swiftly dripping down to the base.

“Want to be good for you.” Glinda’s hips squirmed away. “Want to be your good girl.”

Elphaba presented her hand—her forefinger, rather—and tilted her head. No words, and Glinda didn’t need them. Her keen eyes locked onto the coated finger and tried to dive for it, but found it difficult to lean forward due to her hands being pinned high above her head. She was suddenly helpless, wriggling against the grasp as she tried to thrust her body ahead.

“Can’t you reach?” Elphaba said, and when Glinda’s eyes met hers, she felt a pang of sympathy. 

She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t, Mistress, please, I can’t!”

“One can’t help but feel compassion,” Elphaba said through a sigh, “for helpless, incompetent girls.” She was cool and steady in front of the writhing mess. She glanced at her thumb and back at Glinda, and could see the shame settle in those dark eyes. “It would be remiss of me not to help you, wouldn’t it?”

The Good Witch was not incompetent, and certainly not helpless. It wouldn’t be remiss of Elphaba either, to leave her here, considering that she’d been the esteemed advocate for every attempt against Elphaba’s life for the last five years. But it was less agonizing than confronting their uncompromising realities. 

“If you would be so gracious,” Glinda whispered.

A thick silence.

“I’m not gracious, Glinda the Good.”

Elphaba’s hand charged to Glinda’s face, and she deftly pried open her mouth before ramming the coated finger into the hot cavern. It wasn’t helpful, and it wasn’t polite. It was forceful and careless as it dove further across the tongue. 

Glinda vibrated around the digit with big, dilated eyes. Elphaba thanked her fingers for being so long and spindly, as it allowed her to thrust exceptionally deeper down the dip of her throat. Her knuckle neared Glinda’s rosy lips and Glinda began to make a sputtering, gagging sound.

“Open for me,” Elphaba told her, breathy and uncharacteristically kind, and she didn’t even need to force her jaw open. Glinda opened her mouth to its greatest extent as her tongue, though convulsing, swirled timidly around the finger. “Ah, I shouldn’t expect any less from the Goodliest.”

Glinda whimpered, posture caving in, taking the mockery for everything it was.

“Do you like your taste?”

Glinda nodded with a tremor. The warmth of her flexing mouth muscles was intoxicating.

“Wrap around me,” Elphaba said.

Wet, rosy lips closed around the digit, faint choking sounds threatening at the back of Glinda’s throat.

“Yes, that’s it…” Her long finger partially withdrew, then pushed forward again, thrusting back and forth into her mouth. It was a simulation of what she knew Glinda wished to take place at her core, and Glinda did catch onto it with wide eyes. She moaned around the digit, her throat accommodating every time she pushed particularly deep. “So very pretty. Your mouth is so talented.”

Glinda let slip a high whine that was so sweetly reminiscent of her noises in their shared bedroom.

Elphaba pulled out of her roughly, Glinda’s suctioning lips making a popping sound as the finger was set free. A thick string of spit connected the fingertip to Glinda’s mouth, and Elphaba wanted to shiver at the sight. Something about Glinda’s saliva always set her aflame.

“Everything of yours,” Elphaba said, “has always been mine, hasn’t it?”

Though, it wasn’t a question, and Glinda didn’t treat it as such. She gazed silently and thoughtfully at her as Elphaba took her own finger into her mouth and sucked harshly. 

“Not only your body, but the fluids it produces. Your sweat, your spit, your seeping arousal… Even with you being betrothed to another, the entire country anticipating your lifelong bounding to him, you’re still restrained against your own wall, inwardly pleading for the Wicked Witch to just fuck you already.”

“I’ll savor it forever,” Glinda said, strangled and urgent, as though she’d been caught for wanting to be touched. “I vow that I’ll never ask any self-serving deeds of you again.” Her face twisted, lips quivering. “I’m yours, Elphie.” 

A moment of vulnerability, spoken so softly that it must have been the most earnest she’d been in years.

Elphaba rubbed at her wetness vigorously before jamming two fingers between her hot folds. Her walls were loose around her fingers at first, velvety and oh-so soft, before they began to contract violently. Glinda gasped sharply, chest inflating as she arched into the insertion. She instantly sought to buck her hips into the hand, to which Elphaba couldn’t find it in her to oppose. Seeing Glinda’s lean body writhe beneath her, abdominal muscles tensing and untensing, breasts caving in, head tilting up in pleasure—no sane woman would willingly prevent themselves from the sight.

“Yes,” Glinda panted. “Yes, Mistress, yes!”

Elphaba’s fingers pumped in and out swiftly, the quick squelching being a steady rhythm in her ear. She wanted to pry her open, dig deep and nest within her heated, needy walls. She thrusted deeper into her wetness, other hand pinning Glinda’s wrists with utmost strength.

She found herself panting lightly with the effort, not from exhaustion—far from it—but perhaps from her own need. It truly was a combination of senses, a delightful symphony of needy noises and hot touches, that Elphaba didn’t know how she’d been living without.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you,” Elphaba mumbled. “Fuck you good and hard, just like this.”

“You—you should’ve done it! Fucked me until I was finally g—good.”

“Till you were drowning in your wickedness,” Elphaba supported, haphazard fingers curling into her. Every thrust drove deeper and deeper, not to Elphaba’s calculation; her increase in speed and force was as natural as breathing in the balmy air of the room. 

Glinda squealed, high and breathy, at the twisting of her fingers, eyes shooting wide open.

“Till I lost consciousness,” she said, writhing against Elphaba’s hold of her hands. It didn’t seem that the thrashing was in an attempt to oppose Elphaba, but rather to get closer. The deliberate thrusting of her hips equally reflected that hankering for contact. “Till I knew of no one else but you. Conquered me so callously I’d be forced to stay with you forever.”

Elphaba groaned. “If I had visited a week earlier, before the finalization of your engagement”—she leaned in, forcing her frantic eye to focus—“and fucked you so nicely past the point of functionality, would you still go through with it?”

Glinda gasped, eyes glistening with a sheen of sudden insecurity. They then rolled from pleasure as Elphaba shifted her hand to thumb at her clit. “Elphie, hell!” 

“Would you have let him have you the night of your engagement? Would you taint my touch with his?” She spoke in a forceful way that demanded Glinda not stray from her words. “When you roused from your bed, still unable to walk from the night before, would you greet him with a warm hello, or would you tell him that dear Elphie had claimed your body? Made you another one of her wild animals?”

With her arms above her head, body splayed out across the desk, fingers pumping into her wetness roughly, she had a frenetic air about her, utterly helpless and downright scared. Perhaps it was ignorant for Elphaba to have brought it up again, perhaps it was immature, but her head was spinning, and it was so, so hot, and she was equally helpless. 

“Kiss me,” Glinda pleaded.

Elphaba did; hard and clashing, tongues and teeth, she kissed her. She whimpered into it, to her own surprise. Perhaps her words brought upon a similar, pained sentimentality as they did for Glinda, though she kept it concealed behind piercing eyes and a strong voice. She didn’t feel strong, though, pumping into Glinda—she felt vulnerable, desperate, clinging. Who she held pinned to the wall was hers, who she was pleasuring was hers, the woman beneath her was hers. She wanted to feel it again, after so long, feel their hearts beating in tandem, Glinda’s body responding to her, every word those wonderful lips formed just for her. If she couldn’t have Glinda at her side, she could do this much. 

“More,” Glinda begged, and her arms had gone limp in her hold, defeated. Her restrained hands flopped, as though her arms really had lost all feeling. 

If that’s the case, Elphaba thought, then I suppose I could let her free. 

Being limited to only one hand was growing rather stifling—she needed to feel her body completely. And her clothed breasts, caving in and gifting Elphaba with an occasional gyration, still needed tending to. That wall of fabric dividing Elphaba’s eyes and Glinda’s mounds was growing increasingly aggravating, no matter how mesmerizing it may be to watch the pillowy skin strain against it.

So she reeled the hand that restrained Glinda’s wrists back swiftly. Glinda’s dead arms came crashing down against the wood, and she moaned at the impact. Satisfied, Elphaba slowed her strokes, gentle and steady inside of her, and glided her new hand across Glinda’s abdomen, up to the band of her bra. She wrapped her fingers around the center and pulled with utmost strength. The fabric tore with a loud ripping noise and the undergarment fell soundlessly behind Glinda.

Glinda was utterly lustful. Her walls clenched wildly around her two fingers, though her hips stilled and tried to pull away. Jaw falling open, her head tilted back with a furrowed brow. She was trying to restrain herself.

Elphaba could imagine the coil in Glinda’s stomach—she could feel it in her own—tightening and pulling, teetering on release. With every thrust, she was amounting to Glinda’s eventual burst of bliss, little by little. Or, rather, a lot by a lot, seeing as her eyes suddenly shot open the way they do when she felt herself getting near.

“You can take me, yeah?” Elphaba said, introducing a third finger at her slit. “Take me without coming undone?”

Glinda swallowed thickly. “I’d let your hand do anything. Remember?”

Elphaba let out a soft exhale as she fought the urge to grind down onto Glinda’s leg. “Nice girl.”

She rammed the finger in, promptly joining the other two in a languid rhythm. Her attention fell, finally, to those beloved breasts—shapely and plump, smooth skin, complemented by light-pink areolas. The nubs were hardened, begging to be touched and sucked. She surged down and grasped one, and instantly shuddered out a breath at its softness. Glinda stifled a whimper and, despite her weakness, curved her torso into the touch. 

The stiff nub brushed against her palm, reminding Elphaba that Glinda was here in her hands and she could do anything now. Her fingers slid to the nipple, finally pinching the flesh and yanking it down before releasing.

“Fuck me!” Glinda screamed, spine jerking forward into Elphaba. 

She knew it was more of a curse than it was a demand, and still Elphaba drew her hand back, arm spanning behind her head, and slapped Glinda’s bruising cheek. 

Glinda was effectively thrown back, moaning wantonly at the impact.

“You’re at my will, and you’ll get your own once I’m finished with you,” Elphaba spat out.

“Oh, Mistress, fu-u-uck!” Glinda drew out, long and whiny. “I’m going to—ah, Lurline, I love wh—when you hit me…”

“Nasty little pain-whore wants to hurt, does she?”

“Wan—wanna hurt for you, yes, Mistress… Wanna hurt so much.” Glinda’s words were slurred, and her eyes were phasing in and out of consciousness. 

Elphaba planted the nails of her four fingers at the height of Glinda’s sternum, dug deeply, then began to drag them down. The thin flesh punctured effectively, leaving pin-prick lines of blood trailing from her nails as she travelled down to her abdomen. The pain was immediate for Glinda, as she gasped and snapped her eyes shut while her body stilled.

“Say it.” Elphaba readied her nails at Glinda’s breast.

“Want you to”—she scratched fast and harshly down the pillowy expanse, spilling quick blood—“hurt me!”

That’ll keep her conscious, Elphaba thought, seeing the woman’s eyes bulge open.

Her nails raced to Glinda’s neck, though they stuttered on the way as the numerous bruises the color of a delicious wine caught her eye. She grazed the carvings of her teeth indentations on the way before preparing her nails above Glinda’s throat. 

“Say it.” 

“I want you to hurt me,” Glinda choked out, eyes frantic, though eager.

Elphaba’s fingertip was buzzing with anticipation. She drew one vertical line down the length of her gorgeous neck, then three horizontal lines protruding from it: E. 

Glinda fought back noises, seemingly waiting for Elphaba to withdraw so she could breathe, but she didn’t. Elphaba stared at the thick, red droplets emerging from each slit and felt a familiar thirst. Never distrusting her instinct, she leaned down and lapped up the blood. The metallic tang dripped down her tongue and filled her senses. How real, how human.

Elphaba began to move her three fingers inside of her, but they weren’t enough. They weren’t. “Say it once more,” she murmured against her neck, suckling at the stained blood.

She pushed her pinky at Glinda’s throbbing entrance as she waited for a response.

“I want you to hurt me,” Glinda’s trembling voice came above her.

The four fingers picked up speed, prying her open and filling her to an extent she wasn’t certain was possible for Glinda. 

“Again.”

“I need you to hurt me!” Two arms, presumably having received their mobility back, came to wrap lightly around Elphaba’s frame. A hand clutched at the back of her dress with a shaking grip. “Need it more than life. Want you to make me feel.”

“Darling,” Elphaba dragged out, low and affected. “Do you feel me? Stretching you out?”

“Yes, Mistress!”

Her fingers drove frenetically into her walls, hot fluids spilling with every thrust—onto the desk, onto her inner thighs, down Elphaba’s hand. Elphaba’s brow was furrowed, concentrated as she pumped into her with one hand and grasped a breast in the other. “You’ll feel the best you have in so long, and all because of me. Isn’t that grand?”

“Want you to hurt me,” Glinda whined, without being asked to. “Want Mistress to let me come.”

“You want to feel good?” Elphaba said through teeth. Glinda’s breast was slippery with sweat, sifting through her fingers. She seized it roughly. “You want everything I have to offer?”

“Everything!” Glinda cried. “Nothing less!”

Elphaba introduced her thumb to Glinda’s slit now, bringing her fingers and thumb together to form a sort of duck-billed formation. 

“Take it!”

Then she pushed.

Glinda cried out a throaty sound, body still.

“You say you’ll take anything, but can you truly?” Elphaba goaded. Her hand was mid-knuckle, slowly sliding into her wetness. “So delicate, so weakened…” She tilted back from the crook of Glinda’s neck and looked her in the eye. “A little thing like you can certainly claim to be able to, but you often make claims that aren’t true.”

Glinda’s eyes were glazed over, struggling to stay open, along with her mouth. Coming from her bottom lip was a string of saliva, falling down her chin—though she didn’t care. She was frozen.

“Though I’m not a woman of faith, I’ll allow myself to have good faith in you. If there is one thing in this life I can trust, it is that your body was crafted for me. So I’m putting that trust in you”—Elphaba dropped her voice to a soft whisper—“to take me to the wrist like the good whore you were meant to be.”

Elphaba thrusted forward, base knuckles now obscured along with the majority of her palm. All fingers were inside, enveloped in her rich heat. It pulsed weakly around her as it tried to accommodate the massive intrusion. Still, she pushed, finding delight in how responsive her body was.

“I’ll make you feel it,” Elphaba told her, and Glinda’s face was flushed in a pink that washed over its entirety. Her eyes developed that familiar gleaming while her brow scrunched upward. The sight of a new crying fit coming on brought an equal flushing to Elphaba’s face. To know that this was the most emotion Glinda had likely experienced in too long was just so gratifying, and it was an especially beautiful scene—her tousled golden locks sticking to her face, her bright red complexion, her glistening eyes.

Glinda’s slimy walls widened to fit the base of her palm, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Elphaba’s heartbeat quickened.

Fresh tears poured down Glinda’s wrecked face, as did endless saliva from her paralyzed mouth which she tried to swallow back to no avail. “E—El—”

“Feel me? Do you feel my hand splitting you open?”

“So f—ull,” Glinda said through sudden sobs. “Wanna come!”

Elphaba was affected; she could hear it in her own shaky breaths. “Patience,” she reminded.

Glinda was reduced to a crumpled mess, arms limp again at her side as her body melted into the wood beneath her. She was a sea of wet whimpering noises and fast tears.

“Does it hurt, darling?” Elphaba rasped out.

Glinda shakily tilted her head up, but couldn’t seem to finish the nod. “S—so much. I’m s—so clo—close.”

Warmth spread throughout Elphaba’s chest, adding to the burning sensation that had been developing within her body since she’d heaved Glinda onto the desk. She felt herself throbbing in earnest beneath her black dress, and it was getting more difficult to breathe, watching Glinda’s pretty, complaint cunt swallow her hand whole. It just barely reached her wrist, and still, so greedy, she wanted more. More of Glinda’s warmth, more of pleading, more of her cunt. She needed it to last.

So she slowly withdrew the hand, just a few centimeters, watching the dampness on her green skin where her walls once suctioned, and she pushed back in. This time, she took more of her, past the wrist, letting her fingers venture even further into the constricting walls. Glinda wrapped constantly around her, clenching and unclenching more rapidly as the clock ticks passed.

“You said to do something irreversible to you. Something lasting,” Elphaba whispered, high, as she began to easily thrust in and out. Glinda produced a record amount of slickness. “Milk my hand, that’s right. The way I’m stretching you, this pretty cunt won’t know existence before me. How’s that for lasting?”

The sounds it made were obscene, wet and squelching and sucking in tandem with Glinda’s sobs and Elphaba’s pants.

“I don’t know existence before you. I didn’t know touch until you touched me. I love feeling you,” Glinda said wetly. “I never want to stop feeling you. Don’t go, don’t go…!”

There it was, that confrontation. They might not ever be given the chance to do this again. The moment would end, eventually, as all things did. As their partnership did, their comradery, their alliance. As her trust in everyone in her life did. The air would transition from an enveloping, searing warmth to an icy, biting chill once Elphaba stepped out of the bedchamber and onto the balcony. She would have only the memory of Glinda’s body heat with her, and that would never be enough.

“I’m not going,” Elphaba said, and it was embarrassingly false, as was clear to Glinda too. “I won’t.” Then there was desperation, crashing into Elphaba and chilling her, to make Glinda forget what she’d just brought up, to feel good, just this once. “Come on, baby, I need you to come.”

And Glinda did forget, at least momentarily, for she shut her eyes and moaned loudly, bucking up her hips in time with Elphaba’s increasing thrusts. Everything felt so wet—her hand inside of Glinda’s stifling heat, the fluids seeping from her and onto her hands, her own skin that was dripping with sweat at this point. It was so wet, and so hot, and Glinda was so beautiful.

“Come on, that’s it… Oh, fuck,” Elphaba hissed, and Glinda began to let out a constant breath, shaky in volume but always urgently there. “Feel so good around me. Yes, you do. So good, baby.”

Her own vocality was a surprise to Elphaba. She supposed she used to be very vocal and the rambling type during these moments, but as is expected from one always receiving pleasure. It was queer to be inside of Glinda like this and somehow still begging for something. 

“He’ll never make me feel like this,” Glinda moaned, and it was despairingly, that heartbreaking squeak in her voice. “Only you could! Please, don’t go, I’m sorry! I was so stupid! I’m so sorry—I need you, Elphie, I’ll die!”

“I’m here, my love, enjoy it,” Elphaba pleaded, connecting her lips to Glinda’s cheek. She planted quick, fervent kisses in time with her thrusts. “I’m here! Please, let my presence wash over you… Please, Glinda, feel me!”

“I’m sorry,” Glinda cried, though her heaves were interspersed with throaty groans of pleasure. Elphaba’s heart would skip at the low noises, undoubtedly aroused, but would sink once more when she’d sniffle harshly. “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me!”

Tears were salty and heady in Elphaba’s mouth. With their faces pressed together, she couldn’t decipher whether the hot wetness rushing down either of her cheeks were Glinda’s or her own.

“I forgive you,” she said with a gentle hush. Perhaps it wasn’t true in the slightest, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t need to matter for the moment. It was what Glinda needed. “I forgive you, please… Do you feel that? Do you feel my love for you?”

“I feel it…” Glinda said drunkenly. “I f—feel— I’m close again, I’m so—“

“Yes, that’s it!” Elphaba urged, desperate and encouraging. She sped up her hand, allowing her hand which was folded tight to loosen, so her fingers could spread within her, as she hoped that her love for Glinda would.

She didn’t know when Glinda’s hands ever came to her head, but one hand was suddenly gripping her braids, and the other was settled atop her pointed hat. Glinda secured the hat firmly atop Elphaba’s head as she rammed her hips further across Elphaba’s enveloped wrist.

“I’m—ah, ah, Elphaba!” Glinda’s body curved into her, arching impressively. “Gonna!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna?”

“Elphie, it’s—I’m—“

Elphaba moved her thumb to Glinda’s clit and pressed firmly. “Let go, my love!”

A blaring shriek echoed throughout the high-ceilinged bedchamber. Powerful jets of liquid gushed around her submerged hand as it thrusted deep within her, joining the already plentiful secretions of arousal. The hand at her hair yanked her head back, the other holding her hat taut to her scalp. 

Then came the instant convulsions. Full bodied and violent, her frame thrashed in Elphaba’s, while her walls spasmed in quick succession around her hand. A guttural scream followed, melting into a long, wrecked cry into Elphaba’s shoulder.

The uncontrollable shaking and shuddering never seemed to end, and neither did the sounds from Glinda. Elphaba attempted to shrug her off her shoulder, though it pained her, so she could press her lips against the everlasting cries. She swallowed the noises as her hand remained deathly still inside of Glinda, so as to not disturb her. Her thumb now drew featherlight circles atop her throbbing bundle of nerves, for she knew how sensitive she was.

“I love you,” Elphaba said into her mouth, disgustingly sweet and so, so gentle. “I love you.”

She wasn’t sure if her lips should be as insistent on Glinda as they were. Was it too much on her? Could she be feeling a twinge of distress at the incessant contact, especially in this state? 

Elphaba was slow as she removed her mouth from Glinda’s, and immediately regretted it once Glinda shouted out a “No!” before forcing their lips together once more.  

That’s right; how daft could she be? Glinda needed her closeness, needed to know that she wouldn’t leave. So for now, she wouldn’t. She’d bring a hand to her face and cradle it with care. She’d plant slow, deep kisses at her lips, which would trail down to her neck, where she’d nip softly. Her enveloped hand would oh-so slowly begin to pull out, and she’d clutch Glinda through her gasps and body tremors. Her skin wonderfully caught onto every divot and fold of her walls, much to Glinda’s shock.

Elphaba needed it just as much. Her head was light with euphoria, face just as flushed as though she’d climaxed with her. Her thoughts were a whirl of emotions, nothing rational, nothing smart, just pure energy and adoration and devotion. She breathed in tandem with Glinda’s sighs.

Warm air washed over the exposed majority of her wet hand, before she watched her nails finally slip out of Glinda’s folds.

“I love—“ Glinda let a long whimper rumble through her as her hands grasped at Elphaba’s back. “I love you, my Elphie.”

She loved her. That’s what she said. For the first time in five years, they said it to each other. Everything felt so stupidly small now. Why had they not said it on their first meeting? It was true; they both knew it. They both needed to hear it. Why did they always make everything so difficult?

Elphaba wanted to laugh. Her cheeks hurt intensely as she cracked the smile that Glinda loved to examine with that revering and disbelieving look. 

“You were so good for me,” she whispered, leaning her head down so that their foreheads would meet.

Glinda exhaled a shaky breath. Sporadic jerks wracked her body, accompanied by hitched breaths and the most attractive little moans. Elphaba found herself so enraptured by Glinda’s face, unable to tear her eyes away for a second.

“I could never have—ah—imagined how wonderful it would feel, feeling you again,” Glinda said. “None of my dreams were like this.” Her eyes were suddenly grave, so deathly solemn. “I miss you.”

An unspoken truth hung in the air, an unspoken finishing clause: ‘And you’ll be gone again.’

“I’m here,” Elphaba said, because it was all she could say. Glinda had been propped up against the wall rather uncomfortably, so Elphaba shifted them so Glinda would be resting flat against the desk. Her legs were planted at either sides of her, and she allowed herself to finally relax into Glinda’s frame. “I’m here.”

“Were you thinking about doing this,” Glinda murmured with a sniffle, “as much as I was?”

Her wet hand rested at Glinda’s shoulder. She traced meaningless shapes onto the sweaty surface. Her other hand held the back of Glinda’s neck and swiped her thumb against it soothingly.

“To a devilish degree.”

“I wish you would have come earlier.”

Elphaba blinked thoughtfully against her chest.

“We could have done this so long ago,” Glinda added, her voice a small whisper.

Elphaba smiled weakly. “You really are a needy girl, aren’t you?”

And for the first time that night, Glinda laughed a genuine laugh, not self-deprecating in any way. It was beautiful and bubbly and Elphaba latched onto every dip and bounce of her bright tone.

“I don’t necessarily mean”—she gestured weakly to their entanglement of bodies—“this. But… meeting like this. Confessing things, and such…”

Her words weren’t very eloquent, but Elphaba understood. She chuckled as well, and it turned into a sigh. Goodness, it’d been a while since she exerted that much physical power without the use of magic.

“Things,” Elphaba repeated, replaying the words ‘I love you, my Elphie,’ over and over in her head.

Glinda took it as teasing. She lightly swatted Elphaba’s arm with a growing smile. Everything she did was so erotic, even despite the apparent passing of her climax. She looked so freshly fucked—hair messy to an extent Elphaba had yet to see, face wet with sweat, grinning lips coated in her own spit. And Elphaba was, admittedly, throbbing with more need than ever. Being pressed flush against her hot, heaving body wasn’t helping in the slightest. She suppressed it, as she’d been doing the entire night. 

One of Glinda’s tremors caused her hips to buck upward, into the scratchy fabric of Elphaba’s dress, and her sensitive flesh must’ve scraped against it, for an even greater tremor rippled through her. “Ah, fuck!”

Glinda’s moaned words fueled Elphaba’s arousal, and she felt a hot blooming of pleasure at her core. She fought back a curse herself.

“So good, you’re okay,” Elphaba assured, wiping at Glinda’s tear-streaked face.

“Ah,” Glinda shuddered. “How is it that you can disarm me so intimately without shedding one article of clothing?”

“I don’t have many to shed. Though…”

She brought a slow hand up to her pointed hat, removing it from her head and moving to set it beside them.

Glinda gripped it in midair almost immediately. “No.”

Elphaba blinked, and before she could move, Glinda forced it back onto her head. Her eyes were, Elphaba realized with a start, exceedingly lustful as she surveyed the sight of Elphaba and her hat, laying atop her. She bit her lip and looked away. “Goodness…”

“You like the hat, do you?” Elphaba said lowly. “It is yours, if you’ll remember. If you like it so much, I should return it to its owner.”

“Stop,” Glinda said, and she didn’t share Elphaba’s humor whatsoever. “Lurline, you look so perfect.” Her hands clutched at Elphaba’s sleeves. “Fuck.”

The compliment was so raggedly expressed that Elphaba couldn’t stop the chill that ran down her spine. She was reminded of back then, for the millionth time that night. Glinda telling her she looked perfect, tempting, profoundly arousing, with those same lidded eyes and that deepened tone. She felt the same throbbing between her legs that she felt then. They were always falling into their ways, weren’t they?

Elphaba tried to think of a clever remark, something to reassert herself and her role, but Glinda licked her lips and trailed a weak finger down the length of her arm. She moved down to her wrist, letting her fingertips brush the warm skin before she took Elphaba’s hand in her own.

It was the one that had been inside her.

Damn her.

Glinda knowingly fiddled with the hand, sifting through and entangling her fingers with the green, soaked ones. She brought it closer to her, atop her chest, and gazed down at it with glazed eyes. “You fuck me so good, Elphie…”

Elphaba blinked rapidly. “Yes?” She felt rather awkward, for some reason.

Glinda grinned and brought the hand to her lips. She licked a slow stripe up her index finger. “I said so, didn’t I?”

Oh, don’t do that… Elphaba thought, feeling her arms weaken.