Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“It’s a lot shorter,” Elphaba says once she’s dropped her bag next to the bed. “Your hair. When it’s not straightened.”

Glinda, leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom, fiddles with a stray curl. “Do you still like it?”

Elphaba hovers closer, a little lost, a little awkward. “I do.”

“I’ll stop asking eventually,” Glinda says, stomach dropping as the distance between them shrinks. “It’s a bit of a departure from my usual look, but I thought it grows back, you know? So I might as well.”

When Elphaba reaches her, she brushes a lock behind Glinda’s ear, fingers curving around the shell. “No, it really suits you.”

“Thank you,” Glinda manages to get out while Elphaba leans in.

It’s unreal, to have a palm that is Elphaba’s against her, Elphaba’s nose brushing against Glinda’s. And how she kisses! Unobtrusive, of course. Lips tender, a hand at Glinda’s jawline, the rest of her at a distance.

“Two hours is a dreadfully long time,” Glinda sighs when they break apart. “I barely knew what to do with myself, just flouncing around in this robe! I didn’t even manage to watch the keynote presentation.”

Elphaba cocks her head. “That’s a shame, I heard it was interesting.”

“I’m going to watch it,” Glinda says. “You’ll have to help me take the robe off first, though.”

Elphaba glances downwards, at the bathrobe or perhaps at Glinda’s chest.

“It’s a very tight knot,” Glinda continues. “I have excellent surgical skills. But I can’t imagine we’ll get very far otherwise.”

“Do you actually need help?” Elphaba asks, hooking her finger around the belt.

“No.” An embarrassed heat crawls up Glinda’s neck. “I just want you to do it.”

Elphaba smiles, more than a bit smugly.

“I could manage on my own, you know,” Glinda snaps. “Really. I’m very independent—”

Deftly, Elphaba plucks her waist forward and kisses her. Holding on, she works her way down, a smudge of warmth against Glinda’s mastoid process, the hard edge of teeth against the muscle.

How bothersome the fluffy bathrobe becomes! As Glinda writhes against the doorframe, she feels only terrycloth against her skin and none of Elphaba, and quite honestly, she’s had enough of that.

“You can take it off,” Glinda gasps, trying to maintain her dignity. “Seriously, I think it’s time.”

“I am trying,” Elphaba comments, pulling away to fumble at the knot with more aim or care, a concentrated crinkle between her eyebrows. “Glinda”—she shakes her head— “did you use forceps to tie this?”

But, as all things do, it comes apart eventually.

Tentatively, Elphaba’s fingertips skim the tensed surface of Glinda’s stomach; they run up and down the strip of freed skin, from her navel to the center of her sternum, gently, gently, until the bathrobe splits open entirely and air rushes against the slickness between Glinda’s legs.

Glinda grabs Elphaba’s wrist and tugs it downwards.

“Already?” Elphaba asks.

“Two hours.” Glinda pulls her in by the nape of her neck. The tip of her nose brushes against Elphaba’s septum piercing. It’s hard metal, obviously, but no cooler than the skin surrounding it. “It’s ages,” she says. “Were you not thinking of me while you were in the subway? Were you not itching to get back? I thought you were impatient.”

But how could Elphaba be, in a city where it takes forever to get anywhere? Hasn’t she gotten used to biding her time?

Elphaba shudders when they kiss again, the movement of her mouth growing languid, almost messy. As messy as Elphaba can get in a situation like this, Glinda imagines. To prove it to herself, she runs the pad of her thumb across Elphaba’s bottom lip; it comes away wet. “Really, Elphie,” she murmurs. “Weren’t you thinking oh, I really ought to hurry, Glinda’s waiting for me in her robe?”

“I wasn’t expecting the robe,” Elphaba admits, the edge of her hand on the bend between Glinda’s hip and thigh. “Not to complain.”

Glinda’s shoulders press against the doorframe as her hips buck forward, skin against terrycloth. “Elphaba—”

“What is it, my sweet?”

Glinda chokes out a laugh. “Well,” she says, “I think if you don’t touch me in the next ten seconds, I might actually die.”

“I will,” Elphaba murmurs; Glinda feels her smile against her mouth. “I’m getting there; I promise.”

Glinda whines with the anticipation of it; her legs twitch and barely manage to hold her upright and her hands slide down to grasp at Elphaba’s shoulders.

And still Elphaba retreats over the crest of Glinda’s hipbone.

There is no clock ticking in the room. Quite frankly, Glinda’s preoccupied anyway, all that talk of dying and ten seconds a bit of an empty threat. There is a mirror in the bathroom across from the door, the length of a person much taller than Glinda, still fogged-up after Glinda’s shower. She can see the contours of them there, Elphaba’s blouse reduced to an indistinct dark shape as Glinda unbuttons it roughly and flings the halves to the side; Glinda a blur framed in white, stretched out against the doorjamb.

“Please,” she whispers as Elphaba’s hands trace downwards again, coming together between her legs.

And has it even been ten seconds, when the first of Elphaba’s fingers drifts through her, when Elphaba’s knee nudges against Glinda’s to hold her legs open?

It’s been long enough, that much is certain.

Elphaba holds a fingertip against Glinda’s clit and her hips snap forward. All of her suspended, really, by that connecting point between their bodies. And still, she craves the fall, because what else is there to do?

“Is that okay?” Elphaba asks.

Glinda nods wordlessly, clutching at her. “More,” she whispers over Elphaba’s shoulder. “Please."

Elphaba, dutifully, slides into her without resistance.

“You’re so good at this,” Glinda sighs, fingertips following Elphaba’s collarbone to her chest, the lace trimming of her bra. “Perfect,” she adds, stroking at the swell of Elphaba’s breast, a nipple hardened behind fabric.

Elphaba presses harder, faster; she kisses Glinda’s neck with an open mouth.

“Elphie,” Glinda gasps, more air than voice, “Elphie—”

She turns and watches them in the mirror, the image clouded either through her eyes or still from the steam. Her own indistinct face, wrenched up with pleasure, Elphaba up against her—

“Elphie,” she says, surprised to hear that much substance to it. A name as real as the woman next to her.

Elphaba pulls back, wide-eyed.

“Don’t stop,” Glinda whispers, trembling. She cups Elphaba’s jaw and coaxes her closer, closer. “I missed you,” she murmurs into her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I—”

What she’s apologizing for she can’t say, not really. It’s all concentrating, the thudding pressure and the friction and slow swipe of Elphaba’s fingers over her clit.

“Don’t apologize,” Elphaba says.

Glinda’s breath hitches.

“It’s alright,” Elphaba tells her. “It’s alright, my sweet.”

Shuddering, Glinda kisses her. Her spine curves. Her thighs clamp together. It rushes over her, a swell of rapturous pleasure that breaks like a fever with only that shivery, disoriented feeling left behind.

Elphaba murmurs something while Glinda’s ears ring.

“What?” Glinda pants. “What is it, Elphie?”

“I missed you too,” Elphaba says. Her fingers, soaked, flit over the plane of Glinda’s stomach.

Glinda whimpers inadvertently, hips stuttering forward.

“I did,” Elphaba tells her, lowering her head to Glinda’s collarbone. She kisses her there chastely, then, less chastely, further down over sternum and cartilage and muscle. She bends with her hands at Glinda’s waist. Her tongue presses against Glinda’s navel, it slides down, down…

By the time Glinda’s managed to open her eyes again, Elphaba is on her knees.

“Is that alright?” Elphaba asks, looking up at her.

“Mhm,” Glinda forces out. “By all means.”                                                      

Nodding, Elphaba interlaces their fingers. When Glinda grips onto them, she can feel Elphaba’s bones against hers, the dull pain her only anchor as Elphaba takes her into her mouth.

Glinda moans brokenly; she shifts against Elphaba’s face, in time with the slow drag of her tongue, her lips, the heat of her breath.

She opens her mouth but finds she cannot breathe with the warm humid air billowing into her lungs, with her stomach only able to flutter shallowly as Elphaba’s mouth slips against her. Is there even a wall, behind her? Is there even a floor? She could not name the year or place, she can’t quite recall her own name, only Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba.

“Oh,” she moans, or tries to, “oh—”

Without stopping, Elphaba squeezes her hand.

She’s here, Glinda thinks blankly. She’s here.

She takes a gulping breath of air. Her mind is bizarrely, wonderfully empty, a cloud of grey static and white noise and pleasure pulsing around her, coming in from all sides. She doesn’t chase it so much as Elphaba nudges her towards it, closer and closer, ravenous in her hunger, patient in her appeasement of it.

Glinda gasps something out, still wordless; she grasps Elphaba’s hand hard. Rooted deep, urged forward by Elphaba against her… it comes in slow, flickering, before Glinda’s knees lock and her stomach spasms with the orgasm, wringing a moan out that spills from her lips.

And Elphaba stays. Miraculously, she stays. Glinda thrusts aimlessly forward, Elphaba’s hand must be numb from Glinda gripping it and still she stays, patient, soothing, until Glinda’s thighs are twitching and she lets go of Elphaba’s hand to slide onto the floor.

“Fuck,” she whispers, reaching for Elphaba to kiss her. “Fuck,” she says again, pulling away with the taste of herself and Elphaba combined. “You really did miss me.”

“I did,” Elphaba says.

“Lurline,” Glinda wheezes. It isn’t a particularly sexy sound but she hopes the way she’s blushing makes up for it, how her bathrobe pools around her, open. “I need, like, twenty to thirty seconds, I think—”

She lets her head fall against the doorjamb, still breathing heavily.

“Glinda?” she hears Elphaba ask timidly.

When Glinda looks over, she sees Elphaba blushing a deep, rich jade. “Over here.”

“Are you alright?”

“Terrible,” Glinda sighs. “You’re so far away.”

Elphaba raises an eyebrow at her from the other side of the doorframe. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Glinda says, shuffling closer. Elphaba’s slacks are rough, the heft of the fabric obvious from the feel of it. Elphaba’s stomach quivers before Glinda’s even touched it.

It’s very soft. The bare skin there, how Elphaba whimpers and pushes up against her.

“Hi,” Glinda whispers, shedding her bathrobe entirely as she straddles Elphaba’s legs.

“Hi,” Elphaba replies faintly.

Glinda runs a hand down between Elphaba’s breasts. “You know, I feel underdressed.”

Elphaba smiles, a half-curved thing that makes Glinda giggle.  “You should deal with that, then.”

“I made it a lot easier on you,” Glinda murmurs, sliding a finger between Elphaba’s ribcage and the band of her bra. “With the bathrobe. Really, you could help a little.”

“I’m sure you can manage,” Elphaba tells her. “Aren’t you very independent?”

“When I have to be,” Glinda says. Her fingers pause at the clasp of Elphaba’s bra, her other hand poised over the waistline of her slacks. “Well, Elphie,” she continues, leaning in against her ear, “any other piercings I should know about?”

Elphaba giggles. Giggles! The audacity.

“I’m not joking,” Glinda chastises her. “I don’t want to get caught on anything.”

“No other piercings,” Elphaba says. “I promise.”

Glinda hums in acknowledgement. She undoes the clasp; Elphaba pulls the straps off over her arms and lets her bra fall inelegantly onto the tiled floor. Glinda leans in again to kiss her, pulling at her lip and delighting in the soft moan that follows.

“So how do you want me?” Glinda asks as she draws back. “Should we move? I know the bathroom floor isn’t ideal, but—”

“I don’t care,” Elphaba says. “I don’t care, the floor is fine.”

Glinda nods, hesitant.

Elphaba swallows. “Just—like before.”

When Glinda brushes against the inside of Elphaba’s clothed thigh, she can feel the muscle tense. “Like this?” she asks, tracing over the seam of her slacks.

Blushing heavily, Elphaba nods.

The zipper catches for the briefest of seconds, then slides down without further resistance. And Elphaba, well. She shifts her hips up desperately and Glinda forgets how to think with pulling the rest of her clothes off and then Elphaba is naked in front of her, lodged between the tile and the doorframe with her legs splayed open.

“Oz, you’re pretty,” Glinda tells her, palming over the jut of her hipbone. “So pretty, Elphie.”

“You sound surprised,” Elphaba says.

“I am not,” Glinda says indignantly. “I always told you that, didn’t I?” She kisses her way up Elphaba’s neck; she bites at Elphaba jaw before retreating with a grin. “I wouldn’t forget.”

“Good,” Elphaba whispers. “Like before, Glinda,” she says again. “Please?”

Slowly, Glinda runs her finger down; Elphaba moans sharply and rolls her hips up against the length of it. It’s imprecise, bordering on desperate, the way Elphaba’s clit grinds against Glinda’s knuckle; Glinda couldn’t say if it’s Elphaba or her that’s losing control, which one of the two are breathing raggedly, who initiates an open-mouthed kiss that leaves Glinda’s lower lip burning.

Who’s to say it isn’t both of them?

You’re so good, Glinda thinks as she pushes into Elphaba, she tries to say it out loud but it’s terribly distracting, how Elphaba tightens and her eyes clench shut and stutter open, with a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her chest. It seems so open now, anyway, with the two of them together, surely Elphaba will hear it, even if it stays in Glinda’s mind, you’re so good you’re so good you’re so—

She adds a second finger; Elphaba’s thighs are shaking and Glinda flexes because Elphaba likes that and certainly that hasn’t changed. She sucks at Elphaba’s earlobe, her tongue sweeping over the tip of it and then she shifts so that her mouth lies flush against Elphaba’s helix.

“You’re so good,” she says, actually this time. Elphaba moans and clenches around her and Glinda’s forearm burns. “I missed this,” Glinda adds. “I missed you.”

When Elphaba gasps, it’s almost pained.

“It’s alright,” Glinda murmurs. “Take your time, Elphie.”

Elphaba, rebellious, shatters. Her fingers claw into Glinda’s shoulder, the pressure of her nails dull, her mouth falling open very prettily. The pressure recedes, strung-up tension dissipating, leaving Elphaba—Elphaba! Glinda thinks gleefully, Elphaba!—collapsed against the doorjamb.

“Elphaba,” Glinda whispers, just to feel it in her mouth.

Elphaba’s breathing is ragged, her palm slipping off Glinda’s shoulder to lie flat over her face.

“Do you want me to do something else?” Glinda asks, sliding off of her. “I could—”

“Later,” Elphaba tells her.

A thread of anticipation unfurls in Glinda’s stomach. “Well, alright,” she says, trailing her fingers up Elphaba’s wrist, between the veins and rounded bone. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Elphaba says. “Can you—”

“What?”

“Just—” She tugs Glinda closer. “If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Glinda mumbles, settling in against her. When she closes her eyes they sting, all that moisture from the shower probably coalesced, or something. “It was really only an offer, since you—well.”

“I’m not keeping score,” Elphaba murmurs, breath warm against Glinda’s hair. “I’m just… you know. It’s been a while. We didn’t talk that much.”

“No, I know,” Glinda says, opening her eyes again. “I know. And at least we’re still—I mean—we’re certainly better at sex than texting, that’s for sure.”

Elphaba cackles. “Does that speak for the sex or against the texting?”

“Both,” Glinda huffs. “Either. The sex is—well, it’s very good, I’m not going to pretend like it isn’t. But the texting, in comparison, is terrible.”

“I do consider having sex with you more enjoyable than texting,” Elphaba says lightly.

Glinda flushes. “I would certainly hope so.”

“It’s a bit like comparing someone’s favorite food to whatever they’re serving in the Shiz cafeteria, isn’t it?”

“I get it,” Glinda grumbles. “You hate texting. I’ll remember next time, before I spend fifteen minutes relaying an anecdote to you; you can spare yourself the haha.”

“I don’t hate it,” Elphaba specifies. “I find it unintuitive.”

Annoyed, Glinda nudges her nose into Elphaba’s bicep. “It’s written words,” she says. “To communicate. Over distance. You can read, can’t you?”

“I can read,” Elphaba says. “I just prefer calling.”

“I know.” Glinda’s voice is muffled against Elphaba’s skin. “I know, and that’s fine, but—”

Elphaba taps at Glinda’s forehead after a few seconds of silence. “But what?”

Elphaba’s stomach is soft next to Glinda’s arm, the line of her hipbone unyielding. It’s very Elphaba, these distinct impressions that are both, somehow, her. Endless yet contained within herself. Glinda skims her fingers over Elphaba’s ribs and watches the far end of her abdomen ripple like water, disturbed. “It’s a lot of work to call.”

“Oh.” Elphaba’s stomach goes still. “I always thought it was worth it.”

“It is, it is. I don’t know, I just—” Glinda sits up, crossing her arms over her naked chest. A chill sweeps over the bumps of her spine, right up to her scalp.

“I am a terrible host,” she says, grabbing at her bathrobe to pull it back on. “I haven’t even offered you anything to drink, you must be starving—do you want a bathrobe? There’s another one in the closet, I think. They’re very fluffy, a bit hard to take off but I could always help you later. And it’d be quite cozy if we both have our bathrobes—”

Elphaba sits up, blinking slowly. “That… that sounds fine.”

“Oh, we could get room service,” Glinda gushes, tying her bathrobe around her waist. “You can actually order over the website,” she calls over her shoulder, retrieving her phone from the bed.  “Here,” she says, padding back over to Elphaba. “Quickly, Elphie, I need food.”

Elphaba cracks a smile. “Do you really want to accept room service like that?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Glinda glances over to the mirror to look at herself, splotchy pink over her face and neck, hair tousled and frizzing. This is the issue with shorter hairstyles!

Though it isn’t even that short.

“I mean—do I look that ridiculous?” Glinda asks, putting her phone down. “I can fix my hair.”

Elphaba gazes at her from her position in the doorframe, one leg bent, the angles of her body delicate, one thing flowing into the next. “No,” she says quietly, “not ridiculous.”

She stands in one graceful motion; she takes a decisive step forward and threads her hand through Glinda’s hair. “You’re just a bit, well…”

Instead of elaborating, like a normal person, Elphaba leans in and kisses her. Whatever offense Glinda would’ve affected dies when Elphaba’s fingers spreads out against her cheek, when her other hand cups her face. It’s a lot at once, really: Elphaba, smiling against her lips, some part of her own chest splitting open.

Abruptly, Elphaba pulls back, the pad of her thumb lingering on Glinda’s dimple. “You know.”

“You’re very rude,” Glinda says, blushing furiously.

“I didn’t even finish the sentence,” Elphaba remarks, stepping out of the bathroom to dig through her bag.

Glinda frowns as Elphaba pulls out a shirt, neatly folded, and lets it fall open against her legs. “I know what you would have said,” Glinda huffs. “And it would’ve been very rude.”

Really, it wouldn’t have been. Windswept, Elphaba would’ve said, perhaps, in that very Elphaba-like tone without a hint of suggestiveness. Disheveled, with an eyebrow raised. Unkempt. Something euphemistic. Descriptive. It would’ve sounded very smart.

Glinda would’ve said fucked.

--

They watch the keynote presentation after dinner, changed into sleep shorts and sleep shirts and with Elphaba’s braids plaited together behind her back. On Glinda’s occasionally flickering laptop screen, a figure hops around on an overlit stage; the slides are preserved in perfect quality in a separate square. It’s very well and good, what the presenter is saying. Elphaba makes a comment every once in a while. Sometimes critical. Always thoughtful. Always something Glinda would’ve never thought of in a million years.

But then again, she’s more focused on the swell of Elphaba’s stomach next to her, how she can inhale and inhale and only ever get the scent of Elphaba and her own laundry detergent.

“Glinda,” Elphaba murmurs about halfway through, jostling her. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” Glinda says. “I’m wide awake.”

Elphaba’s elbow brushes against Glinda’s waist as she turns towards her. “Are you bored?”

“No,” Glinda says again. “I’m fascinated by the… the peer research.”

Elphaba nods dubiously.

Glinda sits up, just a little.

“Do you want to do something else?” Elphaba asks. She’s taken her contact lenses out and put her glasses back on; her eyes are huge behind them.

Glinda raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Blushing, Elphaba shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of,” Glinda says, leaning in with her fingertips light on Elphaba’s ribcage, circling through the thin fabric of her shirt. 

Elphaba swallows as the keynote speaker makes a particularly rambling point. “I’m flexible.”

“Well, you’re the local,” Glinda murmurs, pulling her hand back to pause the video. The laptop fan whirs against the bedsheet. “What is there to do here?”

Elphaba adjusts her glasses, still blushing. “I can think of something, I’m sure.”

She’s delightfully flustered, really. And with all that talk of later!

“Except go to St. Glinda’s Chapel,” Glinda sighs, stretching to press a kiss to Elphaba’s neck, on the curve below her jaw. “Or look at flowers,” she murmurs, kissing down to her collarbone. “Or go to a museum, or get drinks with your friends… I don’t know if I’m up for any of that, frankly.”

“It is a bit late for most of those activities,” Elphaba says, eyelashes fluttering as she looks down, as she moves closer to the heat of Glinda’s body. “And I don’t have any friends, so.”

“Elphie,” Glinda hums, “stop lying. I know that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true.”

Glinda stops kissing her to swing a knee across Elphaba’s legs, coming to rest solidly on her lap. “You’re so self-deprecating,” she chastises, a hand braced against Elphaba’s sternum. “It’s not a very effective flirtation tactic. You know that, right?”

“It seems to work on you.” Elphaba grins. “And you shouldn’t leave your laptop on like that; it’ll overheat.”

Glinda rolls her eyes and turns her laptop off. “It doesn’t work on me,” she huffs. “I mean—you are just saying that to flirt, right?”

“The things I say when I flirt are still true,” Elphaba points out. “Are they not supposed to be?”

“Well, you’re not supposed to lie,” Glinda mutters. “It’s more about constructing a narrative, really.”

Elphaba laughs a bit at that, legs tensing under Glinda’s thighs.

“So you really don’t have any friends?” Glinda asks, frowning despite the position they’re in, despite the way Elphaba’s looking at her, with an impatient wanting that’s slowly ceding to something a bit more like perplexion.

“Is that relevant?” she asks.

“I mean—” Glinda shrugs. “I thought you were happy here.”

“It’s fine,” Elphaba tells her. “Who would I be friends with?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Glinda shifts forward, more solidly up from Elphaba’s knees. “Sapp?”

Elphaba snorts incredulously. “I am not going to be friends with Sapp.”

“Okay, so that was a bad example,” Glinda concedes. “But seriously, everyone here is obsessed with you, it’s all Professor Thropp this and Professor Thropp that and Elphaba, why won’t you ever come to drinks? Go be friends with those people.”

“My students incorrectly refer to me as Professor Thropp,” Elphaba tells her. “I’m not going to befriend my students. And the lab—they ask everyone to come to drinks; it’s not me, specifically.”

“They wouldn’t ask you if they didn’t want you to go,” Glinda mumbles, tracing down Elphaba’s shoulder blade with her palm. “They’d put it in a group chat they know you don’t read, for plausible deniability, but they wouldn’t ask you to your face. And if you found out by coincidence, they’d be like you were in the group chat, we thought you knew, sorry, now we’ve made the reservation already.”

Elphaba pauses. “Would they do that? That seems mean.”

“It’s a hypothetical scenario without basis in reality,” Glinda says. “I can just imagine it’d be a very effective strategy.”

“It's a professional courtesy for them to invite me,” Elphaba says. “There’s no need to convince me otherwise.” Carefully, she reaches forward to brush a lock of hair away from Glinda’s face. “I thought you’d given up on making me social,” she murmurs, leaning in.

“I haven’t,” Glinda says, pulling away to look at her. “I mean—I was never trying to make you social, I just don’t think you’re only capable of interacting with the world as Dr. Elphaba Thropp, genius prodigy Ozford scholar.”

Elphaba nods, a flash of amusement passing over her face. “That’s because I’m too old to be a prodigy.”

“You’re a pedant, Elphaba,” Glinda says crossly. “But you must have the urge to talk to someone other than your coworkers.”

“I have spoken to Sarima’s sisters,” Elphaba offers. “At least three of them.”

“Because you were forced to!”

“I wasn’t forced. I could’ve left the apartment through the fire escape.”

“So what have you been doing for the past six months, then, when you weren’t texting me back?” Glinda swallows against the low burn in her gut. “Apart from working.”

Elphaba shrugs. “I sat on the bench.”

“Alone?”

Better than not alone, Glinda’s brain supplies helpfully. She closes her eyes to get rid of the image.

Elphaba shrugs again, braids falling down over her shoulders. “I am used to it, Glinda.”

“But you weren’t alone when—”

“I moved here for work,” Elphaba reminds her gently.

“You had work in Shiz,” Glinda argues. “But you’re supposed to—it’s the Emerald City, for Lurline’s sake! I’d be thrilled to live here, and you—you’re living like a maunt with a septum piercing! You can’t possibly think this is better than—”

She forces herself silent, still with her hands on Elphaba’s shoulders.

“You know, I have thought of something we could be doing.”  Elphaba’s voice is gentle, almost amused; she moves closer, her breath hot against Glinda’s lips. “If you’re quite finished calling me a loser, that is.”

“I’m not calling you a loser,” Glinda squawks. “Don’t say that. It makes me sound awful.”

“I’m sorry.” Elphaba clenches her eyes shut, moving back again. “Sorry.”

“I just figured you’d love it here,” Glinda rambles. “Because it’s—everyone wants to live here and you’re just—”

She motions vaguely.

“I believe the phrase was living like a maunt with a septum piercing,” Elphaba offers, very unhelpfully.

“You can’t possibly be happy like this, just working,” Glinda says. “Without friends and”—she swallows hard— “friends, and things like that.”

Elphaba watches her warily. And Elphaba had liked Shiz, way back when. Hadn’t she? She’d liked walking over the canal, the park. Time Dragon Lake. Grinning at Glinda while the paddleboat wobbled, her shoulders poking out from a sleeveless top...

“You wouldn’t stay if it wasn’t worth it, would you?” Glinda asks. “I mean, unless you were that unhappy before.”

“I wasn’t,” Elphaba says after a beat, straightening her back.

Glinda waits.

“Really, I wasn’t,” Elphaba repeats. “And I do like living here.”

“Even though you’re terribly lonely?”

“Not terribly,” Elphaba tries. “And that doesn’t matter, Glinda. I am here to work.”

“Right.” Glinda exhales, a dull throbbing feeling in her chest. “I keep forgetting.”

Elphaba closes her eyes for a clocktick. “Forgetting what?”

“That you base your life decisions on work,” Glinda says, sliding off of Elphaba’s lap to sit next to her. “That you’d… well. It doesn’t matter. It’s your life, after all.”

She stares ahead at the mirror on the wall, her own pale face and wan eyes and the flush persisting on her neck, at Elphaba looking down at her hands.

“It’s important research,” Elphaba’s saying. “It might be groundbreaking.”

“Oh, Elphie.” Glinda watches herself sigh. “You’d be brilliant and talented everywhere, not just at the top-ranked university in Oz.”

“It’s the best-resourced lab in the country,” Elphaba says quietly.

Glinda shakes her head. “Look,” she says, forcing her voice soft. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. Behind your waterfall for two years and all because of this fellowship.”

Elphaba nods stiffly.

“You can’t possibly think this is the purpose of life, or whatever,” Glinda mutters. “Not that I’m particularly philosophically inclined, but—”

“It’d be a waste,” Elphaba interrupts haltingly. “If I didn’t… if I didn’t get the most out of this.”

“There are other people who could use that funding, you know.” Glinda smiles blithely. “They don’t just spend it on catering if there’s no Elphaba Thropp around to make use of it.

“I know.” The muscles at the front of Elphaba’s throat bob as she swallows. “But I figured I could do the most good with it, and I—”

She breaks off, making a pained expression.

“You what?”

“I know that’s arrogant,” Elphaba says bitterly. Her eyes are dark and wide, cavernous depths behind them.

A feeling festers in Glinda’s stomach, guilt or shame, surely, from the rot at the very core of her. “No, no, they picked you,” she rushes to say. “They did, Elphie. Why wouldn’t they have, I mean—” she forces herself to giggle. “It’s a no-brainer.”

Elphaba shrugs. “I’ve made a commitment now, anyway.”

“You’re not staying here because of your commitment,” Glinda groans, lightly slapping her arm. “You’re staying here because you’re the best person for this.”

She tugs at Elphaba’s sleeve to get her to turn, so that she can trace a line over Elphaba’s eyebrow, over the curve of her cheekbone. “You’re the best person I know,” Glinda whispers. “I mean that.”

Elphaba’s eyelids flutter, not quite closing. “How many people do you know?”

“Tons,” Glinda says, moving in conspiratorially. “I have a friend in every department at SUH, most of them morally bankrupt. Except the pathologist, really.”

Elphaba huffs out a laugh.

“Maybe you’ve heard of her,” Glinda says. “She’s green; she’s on a research exchange at Ozford.”

Elphaba rolls her eyes, blushing; her gaze flicks down to Glinda’s mouth.

“She’s doing absolutely brilliant research,” Glinda continues. “She’s uniquely talented in that regard. And she has impossibly high moral standards.” Glinda pulls a face. “Unionist upbringing, you know what I mean.”

Elphaba’s front teeth are barely visible under her upper lip.

Glinda bites down a smile. “And she has a septum piercing and this wonderful sense of humor… she’s my best friend, really.”

“Good for her,” Elphaba says.

Glinda’s finger finds the notch of Elphaba’s sternum, the soft skin suspended between muscle. Her other hand is flat between Elphaba’s waist and her shirt, loose so that it rises and falls with Elphaba’s breathing. “So she shouldn’t have any regrets, then,” she says thickly. “Right?”

Elphaba, sighing, slides her palm against Glinda’s jaw and kisses her instead of answering.

--

It’s odd, to be in bed with Elphaba again.

Not that Glinda’s complaining!

And they’ve been in bed, for the better part of the evening, watching and not-watching the keynote presentation, talking and not-talking, clothed and—well, that’s not the point.

But it’s odd to be in bed with the intention of sleeping.

“I don’t know if I’ve started snoring,” Glinda whispers at Elphaba, the blanket drawn up over her shoulders. “My father snores. Isn’t that genetic?”

The shape of Elphaba’s face is murky in the dark. “You’ve always snored a little.”  

“That is not true!” Glinda yelps. “You know that’s not true. Take that back.”

“You do,” Elphaba says. “When you lie on your back.”

“Move me, then. Or smother me with a pillow.”

Elphaba turns to face Glinda, her forehead smooth beneath the edge of her bonnet. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s unladylike,” Glinda pouts. “It’s unattractive. Do you have tape? I can tape my nostrils open.”

Elphaba laughs. “I don’t have tape.”

“Ugh.” Glinda lets her shoulders fall back onto her pillow with a dull thump. The bland white ceiling spreads out above her. “That’s so embarrassing,” she mutters. “A snorer! Me!”

“Only when you lie on your back,” Elphaba specifies.

“Still.” Glinda rubs her nose. “I thought I was a decent co-sleeper. But I kick and I snore, apparently—”

“You’ve never kicked me,” Elphaba says, disembodied from the other side of the bed.

“I have, though.” Something tightens in Glinda’s chest. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”

“When was that?”

“In the summer,” Glinda whispers.

There’s a rustling sound; Glinda squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them she glances at the other side of the bed, at the darkness and the stark white sheet cutting it off.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says, rather pathetically. “It was an accident.”

“I don’t even remember, Glinda, it’s fine. Clearly I haven’t taken any long-term damage from it.”

“Well, alright,” Glinda says uneasily, shifting towards her. “If you say so.”

She is nearly asleep when Elphaba speaks again.

“Did you have a good day?” Elphaba asks, her entire presence that faint voice in the dark.

“Of course,” Glinda yawns. “I’ve always wanted to see the Emerald City.”

There’s a shuffling sound. “Do you think it was alright that we skipped the conference?”

“Four out of five stars for Walking Tours by Elphaba Thropp,” Glinda mumbles. “One star deducted because the tour guide was constantly fishing for compliments.”

Elphaba laughs softly.

“Just wish I’d had a bit longer,” Glinda sighs. “A day isn’t really enough. For sightseeing, I mean.”

“I know,” Elphaba says.

“But there’s still tomorrow,” Glinda murmurs.

“There’s a lot going on tomorrow,” Elphaba says. “The statistics workshop and I have the poster session and—”

“It’s a whole day,” Glinda says, or thinks she says, it’s hard to tell when she’s this tired. “I won’t distract you too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No,” Elphaba’s saying, her voice ebbing as sleep crowds Glinda’s mind with invasive urgency. “I have to…”

When Glinda’s head lolls onto the pillow, she snaps awake. ““You wouldn’t let me, anyway, since you’re so terribly strict,” she says. Her eyes slip shut; without opening them, she feels around for Elphaba’s arm. “Aren’t you cold?” she mumbles, rolling into her. “Temperature regulation in hotel rooms is so…”

She falls asleep before she can finish the sentence.

--

They get breakfast at the hotel the next morning, to save time before the conference starts. Elphaba walks the entire room twice and separates food groups into neat little piles. Glinda meanders and overloads her plate.

“They have kiwi spoons,” Elphaba informs her as Glinda sits down. “I’ve been trying to find some for ages. I’ll have to ask where they get them.”

“Kiwi spoons,” Glinda repeats blankly. “A spoon in the shape of a kiwi, or—”

Elphaba shakes her head, like Glinda’s being ridiculous. “Look,” she says, holding one out to her. “It has a serrated edge; it makes it easier to carve out the fruit.”

“Oh.” Glinda wrinkles her nose. “That’s a very niche type of utensil, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” Elphaba says. “You’re more likely to mash the fruit with a regular spoon and peeling is a bore, and if you like eating kiwi—”

Glinda, delighted, opens her mouth to make a truly terrible joke when a young woman sidles up to them. “Hi,” she says tentatively. “Sorry to be a bother. You’re—you’re Elphaba Thropp, right? Dr. Elphaba Thropp?”

Elphaba freezes with her fingers around the kiwi spoon. “Yes,” she says, blinking rapidly. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Oz, sorry. Wendla Dosey, from the University of Ugabu. We emailed a couple of months ago, about color standardization for whole side imaging scans?”

“Oh!” Elphaba leans forward and tucks a braid behind her ear. The kiwi spoon clatters on her plate. “Yes. I remember. How did that work out?”

How her eyes light up!

“We’re still trying to get funding for it,” Dr. Dobey says. “But I just wanted to say that I read your paper, the one in The New Ozian Journal of Medicine, and it was incredible. My PI called it a paradigm shift. Could I just ask you about—”

Wow, Glinda mouths at Elphaba, who’s too busy nodding to look in Glinda’s direction. A jade flush sits high on her cheekbones. She scooches her chair further back; she gesticulates with a sureness that makes Glinda blush.

“—oh, sorry,” Dr. Doobly says eventually, glancing behind her at Glinda. “Dr. Dosey, University of Ugabu.”

“Yes, I heard,” Glinda says, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Dr. Upland, Shiz.”

Dr. D—whatever—has a mediocre handshake, no surprises there! “Are you in Dr. Dillamond’s lab too, or—?”

“No,” Glinda says, smiling thinly. “I’m just a dermatologist.”

“Oh, okay.” Dr. Doozy turns back to Elphaba. “Well, it was—very exciting to meet you—you both!”

“Right.” Elphaba blinks. She nudges her glasses further up her nose by scrunching it; it’s delightful. “Yes. You too.”

“Same,” Glinda adds.

Dr. Doodoo leaves the room with a spring in her step.

Elphaba, still blushing, picks up her kiwi spoon.

“Dr. Thropp,” Glinda gasps, grinning in spite of herself. She holds her palm to her stomach, subtly, trying to breathe against it. “Won’t you tell me more about the color standardization—”

“I absolutely will not.”

Glinda thinks about Elphaba lying against the doorframe, looking up at her with a soft wonder in her eyes. Elphaba knotting her fingers into Glinda’s hair, later, moaning as she comes apart under Glinda’s tongue.

Glinda clenches her thighs together. “Am I not allowed to be curious? I’m very interested in interdisciplinary exchange.”

“Shut up,” Elphaba grumbles. “You’re ruining my meal.”

“Last night was a paradigm shift, too, you know,” Glinda says, laughing as she dodges the crumpled-up napkin Elphaba lobs in her direction.

“I’m throwing the kiwi next.”

“Please,” Glinda says. “As if. You’d never.”

Elphaba straightens her chin. “You’re right. It’s not worth it.” Demonstratively, she digs her spoon into her kiwi. “This is a proper breakfast, in case you were wondering,” she says. “There are food groups. There’s protein.”

“Butter has protein,” Glinda protests. “A pastry has at least two food groups.”

“A pastry is a dessert, not a meal.”

“Sure, whatever,” Glinda dismisses. “It’s okay that you liked that, by the way,” she adds, softer.

“I did not like having a pastry for breakfast,” Elphaba corrects her. “I indulged you because you’re a guest, but in the future—”

“The attention, I mean.”

Elphaba freezes, the spoon shining gray against the fine green fruit-flesh.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Glinda tells her. “To want to get recognized for your work.”

“I’ve already gotten recognized,” Elphaba says. Her wrist twists the spoon around, winding it deeper into the kiwi flesh. “I am the first author, and—Glinda? Are you eating a piece of cake right now?”

“A piece of cake can be breakfast,” Glinda mumbles, stabbing the spongy body of it with her fork. “Let me have this, Elphaba.”

--

At the midpoint of the statistics seminar, Glinda receives an email that her flight is ready for check-in. 24 hours until it leaves—of course it’s ready for check-in, it’s how planes work. Glinda knows that’s how it works. She isn’t one of those bumbling tourists at the check-in counter, typing and re-typing her reservation numbers in until the machine spits out a piece of paper.

“How was the statistics seminar?” Elphaba greets her nervously afterwards, hovering in front of the door. “You seem…”

“I’m exhausted,” Glinda sighs. “It was a lot of thinking! I would’ve rather gone to see the statues. But it was a good overview. Maybe I’ll be marginally less of an embarrassment in front of the statistician next time.”

Elphaba frowns. “I’m sure you weren’t an embarrassment.”

“You weren’t there,” Glinda sighs, stepping past her in the direction of the general stream of people. “Trust me, if you’d have been there—”

“Elphaba!”

Elphaba groans.

Sapp pushes his way through the crowd towards them. “Elphaba,” he puffs, “where’d you go?”

“I’m not coming tonight,” Elphaba tells him. “I told you that two weeks ago.”

“I know about tonight,” he says impatiently, “but you didn’t fill out the doodle about the pre-debrief-brunch tomorrow—oh, hi, Glinda—”

“Hi, Sapp,” Glinda says.

“Do you want to come tonight?” Sapp asks abruptly. “You can also come tomorrow, we can pull up an extra chair—”

“Oh.” Glinda blinks. “Um—“

“We’re getting dinner,” Elphaba says. “Glinda owes me; she forgot my birthday.”

“Elphie,” Glinda mutters. “You don’t have to bring that up all the time.”

“Wait, when was your birthday?” Sapp tilts his head. “I didn’t see it in the birthday calendar.”

“And I’ll be at the debrief,” Elphaba continues smoothly, ignoring him. “Have fun at brunch.”

“But Glinda might want to come—”

“I’m flying out tomorrow morning,” Glinda says apologetically. “But I do appreciate the invitation, I love brunch.”

“At least someone does,” Sapp mumbles, forcing himself in between them as they walk towards the lunch buffet. “What did you think of the posters, Elphaba? I really enjoyed the discussion—”

Elphaba, tense, loops her thumb around the strap of her backpack. “Sapp,” she interrupts. “I appreciate your… enthusiasm.”

Sapp nods eagerly.

“But we actually also have lunch plans.” Elphaba adjusts her glasses. “Glinda forgot my birthday last year, too, so. We’ll be late if we don’t hurry. I’ll see you at the closing session.”

Glinda freezes, heart leaping in her throat.

“Oh,” Sapp says. “Well—that’s nice, I guess. See you.”

He trots off, deflated.

“Elphie,” Glinda admonishes her, watching him. “Look at him, he’s so sad.”

Elphaba, grinning, seems unconcerned as she prods Glinda forward with her palm against Glinda’s back. “He’s fine.”

“And it’s really quite unfair for you to bring up the birthday thing in a situation like this,” Glinda says as they step out into the lobby of the conference center. “I mean, seriously! Using me as an avoidance strategy?”

Slightly ahead of her, Elphaba turns. “Can I buy you lunch?”

“I’ll have to check the scoresheet,” Glinda says. “I can’t leave here with more debt—”

“Glinda.”

Glinda stops, extinguishing the steady sound of her heels on marble. “We’d have free catered lunch inside. There’s a quinoa bowl, or so I’ve been told.”

“Yes, but then we’d have to sit with Sapp and the rest of my coworkers.” Elphaba sucks in a breath, her collarbones sharpening. “And you are leaving tomorrow.”

“Well, alright,” Glinda says, a blush creeping up her chest. “If you insist.”

Elphaba’s lips curve into a smile. “I do,” she says, holding out her hand. “We really should hurry, though; there’s a plenary discussion before the closing session I’d like to attend.”

“Okay, okay,” Glinda laughs, lacing their fingers together as Elphaba starts walking, rather swiftly. “We’ll head right back for the plenary thingie and the closing session, to really maximize the conference experience—”

“Don’t be too excited,” Elphaba tells her. “There’s lots of thanking people and general drivel about the importance of promoting research and so on and so forth. I’ve read a draft of the first chair’s remarks.”

“Well then,” Glinda huffs.

“But we can get dinner,” Elphaba continues. “And I’d even get a pastry for breakfast tomorrow morning, if you insisted.”

“Brunch would have more food groups,” Glinda remarks. “Since that’s apparently a priority of yours.”

“I thought I’d bring you to the airport, actually.”

“Oh.” Glinda stumbles as her heel catches on the groove between two plates of concrete. “Seriously,” she says, steadying herself with Elphaba’s hand. “Sidewalk maintenance does not seem to be a priority here.”

“Are you alright?” Elphaba asks.

“I’m fine,” Glinda repeats, her ankle twinging dully. She lets go of Elphaba to fumble at the heel of her shoe, hopping on one leg out of the center of the sidewalk. A dozen cars stand in traffic next to them, honking and puffing out grey exhaust. “Better than fine. You were—you’re going to bring me to the airport, you said?”

“Unless you’d rather I go to brunch.”

“Well—” Gingerly, Glinda flexes her foot, wincing. “It’s your decision, ultimately.”

“I’d rather drop you off.” Elphaba frowns. “Are you sure you’re alright? We could go back; you could put ice on it.”

“No, no.” Glinda feels a smile breaking through. When she puts her foot down, a stinging pain shoots up her leg, but it goes away after a few seconds. “No, I want to get lunch, and I’d really like it if you dropped me off; really, it’s all absolutely fine.”

What else is there to say, standing across from Elphaba with the cacophony of cars next to them, the air between them heavy with fumes and the smell of fried food?

Experimentally, Glinda rolls her ankle; it’s less sore already.

A few seconds more, she thinks, and it’ll be enough to put weight on.

--

“I still have to check in for my flight,” Glinda groans, tapping around on her phone while they wait for the bill to come back. “I hate sitting in aisle seats.” Grinning, she glances up at Elphaba. “Ooh, should I upgrade myself to business class?”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“A bit,” Glinda hums. “But since you’re reimbursing my costs…”

“It’s not me,” Elphaba says, shifting forward in her seat. The angles of her blouse peek out over the collar of her sweater. It’s very Ozfordian, all of it. Really, she fits right in. “It’s coming from our budget for young researchers from underfunded institutions.”

Glinda beams. “So you bent the rules for me.”

“I didn’t,” Elphaba tells her, a crease on her forehead. “Shiz is underfunded.”

“Nonsense.” Glinda waves her hand. “We have loads of cash; they’re basically renovating the entire hospital. Which is, by the way, the twelfth best university hospital in Oz.”

“In clinical rankings,” Elphaba says. “But it’s not one of the top fifty university hospitals in terms of research funding. That’s all that means.”

“Oh, just admit it.” Glinda taps Elphaba’s foot with her own, her ankle having quite recovered from earlier. “You bent the rules for me. You can tell me, I can keep a secret.”

“I didn’t,” Elphaba says again. “I wouldn’t.”

“You sent me that awfully formal email,” Glinda teases. “Did you pretend like you didn’t know me when you reviewed my abstract, too? My, this Dr. Upland shows quite a bit of promise—”

“I wasn’t on the selection committee,” Elphaba says. “I didn’t—I just sent you the invitation. I didn’t influence the decision.”

Glinda pauses, a sour taste coagulating on her tongue. “But you were so sure about it.”

“I was.” Elphaba rubs the edge of her napkin between her fingers. “I knew it’d get accepted.”

It’s flattering, in a way. Although Glinda had enjoyed the mental image of Elphaba trying not to smile when Glinda’s abstract came in, Elphaba sliding a printout of it over the table—I think this could be an important contribution, she’d imagined Elphaba saying in a rather shy way, and perhaps the others in the room would have glanced around to each other, surprised by Dr. Thropp’s sudden softness.

Glinda swallows the image down. “And if it hadn’t, we wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t have been invited?”

The check holder arrives, shiny black against the white tablecloth.

“You wouldn’t have been eligible to get your travel costs and registration fee reimbursed,” Elphaba says, opening it to retrieve her credit card. “You could have attended the conference.”

“And the registration fee would’ve had to come out of my rent?” Glinda scratches her forehead. “I can’t afford that.”

“Yes, that is why the fund exists.” Elphaba slots her card into her wallet with practiced ease. “I agree that it’s problematic that it’s only available to presenters, though. Ozford gatekeeping resources, as usual.” She shakes her head. “If you were a resident here, you’d have a career development budget you could spend as you deem fit; instead you have to… well. I’ll have to address that with the committee, for next year.”

Glinda slides to the edge of her chair. “Well,” she says, smiling coquettishly. “Maybe you could address the business class lounge and a lie-flat seat. Just for me?”

“Do you really think that’d be fair?” Elphaba asks absentmindedly, writing the tip neatly onto both copies of the receipt. “We had a presenter from the Vinkus coming in on a bus. They had to wear compression stockings so they didn’t get DVT.”

“Not when you say it like that,” Glinda concedes, moving back again. “I just thought research would be worth it, for once.”

Elphaba’s eyes flick back and forth as she double-checks the numbers. “Is it not otherwise?”

“Sure,” Glinda says. “I love helping others.”

Elphaba scribbles an illegible signature onto the printed line. “Naturally.”

“And changing the course of clinical medicine, probably,” Glinda continues. “Not to mention the personal and professional satisfaction! You know. All important things, but business class—”

“I see you’ve got your priorities straight.”

“You know I’m joking, right?”

Elphaba’s nicked a hole in the receipt with the tip of the pen, a tiny dot with the smooth blackness of the check holder shining through. “Are you?”

“I’ll resign myself to a window seat and neck pain,” Glinda informs her. “For the good of humanity, I suppose. As befits an underfunded researcher. But I’m going to be in a terrible, horrible mood when I arrive, which luckily won’t affect you—”

“I’ll still miss you,” Elphaba says matter-of-factly, snapping the check holder shut.

“You ought to put in a good word for me next time, then,” Glinda says. “Or you could text me back.”

Elphaba sighs.

“Maybe I could email you about color standardization for something-or-other if you forget,” Glinda continues. “I mean, it worked for Dr. Doobie.”

“Dosey,” Elphaba corrects her. “And you could stand to call me more than once a month.”

“Yes, there’s more than enough blame to go around,” Glinda says airily. “Does it matter?”

Tucking her wallet into her backpack, Elphaba shrugs. “Depends,” she says. “Should we leave?”

“I suppose we should,” Glinda says, handing Elphaba her coat. “What was that plenary discussion on again? Not statistics, right?”

--

Elphaba’s thumb swipes over Glinda’s as they hold hands on the way to the conference center; more irritatingly, she’s always looking, every time Glinda’s eyes shift over to her.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” Glinda asks eventually. Even under her coat, the fabric of her blouse is uncomfortably smooth and much too light. Something scratches against her skin; she swears the tag’s still on or something or maybe the little plastic bit from the tag, poking out and stabbing the delicate skin between her shoulder blades. She hadn’t noticed before; she’d lived in beautiful ignorance. “I’d rather you tell me now.”

“You don’t.”

But Elphaba looks again! Impossible, that woman.

“Or is it my hair?” Glinda continues, casting a glance at herself in the next darkened window they pass. “Or—”

“You look fine.”

“What an underwhelming compliment,” Glinda comments, stepping tidily over a crack in the sidewalk. “You really need to work on that.”

Elphaba’s cheeks tinge with a blush. “I am.”

“Well, good.” Glinda stretches her shoulders; the blouse slips over her back. “Do you think I have time to change?” she asks as they round the corner towards the hotel. “I hate this blouse.”

Elphaba frowns. “It’s nice.”

“I left the tag on, I think,” Glinda groans, stopping in front of the hotel and shrugging her coat half-off. “And the texture’s off. I’m serious; feel it.”

Limply, she holds out her arm.

Elphaba, careful, reaches out to touch Glinda’s sleeve with her fingers bent. “What’s wrong with it?” she asks, fingertips ghosting over the surface, up towards the bend of Glinda’s elbow.

“Too light,” Glinda says, her stomach tensed.

Elphaba’s index finger brushes over the curve of Glinda’s underarm.

“It is,” Glinda says, shivering. “It’s ticklish.”

“The fabric isn’t ticklish,” Elphaba says quietly, tracing down the tendons in Glinda’s wrist.

Glinda rolls her eyes. “And how would you know that? Your research focus isn’t textiles, Elphie.”

“By definition.” Elphaba’s lips quirk. “Ticklish describes a quality of the thing that is being tickled. You could be ticklish.”

“I am suffering,” Glinda complains, smacking Elphaba’s hand away. “And you’re harping on definitions!”

“I’m sorry.” Elphaba grins. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Pedant,” Glinda mutters.

“I do, by the way,” Elphaba says.

“Help yourself, or—?”

Elphaba puts her palm flat on the revolving door and pushes it forward. “I think you have time to change.”

Where exactly they get sidetracked between all that, Glinda can’t exactly say. It’s a matter of little consequence in the end, isn’t it? What else are they supposed to do? Glinda kisses Elphaba in the elevator as they pass between the second and third floors, fingers curled into the lapel of her coat. “Excuse me,” she whispers, pulling back with a faint smile. “We’re stuck in the elevator anyway, aren’t we, at least until—”

Elphaba kisses her again before they reach the fourth floor; she keeps kissing her all the way up, until the doors slide open.

“I mean, it probably wouldn’t take me too long to change,” Glinda says, watching Elphaba’s breathing go shallow. “You could help me, couldn’t you?”

Though it isn’t that helpful, to have Elphaba’s hands pulling at the front of her blouse, just through the door to the hotel room.

“Elphie,” Glinda gasps. “What are you—”

“I’m helping you change,” Elphaba whispers into her jawline, unbuttoning Glinda’s blouse from the top down. “The plenary—”

“I know, I know,” Glinda sighs. “I know you wanted to go. I didn’t forget.”

“I think I want you more,” Elphaba says, sounding strangely nervous as her lips graze Glinda’s earlobe. When she touches Glinda’s stomach, the muscle jumps. “But they might need me before the closing session. They always call me if there’s a tech issue, for whatever reason, so I’ll—I think it’ll have to be just you, for now, and we’ll have to keep it quick. Is that okay?”

Elphaba doesn’t lie, does she? Not like this, not when she plans things out so meticulously. Glinda takes a breath to say something teasing, something funny, but instead she just nods wordlessly and lets her blouse slide down onto the carpet with her coat. It seems like a miracle, Elphaba in front of her like this, Elphaba’s pupils dilating as Glinda unhooks her bra. Elphaba wanting this more than, well—whatever’s happening in that conference center across the street. Wanting Glinda more, Glinda who must on some level surely deserve this.

“Take me to bed,” Glinda tells her. “Actually to bed, I’m not holding myself up against a wall again.”

And Elphaba laughs while Glinda falls down onto the mattress with her legs dangling over the edge of it. She pulls her own sweater off and lets it fall next to Glinda on the bed; she unbuttons Glinda’s slacks and slides them down gently over her knees and smears a wet kiss onto the inside of Glinda’s thighs.

When Elphaba sits back on her heels and takes off her glasses, she’s grinning.

“Elphie,” Glinda chokes out, hips grinding against nothing, “if you could stop looking—”

“You’re so pretty,” Elphaba murmurs with a faint smile. “So beautiful like this, Glinda.”

“That’s a relief,” Glinda replies, unsure if the words get lost somewhere over the expanse of white bedsheets. “I wanted it to be worth it for you, you know, if you’re neglecting—”

Elphaba licks over the strip of cloth between Glinda’s legs, a blunt wet pressure that makes Glinda moan rather deliriously. They—whoever they is, that faceless mass of Ozfordians that seem to exist only to inconvenience Glinda, personally—won’t need Elphaba. They can’t. No one could need Elphaba like Glinda does right now, more than air, more than water, with her breathing stopping when Elphaba’s tongue slides under the fabric of her underwear, with her throat clenching as she gasps.  

And why wouldn’t Glinda deserve this, after all that waiting, after emails and churning out papers and the conference abstract and sitting patiently through that statistics workshop? Elphaba’s undivided attention, Elphaba humming against her; doesn’t that make that all worth it?

Too quickly, Glinda is trembling, close to orgasm, nearly incapacitated with desperation.

“Wait,” she breathes. Elphaba’s head pops up between her legs and it’s quite comical with the suddenness of it, her eyes wide and her lips swollen. Glinda has to giggle, the pulse of her impending orgasm receding.

“Should I do something else?” she asks.

“No,” Glinda sighs. “No, it’s just—” She props herself up with her elbows. “I want you a bit longer,” she confesses, running a fingertip over the freckles on Elphaba’s cheekbone and the curve of her lips. “As long as I can have you, really, if that’s not too selfish of me.”

Elphaba casts a cautious glance at the clock on the bedside table. “I mean—”

“Elphie,” Glinda groans, letting her upper body fall back against the pillow. “No offense, but I doubt the conference is falling apart with you not being there. Me, on the other hand—”

“I know.” Elphaba presses her forehead into Glinda’s thigh. “But they might—”

“They won’t need you,” Glinda says. “Trust me, I have a feeling for these things.”

Elphaba peeks at her, half her face still against Glinda’s leg. “And absolutely no conflict of interest?”

“None,” Glinda says. “Absolutely none.”

Does Elphaba believe her? Does it even matter, when she turns her head again and bites the inside of Glinda’s thigh and Glinda moans sharply, the sound fading into a laugh, and she can feel Elphaba smiling against her skin before she continues? Glinda feels the haze of her pleasure rolling against her skin, nearly peaking before Elphaba pulls back again.

Elphaba wants her, Glinda knows, she wants her still; isn’t that proof enough that she deserves this?

Next time, Glinda thinks, next time she’s close she’ll let herself go; Elphaba will let her go. She feels it, trembling, the back of her neck damp with sweat, her hair surely a mess at this point from pressing it back into the pillow, the blood rushing in her ears and her eyes shut tight, all of her vibrating finely in anticipation with a steady buzzing sound that, on second thought, is actually kind of annoying—

“Sorry,” Elphaba murmurs, pulling away. “Someone’s calling me.”

“It’s probably spam,” Glinda says breathlessly. “It’s like an epidemic.”

Elphaba frowns, blurry in front of her. “It’s Sapp.”

“Seriously?”

“I know,” Elphaba says, putting her palm flat on Glinda’s stomach as an apology. “I’m sorry, my sweet.”

She accepts the call.

“Are you kidding me,” Glinda groans. Her clit twitches in the relatively cold air, now that Elphaba’s retreated from it; her legs feel weak and wobbly and still she can feel her orgasm hovering just out of reach.

“He what?” Elphaba’s voice comes hard from the foot end of the bed.

“What is it?” Glinda asks, pushing herself up.

Elphaba shakes her head, shuffling away with her phone clutched to her ear. “Did he send you his notes?”

And Elphaba’s getting up! She looks oddly put-together in spite of it all, only the slightest hints of lipgloss on her face, her blouse untucked and a small pucker at the front.

Apologetically, she glances back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I read most of it,” she continues, going into the bathroom, “but that doesn’t mean…”

This isn’t happening, Glinda thinks, scalp crawling with embarrassment. This isn’t happening; Elphaba just has to go forward an email or something; she has to provide tech support. She’ll be back and Glinda won’t drag this out anymore, not if she comes back. She’ll be done with it, she’ll have had enough.

“I didn’t ditch anything,” Glinda hears Elphaba snap through the open door. There’s a rush of water from the tap. “I am in the bathroom. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. I cannot teleport—”

Glinda, swallowing, sits fully upright. In the mirror across from the bed she can see her hair poof out behind her and a patchy blush across her chest like a rash.

“I’m sorry,” Elphaba says, appearing in the doorframe. “The first chair has food poisoning. He’s… he had to go home.”

“Food poisoning?”

Elphaba shrugs. “From the catering. Apparently, it was the quinoa bowl.”

Glinda tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, rather uselessly. “And you have to—what, cook lunch?”

“I have to hold the closing remarks.” Elphaba grimaces. “Since I’m second chair of the committee.”

Her eyes shift down to Glinda’s chest inadvertently.

Blushing, Glinda grabs the edge of the sheet and flings it over her naked torso. “But—”

“I’m sorry,” Elphaba says again, hands knotted into each other. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Glinda says, scooting forward. “Look, why don’t you just say you have food poisoning, too? You would eat a quinoa bowl.”

Elphaba shakes her head. “Sapp saw us leave for lunch.”

“Right.” Glinda clicks her tongue. “But I mean—come on, it’s his fault. He organized the catering, he should really deal with the fallout. Actions do have consequences—”

Biting her lip, Elphaba perches next to Glinda on the bed, the sheet tightening between them. “I’m second chair, Glinda.”

“You said that was symbolic.”

“Yes, until the first chair got food poisoning.”

Glinda rubs her legs against each other, skin stinging from wetness. “Sapp could really do you a favor,” she mumbles. “He could just cover for you, don’t you have a flat hierarchy?”

“I knew this might happen,” Elphaba says. “I told you, my sweet.”

Glinda closes her eyes. “No, you did. I know.”

“Are you coming?”

Glinda’s eyes snap open again. “Like this?” She laughs incredulously, shoving her hair back from her face. “I couldn’t even accept room service like this; I’m hardly decent.”

“Right.” Elphaba looks down. “Sorry.”

“I thought you said the closing session was going to be boring, anyway,” Glinda says. “I’d rather wait here, honestly.”

“Right,” Elphaba says again, getting up. “No, it’ll be boring. I’m not particularly good at this type of thing, anyway.”

“You’re an excellent public speaker,” Glinda tells her as Elphaba goes into to the bathroom. “You know you are, Elphie, I won’t stand for this sort of self-deprecation.”

“About things I’ve prepared to speak on,” Elphaba retorts through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Leaning down, she spits the toothpaste into the sink.

Sighing, Glinda lets herself fall onto Elphaba’s sweater, breathing in citrus and laundry detergent. Glinda’s laundry detergent, which might just be because Elphaba’s been with Glinda for the past two days but it really smells like Glinda’s laundry detergent, unless she’s having olfactory hallucinations, which doesn’t seem too likely—

In the bathroom, Elphaba’s still brushing her teeth.

“Elphie,” Glinda calls out from the bed. “Do you use my laundry detergent?”

Elphaba rinses out her mouth before answering. “Is this relevant?” she asks carefully.

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s not yours,” Elphaba says, looking at herself in the mirror with a grimace. “I bought my own box.”

Glinda’s chest hitches.

“I got used to it over the summer.” Elphaba unbuttons and re-buttons the top button of her blouse, still grimacing.

“You use my laundry detergent?”

“Glinda, I have to at least try to look presentable, could we discuss this later?”

“Elphie,” Glinda says, reaching for her purse. “Come here, will you?”

Reticently, Elphaba steps towards her.

“Just—” Glinda motions her forward. “Here.”

She untucks and re-tucks Elphaba’s blouse into her slacks. She unbuttons the top button, studying it with her head inclined before nodding approvingly. “Don’t wear your sweater,” she says as she takes a makeup remover wipe out of her purse and rubs her own lipgloss off of Elphaba’s jaw, a smudge of Elphaba’s eyeliner off of her bottom eyelid. “And keep it short. No one pays attention to closing remarks, anyway. And thank Sapp by name, he’ll need it after the catering debacle.”

Elphaba nods. “Okay.”

“I’m coming,” Glinda continues. “To your presentation, that is. I’ve decided. I’ll just need a clocktick.”

“You don’t have to.” Elphaba pulls on her coat. “Really, you don’t. I’ll barely make it on time, anyway.”

“Go,” Glinda says, sliding out of the sheet. “It’s fine, Elphie. I’ll see you there.”

She puts her clothes back on—other clothes—and ties her hair back as neatly as she can and slips into the auditorium a few minutes late, once Elphaba’s already gesticulating at the front of the room. Despite changing, she can feel how wet she still is; she shifts uncomfortably on the foldable chair and crosses her legs and tells herself that no one’s looking at her; no one’s noticing her.

Who would?

No one here knows her, apart from Elphaba. And Elphaba can’t see her like this, anyway. Not with the light shining in her face.  

--

“I am really sorry,” Elphaba says later that evening, after dinner, after they both have a glass of wine in a bar with none of Elphaba’s colleagues in it and stumble back to the hotel, taking the back elevator up to hide from Dr. Doodoo when they see her in the foyer with a gaggle of other very young researchers. “About earlier, I… I shouldn’t have lost track of time.”

“It happens, Elphie,” Glinda says, swiping a makeup remover wipe over her eyelid. “I started it, anyway. Next time, we’ll set a timer.”

“Next time I won’t neglect my job,” Elphaba replies dully. “I couldn’t even review the slides before I had to start.”

“Come on, you did fine.” Glinda looks over her shoulder to see Elphaba on the bed, lying on her back with her braids loose and flowing over the sheet. “It was even moving, at the end, what you said about addressing systemic disadvantages.”

“I was almost late. I wasn’t prepared,” Elphaba says. “I basically made it all up on the spot, I could’ve said anything.”

“So? It’s not like somebody would’ve died. Pretty low-stakes for medicine, in my opinion.”

Elphaba laces her fingers together over her stomach. “It would have been embarrassing.”

“You have a two-year contract.” Glinda perches on the edge of the mattress, rubbing the residue of the wipe off her cheekbone. “It’d have been one slip-up. It would’ve probably been humanizing, even, if you’d been a bit late or tripped over a few things—people find that sort of thing cute.”

Elphaba stares blankly at their pillows bunched together next to the headboard. “I don’t let students into my classes if they’re more than ten minutes late. I count it as an unexcused absence, unless there’s an extenuating circumstance. It’s university policy, but no one else enforces it.”

Glinda frowns. “Well—”

“It was an issue for the first two weeks,” Elphaba continues. “After that they got used to me. And my coworkers—I had Sapp rewrite the call for abstracts four times before he sent it out.”

“Maybe he just did a very bad job,” Glinda speculates. “It was gorgeous in the end, by the way. Practically poetry.”

Shaking her head, Elphaba continues. “I expect them to do good work.”

“Right, right, I get it,” Glinda interrupts, standing back up and wandering over to the mirror again. Her hair, tied half-up, is frizzing at the top; uselessly, she slicks it down with her palm. “I mean, I do good work, too, I’m still late on occasion.”

“It’s different for you,” Elphaba says. “It is, Glinda, don’t look at me like that. It’s a different standard—”

“Right,” Glinda mutters. “Ozfordian academic excellence. No wonder I don’t get it.”

“It’s not that.” Elphaba inhales. “I just… if I’m going to be like that, I have to be fair.”

“Fairness, really,” Glinda scoffs before she can stop herself. “You’re going to ruin your life with that. I, for one, couldn’t care less about fairness and I am perfectly fine.”

It’s terribly overrated, isn’t it? Or not overrated, not exactly, but—secondary. Simply not the priority, not when Glinda still wants so much, when she’s so busy with herself. Put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others, they always say in planes. Isn’t that the same thing, kind of?

Although Glinda suspects she’d clutch at the mask until her lungs were bursting and the plane was settled on the ground again, other people be damned.

Across from Glinda, there is the sheet and Elphaba lying flat across it, Elphaba’s mouth tensed but kind. Always kind. And her eyes—

They must be slicing through Glinda’s memories to the core of them. Galinda, with the most darling curls, shoving her way in front of the line at the slide in elementary school; Galinda mildly bullying the neighbor’s son and Galinda correcting the wrong answers on her spelling test before primly raising her hand and demanding hers get graded again. Glinda, groaning when patients keep asking questions during rounds. Glinda, adjusting and re-adjusting the inclusion criteria for Dr. Morrible’s horrible study so that something publishable would come out of it eventually. Glinda sending team-building events into a group chat she knows Biq—Boq!—the intern doesn’t check. Glinda begging for more of Elphaba knowing she’s supposed to be somewhere else; Glinda needling Elphaba about not texting back when Elphaba’s washing sheets with Glinda’s laundry detergent and calling her without an answer.

And Elphaba knows about fairness, doesn’t she? Other people’s autonomic nervous systems concern themselves with vasodilation and circadian rhythms. Elphaba’s does, too, obviously, but there must be some part of it devoted to that instinctual understanding of rightness.

But that’s Elphaba, isn’t it?

Knowing Glinda. Knowing goodness.

And Glinda, loving her, can really only hope she manages to bear the difference.

What else can she do?

“Okay, I realize how that sounds,” Glinda says. Her heart, untethered, knocks against every one of her ribs and lands somewhere in her abdominal cavity. “And you’re right. And I didn’t want to distract you, Elphie, I swear, I—”

“I distracted myself,” Elphaba says, sitting up. “I’m sorry.”

Glinda’s mouth is oddly dry as she perches next to her. “You don’t have to be,” she whispers, staring at the freckles on Elphaba’s cheekbone. “I can handle it.”

Elphaba turns so that their noses are barely touching. “Can I make it up to you?”

Oh, how the words send a jolt down her spine. “If you want to,” Glinda says, “but honestly, I was thinking…”

Elphaba’s hipbones dig into Glinda’s thighs as she slides onto Elphaba’s lap; Elphaba’s hands stay loose over Glinda’s shoulder blades as Glinda kisses her.

“I can,” Elphaba offers breathlessly.

“You’ve given me quite a bit of attention already today,” Glinda says, unbuttoning Elphaba’s blouse. “Don’t you want some, too?”

Swallowing, Elphaba nods.

“Good.” Glinda feels herself smile; she pushes Elphaba down against the bed. “Wouldn’t be fair otherwise, would it?”

Elphaba comes quickly, shaking, silent, grinding against Glinda’s palm. And after that a bit louder, clenching around Glinda’s fingers, and after that Elphaba threads her hand between Glinda’s legs and rolls her thumb over Glinda’s clit. It doesn’t take much. Glinda’s knees dig into the mattress as she comes, spasming against her. Really she’d be done already, it’s been a long day, but Elphaba shifts down and looks up at Glinda, and what else can Glinda do except lower herself onto Elphaba’s tongue? It’s strangely lonely, on top of her like that, holding onto the headboard—for stability, Glinda tells herself. But Elphaba’s phone is quiet, somewhere unseen; Glinda’s flight out is before noon tomorrow; Elphaba wants to be fair and good and generous and Glinda loves her. It’s her conflict of interest, that disastrous wanting, it keeps her hips sliding forward and her legs screaming from the tension of it all.

She’s shaking by the time her orgasm abates, as she collapses next to Elphaba. How close Elphaba is, with her stomach warm under Glinda’s arm! Glinda’s fingertips skim the mattress when Elphaba exhales. It makes sense, to be able to feel it like this when Elphaba breathes. Maybe, Glinda thinks, she will get on the plane tomorrow and still feel the rhythm of it, she’ll know, finally, when Elphaba can talk, when she’s asleep, when she’s laughing…

Medically impossible, of course.

“Can we make a plan, Elphie?”

Elphaba’s breathing pauses for a clocktick. “A plan?”

“Yes,” Glinda says. “For calling. Once I’ve… once I’ve gone home.”

Elphaba nods. “I’m almost always available after work.”

“Yes, but what if you have drinks with your colleagues? Or bench time?”

Elphaba sighs. “I’d rather talk to you. I can talk to you on the bench.”

“You’re trying to flatter me.” Glinda moves her palm up, over the joining point between Elphaba’s ribs and her sternum. “It’s working, by the way, but the point is that you’re very busy and I’d rather we think of something ahead of time.”

“We really don’t have to do that.”

“But I can’t keep waiting for you to call me,” Glinda blurts. She can feel the blush creeping down her chest; she covers it by crossing her arms. “I need to know, Elphaba, when you want to talk to me.”

Elphaba’s eyebrows knit themselves together. “I always want to talk to you.”

“Excellent.” Glinda smiles. “Let’s set a standing date, then. How’s Thursday evening?”

“I’m not following,” Elphaba says. “Why do we need to plan it? Do you just want to talk once a week?”

“I'm being realistic, Elphie. We don’t even talk once a month sometimes.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Elphaba says. “I know how busy you are.”

“Yes, and so are you. That’s why we need a plan.” Glinda bumps her forehead against Elphaba's in an attempt to get her to smile. “Hence the Thursday evening slot. There’s this heinous OzCycle class at the gym on Thursdays and I’d never, ever go to that, so I tend to be free.”

“Okay.” Elphaba does smile but it’s brittle; it doesn’t quite engage her eyes. “I thought you’d—once a week is fine.”

“I couldn’t call you whenever I wanted to, anyway,” Glinda mutters. “I’d never get anything done and I’m supposed to be focusing on my career and you’re supposed to focusing on your career, and—”

She stops, breathing heavily, ears rushing with noise.

“Can I just call you every Thursday, Elphie?” she asks. She traces an unsteady line over Elphaba’s cheekbone. “Please?”

“Of course you can,” Elphaba says.

The skin at Elphaba’s temple is thin and warm; her temporal artery pulses under Glinda’s fingertips. As they kiss, Glinda swears it accelerates.

--

“You know, I think you should go to brunch.”

Elphaba pokes her head out of the bathroom. “What?”

“More food groups,” Glinda says listlessly, folding a sweater and putting it into her suitcase. “And Sapp seemed devastated about causing the catering incident yesterday; you ought to give him moral support.”

“I was going to drop you off.” Elphaba steps out of the bathroom. She pushes her glasses up her nose with her index finger. “I wasn’t just saying that.”

“Elphie…”

“I don’t care about brunch,” Elphaba says. “You’re leaving, Glinda.”

“Yes, well.” Glinda’s chest heaves. “You should let me, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’d have a hard time of it, if you brought me to the airport.” Glinda stands, stretching, then gathers another shirt off the carpet. “You can bring me to the taxi.”

“I wanted to have more time,” Elphaba says, her hands knotting together.

“I don’t want to miss my flight.” Glinda smiles tightly. “And I don’t want to make a scene.”

“Glinda—”

Glinda crosses the room and hugs her; Elphaba holds onto her waist and it’s tight, on the border to painful. Glinda finds she’d rather stop breathing than let go. “I miss you so much,” Glinda says. “I—”

“What?” Elphaba whispers.

“I’ll see you,” Glinda says. “I’ll see you soon.”

--

She kisses Elphaba goodbye in the lobby, gripping the handle of her suitcase in one hand to remind herself she has to go.

After that, it’s a very uneventful trip. Traffic is horrible but Glinda passes smoothly through check-in and security and boarding; the plane takes off on time and lands fifteen minutes early. Her car, patient as ever, beeps cheerfully as Glinda unlocks it and rumbles to life without a care in Oz.

“I hate traveling,” Glinda whines as soon as Elphaba’s picked up the phone. “I swear the pretzel bags on planes keep getting more and more pathetic, there is nothing worse than opening one and only finding three of the saddest little pretzels—”

“Weren’t you going to call me on Thursdays?” Elphaba asks, sounding amused.

“There’s got to be exceptions,” Glinda huffs. “Seriously, Elphaba, I’m in a dire state.”

“Oh, I see,” Elphaba tells her. “Seems you've been through quite the ozdyssey.”

“Hozmeric, truly,” Glinda retorts, turning the steering wheel a bit too late for comfort. “And now I have to get out of this parking garage; my suffering is never-ending, I’m telling you—what are you up to, by the way?”

“Not much,” Elphaba says. “I have to go the grocery store later.”

“I don’t even know your grocery store,” Glinda complains. “You left a lot out of your tour.”

“I’m sorry.” There’s still the lilt in Elphaba’s voice, like she’s smiling. “I’ll show you next time.”

“Next time,” Glinda says. “I’ll take your word for it.”