Author's Note: Well everyone, here's my most recent offering.
I'm not entirely sure where it came from.
UPDATE 1/4: Originally I thought the room had a podium instead of a table, and missed a couple corrections.
The classroom could have been empty later on, if Blake would have just held herself in. It was lucky for her the team sat in the top row that day, away from straying eyes. Blake was at the very end near the wall, a veritable blip on the radar screen in Professor Port's hourly tales of Grimm Study.
And Blake was very, very distracted.
Slipping into a haze in this class was not unusual. They all knew well enough, having Ruby draw doodles every period and stuff back snorts at her wit. Weiss was used to this, and irritated; some days she'd snatch Ruby's supplies before she even started, knowing full well Ruby wouldn't pay enough attention to take notes anyway. Sometimes Professor Port's boorish voice bounced off Blake's ears as well, ricocheting off her bow into the depths of Port's personal monologues, never to be seen again. She'd still face him, trying to pretend she was listening.
Today, she couldn't pretend. She had woken up thinking of one thing, and that thing was sitting right next to her.
Yang leaned onto the table to look at Ruby, a hand cupped under her chin. She smiled lazily and pushed over a piece of paper. Ruby grabbed it before Weiss could intercept. A second later she burst into choking laughter, and as Weiss swiped the paper away Blake could see Yang had made an accurate, yet rather exaggerated cartoon of Port drowning a Grimm in words. Blake couldn't see Yang's face but knew what it looked like: tilted down to face Weiss's glare, mischief in her eyes as a snicker broke her composure. Her shaking shoulders indicated that exact moment, and Blake's mind flashed to a time she saw those shoulders from the other side, how they moved as Yang explored below.
Blake checked the clock. Class was only halfway through, and there was no sign of the professor letting them out early. He paced around the floor, arms rolling and twisting and jutting.
"The Beowulf was a nasty one, more cunning than I'd ever encountered…"
With twitching eyelids, Blake turned to him and plunged into the long-winded tale of bravery. Port was squatted in the middle of the floor, elbows bent. "I tried all my usual tricks, but he was too wily! So experienced was he in fighting Hunters, that at one point I had to drop my weapon and wrestle him myself!"
He motioned like he was struggling, and Blake's heart hammered in her ears. Silently she cursed it. As if she asked for this! She couldn't do anything now, not with so many people around, and it had to be this class and she had to sit with Yang. Blake's knees rubbed together as her thoughts accelerated.
She was in the back of the room, wasn't she? And she was known for being subtle. So…disgusting as it was, shameful and humiliating as it could be, what was the chance she'd be caught?
Slowly her hand slid under the front of her skirt. A voice in her head told her to stop. Her eyes flicked to Port, but she quickly thought of Yang, and then it was impossible to resist. Blake began moving her fingers while remaining as still as she could.
It was ridiculous. She didn't even feel herself getting that relieved. But a wary eye cast at Yang jerked her with a sudden pulse and she went much faster, biting the inside of her lip. In the tension she became hyperaware, but no one noticed her shuffling away in that corner. The professor's voice droned into the background. The classroom blurred under Blake's vision—it was a classroom, wasn't it? Oh, now she was thinking of terrible things involving school uniforms—and as the Faunus neared her climax, she jumped forward just a bit.
The bottom of her chair scraped the floor. Yang looked over with a frown, turned away and then—she was staring, and Blake winced as she continued jamming her hand under her skirt. To her pleasured horror she saw great interest replace the shock on Yang's face.
Her breasts were swaying from the turn. Blake's mind screamed at her not to look, but she so clearly did because she saw them so gloriously tucked into that tight little blouse, and Yang's awful smirk only confirmed the behavior. Blake wanted to glare. She buckled. She tried to stop. She kept going, holding the underside of the table to push her chair in.
"Yang!" Ruby whispered. "Are you drawing another picture?"
Weiss's pencil dug into her notebook. Yang whipped around, posturing in a way that hid Blake from view.
"No, the Blakester and I were just having a silent exchange about something."
"What was it?" Ruby's eyes were shining.
"Um…how much we hate this class?"
The professor's voice rose as he conquered the imaginary Grimm. Ruby paid attention now, watching him slam his arms over the table. Weiss was still glaring at Yang. Yang shrugged with a tooth-showing grin, and Weiss swung her chair back toward the lecture. Behind them, Blake's free arm pressed into the table as she desperately tried to finish herself off. A moment later Yang leaned to her ear.
"You've been a busy little bee," she said, and Blake's head slammed onto the table. Her fingers exited her skirt, clammy and incriminating.
Ruby was finishing a depiction of Professor Port as a sumo wrestler when the buzzers rang. "Finally!" she said, slamming her notebook.
"Wait, I gotta see it!" said Yang. Ruby flipped the book back open, showing her the doodle in the margins. Port's voice boomed around the room as they cracked up.
"Remember there's a seminar on the history of Grimm populations around Vacuo tonight at seven, in this room!" he announced over the packing students. "Doctor Oobleck and I hope to see you there, and that you might add to a great discussion on a fascinating subject."
"Yeah. Very fascinating," Ruby told Yang, and they turned away from each other stifling their snorts.
When Weiss got up she slammed their heads into the table before leaving.
It had been many hours since Blake spent an abnormally long time at the bathroom sink. Inside her dorm room, she leafed through another page in her textbook. She was on her bed, her study supplies laid neatly in front of her.
The door opened. Blake looked up, and with a clench in her gut saw the knob clicking shut in Yang's hand. The blond crossed her arms, grinning smugly.
Nothing more happened. Blake went back to her book.
"You couldn't wait all that time, now could you, Blake?" said Yang.
The accusation sliced like a knife. Blake kept her head down. "Yang, if you're going to give me a hard time for what happened today—"
"No."
Yang said it an inch away, the words slithering into her ear. Her partner's voice was hushed now, delicious intent slipping through her teeth. "I want to give you a good time, Blake. A very good time."
Blake hadn't even heard her move.
Yang continued. "I want to do things to you, Blake." A playful tone intertwined with the husk in her voice. "I want to make happy with this little bee." She tickled Blake's ribs, but the haze in her eyes was unmistakable.
The springs creaked as Blake pushed aside the things on the bed. "Not here," interrupted Yang, and the wolflike smile widened. "We're trying somewhere else."
"Where haven't we?" said Blake, but she hid the smirk on her lips.
Yang removed a spare blanket from their dresser. "Um," said Blake, as Yang held it under an arm and climbed on the headboard of Blake's bed. The makeshift bunk wobbled from her weight.
"Yang, what are you doing?"
Yang looked over, swaying from her hold on her bed. "Shhh," she said, and came down with a pillow.
They returned to the middle of the room. Yang was still unbalanced, rocking back and forth on the floor. Blake tried humor.
"We're not going to do it outside at a campfire, are we?"
Yang blinked, and Blake saw some of the lust leave her face.
"Do you trust me?"
Blake's heart whirred. She nodded.
The grin came back. Yang led Blake out of the room.
The hallways seemed longer, when no one was around for school. The passed classroom after classroom, the lights above them dimmed. Blake saw perfectly well in the dark, and as she counted off the numbers on the glass windows she had a feeling she knew which door was unlocked.
Yang turned on the lights to Professor Port's lecture hall. She motioned for Blake to stay by the wall, then closed the door and double-checked the window blinds. Certain they were safe, she addressed her partner.
"Go to the chalkboard."
Blake made her way down the stairs, noting the room's strange emptiness. She reached the board and waited, staring at the thin wisps of chalk that had been ground in over the years.
She sensed Yang beside her. "Can I turn around now?" She knew Yang's games.
"Yes," she heard, and Yang was there, stroking her neck.
Blake twisted at the touch. Yang's other arm noosed around her waist, pulling her close. The pillow and blanket draped over the table.
Fingers closed on Blake's neck. "Blake," Yang whispered. How could her hair already look so dampened, strands going every which way? She was ready but attentive, and Blake's head tilted in arousal.
Yang roved, passing the roots of Blake's hair and emerging at the back of her bow. She pressed down, rubbing Blake's scalp very close to the ears. "Yang," Blake said, feeling it through the fabric.
She waited for Yang to rip it off. The bow never went, staying on its place as Yang's hand tumbled back down Blake's hair. It stopped at her neck, smoothing under her jawline to lift her chin. "Blake," said Yang. "You were way out of line today." Her eyes gleamed. "What were you thinking of?"
It took a second to register. "Y-you…you were helping me at the table," Blake said, suddenly nervous.
The grip on her back tightened. She felt a stomach lean into hers as Yang hoisted her against the chalkboard. It was gentle but firm, and as the fingers scuttled under Blake's skirt she saw the familiar grin creeping across Yang's face.
Yang was in deep, poking and probing. "Faster," muttered Blake, squirming when her request was met. The board rubbed against her.
"Blake," Yang said, "you're getting chalk on your uniform."
The sensation in Blake dulled. Yang had leaned back to carry her away from the board. She was sitting on Yang's arm, and felt the creases of her muscles as the blond's fingers started to drift over her waist.
There was a thump as something pushed against Blake. Here Yang resumed. Her fingers thrust more roughly now, the wedge-shaped table rattling behind Blake's buckles.
"Yang. Y-Yang—" Her hands slapped the table. It stopped moving, somewhat; suddenly inspired, Yang exited, a long string drooping between them.
"Turn around," she said, leaving Blake to clutch the wood as Yang ground into her from behind.
The mahogany chipped into her fingernails. Blake collapsed, going limp. The pillow fell to the floor. When Yang's fingers went back in Blake moaned, grappling the table as she arched.
A pair of lips ran across her ear. "Yang, right there," she murmured. Yang complied but soon pulled away, and Blake shrank on reflex. "Yang…"
Another thump as she was shoved to Yang's chest. "No," Yang said. "It's my turn."
She left Blake on the table wondering just how many papers over the years had been placed where she was. Yang rustled on the floor behind her, resurfacing with the pillow. Her tone was lilting and smug. "I'm gonna tie Blakey all up."
Blake was not sure where the ropes came from, when they started looping out from the pillowcase. She supposed Yang got them online. There was a short one and then a much longer one that slapped the floor. A puff of dust rose from the thickness.
"Not the long one," Blake said.
The smaller rope coiled tightly in Yang's palm. She showed it to Blake first, watching it unfurl when she lifted her fingers. Then she started tying Blake's wrists from behind.
Blake felt the difference, keenly; she could move her arms but certainly wasn't going anywhere. Her nerves tingled. She looked down and realized her legs were hitched wide open on the table. There was a sharp smell in the air, acrid yet sweet.
"Don't make them too tight," she said.
"Not a problem," said Yang, and she chuckled at the joke.
She could fit a finger in the gap she left for Blake. Blake heard her sliding back into sight and watched as she picked up a chair near the wall. It dropped it front of the table, back first, and Yang settled onto it with her knees. She paused after taking hold of Blake's hips.
"I could make such a good crack right now."
"Please don't," said Blake, half-exasperated.
Yang looked up at her, an eyebrow quirked. Then she leaned in.
The cry shot up Blake's throat. "Yang!" She shook wildly. Yang unfolded her own legs as she went, straddling the sides of the chair. How precarious it was, Blake sitting like this as her girlfriend swathed and pushed and swallowed. A minute later Blake bucked into her tongue.
"Easy!" Blake could tell Yang was amused. She pushed back, coated in sweat. "You're making me suffocate down there, don't get too excited."
"I can't help it," Blake said with petulance, and Yang laughed before going back in. Blake pitched forward, then back. "Yang—!" Yang grabbed her around the waist, stopping her fall. She paused, catching her breath, then looked up.
"This is way too rocky for you, Blake." There was a glint in her eye. "Can't have you hitting yourself and getting knocked out. We're gonna find you a little hidey-hole."
A table on the stairs worked well enough, they found; going under they saw a cranny to tuck into. Yang untied Blake and put both ropes into the pillow.
They settled in. Blake was on all fours by Yang's feet. "What next?"
"Well"—Yang was leaning against the table side—"what else were you thinking of?"
Blake had distantly imagined being ridden over the table while Yang yelled out questions for her to answer, but even as a fleeting fantasy it sounded too ridiculous to say out loud. Blake skipped ahead to what was next and buried her head in Yang's neck.
"Going on the passionate, route, eh, Blake?" Blake did not reply, biting lightly as she inhaled the scent of Yang's skin. "Hang on. I'm getting antsy down here."
The growing warmth under the table evaporated as Blake felt Yang pulling her uniform up. Blake did not resist, twisting to speed the process. Goosebumps rippled up her spine. The sleeves slipped over her and she was free.
She pushed her bra straps off her shoulders. It was a simple movement, but Yang liked seeing her disrobe; the blond rustled and didn't look away while taking her own clothes off. Soon they were natural and Yang lunged in a rush.
"Yang, wait," said Blake. "Where's the blanket?"
Yang got up right away, resting Blake in the corner before emerging from the table. Her feet walked away and Blake could not help herself. Her palms slid over the table surface and she peeked up to watch Yang return to the table. How silly she looked! Walking bare-naked down the steps they saw three times a week, strutting away like she were waving at crowds on the street. Why yes, it is me, Yang the big girl on campus, and I'm ready for another day of learning with my hot friend Blake.
Yang snatched the blanket and pivoted. She noticed Blake and smirked. Blake ducked back under the table.
There was no place to go, really. Blake was left squeezing into the corner with a wobbly smile as the feet came closer, closer…a hand smacked the table above her, and Yang bent down.
"You are a restless little thing today, aren't you?"
How could Blake deny it? Those breasts!
Yang swung back under the table, hooking Blake's clothes with her toe. She swept them over, prompting Blake to put both uniforms beneath the pillow. Yang wheezed in laughter, a tiny growl pushing through her teeth. The blanket billowed over them and they devolved into a writhing mass of limbs.
Blake felt scrapes across her shoulders as Yang mashed her into the carpet. The blond threw her head up and they kissed sloppily. "Mmh—Yang, Yang," Blake moaned down her throat. The heat was intense. Yang threw the blanket to the side and when Blake saw everything there was to offer she groaned loudly in frustration, clawing Yang in her need to be closer. Yang was very eager, having stopped her wild flailing and going into a rhythm, making Blake contract at every hit.
They heard a noise. A rustle was building outside the classroom, one entity but of many voices. Blake and Yang looked at each other and saw themselves squeezed under a table with their hair all over.
"Oh no," said Yang.
She threw the blanket back over them right as the door burst open, admitting a steady stream of students. They slammed into seats and continued their conversations, wasting time before the seminar began.
"We're gonna be in here for an hour," Yang realized, staring into space.
A pair of shoes appeared by the edge of the blanket. Blake and Yang folded their legs. The shoes bent and scuffled under clean white slacks, their wearer muttering as he adjusted his seat. "There," he said, as Blake and Yang scooted closer to the corner.
"It is a wonderful turnout for our seminar and I want to thank you all for showing up!" The nerve-racing stream of Doctor Oobleck's words peppered the room. "I could thank you all personally, but that would take a long time and would certainly distract from the important and incredible wonders of what we are here to discuss." He slurped loudly from a coffee mug.
Blake and Yang sat through the discourse, bunched up tightly under the table. The blanket was getting stuffy. Yang muttered and poked her head out for fresh air. There were legs everywhere, some crossed, some bouncing. Yang leaned to check out the scene. Full house.
She was going to duck again under the blanket, but something in the distance caught her attention. She tilted her head and saw Weiss on the other end of the lecture hall, staring dead-on into her face. The heiress did not look shocked or disgusted; rather, the stare was intense, conveying everything in flat eyes and a lowered brow.
Yang looked to her left and saw Blake's bow poking out from the blanket. She tapped it and it twitched, nestling out of view. Yang's gaze traveled again to Weiss, who had not moved the entire exchange.
Ruby spun in her chair to tell her something. Weiss turned away from Blake and Yang, putting her hands on their leader's shoulders to direct her back to the seminar.