Pairing: Magda/Tilda
Rating: E, I MEAN IT PEOPLE! PAY ATTENTION TO THAT!

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.

Baptism of fire
by Raphael Lestat

Magda was the strong one.

That's what everyone thought.

Everyone was wrong.

Magda watched Tilda. She had to. All the time. Otherwise... things... happened. Things went missing first. Little things that people wouldn't notice. A scrap of paper, anything would do, but Tilda liked a few words from the book of Om... She had a quirky sense of humour that way. A bottle. A piece of string... a copper coin and then all that would be needed was a match and some horse dung, or pig shit... Tilda didn't like pig shit much though because it made the smell of the smoke wrong. She said.

"Tilda?" Magda said softly in the light of the fire of that evening. Jackrum, Polly, Maladict and Jade were off on guard duty, Blouse was in a make shift tent - Wazzer and Goom were snoring - not the raucously loud forced snore of girls trying to be boys but actual, whiffling snores - and Igorina was busy doing her own thing - really best not to ask.

Tilda barely glanced up from the fire, light dancing back from the hollow depths of her eyes. Dangerous. Magda stood up, shifted closer, sat next to her, throwing a blanket around the both of them and pulling it tight. Tilda'd forget otherwise and freeze to death as the fire died low. To Magda’s surprise Tilda shifted closer to her, leaning into the arm around her shoulders, throwing her legs into Magdas lap.

"Have you been thinking again?" Magda whispered, "plotting away?" She teased softly, feeling Tilda smile a little against her shoulder, looking down to see Tildas eyes still riveted to the fire.

"Strappi," Tilda said. Just that one word. It made the hairs on the back of Magda’s neck stand up, a cold shiver running through her. Yeah. They knew Strappi's type. She closed her eyes and shivered harder as memories from the Grey House filled her mind, Tilda’s hand closed over her wrist and a burst of heat from that single touch helped fight away old wounds. She smiled thankfully. This was why Tilda was the strong one. Without her, Magda would drown in hate and be more of a monster than any of the regiment.

"Can't," Magda whispered, pressing her lips to the softness of Tildas short hair. Yes. She missed it being long but she understood why Tilda had looked so... happy... when she had cut it off... long hair was easy to grab -

"Why?" Tilda whispered back, looking away from the fire, shifting to sit in Magda’s lap, looking up at her from the folds of the blanket... and Magda started to forget why.

"Because he's commanding officer. Too much trouble."

"Afterwards?" Hope mixed in with the fire, pain behind the hope.

"Yes," Magda whispered, no sliver of doubt in her voice and knowing that things would start to go missing now... She'd have to start turning out Tilda’s pockets again. She smiled a little as Tilda shifted once more, upwards this time, a small hand on her inner thigh, pressing down as Tilda lifted herself up. Magda never leant down for a kiss, never wanted to scare Tilda off... but she did close her eyes and sigh a little at the soft press of Tilda’s lips against her own. Magda felt ashamed sometimes, the march was hard and she didn't drink enough water, leaving her lips dry but Tilda didn't seem to mind -

"You need to drink more." Five words, mumbled against her mouth, low and thick with desire - it had been some time after all - it was possibly the most Tilda had said all day. It usually was. The most Tilda said was to do with nagging Magda about something... usually. Magda chuckled softly, one hand shifting to move Tilda closer to her, stroking her waist lightly. They were sat now, so very close to the fire, Magda's legs curled in a lotus like position, Tilda’s ass nestled in the centre, legs over one of Magda’s thighs, back pressed to the other.

Now Magda could lean down into the kiss, supporting Tilda’s head with her arm as she ran her tongue softly over her lower lip, savouring the soft gasp as Tilda opened to her, coaxing just as gently in return... fire and tenderness... Magda moved slowly, her mouth engaged with Tilda’s, soft, yielding, loving, lover... Her hand moved to unbutton the front of Tilda’s jacket, safely hidden beneath the folds of the blanket around them. Fire and tenderness. Tilda’s skin was so soft... even after all this work, even after everything they'd been through at the Grey house... soft... like silk, if she'd known what it was, like... like ashes left from fine paper, still hot to the touch but so delicate... forced to swallow Tilda’s quivering moan lest anyone heard.

Tilda was just like fire sometimes, flickering hips like flame, writhing beneath her hands, pushing up against her, firm beneath the softness, muscles that no one thought she had.... the Grey House did that to her -

"Thinking too much," Tilda accused and promptly robbed Magda of any kind of thought process by reaching into the front of her breeches. Magda's mouth was a round 'o' of surprise at the move, this wasn't like Tilda, "gonna freeze like a boy cos I got you by the socks?" she whispered, fire dancing in her eyes as she smiled. Magda laughed breathlessly, feeling one of Tilda’s fingers - loved, loved LOVED those clever, long, slim elegant fingers of hers - slide against her clit, massaging gently but firmly. She knew her hands were trembling now, fluttering over the smooth skin of Tilda’s stomach, wriggling beneath the belt of her breeches - too much space between Tilda and belt... Magda frowned, her girl wasn't eating -

"Holy fuck." She gasped as Tilda’s finger slipped inside her, curling upwards just so, looking down hazily into Tilda’s face to see the expression painted clearly over her face: 'stop thinking'. Magda nodded a little, pressing an open mouthed, panting kiss against Tilda’s mouth, fingers wriggling down through soft curls to that heated wet place, sliding two fingers either side of her clit, pinching together slightly, just the way Tilda liked - swallowed the harsh groan, tasting of Tilda and smoke, slipping inside her, needing to be inside her, thrusting in, pulsing in as hard and soft and gentle and firm as Tilda liked...

"Mags." Tilda’s harsh growl reminded Magda of fire rage, out of control and burning everything in its path, Tilda was burning and wet and writhing in her lap.

"Yes." Small groan, strangled, held back, feeling Tilda stiffen as her fingers thrust in just the right place and Magda’s spine snapped into a 'C' shape as Tilda’s elegant finger pressed in hard. Catching her breath quickly - thank you Jackrum and the months of marching you put us through, you bastard - Magda kissed her lovers forehead before a massive yawn took over. Tilda shoved her with her shoulder, forcing Magda to lie back, tugging her this way and that with a small smile until they were curled into each other, all legs and arms and Magda’s nose against the back of Tilda’s neck, breathing in that warmth, breathing in the scent of fire and tenderness.