An Afikomen present to you, my pretties.
Disclaimer: Wicked and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.
Glinda found it odd that, on the run from school, in an unfamiliar place, going to see the Wizard himself, for god's sake, what she feared the most was the night. Well, not the night, exactly. What made her feel frightened was when night fell, the carriage stopped at an inn or such, and she found herself lying next to Elphaba in bed.
Glinda was no stranger to bodily contact with other girls; they'd hugged, and kissed on the cheek, and shared beds when there were too few at a sleepover. They were friends, and nobody ever found anything amiss. And now she was with Elphaba for the same reason—too few of the stained, creaky beds. But Elphaba, though…Elphaba was different. That first night…
The feeling of Elphaba against her body made Glinda feel warm in a way that she could not mistake simply for body heat. It scared her, and she had hugged her friend closer for the security that it provided. She tried and actually managed to sleep, but her dreams were of an odd, disturbing sort that made her wake, gasping and sweating, as if touched in the night by some wicked sprite. Elphaba was also awake—she seemed not even to have slept, to have been keeping watch.
She glanced at Glinda as she heard her wake, and Glinda stared into those deep brown hawk-sharp eyes, questioning. "Everything's fine," Elphaba said in what was barely a whisper. "All we need to fear is the actual meeting."
"Go back to sleep. You'll need it."
And you? Glinda wanted to ask. What about you, when you go in front of the Wizard? But Elphaba had turned her head away, and all that faced Glinda was that lovely black hair, spilling within an inch of Glinda's hand. She watched the moonlight play off the strands, like an ocean at night, and moved her hand the tiniest bit forward. Elphaba's hair was smooth and soft, and Glinda ran her fingers through it lightly, enjoying the way it felt.
Then Elphaba shifted, moving the hair, and suddenly Glinda realized what she had been doing and pulled her hand away in horror. What had she been thinking?
She didn't know, nor did she particularly want to know, the answer to that question.
Elphaba woke her the next morning and hurried her back out to the carriage, and Glinda followed numbly, feeling inadequate. Even when she didn't know what she was doing, Elphaba still radiated a confidence and a charisma that Glinda could never hope to possess, and suddenly Glinda remembered last night, and that odd thrill.
Elphaba had indeed been awake all night, it seemed, and as soon as the carriage began to move she was asleep against Glinda's shoulder, her hair coming loose to rest again upon Glinda's hand. The carriage jolted, and the passengers did too, slipping around a bit. Glinda registered Elphaba's head almost touching her breast, and Elphaba's own against Glinda's arm. Some thrill, some need, some aching want flooded Glinda's entire body, and she felt her muscles tense.
Elphaba's head was slipping, and gently Glinda pushed it to a more secure position. She held her hand there for an extra moment, to ensure that Elphaba would continue to sleep in peace. Her own soft fingers against Elphaba's cheekbone, and Glinda wanted to kiss her. She pressed her lips together, wondering what Elphaba's would feel like—no.
What was wrong with her? When had she gone from hating the green girl to feeling this mysterious and uncomfortable and wonderful throb in her most private regions if Elphaba so much as touched her? How in Oz could she be sitting here next to her friend and wanting, of all things, to kiss her? Glinda didn't know, but the fact remained that she wanted very much to kiss Elphaba and to feel her and to tell her how she felt, even though Glinda herself did not know. All she did know, all that she knew for sure at this moment in her life, was that she very much did want this.
And she was frightened.