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She prefers the professor’s desk, the sturdy oak (Pine? Larxene doesn’t know a thing about wood, not that it's important, really) pressing into the backs of her girlfriend’s thighs as she curls her fingers just so. Namine was never one for public displays of affection and certainly not this but she simply can’t help the throaty moans that drip from her lips between the mangled gasps and the “Larxene wait, I think I heard someone”s. Not that it matters whether she did or not because Larxene wasn’t going to stop and Namine certainly didn’t want her to. When she comes, she comes hard, her moans muffled by her lover’s mouth, her teeth biting down just a bit too hard, leaving a tiny wound.
When it’s over, she pulls away licks at the blood and fixes herself up. Larxene smears the juices onto the desk, commenting on just how surprised she is at Namine’s apparent fetish for public indecencies while the other girl flattens her dress, her face red from either sex or embarrassment. She pretends she can’t hear the snickering over the clamor of the incoming students.