"You will die the same way you lived your life; alone and disappointed by everyone." Myrtle's tone is haunting and sincere. She was close to dismantling the steel barricades Fiona had instilled to keep intruders out. She can tell by the way Fiona purses her lips that she is close to caving in.
"He won't stay til the end," Myrtle continues, chipping away at the frail woman. "They promise but...they don't." A little bit of a pout was given here as she did truly feel badly for Fiona if she had indeed found love.
"You are nothing but an envious old bitch," Fiona rasps, gathering all her energy to hurl the insult.
Seeing that Fiona is stronger than she thought, Myrtle grunts quietly and collapses back against the chaise lounge chair. it was time to think of another tactic and quickly.
Fiona turns away from the woman, seeing a vision of her lover leaving her dying in her hospital bed...alone.
Myrtle watches Fiona expectantly, lounging back in the chair with one hand elegantly twisting at the wrist in the air. Perhaps if she is quiet enough Fiona will say something and she can use it as ammunition for this heavy task of convincing that death by her own hand is the answer.
Suddenly it looks like Fiona can't breathe. She gasps sharply, thin shoulders shaking. Her dry lips part as if she wants to say something but nothing comes out.
Unable to keep her sympathy at bay, Myrtle stands and moves closer to Fiona. "Oh, come here my poor darling." Arms slip about the frail woman's shoulders, hands guiding her head to the crook of her neck. "My poor Fiona, you know it is true. They never stay because they don't understand this life. No one can."
Myrtle's hands are everywhere to bring comfort; stroking what is left of Fiona's flaxen hair, rubbing circles on her back and then caressing the back of her neck. Fiona gasps several more times, trying desperately not to cry. Her arms fold around Myrtle's waist weakly but still she finds strength to cling to her. "You understand, though...I don't...want to die...alone." She chokes the words out, balling a fist full of Myrtle's swanky jacket in her hand. Fiona hides her face in Myrtle's neck, trying to muffle sobs that she cannot control.
"Shh, there there. I'll stay with you, I promise." Myrtle thinks her heart has grown soft, or maybe the unrequited feelings were resurfacing after all these years. She threads her fingers in Fiona's hair, and cringes when she realizes she's pulled some out unintentionally. "I'm sorry, Fiona darling, your hair...I didn't mean to..."
Myrtle's apology halts as Fiona's mouth presses against her throat in a mix of hot wetness. Her tongue flicks over Myrtle's healing skin to collect her own salty tears. Soon Fiona's hungry mouth travels upward, seeking Myrtle's lips. Myrtle drops any sense of reason or resistance and wholly accepts the kiss, allowing Fiona to ravish her mouth with her tongue. She feels Fiona's hands sliding from their chaste posts at her waist to undo her jacket with unnatural energy for as ill as she looked a moment ago.
Trembling hands skim over Myrtle's chest and she groans into Fiona's mouth. Her own hands tire of resting on Fiona's shoulders and so she pushes the black robe from her body, revealing a low cut nightgown. Myrtle returns the favor of caressing Fiona's still pert breasts, palms urging small peaks to show through the silk fabric.
"I just need to be loved one more time," Fiona whispers huskily on Myrtle's lips, her fingers tracing the outline of the woman's breasts through the shirt under the jacket.
The jacket gets shrugged off and they move to the bed, lips intermittently touching in fierce yet gentle kisses. Myrtle helps Fiona lie on the bed, and climbs in next to her after removing her shoes. There is no hesitation as Myrtle scoots down so that she is kneeling between Fiona's legs. Using both hands, she pushes the silky black material up her toned legs, shaped by decades of wearing impossibly high heels. Fingers squeeze the flesh of Fiona's thighs before pushing the gown up to her hips, revealing the juncture between her legs.
Writhing on the bed with anticipation, Fiona moans softly, hands reaching for Myrtle's hands. "I need you to touch me," she pleads, her voice gravelly. She tugs the woman's hands up to settle on her breasts, forcing Myrtle to knead them through the silk barrier.
Much like a cat flexes to stretch, Myrtle folds her body forward so her hands remain on Fiona's chest while her head bows to her stomach, licking small circles there. Eventually, the circling of her tongue moves south, tracing the folds of Fiona's womanhood through her silk panties. Invoking squirming and moans from the Supreme urges Myrtle onward and she deftly pokes her tongue under the fabric so it bunches up and slightly out of her way. Soon her whole mouth covers Fiona's wet center, gnawing against her as Fiona grinds her hips into Myrtle's face. Peering up at the woman briefly, Myrtle yanks the top of her nightgown so her fingertips can toy freely with Fiona's bared nipples. She gives them a gentle tug at the same time as she slips her tongue inside of Fiona's soaked walls.
Fiona's back arches and she bucks her hips roughly before riding them against Myrtle's mouth, finding the perfect friction of the redhead's resilient tongue stroking her insides while her nose brushes firmly against her clit. Sharp cracks and shattering breaks the relative silence as the few lightbulbs in the room explode. "Oh god!" Fiona manages to cry out in a hoarse voice, hands gripping the sides of Myrtle's head to hold her in place as she rotates her hips a moment longer to drag out the last of her orgasm.
Breathing heavily, Fiona releases Myrtle's head and flattens on the bed as if deflated. "You're a...sweetheart," she wheezes, eyes closing. She struggles to catch her breath as Myrtle places her lips against Fiona's bare stomach tenderly in response to the compliment.
After adjusting Fiona's clothing so she's not exposed, Myrtle slips off the bed to find a light that works so she can retrieve a black dress. She drapes it onto the chair of the dressing table and disappears into the closet once more, this time exiting with a scarf. Patiently, she waits for Fiona to gather her strength to move to the chair. Myrtle pulls the nightgown over the woman's head and helps her replace it with the black dress. A moment later, Myrtle fashions the scarf onto Fiona's head to cover the remaining strands of golden blonde.
Stepping back to admire her work, Myrtle sighs loudly. She turns from Fiona to pull her jacket back on and fasten it, and then slips her shoes back on. Watching Fiona start to apply makeup, she holds back a smirk. "You're preparing the corpse."
Fiona lets out an indignant huff, momentarily lowering her handheld mirror. There was no need to dignify the comment with a remark.