A/N: Standard disclaimer applies; not my show or characters. Just tarnishing them a bit. ;x Set during "Head." Written per the request/prompt of 'dointhetumble' because they're just the sweetest! :)
Melancholy music created by a lone piano floated through the halls of a fairly deserted Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. Myrtle Snow, the eccentric council figurehead with equally matched frenzied fiery hair, sat rimrod straight at the source of the tunes, her gloved fingers poised over the keys. She made sure to play quietly enough so as not to disturb her pseudo daughter Cordelia Foxx from her moment of respite. It was only minutes ago that Cordelia had left the room, leaving Myrtle to deal with Fiona Goode's sullen presence. Instead of acknowledging the blonde, Myrtle went back to the piano to continue playing as she had been doing before talking to Cordelia about her generously donated eyesight.
With a disposition of sophisticated indifference, Fiona had sat on the sofa drinking from her glass of whiskey and smoking her cigarette. Instead of continuing the catty argument they shared earlier, she watched Myrtle in silence, nylon clad legs crossed at the knee. Occasionally, she would tuck a thick lock of shoulder length blonde hair behind her ear, having removed her leather gloves as she was still getting used to the feel of the rejuvenated fullness of her perfectly coiffed hair. But her concentration was obviously on the cultured woman that had risen from the ashes, reborn into something much more powerful and spiteful. Allured by the sass the woman oozed as they exchanged barbed words, Fiona began to feel that the more whiskey she consumed in that short time period, the more the idea of seducing Myrtle appealed to her. From the begging-to-be-touched auburn tresses that exploded from the crown of her head to the milky white smooth skin that seemed barren of a single wrinkle, Myrtle was the perfect picture of unblemished art. Not one to pass up a good art piece, Fiona knew she had to get her hands on her somehow while the opportunity was still there.
Fiona's lips parted to smoke from her cigarette and remained that way as she stared at the oblivious redhead's hands. Keeping the cigarette close by her mouth and balanced between her index and middle fingers, Fiona chewed at her thumbnail lightly. Myrtle's hands were so controlled, so practiced. They moved with a mesmerizing fluidity across the keys, each finger moving with purpose. Tilting her head to the side, Fiona groaned inwardly, wondering what the lace covered fingers would feel like between her thighs. She felt an increase of blood flow to her center, and let out a long sigh as she finished her whiskey adding more fuel to the fire.
Time for a refill. Fiona uncrossed her legs with ease, even though she was shaking internally with desire, and moved to the cabinet a few feet away. She poured another hearty dose of whiskey, and seeing as the decanter was almost empty, her lips wrapped around the mouth of it to finish its contents. Clearly downing more than a shot, Fiona paid no heed as she only had one thing occupying her mind; and that something would burn at the forefront until she was sated. The outskirts of her mind were quickly becoming fuzzy, making it easier and easier to envision certain acts with the unsuspecting pianist who still never so much as stole a glance Fiona's way.
Well, something would have to be done about that. Fiona clasped her drink and cigarette in one hand, a second nature position she often held, and strode over to Myrtle. She detected a slight jump in the woman's figure, but Myrtle still didn't shift her attention from the piano. In fact, her musical flow never ebbed. Unable to take the lack of regard from the woman for much longer, Fiona slid onto the small bench impossibly close to Myrtle. Her free hand went straight to Myrtle's thigh to squeeze it gently.
"I saw that smile earlier, Myrtle. I'm no fool." Her voice was quiet and accusatory.
Not fazed in the least, Myrtle continued to play without looking at the impeccably dressed Supreme. "A fool can notice the simplest of things and misinterpret them, Fiona."
Fiona replied with a roll of her eyes and slipped her hand up and down the woman's thigh a few times over her silky garb. "I've seen that look more than enough times to know what it means."
"And so after becoming the supreme whore of men, you thought you'd try your hand at women?" Myrtle chuckled to herself at the unintentional pun. "I wouldn't go near you even if New Jersey was a tangible threat to my existence." Myrtle scoffed, scooting away from Fiona so the woman's leg was no longer touching her own, although the offending hand remained on her thigh.
"Oh, please. Don't tell me you're stuck in the bubble of archaic conservative closed-minded thinking like the rest of this country. Even some Greek poetry holds proof of feminine sway being natural." Fiona's hand was relentless, squeezing the tense muscle of Myrtle's thigh. "Sappho, for instance..." The glass of whiskey raised to her lips with her cigarette expertly balanced between two fingers, Fiona swallowed several times. As she let the pleasant burn of the liquid roll down into her belly, she set the glass on top of the piano. "Let's go upstairs and play, Myrtle. I bet you'd rather enjoy it." Angling her upper body closer, she brushed her nose against Myrtle's crimped hair, breathing hotly against the woman's ear.
Quite statuesque, Myrtle sat unflinching, never missing a note. "I've read such literature, and you're incorrect in your very miscalculated assumptions. Although, it's likely you miscalculate many life choices with the amount of alcohol you consume on a daily basis."
A brief glare was directed toward Myrtle and Fiona smoked from the cigarette to loft a cloud of smoke toward the woman. Fiona was accustomed to getting what she wanted by any means necessary, and this was proving to be damn near impossible. Myrtle wouldn't even look at her, let alone give any indication of weakness that she was open to the possibility of the physical intimacy which was coming to a heated boil within Fiona. It was time for another tactic. "You would deny the Supreme a request even if it could get you banished?" Fiona took a long drag of the nearly finished cigarette, her hand now gliding downward from the fleshy thigh to clutch Myrtle's bony knee.
"Without a second thought," Myrtle said with confidence bordering on arrogance. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Fiona."
The nerve of this woman. Fiona couldn't take it. Stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray on the piano, Fiona abruptly stood and took Myrtle's wrists into her hands. Now Myrtle looked at her, but with annoyance. Fiona climbed over Myrtle's knees and wiggled her slender body between the piano and the woman. She released her hands momentarily to hike up the form-fitting pencil skirt to the middle of her thighs, and then straddled the woman's lap, both legs draped over the back of the bench, hip bones jutting against Myrtle as she scooted forward. Her back was uncomfortably wedged against the piano keys, but now she had Myrtle's full attention and her hands ensnared at the wrists once again.
"I know you want it, Myrtle. Ever since you came parading back in here with frumpy and dumpy. Those piercing glares of lust. The way you stalked around here trying to show dominance. And that fucking smile earlier. Just fucking kiss me already." Fiona's voice was low and close to a growl as she pulled Myrtle's hands close to her heaving chest.
A semblance of the very smile Fiona mentioned crossed Myrtle's lips and she remained ridiculously calm and composed. "Delusion is a side effect of chemo, and alcohol doesn't help your state either. I'm afraid you're very mistaken, Fiona. The only kiss I'll give you is one that I blow goodbye to you when we burn you at the stake for killing Madison."
"She's still alive, as I said earlier, so good luck with that silly endeavor. Let's talk about a little deal for you and I instead." Fiona let Myrtle's hands drop between them and brushed her fingers through Myrtle's wild hair, palms coming to rest on either side of her face. "We have some time to take advantage of for ourselves. Now kiss me."
Myrtle let out a scoff of disbelief, but her hands betrayed her stoic portrayal and crept to grasp a hold of Fiona's hips. "No. And don't even try to entrance me, it won't work, darling. Those flames gave me more power than I could even dream of having."
"I don't need to bother, because I know you want it." Fiona dipped her head forward, pushing Myrtle's hair back on one side so she could flick the tip of her tongue on the side of her neck just below her ear lobe. Keeping the woman's head in place with her other hand so she couldn't resist, another lick was given to the side of Myrtle's jaw. "Kiss me, Myr...you know you want to." Fiona's voice was sultry and pleading all in one, and her hips shifted against Myrtle's body.
Eyes shut in automatic response to the tantalizing touch on the sensitive skin of her neck, but Myrtle remained steadfast in her resistance. "What I want...is for you to get off of me so I can play the piano, you drunken lush." Resolute and firm, Myrtle didn't realize her fingertips were digging into Fiona's hips.
"How about we get each other off? You can practice piano by using those fingers on me." Even with the inordinate amount of alcohol she had consumed, Fiona forged ahead without a single slur in her semi-drunken seduction. Her tongue was placed with careful calculation on Myrtle's pulse points along her neck, grazing the witch's skin, one hand keeping her unwieldy red hair out of the way while the other hand pulled a fistful of strands gently.
The hair pulling apparently uncorked Myrtle as a soft groan escaped her. Feeling Fiona's gaze latch onto her, she knew it was futile to try and resist her now. Stubborn to the bitter end, Myrtle bit onto the inside of her lip, refusing to show any other signs of breaking.
"I heard that, you dirty slut. Nice try. I'm impressed you held out this long...now kiss me. You don't want me to initiate it or you'll be sorry." Fiona nabbed Myrtle's ear lobe between her teeth and bit down sharply as if to foreshadow her threat.
Digging her fingertips into Fiona's hips harshly, Myrtle ducked her head just enough so she could press her lips to the woman's exposed neck. As she relaxed somewhat, she released Fiona's hips, her palms skirting over her rounded behind to grope her bottom. Her body began to act on its own accord, nerve endings sparked by Fiona's very essence. A timid tongue danced over Fiona's neck for the briefest moment as her mouth sealed on soft skin.
Fiona let out a soft sigh of pleasure and triumph, fingernails dragging across a small spot of Myrtle's scalp before tugging the wavy strands again. "That's a good girl," she practically purred the words. With another tug of Myrtle's hair to pry her away from kissing her neck, Fiona tilted her head back to look at the unleashed submissive, as much of an oxymoron as that seemed. "Now, kiss me the way you're supposed to."