"You're serious about taking it up as a hobby?"
"I see no reason not to," Mòrag says. She brushes flour off her sleeves. Brighid observes her with a somewhat bemused tilt of her head— seeing Mòrag like this, dressed in casual Urayan wear with sugar dusting her arms, is almost unreal. The clothes were Gorg's idea. He didn't want to deal with the risk of customers being scared off by the sight of the Ardainian Special Inquisitor behind the counter of his patisserie.
It's not a bad look, honestly, but still… strange.
"I didn't think baking aligned with your usual interests, that's all."
"I'll have you know that Gorg says I have a knack for it," Mòrag says rather smugly, untying her apron. "Perhaps the intricacies of cooking hot dishes is a talent I don't possess, but desserts come much more naturally to me."
"He's just having you mix things in bowls, isn't he?"
"Wha— it takes a keen eye to measure out the ingredients so precisely, and a steady hand to whisk them together to the perfect consistency."
"If you say so, Lady Mòrag."
Mòrag frowns, and Brighid almost feels bad for a second. Just for a second, though. There's a small ring of four and sugar dusting the floor around the spot where Mòrag stands.
"My, Brighid, I would have thought you'd be more supportive of my endeavors." She puts the apron aside and reaches for some bags. "Considering your fondness for sweets."
"Mmh, well…" Brighid can smell the contents of the bags from where she sits. One eyebrow goes up as Mòrag arranges a fair number of small glass jars on the table. Those are…
"I had even gone to the trouble of bringing samples from the patisserie, just for you."
"Oh? You shouldn't have."
"It's… all sauces, however. Creams, frosting, syrups, juices— Gorg wouldn't allow me to take anything I hadn't made with my own hands."
"So you really were just there to mix things, in the end."
"Does that really matter?" Mòrag turns around with such an air of exasperation that Brighid laughs. She stands and approaches to get a better look at the jars, running her fingers over each one. Much to her amusement, there's a subtle air of anxiety around Mòrag as she awaits Brighid's final verdict. This whole baking hobby thing may turn out to be something great, after all.
"Thank you, Lady Mòrag," she says, and Mòrag softly exhales in relief. Brighid picks up one jar at random, its contents a rich golden color. "Caramel?"
Mòrag nods. "My third attempt. My first two… admittedly, were not very successful."
"Haha, I can imagine."
"I was scolded quite a bit for wasting sugar."
"The mighty Flamebringer, being scolded for burning sugar? What a shame that I hadn't visited the patisserie today." Brighid opens the jar and dips a finger in. The caramel still feels warm— or maybe it's just her hand already heating up the contents. Mòrag watches with held breath as Brighid delicately licks the caramel off the tip of her finger.
Brighid smiles. "It's delicious. You may have a knack for this, after all."
Almost bashfully, Mòrag suddenly busies herself with removing her clothes with the intent to change into something decidedly less Urayan and less coated in flour and sugar. "Please, save the praise. You haven't even tasted the rest of it, yet."
"You expect me to taste all of this in one sitting?"
She pauses, even though she knows it's likely that Brighid's just teasing her. Again. "I— no. Of course not. I didn't mean to be presumptuous."
Brighid sucks on her finger in thought, staring (but also not staring) at Mòrag in such a way that she nearly feels the need to squirm. Then, wordlessly, she picks up another jar and scrutinizes its contents, looking to Mòrag questioningly.
"Ah, that? Melted Choclit, mixed with Hot Orange."
"It sounds… spicy."
The ether in the air grows thicker without warning. Almost in a sort of panicked way, Mòrag quickly moves to the armoire to continue her ruse of looking busy to rummage through it. There isn't much. She only really brings the one uniform along during their travels, after all, and Brighid has a single dress.
She hears Brighid's footsteps lightly approaching and freezes. Mòrag knows. She knows exactly what Brighid's aiming to do, and she won't be having any of it.
"Eat it with a spoon, not from my skin!" She barks out, jumping when Brighid places a hand on her bare shoulder.
"That doesn't sound like the better way to taste-test it," Brighid laughs. She's still holding that damn jar of Melted Choclit, holding it up like she'd just been about to pour it on Mòrag.
"Consider the mess!"
"Is that all you care about?"
"I'd be perfectly happy to engage you without the need for pouring sticky substances all over me—"
"Admit it, you'd enjoy that—"
"Brighid!"
"Yes, Lady Mòrag?" She innocently smiles and lowers the jar.
Weakly, Mòrag leans back against the armoire, feeling rather cornered. She clears her throat and tries not to shrink back when Brighid begins to raise the jar again. "I worked hard. This one was of my own recipe, did you know? Of course, it's very simple, it's just Choclit with the addition of Hot Orange, but I made quite a few other things, as you can see on the table…"
"Don't you want to tell me why, though?" The corners of her eyes crinkle with mirth. They both know perfectly well. It's just a matter of hearing Mòrag say it out loud in her own words, which was going to inevitably happen either way. There are no secrets between them.
It's like a game they play, one that always ends in the same way. Mòrag sighs with a smile, keeping an eye on that threatening jar of Melted Choclit.
"For you. I know how fond of sweets you are, so how could I not take up the opportunity to learn how to make them? For you, Brighid."
There it is. Brighid's heart flutters, and the ether begins flowing more hastily.
"So won't you at least let me enjoy them in the way I'd like?"
Mòrag is finding it exceedingly difficult to refuse now. Messes be damned, her Blade is horny.
She chuckles and shakes her head. "What would you have me do, then?"
"Take off the rest of your clothes, for starters. Then lie down on the bed."
"Hah, as you wish."
Brighid looks absolutely delighted, going to gather more jars as Mòrag obligingly climbs onto the bed.
"It's not exactly to my liking, but for the record, you looked good in those Urayan clothes," she says, allowing the jars to gently fall around Mòrag on the soft covers as she crawls over her. She ducks down to kiss her. Mòrag leans up a bit too eagerly to kiss back, and the jars softly clink.
"Are you not going to remove your clothes, as well…?" Mòrag asks once Brighid finally backs away. The glass of the jars feel cold against her arms and sides, but Brighid's already heating up above her as well.
"No need."
"But your dress may get stained."
Brighid laughs. "Don't worry about that, Lady Mòrag. Now, I'd really like to taste this Choclit…"
Mòrag audibly swallows as Brighid opens the jar to swirl two fingers in, so painstakingly slow and showy about it. Teasingly. Just now, there— she had most definitely pumped her fingers in that way Mòrag is rather familiar with, and her mouth goes dry. Brighid does eventually withdraw them, but rather than licking them off, she drags them down Mòrag's front from the top of her sternum to her navel, leaving a neat little trail of Choclit upon fair skin.
Breathlessly, Mòrag chuckles. "I was expecting you to dump the entire thing all over me, to be frank."
"I could do that."
"N-No, I— ah."
Now she finally tastes it. Mòrag tenses up as Brighid leans down to clean up the line of Choclit with her tongue, starting from her navel and slowly moving higher and higher up her body. She props herself up on her elbows to watch with wide eyes, but Brighid makes a sound of disapproval and gently pushes Mòrag back down without lifting her head, unable to speak with her mouth occupied.
Her tongue is so damn hot. She squirms at the vaguely ticklish sensation, then gasps again when Brighid begins to work on licking up the Choclit she'd left between her breasts. Brighid's definitely taking her time in that area. Jerk.
"How— how is it? The taste, I mean."
"Hmm. I think you may have added a bit too much Hot Orange."
Mòrag groans. Then the groans turn into something else when Brighid reaches the end of the Choclit trail and sucks at the hollow between her collarbones, keeping her pinned down with burning hands still planted on her shoulders.
"Are you not going to taste the rest…?" Mòrag manages to ask, discreetly trying to shift her legs to get one of Brighid's knees between them. Or, well, not so discreetly.
"Let me savor this, please," Brighid murmurs. She sucks at the skin along Mòrag's collar, so deliciously yet infuriatingly slow, making sure she leaves fresh hickeys to join the older faded ones left from previous sessions. Finally, then, she sits up and reaches for the jar of Choclit again.
"I thought you had said I added too much Hot Orange."
"Careful, Lady Mòrag, you sound like you're sulking."
Unable to come up with a rebuttal amidst the haze of ether and pleasure, Mòrag simply huffs and grips the sheets as Brighid tips the jar and drizzles a generous helping of the warm Melted Choclit all over her abdomen. It isn't even enough to completely empty its contents, but it's put aside on the nightstand nonetheless.
"Besides, the spicy flavor rather suits you."
And she makes quick work of the Choclit, gripping Mòrag's sides as her Driver helplessly squirms beneath her burning mouth, muscles tensing up at the vaguely ticklish sensation. Mòrag, to her credit, manages to bite her lip to remain otherwise silent, only letting out a small yelp when Brighid suddenly dips her tongue into her sensitive navel to lap up some drips of the Choclit.
Her back sharply arches, pushing up against Brighid. Mòrag squeezes her eyes shut and tries to steady her heavy breathing, unable to focus on much else besides the wet sounds and burning sensations of her Blade cleaning up her body in, frankly, the best way possible. Maybe some messes aren't so terrible, after all.
Brighid's still licking her abs with firm strokes of her tongue even when the last of the Choclit had been cleaned up. For a while Mòrag simply lies there, squirming and enjoying the moment with her eyes still closed and mouth slightly open, but the clinking of glass against her arm reminds her. She softly groans and rests a shaking hand on Brighid's head. Her hair is burning, too.
"I made much more than that Choclit if you recall, Brighid…"
Brighid only seems vaguely annoyed at being interrupted. She plants one last kiss upon Mòrag's skin before detaching herself reluctantly. "Of course, Lady Mòrag." Without even looking, she picks up another jar.
"Amethyst Vanilla Cream. Careful, it's very sticky."
She picks up another.
"Ruby Mangosteen Compote."
Another.
"Cranberry Jelly."
Another.
"Crunchy Buttercream Frosting."
Brighid sighs and puts a finger over Mòrag's lips. "Honestly, I don't care what they are at this point."
Mòrag is definitely pouting now. "You don't even want to know the recipes?"
"Tell me about those after I'm done eating them off of you."
"Hm. If you insist…"
Somehow, without even getting off the bed or standing up, Brighid manages to shed her dress off in one go and cast it aside, along with her neckpiece. It's no less impressive than the first time Mòrag had seen her do that. She really does appreciate the way she does it, as much as she appreciates the times when Brighid actually takes her time with stripping.
"There. Now you have one less thing to worry about." She's picking up that jar of Amethyst Vanilla Cream again. The sticky one.
It's easier to lose herself in the moment when Brighid is goading her with their potent ether connection and she no longer has to worry about Brighid's dress getting stained. Brighid even allows her to sit up and help her with opening the jars. Without any rhyme nor reason nor concern for any messes by this point, she eagerly pours, smears, and dribbles a good amount from each jar all over both herself and Mòrag, licking her fingers in between to taste each one with small hums of approval. Vanilla, coffee, various fruits, caramel, more chocolate— so many flavors it's nearly overwhelming, warmed by her flames.
She can't quite breathe, eyes tracing the different sweets tantalizingly dripping down Brighid's body in thick drops. It's a goddamn mess, but Mòrag had stopped caring about that already. She wets her lips and puts the last jar aside, out of the way. "…Well, then. Shall we commence?"
Brighid laughs. "You couldn't have used a better phrase?"
Mòrag frowns. "What's wrong with the way I said it?"
But Brighid just shakes her head. "Forget about it. Yes, 'let us commence'."
And she practically throws herself upon Mòrag, licking a clear swath upon a patch of skin somewhere— she's not even sure where, no longer looking, only feeling and tasting the sticky sweetnesses all over her soft skin and hard muscles, their limbs tangling and untangling as they continuously shift positions to lick each other wherever they can like hungry animals.
Mòrag never considered herself one with much of a sweet tooth— she'd always preferred savory dishes— but right now, she can't imagine she'd ever tasted anything better in her entire life as she hungrily mouths at Brighid's searing skin, allowing herself to be pushed and nudged here and there as Brighid takes the lead.
Her fires make quick work with melting everything into a mess of indistinguishable and sticky sweetness. They eventually find themselves pressed together front-to-front, Mòrag rather blatantly grinding against Brighid's thigh with something that's also decidedly hot and wet but not quite as sticky as all those sweets, and Brighid quickly grabs her jaw to taste her mouth. They're both burning.
Mòrag groans from the back of her throat as Brighid's tongue pushes against hers. She can taste her and all the lingering flavors from the sweets, and she bucks her hips more insistently. One of Brighid's hands reaches down to roughly squeeze her thigh as if to tell her to be patient, but it only encourages Mòrag to grind just a bit faster.
She's getting desperate. Brighid can tell, which is probably why she aggressively bites down on her lip. With a small wince and a whine, Mòrag obligingly forces her hips to go still, though she continues to try kissing Brighid with an open mouth and now-sore lip.
Brighid breathes out a small laugh and pulls herself back, just enough to see Mòrag pout and try to capture her lips with hers again. There's some chocolate smeared on her cheek, and cream below her chin. The rest of their bodies carry even more of a residual mess. She wipes up some of that cream with a finger and pushes it into Mòrag's mouth; she takes that cue to diligently clean off the rest of Brighid's burning hand, sucking on each digit and licking between them.
"Would you still like to tell me about your recipes?"
"Not— not right now, no." Mòrag mumbles around her fingers. She moves to wrap her arms around Brighid, but she's suddenly moving lower— not that Mòrag is complaining, when she realizes what's going on.
Brighid easily pries her legs apart and kneels there, cheek pressed against her inner thigh. "You wanted me to taste all of the sweets you made. Should I taste you as well, Lady Mòrag?"
"Please, Brighid, must you tease me?!"
"Of course."
"Brighid!" Her hips buck. Mòrag clutches her face with sticky hands as if to hide herself, the heat and overwhelming ether almost unbearable. She could just about cry out in relief when she feels Brighid licking and sucking closer and closer along her thigh to her wetness, like she's looking for leftover drops of the mixed sweets.
Her face is burning nearly as much as her gut when Brighid hooks her arms beneath her hips to lift her lower half clear off the bed, resting her thighs upon her shoulders. Rather indignantly, Mòrag tries to pull away from this newly exposed position, but her legs are weak and trembling and she's too needy to really do much else but let Brighid do as she pleases.
It's not really a bad thing, all in all. Because Brighid's finally licking her entrance and clit in the same way she had licked all those sweets off her body, with hungry strokes of her tongue and hums of appreciation.
"B-Brighid—" she cries out, clinging to the sheets for dear life as Brighid does something with her tongue (on fire, as par for the course) down there that she definitely didn't do to her abs or breasts or any other part of her body. She pants out desperately, nearly whining, the noises driving Brighid to eat her out even more enthusiastically with all those aftertastes of the sweets still lingering.
The air is thick with heat and ether and the overbearing scent of all the creams and sauces and syrups, and the underlying scent of Mòrag herself. The way Brighid's flames are growing in excitement certainly isn't helping, and Mòrag can't tell what's sweat and what's residual sweets upon her own body anymore. She arches her back, head spinning and chest heaving.
Brighid rubs her own thighs together as Mòrag comes, hard. Her Driver never fails to surprise her with the very un-Mòrag-like sounds she's capable of making.
She waits for a moment before carefully setting Mòrag's hips down and crawling up to lie beside her, drinking in the sight of her flushed face and hazy eyes, hair absolutely disheveled. Mòrag immediately turns to kiss her. Her breath is sweet. She's still licking as well, clumsily tasting herself all over Brighid's mouth, and that kind of persistence can only mean that Mòrag is refusing to stop now.
Brighid touches Mòrag's burning face with the tiniest smirk to pause her sloppy kissing.
"Not satiated yet, Lady Mòrag?"
"No," she simply says, reaching for the closest jar. "There's still plenty left. I'll be making more tomorrow too, I can assure you, so there's no need to ration these."
"Hah…" How greedy. She lies back to allow Mòrag to pour the contents of the jar over her breasts, something rich and creamy that smells of a sweet fruit. Mòrag, though she's still panting and her head is still spinning, wastes no time with lowering herself to indulge. "Remind me to thank Gorg, for letting you help in his kitchen."