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The clock ticking on the wall was driving Glinda insane. She didn’t know why they insisted on having dinners with her and Fiyero if it was going to be… that. Conversation was almost nonexistent, food was picked at with disinterest and all the four could do was glare at each other. The only thing that flowed in those awful, awful dinners was the alcohol, though Glinda almost wished it didn’t. On one hand, it was nice to use the wine and the whiskey to numb herself to the world and the three seething people sat next to her, but on the other, the drink made the Wizard and Fiyero size each other up like peacocks or stags fighting over a mate. Dear old Alma was the least terrible of the three, and that is saying something. She had long given up hopes of making the dinner less like a war zone and drank her sherry in weary resignation.
Glinda eyed Fiyero with disgust over the rim of her glass, the same disgust she also shot at the Wizard. The problem was that the old fucker could drink Fiyero under the table and the young prince was making a fool of himself, grimacing at the whiskey he drank, knowing damn well he couldn’t handle it.
“Careful, lad. This stuff’s strong,” drawled the Wizard from Glinda’s right, voice thick with contempt.
“It does take a bit of practice to get used to it, no? You sure seem to have this experience,” spat Fiyero, though he stumbled on his words, tongue heavy from too much alcohol. Glinda scoffed lightly, and so did Morrible, surprising as it was. That’s certainly one way of calling someone an alcoholic.
“I wonder what experience you have, boy. I’d wager it’s not enough to, uh… convince.”
Oh, sweet Oz. There they were, in a dick-measuring contest. Fiyero shot up forcefully, emboldened by the booze, and Glinda gave Morrible a pleading look. The old sorceress, however, was looking at Glinda with the same exasperation and the two women, perhaps for the first time in their long history, shared a wry, commiserating smile.
“Say that again?” dared Fiyero, one finger pointed at the Wizard, who was still splayed in his chair, undoing his tie. He let out a barked laugh, looking at Fiyero with a predatorial glint in his hazy, drunken eyes.
“Fiyero, enough,” whispered Glinda, massaging the bridge of her nose. It went, as it often did, unheard.
“Look at the young buck showing off his antlers,” the Wizard rose from his chair as he spoke, making use of the couple of inches he had on the prince, and looked at Glinda with intention. “You’ll talk to me like that when you learn how to satisfy your girl.”
“ Oscar,” Morrible hissed and knocked the rest of her sherry back, fingers trembling. With them, the cutlery still on the table trembled as well.
Fiyero stumbled towards the Wizard, stopping inches from him, face contorted in fury. “That’s rich coming from someone who has to force girls into his bed.”
It would have been smarter to punch the Wizard straight away. Glinda could only pray for the Unnamed God to keep the Wizard’s fingers away from his gun. The metallic clang of cutlery and dishes drumming against the mahogany table drowned out some of their mutual yelling, but did not discourage the two idiots. Glinda looked at Morrible again, defeated, and she felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the older woman, also stuck watching that pitiful display of masculinity. It was then that Glinda’s own whiskey-clouded mind conjured an idea that would distract the fools. They wanted a show? They would have a show.
Glinda rose from her seat and crossed the short distance to Morrible’s chair, knowing damn well at least the Wizard would be watching her from the corner of his eye. She gave the sorceress no warning before hitching up her voluminous skirts and sinking into her lap, looking straight into Morrible’s sharp but confused eyes.
“Why are men always so inelegant? It would be so much easier to just,” she cut herself mid sentence as her lips pressed against Morrible’s. Glinda could as well have walked into her own grave, but she felt Morrible smile a mortal grin beneath her lips, ever the player herself, and she grasped Glinda’s dainty waist with her spindly fingers, pulling her deeper into her lap.
“What?” the Wizard's soft, dumbfounded whisper filled Glinda’s ears like music. Morrible must have felt the same, for the two deepened the kiss in sync, in a surge of strange, power-hungry desire.
“You two are pathetic,” growled Morrible, breaking the kiss momentarily to scowl at the men. “We are just showing you how much.”
Glinda straightened her back and looked over her shoulder at the two, their mouths agape. “And you are gonna sit pretty and watch.” She then tipped her head back, offering her neck to the other woman, who seemed very eager to be the one to leave marks on Glinda, a tangible proof of who was dealing the cards.
Glinda felt a shiver run down her spine not only from Morrible’s teeth on the column of her neck, but from the sounds of chairs groaning under the weight of the two men. Her fingers tangled into long silver strands, pulling them free from their prison in an elaborate updo and pressing herself harder against Morrible’s lips, which had moved to her collarbones and the tops of her breasts.
“You’ll pay for this, girl,” Morrible whispered with far less venom than usual before pushing Glinda up into the table, knocking spoons and plates to the floor. They heard one of the men exhale and the distinct sound of a fly opening. The smile that the two women shared was the same: wolfish and satisfied.
“Don’t you dare,” Morrible hissed and the plates trembled again. “You’re here to watch and watch alone.”
Glinda couldn’t help but laugh, especially as a pair of hands found her skin under her dress and clawed at it like she owned it. She leaned back on her elbows, watching hungrily as Morrible disappeared under her skirts and got to work on Glinda’s center, panties pushed to the side in a haste. She let a loud and lengthy moan escape her lips when she felt the older woman’s tongue on her clit and looked at the men deliberately. Fiyero was perfectly still, looking like he’d seen a ghost, but his breath was ragged and his brow sweaty. The Wizard, on the other hand, moved restlessly in his chair and his well-coiffed hair was messy from hands running over it.
She gave her fiancé the sweetest smile she could muster at that point, but with a hint of daring. I dare you to look. I dare you to see what I’ve become. I dare you not to like it. She didn’t have to dare the Wizard to do anything, however. He was going to wait. Glinda just gazed upon him with her darkest eyes, the way she knew he liked it. Want to claim me? You can’t. You’ll have to share. The fact that Morrible had frozen them in place so effectively that they couldn’t even take their cocks in their hands and stroke themselves, completely at the two women’s mercy, made Glinda keen and coat Morrible’s tongue with more wetness. It wasn’t the first time Glinda found lust in power and power in lust, so she let her mouth run wild, her words coiling around the men like the very leash she had once worn around her own neck.
“Such good boys. It isn't that hard to behave, is it?” she breathed out, grinding against Morrible’s insistent tongue as she watched them bristle deliciously at the praise. “Fuck, yes. Alma!”
The sound of her name in that lilting soprano tone prompted Morrible to add two fingers in, making the girl gasp. Glinda knew she was fighting three different battles at once, but looking at the two men at her mercy and feeling Morrible’s panting breaths between her legs, she felt like she was winning all of them.
“People say that knowledge is power, money is power, violence is power. Nonsense, all of it,” Glinda said, with little high gasps of pleasure in between her words as Morrible curled her fingers inside of her. “Power is power. And you either have it or you don’t.”
Glinda gave them one last pointed look, watching with deep contentment how the two drank on the sight of her and wrung their hands in agony. She then let her moans echo around the room as she came, laying down on the table with her golden hair splayed around her head like a crown. A slow, feline smile crept up in Glinda’s lips as she watched Morrible emerge from under her skirts, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, but still commanding and sharp.
“Did you two enjoy the show?” she harped, looking heatedly at the two men, who cowered under her gaze. “So?”
They hesitated, but the hoarse, needy confirmations she heard almost made Glinda come again.
“Then you best prepare. We have only just begun.”