To Defeat a Witch

Sparring with Morgan is a very unique experience compared to sparring with other people. With Serenity or Grimm, sparring is a purely physical exercise; Mash has to prove herself faster, or sturdier, or stronger if she wants a chance at winning that battle.

It’s different with Morgan, because their difference in strength is overwhelming. Battling Morgan is never a fight she can win through attrition or raw strength alone. Sparring with Morgan is an exercise of being smarter.

The lances rain upon her, each with enough momentum to shatter the earth. Mash runs at full speed, listening to them land behind them. Morgan is barely giving her any time to think. A single second of inatention would sign her defeat.

After a few seconds, it becomes obvious that the spears will simply not catch up to her. She sees Morgan’s hands rise as the rain stops, fingers curling, and-

there. That’s her opening.

Morgan is powerful. Morgan is smart. Morgan is fast. But this is her weakness: those few seconds between two spells. Most would take advantage of that time window to rush her, to try to press Morgan in a corner her magecraft can’t save her.

Mash doesn’t. She has better.

Index finger. Ring ringer. Thumb. To anyone else, these twitches would be insignificant. But Mash- she knows. She can read them. She knows what spell Morgan is going to use.

This is Mash’s opening. 

She slams her shield on the ground, using it as a lever to throw herself into the air, right as a torrent of flames pours over her person. It singes, but most importantly Morgan cannot see her behind the fire she just cast. Her shield left behind as a decoy, Mash is free to fly, fall- and land right next to Morgan.

Her eyes widen, ever so slightly. She raises a hand. Readies a spell.

Too late.

“Got ya!” Mash latches upon the older woman, tackling her to the ground. She takes hold of Morgan’s wrists, then pins them on both sides of her head. 

Morgan stares up at her, then lets out a microscopic smile. “That is my defeat, I concede.”

Mash’s face breaks into a grin. “That makes what? Three times?”

“Indeed.” Morgan nods. “You have improved quite a lot.”

“I’m finally figuring out your tricks.”

“You would be the first one to.” Morgan glances to the side. “Would you be so kind as to let me sit up?”

“Ah! Right, right.” Now, this is the part where Mash should scramble to get off Morgan. She should let her go, and they’d both sit together, and maybe go get lunch or something.

But. Uh.

Well.

This is the first time Mash has managed to truly pin Morgan down. The older woman is looking up at her, a light flush in her cheeks from their earlier fights, wrists warm under Mash’s fingers, and. Hm. And. Well.

“Mash?”

Mash opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Speak your mind.”

“I,” she takes a deep breath. It’s an idea that has been rotating in her head for a while now, though she’s never gotten to speak it out loud. It’s mortifying, but if Mash doesn’t speak up now she knows she never will. “You know, when we get… intimate. How you always take the reins?”

Morgan doesn’t so much as blink. “I am aware, yes.”

“Would you… mind… if I…” Come on girl you’ve seen this woman naked before you can talk about sex with her. “If I took control? This time?”

Morgan’s eyebrow quirks up. “Your attempts to please me are flattering, but I once again assure you that they are unnecessary-”

“I know! I know. We’ve established that.” She’d felt bad about it for quite a while, until Morgan had made it very clear that there is nothing Mash could ever do to force her to do something she didn’t want to. There is more to sex (or at least, sex as they practice it) than mutual orgasm. “I meant as in… you know… ordering you around? If you’re… fine with that?”

Morgan is staring. Oh god. Mash is being creepy as hell, isn’t she? Who even says things like that? She’s so embarrassed, she feels like she could die-

“I see.” Morgan nods. “You have defeated this witch, brave knight. Feel free to do as you wish with your spoils of war.”

… Oh.

Mash had never jumped on her feet faster. She lifts Morgan in her arms, bridal-style, then rushes to the bedroom.

When Mash finally lets her down, Morgan’s gaze rakes over her, up and down. “So. What will my knight have me do?”

My knight. God. Hearing that title in Morgan’s mouth never fails to make her feel tingly all over.

Mash vanishes her armor, switching back to her regular clothes. She makes it as slow as possible. She is, well, trying to gain some time. She didn’t actually think she’d get this far. She has nothing planned.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Undress me.” She says, with a voice she hopes to be confident.

With a nod, Morgan walks up to her. She starts by sliding the jack off her, her hands trailing over Mash’s arms. Then her fingers come up to Mash’s necktie, working the knot off, inches away from her throat. Morgan’s movements are slow, unhurried, more focused on sensuality than efficacity. When she finally removes Mash’s shirt, she brings her mouth to her breast, and Mash has to push Morgan away by the shoulders.

“Hey, uhm,” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Okay. Okay. She can do this. “Do not touch me without my permission. You do not need to take any initiative at all.” She takes hold of Morgan’s chin. “You only need to obey me.”

For three, glorious seconds, Mash feels powerful. She is in control here. She makes the rules, and no one else.

Then it hits her that she is holding Morgan’s chin, who is ten whole centimeters taller than her, and that she just spoke like a cartoon villain, and Mash openly cringes.

Morgan frowns, ever so slightly. “Is anything wrong?”

“I just…”  Mash runs a hand through her hair. “I sound so… cheesy. ”

There is a short pause. “But you do want to do this still, correct?”

“... Yes.” She may not be as suave as she’d dreamed to be but- she does want to try, at least.

“Then, my knight, I shall remind you that you have beaten me fair and square. You have well earned your right to be a little ridiculous.” Morgan takes Mash’s hand off her chin, then presses a kiss on her palm. “As well as the right to do whatever you wish of my body. So, I ask of you: what will you have me do?”

A-ah, well. Okay. Alright.

Mash can do this.

“Kneel before me.”

Morgan complies without a word. Seeing such a proud, strong figure below her- it fills Mash’s belly with fire.

She removes the rest of her clothes herself, then offers her hand to Morgan. She must understand the meaning of that gesture, for she takes Mash’s hand and kisses the back of it the way a vassal would their liege. A shiver runs down Mash’s spine. This is- ah. This is everything.

“You may kiss my thighs.”

Morgan wastes no time taking the invitation. She lavishes Mash’s legs with kisses, all lips and tongues and teeth. She scrapes the top of her thighs a few times, as if to see what Mash would let her get away with; at the absence of reaction, she moves to the inner thighs, sucking a bruise there.

Mash lets out a pleased moan. “Morgan…” Her sex is wet and warm with desire. She wants to- she shouldn’t, but-

Morgan’s eyes flicker up, looking at her. Ah. Right. Fairy eyes. Mash shouldn’t have spoken up at all. That single word was enough to lay her intentions bare to the world. 

Morgan parts from her skin with one last kiss, saliva still shining on her lips. “My knight. You are too kind to your prisoners. If you want something, take it. Such is your prize as the rightful winner of our battle.”

Then, so as to leave no room for misinterpretation, Morgan reaches up, takes Mash’s hand, and sets it on top of her head.

Mash’s heart skips a beat. Anxiety rises its ugly head again, so before she can put her foot in her mouth again she grabs Morgan by the ponytail and shoves her against her cunt.

“Service your knight, then. Service your victor.”

Morgan’s tongue darts out, and suddenly Mash becomes too preoccupied to be self-conscious.

She keeps both hands on Morgan’s head, rolling her hips forward. “Th-that’s it, my queen. Make good use of that mouth.”

My queen, she says, because even now, even in this make-believe scenario, she is a queen. A queen kneeling before her. A queen swearing allegiance to her. A queen serving her, her, her, only her, which makes Mash someone above royalty, someone respected and admired and worshiped-

She comes with a cry, holding onto Morgan tightly.

She’d never had sex upright before- not in a way where she wasn’t already held up, at least. Her legs feel like jelly. She almost lets herself fall back on the floor right here and there.

Morgan peeks up at her, wiping her mouth. “I believe you should lay on the bed for a bit, my knight.”

Mash nods weakly, stumbling to fall face-first onto the sheets. She feels the mattress dip when morgan sits next to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” blissed out. Happy. Relaxed. Absolutely mortified. “I can’t believe I said all that stuff to you, oh my god. ”

“It was rather nice. I am glad you got more confident towards the end.” Morgan hums. “I believe we should work out a script together for next time. Perhaps it would ease your anxiety to not have to improvise on the fly.”

“...” Mash rolls on her side, looking up at Morgan. “Next time?”

“I was under the impression that you were interested in such play?”

“You, uh,” Mash licks her lips nervously, “liked that?”

“It was enjoyable. I would be open to trying it again in the future.” And then she smiles- a small, unnoticeable thing most would dismiss as a smirk, should they see it at all, but Mash knows better. “Seeing you being more assertive was quite a treat.”

Mash rolls back on her stomach and hides her face into the sheets again.