[Perfect together, she’d cooed at him the day they met, the day she felt how easily she fit in his arms, the day she’d seen the way he compelled everyone around him with that smile, that voice, that searing heat of his unwavering regard. Fiyero had a way of making anyone he talked to feel they were the only person in Oz, the only one who mattered. Glinda was, of course, too magnanimous to ever be jealous of that.
And yet. And yet here, crowded up against the wall, kissing her jaw, making her eyes flutter and her teeth notch into one full, perfectly-glossed lower lip – the idea of walking into class, flustered and flushed, and feeling the envious stares, the longing sighs, because everyone knows who made her that way… Selfishitude flares up under Glinda’s perfectly-buttoned dress, makes her breath hitch, right as Fiyero’s broad palm settles warm and familiar over the pink silk between her legs.
The classroom gets no more than a dismissive sniff, and Glinda rocking forward (subtly, carefully, sneakily rocking her hips against Fiyero’s hand, teasing him with the drag of satiny fabric, with the sensation of luxury panties, luxury girl, luxury wetness waiting to be coaxed free, to drip like rainfall into his palm) to kiss the corner of that smirking mouth.]
I think that the rose garden looks lovely this time of day. [Back in control, back smug and smiling and sweet, scrunching her nose and twirling neatly out of Fiyero’s grasp, her skirt flipping up as she does so, as his hands slip from her body.] But do you know, I’ve never really taken the time to appreciate them at this hour. [Glinda feigns a thoughtful “mmm”, hips swaying as she starts towards the entirely-vacated, mostly-private gardens, pausing to toss her head, glance back at Fiyero with soft-lidded eyes.] Care to join me?
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And yet. And yet here, crowded up against the wall, kissing her jaw, making her eyes flutter and her teeth notch into one full, perfectly-glossed lower lip – the idea of walking into class, flustered and flushed, and feeling the envious stares, the longing sighs, because everyone knows who made her that way… Selfishitude flares up under Glinda’s perfectly-buttoned dress, makes her breath hitch, right as Fiyero’s broad palm settles warm and familiar over the pink silk between her legs.
The classroom gets no more than a dismissive sniff, and Glinda rocking forward (subtly, carefully, sneakily rocking her hips against Fiyero’s hand, teasing him with the drag of satiny fabric, with the sensation of luxury panties, luxury girl, luxury wetness waiting to be coaxed free, to drip like rainfall into his palm) to kiss the corner of that smirking mouth.]
I think that the rose garden looks lovely this time of day. [Back in control, back smug and smiling and sweet, scrunching her nose and twirling neatly out of Fiyero’s grasp, her skirt flipping up as she does so, as his hands slip from her body.] But do you know, I’ve never really taken the time to appreciate them at this hour. [Glinda feigns a thoughtful “mmm”, hips swaying as she starts towards the entirely-vacated, mostly-private gardens, pausing to toss her head, glance back at Fiyero with soft-lidded eyes.] Care to join me?