A/N: Standard disclaimers apply; AHS is not mine, although I wish it was. Thank you to my fabulous prompter, dointhetumble. Great (dirty) minds think alike!

Myrtle Snow had more than her fill of Fiona Goode for the day, or more aptly a lifetime, after engaging in a short little spat with the Supreme. She was more of a supreme pain in Myrtle's side, if she was being honest with herself. Thankfully Fiona's daughter, Cordelia, had the sensibility to quell the argument before it escalated into anything more severe. And then the most peculiar and unexpected thing happened; Fiona smiled at Myrtle. She had trouble convincing herself it was a smile. From her vantage point, it was more of a longing smirk that held a hint of desire and lust. Fiona had smiled briefly, a flash of overly whitened teeth, and then a suggestive lift of her eyebrows followed by a shrug of her shoulders. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Myrtle took the safe approach and returned a smile to Fiona, making sure it was just as mysterious.

Unable to trust herself to be cordial around the infuriating woman, Myrtle was glad when Fiona sauntered out of the room after Cordelia with her glass of bourbon and ever present cigarette. Myrtle spent several minutes collecting her thoughts and tidying up the Ancestors Room, abiding by Cordelia's wishes to wait for the girls to return. As the time passed, she found herself growing tired. Planning a delightful appetizing soirée for the Council had proven to be quite a feat, although it was a cake walk compared to being resurrected from the ashes.

Taking the grand staircase to the next floor to find seclusion in a quiet room, Myrtle tried Fiona's room first. Might as well see if there were any other baubles laying haphazardly on the dressing table to borrow, she mused to herself. She wasn't sure the younger girls would appreciate her intrusion and she didn't want to wake Cordelia from a well-deserved nap, so Fiona's room would be the optimal choice. Besides, she could definitely handle the woman's ire if she happened to be in her room.

The door was unlocked and opened easily, but Myrtle peered inside around the door's edge with caution to see if the room was occupied. Seeing and hearing nothing, she pushed the door open fully and closed it behind her with no noise at all. The bed was made and devoid of anyone, and the room was most definitely empty. Daylight lit the already blinding white room from the windows, giving the room an airy feel. Taking quiet steps to the bed with the intent of resting there for a while, Myrtle froze in her movement at the sound of a gentle splash of water. She crept to the ajar door and tilted her head to see if anyone was in there or if she had merely heard a leaky faucet.

Myrtle's eyes widened behind her vintage cat-eyed frames at the scene in front of her. The tub was occupied by a female form facing the opposite of Myrtle, the tops of her bare shoulders exposed as she lounged back. A mess of tousled blonde hair was pinned up on the woman's head as it lolled back against the porcelain claw foot tub, loose strands spilling messily down a slender neck. Two long smooth legs were stretched out and bent slightly at the knee, soles of her feet braced on the edge of the tub with toenails adorned in black polish flexing in tandem with her movements. The woman groaned softly, a shoulder moving forward and then back methodically, causing the bath water to slosh with an audible sound. Immediately embarrassed to have seen such a private act taking place, Myrtle began to step back but paused at the quiet utterance of her name.

"Mmm, ohh Myrtle," a breathless sigh accompanied the words from Fiona's lips as she pressed her toes forward against the metal faucet fixtures.

How the hell did she know she was here? Myrtle didn't recall being noisy in the least bit. She stood still for a moment, waiting for Fiona to turn her head to acknowledge her further, but she continued to pleasure herself in blissful obliviousness. So she hadn't heard her after all. That meant...what? Fiona was thinking of her? Fantasizing about her? Myrtle's throat felt horribly arid and her pulse quickened. Should she stay and risk being caught or sneak away and pretend she never witnessed anything?

Her decision was soon made for her as Fiona let out another throaty groan. "Finger me you dirty bitch," she murmured. Unaware of her audience, Fiona parted her legs a few more inches, feet anchoring her body by sliding back to brace against the white porcelain. Her right hand was buried between her thighs, index and middle fingers rubbing fiercely against her fleshy folds of skin to massage her clit. Her other hand grasped the inside of her thigh but slowly slid down so she could inch her index finger inside of herself, grazing her slippery walls. The act was not so much for penetration as it was for simply wanting to feel her insides tense with each pulsating movement her body created as she urged little waves of pleasure from the small axiom of nerves.

Myrtle let her eyes shut briefly as if trying to erase the image in front of her, but could not find the strength to turn away. A tingle traveled through her belly and rested right between her thighs, making her legs feel the slightest bit numb. Never would she think such a thing would be so arousing, but the longer she observed the Supreme, the harder it became to modestly make an exit. Her gaze was adhered to Fiona's flawless skin, watching as proportionately generous breasts swelled upward through the clear water, pebbled nipples briefly kissing air before disappearing beneath the surface. Myrtle couldn't push the thought from her mind on how it would feel to take one or both breasts in her hands to test their weight and urge the peaks to harden even more. Or to hell with her hands. She wanted to taste Fiona; to lap her tongue against the smooth mound of skin and tenderly suckle on the tiny nub of flesh that would tighten on contact.

As the thoughts rolled through Myrtle's mind much like Fiona's fingers rolling in a steady rhythm over her clit, she began to feel a dampness between her legs that she had long ago given up on as she confined her life resolutely to the Council, leaving no time for life's simple pleasures. She was fucking turned on by watching this self-centered, high maintenance woman pleasure herself while very obviously fantasizing about Myrtle herself. The very thought should have killed any sensual desire within Myrtle, but it didn't, and that made her all the more frustrated. Her current attire, a splashy cloak of blues and violets, may as well have been layers of duct tape across her body as it was nearly impossible to discreetly touch herself in any manner. Throbbing in her pelvic region demanded Myrtle's fingers to provide relief, but she didn't dare disturb the exhibition playing out in front of her. Even her neck was starting to tense in rigid pain from the angle she was peeking around the door, but she remained still.

Fiona's moans increased in volume as she continued to massage herself with urgency, leaving her index finger pressed against her inner walls, ready to feel the constricting muscles which seemed to taunt her as she struggled to reach the climax she craved. "Oh god, lick me Myrtle, harder..." Another lecherous murmur came from the Supreme as she threw her head back further, pressing her sculpted hips up into her palm.

The floor was surely collapsing under her feet, Myrtle thought. She tried her best to keep her breathing even and quiet lest she make a peep and ruin this moment for the both of them, although as a sworn enemy, shouldn't she want to ruin this for Fiona? Maybe things were not what they seemed if Fiona was clearly infatuated with having Myrtle's mouth upon her. Eyes focusing on Fiona's left arm as she thrust her finger in and out a few times with obvious exasperation of her elusive orgasm, Myrtle closed her eyes again to steady herself.

"Fuck!" Fiona spat the expletive with irritation. "Jesus Christ, Myrtle, just fucking come in already and lick me...I need to come, goddamnit." Fiona's voice was strained. She craned her neck to look back toward the doorway at Myrtle, eyes darkened and heavy lidded.

If Myrtle's eyes were wide when first coming upon this scene, they were twice as big now as Fiona's dominating command reached her ears. At first, she wasn't sure what to say or do, so she stood there awkwardly behind the door, afraid she'd turn into a mess of fluid if she so much as touched the goddess' body displayed in a crystalline pool of water.

Fiona let out a pained sigh of annoyance as Myrtle stalled her most urgent need. This provoked Myrtle to move through the doorway with some trepidation as she was unsure how far this should go between them. Didn't Fiona hate her? Maybe the hate had transformed into something else altogether. Lowering onto her knees beside the tub, Myrtle placed her palms on the edge of the porcelain, her gaze immediately drawn to Fiona's frame as the woman continued to smear her fingertips against her folds under the water.

"Get undressed, unless you want that thing to be as drenched as your twat." Fiona rasped the words, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

There was minimal hesitation, but Myrtle obeyed the Supreme, hastily shedding the cloak from her body. A simple black slip adorned her body, the curves of her figure accentuated by the silky material. Myrtle's arousal was obvious, two small pebbles pressing against the silk to announce that fact to Fiona. Without waiting for additional orders, Myrtle slipped her hands into the lukewarm water until it reached past her elbows, placing her hands beneath Fiona's derriere to guide her hips upward so her pelvis was just barely touching the surface of the water. Throughout the motion, Fiona's hands dropped away to grasp the edges of the tub on either side of her body to help balance herself as Myrtle lowered her mouth to her folds. Her tongue skimmed the fleshy pieces of skin, parting them so she could lap up against the nestled nerve endings. Repeating the motion for countless seconds that turned into minutes, Myrtle found no need to pause for rest or for air; she wanted to make the woman tremble with her tongue and feel the tensing walls as she climaxed. Crushing her tongue in a steady rhythm against Fiona's clit, Myrtle carefully removed a hand from the flesh of her backside so she could insinuate her index finger into her center. Fingertip testing the confines of the velvety box it was enclosed in, Myrtle pressed her mouth fully into Fiona's folds, nearly suckling from the woman.

The suction from Myrtle's eager mouth pushed Fiona over the edge she had furiously sought for so long, and she gasped in pleasure as her back arched, breasts rising upward toward the ceiling as if in praise. Expletives rolled off her tongue as she bucked her hips into Myrtle's face, overcome with ecstasy. Fiona's digits curled around the lip of the tub, the sinewy muscles of her arms flexing as her whole body tensed, and her toes flexed forward to graze the white tiled walls. Her insides were practically exploding with gratification all due to Myrtle's hungry tongue. As the waves of satisfaction drifted away, Fiona began to relax, her body slumping under the water and away from Myrtle's damp face. Arms now seeming too heavy to keep above the bath water, slowly dropped to her sides, and her head dipped back to rest against the porcelain surface again.

Myrtle watched Fiona's body visibly relax, and leaned back into a kneeling position, quaintly wiping at her mouth with a bath towel that had been left nearby.

"Darling, there's not enough soap in the world to clean such a dirty girl as yourself," Fiona said with a sidelong glance to the redhead. She flashed a replica of the same mysterious smile from earlier, except her eyes were nearly shut.

"Speak for yourself, Fiona. Speak for yourself..."