374 – Welcome to the Show
Morgan and Calcine were led through the backstage area by El Furia, who strode with the kind of presence that parted crowds without her needing to lift a finger. Her colorful feathers trailed behind her like the banner of a victorious general, swishing dramatically with every turn of her hips.
To Calcine's amusement, Morgan was trying to match her, but she only had a small bunch of feathers for a tail, and it couldn't swish without much movement on Morgan's part. Calcine couldn't help but let her gaze wander a little. Morgan demanded attention as her hips rolled with every exaggerated strut to get those feathers shaking, and her thighs stretched out her dark stockings nicely as she put her all into the movement. Calcine had always appreciated Brandy's fit body and was fond of Sparky and Dani's plumpness. With Morgan, it was a new thing that stoked her flame. Morgan moved like she was dancing, every moment sharp, sensual, and smooth. It made Calcine feel like she was a hefty lumbering rock, but she loved the contrast there. They complemented each other in a way that made Calcine's Steam Engine heart beat hotter.
Morgan glanced back over her shoulder and caught Calcine staring. Instead of saying anything, she just smiled, slow and wicked. Her red eyes blazed, but Calcine could feel the hunger there for the attention. If she stopped looking, she'd get a scratch. Calcine felt her cheeks warm, just slightly, and she coughed into her hand to cover how her smirk deepened at Morgan's obvious desire for some ego stroking.
Morgan didn't drop the eye contact. She slowed her pace just enough to walk beside Calcine instead of ahead, her smile still curling at the corners like she knew exactly what she was doing. She leaned in just enough for her shoulder to brush Calcine's arm, her voice low and sultry.
"Careful, Calcine. You keep looking at me like that, and I might have to start charging for the show." Morgan's smile widened. She casually let her fingers drift along Calcine's wrist, her nails barely scraping the warm, rough, stone skin. "Buy me dinner after all this? You look so hungry right now."
Calcine didn't answer right away. Instead, she stopped walking for a heartbeat and turned to face Morgan properly, letting the light catch the curve of her chest under the straining button-down, the seams pulled taut across her powerful shoulders. One arm flexed slightly as she adjusted the rolled-up sleeve, the molten veins along her bicep pulsing with a low glow.
Then she shifted her weight just enough for the bulge in her pants to press deliberately against the fabric, cock twitching visibly under the smooth, stretched black.
Morgan's gaze dipped just for a second, but Calcine caught it. Morgan clicked her tongue and looked back up with a tight-lipped smile that couldn't quite hide the excitement in her eyes.
"Cocky move," Morgan murmured, though her voice had dipped a note lower.
"Not even a Coalossal yet. I get a lot cockier." Calcine stepped in close, letting her chest lightly brush against Morgan's arm. Her hips swayed with exaggerated care as she leaned in, shoulder to shoulder, and dragged the heat under her skin along Morgan's side. Calcine's voice dropped to a rich, gravelly murmur, "Want a closer look later? I'm starting to love showing off."
Morgan's breath hitched, and her posture stiffened for a heartbeat. Her eyes flicked down and up over Calcine's body, struggling to settle on what to look at.
"Careful," Calcine said, a little slower and breathier. "You keep acting like this, and I'm going to forget we're here to fight and find a locker to press you up against instead."
Morgan blinked, visibly trying to pull herself together. Her mouth opened, then shut again, and her cheeks, usually a smooth pale hue, flushed a warm, unmistakable pink.
"Bold of you to assume I'd let you win that easily," she said after a beat, her voice huskier than before. She lifted her chin with practiced confidence, but her eyes betrayed her. They flicked again to Calcine's bulge and lingered just a moment too long.
"I'll settle for a hard-fought victory," Calcine replied, maliciously popping the word hard in her mouth. Sparky was rubbing off on her.
Morgan opened her mouth to fire back, but all that came out was a breathy little scoff as she dragged her eyes away with visible effort. Instead, she adjusted her hat pointlessly, Calcine noted, since it wasn't in her face, and squared her shoulders like she could shake off the heat being thrown at her.
"You look pretty," Calcine added, testing her luck. "I'm enjoying this date."
Ahead of them, El Furia's feathers gave a soft rustle. She stopped so suddenly they nearly bumped into her, and when she turned, it was with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. Arms crossed, hip cocked, her towering frame loomed over as she looked down with a gleam in her golden eyes.
"Don't stop on my account," she said, delight practically dripping from her voice. "I was wondering which of you would try and pounce first."
Morgan broke eye contact, coughing into her hand with exaggerated composure. "We're just getting warmed up."
"Is that so?" El Furia said, clearly unconvinced, her white chest feathers fluffing up. She took a deliberate step back toward them and casually reached out, her hand clapping down on Calcine's shoulder with a firm squeeze, the strength in her grip undeniable. Then, with a cheeky grin, she trailed a feathered finger along Morgan's jaw, tilting it ever so slightly as if to inspect her face up close.
Morgan froze, her breath catching as she tilted instinctively into the touch before catching herself and stepping back just a fraction, her cheeks blooming pink again.
Calcine, for her part, felt the heat rise under her skin, not just from the contact but the way El Furia's solid presence leaned in between them. The Hawlucha was all power and confidence, her wide frame packed with tight muscle that flexed beneath all the colorful feathers.
"I have made a grave mistake," El Furia said, amused by their flustered responses. "I haven't explained what the show will be about. Leaving two young things to your own devices. No wonder you're ready to start dry-humping before the bell even sounds. You don't know what grand venture we have here! Come! See for yourself!"
With that, she turned and pushed open the door to a massive locker room. The heavy scent of body oil and flowery perfume washed over them like a gentle breeze as they stepped inside.
The room was alive with energy. Women moved between benches and mirrors, half-dressed or fully undressed, applying makeup, adjusting gear, and stretching each other out professionally and really unprofessionally.
To one side, a Hattrem stood behind what had to be her partner, a wiry redhead in a black crop top and compression shorts. The Hattrem had a compact, curvy build, her signature oversized hat perched proudly atop her head despite the chaos of the locker room. It was bright pink and blue, slightly askew but still undeniably charming, with the brim bobbing as she moved. Her long hair curled from underneath the hat streaked with light psychic energy that flickered like static. She wore a tight wrestling costume, a strappy two-piece in bubblegum pink with silver trim that hugged her figure and left little to the imagination, emphasizing her soft curves and toned thighs.
She moved with surprising strength and grace, massaging oil over the redhead's pale back with short, precise strokes. Her fingers glowed faintly with psychic energy, each touch making the redhead sink deeper into bliss. The Hattrem leaned in close, her lips brushing the shell of the human's ear, whispering something low and syrup-sweet. The redhead let out a shaky sigh, her cheeks darkening with color as her partner's fingers slid slightly lower, fighting to get into those compression pants. Whatever she'd just said clearly had nothing to do with technique.
On the other side, a lean Hitmonchan woman with skin the color of polished bronze was pinned gently to the wall by a busty woman wearing a glossy sports bra and bike shorts. The human's hands were tangled in her partner's belt loops, tugging her closer with each slow, intense kiss they shared. Hitmonchan's gloved hands framed her partner's face with surprising tenderness for a Pokémon so well known for knockout punches. Her eyes were closed as she melted into the kiss, absolutely overwhelmed by her lover.
El Furia glanced back over her shoulder with a wide grin. "This is the kind of atmosphere we love before a fight. Passion, heat, and nerves blended into a cocktail that'd make regular women weak at the knees. Welcome to the prep room. I'm going to get you both prepped."
"Oil wouldn't work with Morgan's feathers," Calcine said, her gaze lingering as she watched another woman get rubbed down. She looked Morgan over, lips twitching with thought, then added, "But maybe a pre-fight feather massage? I've got hot hands, and I bet I could get every plume standing at attention. Work out the tension."
Morgan choked on absolutely nothing, her face turning a deeper shade of pink as she adjusted her collar like the room had suddenly gotten too warm. Calcine, very pleased with herself, just grinned.
El Furia barked a laugh. "You'll kill each other before you even get to the ring. That's the right attitude to have."
"What makes the fights illegal?" Morgan choked, trying to regain her composure. "There's clearly a show aspect, but what are we actually doing?"
El Furia stepped forward, her green-tipped wings half-fanned behind her in a proud, sweeping gesture. "Tournament battles are a performance, and I love them. Pleasing your opponent, making them melt? That's the good stuff. But we're the great stuff. We give the people what they'd never see on a sanctioned stage."
She turned her head slightly, casting a fond, proud look across the room of fighters. "Here, we give the crowd fantasies. The kind that is too dangerous, too wild, or just too intimate to exist under League rules. Moves that can level a stage. Choking on dicks far too big for your throat. Hair-pulling, mascara-smearing, and leaving a mark. We're about giving people the stuff of dreams."
El Furia's smile curved into something tender and wicked all at once. "This isn't about glory or trophies. It's about moments. Unforgettable ones. I know I got you both in without a proper lead-up, so we can fake it all if you're uncomfortable. Or you can back out, I won't be mad about it. It's not for everybody."
She leaned closer to Morgan and Calcine, her voice slipping into a sultry whisper. "But if you're both hungry for it, if you've got tension to burn and want to do it in a way that'll make your trainer's eyes pop out of her head, this is your ring."
"This is our date night," Calcine said, her voice low but warm with sincerity. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly along Morgan's back before resting at the small of it. "We took a chance on this, and I'm happy to do whatever Morgan wants. So what do you want?"
Morgan smoothed down the front of her corset, making its silver charms jangle. Her red eyes gleamed with mischief, the blush still painting her cheeks but no longer slowing her down.
"I want to put on a show," she said. "I want the crowd gasping. Then I want them squirming. They're not going to believe what we do out there."
She stepped in closer, tugging lightly at Calcine's shirt collar as if adjusting it, but her fingers lingered far too long to be just tidying up. "This ball of heat is going to help me burn this match into our opponent's brains. They're never going to be the same again."
Calcine's grin widened. With one smooth, bold motion, she gave Morgan's ass a firm slap, the sharp sound echoing through the locker room and drawing a few amused glances. Then, just as naturally, she wrapped an arm around Morgan's waist and pulled her in close, resting her chin briefly against Morgan's shoulder.
"Let's go make a mess of someone's night," Calcine murmured, voice hot and rumbling. "Who are we facing?"
El Furia paused, tilting her head with a mischievous glint in her golden eyes. "Ah, that's the twist, my little showgirls. You won't know. Everyone fights masked. No names, no reputations, no tells. Just fantasy. We want the audience to project themselves onto whoever's in the ring. It keeps things wild."
Morgan raised a brow. "So we're going in blind."
"Hah! You don't know why that's funny, but you're right," El Furia said, clearly pleased. "Could be someone sweet, someone vicious, maybe both. You'll know what they're about when the bell rings."
She turned, gesturing toward a wall lined with outlandishly styled masks of all shapes and finishes. Feathers, horns, glittering paint, lace veils, some elegant, some terrifying.
"Pick a mask, and you're one of us for tonight."
Calcine stepped up first, her eyes scanning quickly for something suitable. She found one shaped like it was half-melted, with glints of gold around the eyes and blackened edges that looked kissed by fire.
But instead of putting it on herself, she turned and held it out to Morgan, her expression unreadable but her eyes bright with meaning.
"You wear this one," Calcine said softly. "Like you've claimed a bit of me."
Morgan blinked, surprised. Then, she smiled as she reached out and took the mask from Calcine's hand. Their fingers brushed, and the contact lingered.
"You're going to regret handing me something this dramatic," she said, tying the strap behind her head. "Grab a feathered one; we should match."
Calcine looked, but there wasn't one with the right black feathers. Eventually, Morgan reached past her and grabbed a plain one off the wall. Then, she plucked a few feathers out of her arms and threaded them into the top of the mask.
"Go on, wear it," she said, offering it to Calcine with a crooked smile. "You've earned a little bit of me."
Calcine took the mask slowly, and her thumb traced the feathers Morgan had offered. Still warm. With a smooth motion, she tied it on and adjusted it with a practiced flick, feathers settling into place. She stood tall and proud.
"So? Do I look like trouble?"
"Like a bad imitation of the real thing," Morgan smiled, "But I don't hate it."