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Shoko leans against the counter, elbows resting against its cold surface while she nurses the whiskey in her hand. She cradles the glass with her fingertips, gently stirring it with the motions of her wrist. Ice cubes clink against the rim like a lazy metronome, slow and delicate. Her gaze loiters across the kitchen, watching as Utahime furiously stirs batter with her lip pinched between her teeth. Her tempo is erratic, whisk scratching against metal in a chaotic symphony that contrasts Shoko's languid pace. She raises her drink, pausing to admire the woman through the auburn liquid. She pouts at Shoko, cheeks rounded by the shape of the cup.
"You know, this would go a lot faster if you started helping."
Shoko hides her smile behind the rim, divulging in a long sip.
"You're right it would go faster," she admits, "but then I wouldn't get the pleasure of watching you."
Utahime's eyes widen, whisk forgotten briefly while she finds herself lost for words. Her cheeks turn the perfect shade of pink and Shoko lips the droplets on her lips, yearning to taste the heat. The blush rises to her ears, hidden behind loose strands of silky black hair. She quickly shies away from Shoko's subtle leer as she deepens her pout.
"Oh don't try to flatter me," she retorts, "I'm an absolute mess right now."
Shoko hums in acknowledgement, long and slow as she shamelessly ogles Utahime’s silhouette. She's retired her priestess robes for the night, dawning an emerald sweater dress that clings to her every curve. Her slender neck is covered by its knitted collar, embellished with a gold chain, and Shoko's eyes follow smooth lines from her shoulders to her bosom, caressed by woven patterns as they travel down her slim waist, cinched by a brown belt. Her eyes wander down the shape of her hips and plush thighs which peek beneath her dress, decorated in a pair of black snowflake-embroidered tights. Shoko instinctively licks her lips, watching how the nylon stretches thin as Utahime's legs begin to fidget and cross. She wants to feel their weight against her shoulders and trace her teeth against the flesh; to sever through the nylon stitch by stitch until she reaches the treasure beneath, determined to see if it tastes just as the cookies she bakes.
"Shoko-" Her eyes rise to where soft lips linger on her name. They expel a shaky breath disguised by a sharp whisper.
"Stop staring at me or I'm never getting this done. You're too distracting."
A smile teases the edge of Shoko’s lips. " I could say the same about you." She pulls away from the counter, abandoning her glass as she glides into Utahime's space. The woman holds her breath as Shoko fingers ghost the line of her jaw, rising until she reaches a loose strand of black hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. Shoko's nails then trace the muscles down her neck, and even through the fabric Utahime shivers from the touch. Her nails pause on a smudge of something white. Amusement tickles her expression as she rubs it away with her thumb.
"You have flour all over you, my love."
Utahime blinks, nose scrunching as her face turns two shades redder. An anguished sigh escapes from her lips as her hands clench around the metal bowl, muscles flexing as if deciding whether or not to throw it.
"This is all Gojo's stupid fault!" She huffs. "He's so ridiculously determined to make this Christmas party as 'authentic' as can be, whatever that's supposed to mean!" Shoko moves her hand to caress Utahime's cheek, feeling the warmth radiate as her pout presses against it.
"I can only assume he wants to emulate what he's seen in Western films."
"Right?!" Her brown eyes widen at Shoko, expression growing more lively despite the blush, "For a guy that can see everything he can act like a real blockhead. Besides, there’s no one way to celebrate Christmas. I even compared notes from Nanami and Momo, and from what they’ve said it doesn’t sound like there’s much overlap between their customs at all.”
Shoko stares fondly into Utahime's warm-brown eyes as she rubs circles against her cheek.
"From what I gather, there is one big overlap: the 'being together' part. Knowing him, he was likely aiming to have the students build their own traditions they can share together. Speaking of, weren't you supposed to have some other helpers join you tonight?"
Utahime grimaces, "Are you kidding? As if I’m letting my students set fire to your kitchen. I've assigned them all to Secret-Santa duty. That should be enough of a challenge."
Shoko huffs a laugh. "Well, we could always ask Nanami for an extra hand. As you said he has some previous experience."
"No way!" Utahime straightens herself, hand clenching at the whisk. "He's being just as bad as Gojo. As always, the bozo dragged Nanami into the teachers’ meeting, so when he brought up the party I thought I'd at least have one ally in the room, but then his whole demeanor changed at the mention of a ‘Traditional Feast’."Shoko raises an eyebrow as Utahime continues. "Before I knew it, Nanami was planning the entire meal with Gojo just nodding and clapping, smiling like an idiot-" Shoko laughs as Utahime attempts to mimic Gojo's expression. "And now it feels like there's some kind of competition between us. I bet that was part of his plan all along, the scheming jerk."
"Or…" Shoko leans in, dusting a spot of flour from Utahime's nose, "It could be that he likes Nanami's cooking a little too much." Utahime rolls her eyes. "But if he is trying to make this a competition, I'm positive you're going to win."
Shoko tilts her head close as a breath brushes Utahime's lips. Her eyes drop to Shoko's mouth. "Oh?" She mumbles a moment too late, honey eyes hidden by long black lashes, "And why's that?"
"Because you have two hot girlfriends!"
Both Utahime and Shoko blink, pulling their attention to the doorway as Yuki trots through, waving at them with her helmet. She tosses it onto a dining chair. Shoko smiles fondly at the blond.
"Welcome home, angel." She greets, watching as Yuki's smile brightens a few watts before leaning in to kiss her.
"You're an hour late!" Utahime scolds.
“Oops,” Yuki shrugs before flustering Utahime with a wink, "better late than never I suppose," She leans to give Utahime a peck "I’ll make it up to you later, yeah?" She dips her finger into the batter while Utahime sputters, caught off guard from the kiss. Yet the raven's eyes become immediately transfixed as Yuki brings her fingers to her lips, letting the thick batter slide down her index and middle. She spread them open, darting her long tongue out in front of Utahime, making a show of lapping her fingers clean. She takes her time, humming as the sugar fills her senses, moaning and curling her tongue around the digits before sliding it over the crevice. Utahime goes rigid, nostrils flaring as Yuki paces herself with long languid strokes over the center, fingers framing her face. The scene alone has Shoko biting her lip, thighs clenching as her palms itch to dig into golden strands and hold them tight. When the batter is long gone Yuki leers over her fingers, stealing Shoko's attention with a glance before focusing back onto Utahime, blond lashes framing her darkened eyes while saliva glistens her lips.
"Mmm, that tastes good." She smirks.
Utahime goes tomato red, brow furrowed as she tucks the bowl closer to her chest and away from Yuki.
"You're insatiable!" She chides. "G-go get an apron before I smack you with a spatula!"
"That doesn't sound like a punishment, Hime." Yuki sings-songs as she grabs a green apron from the wall. Shoko stifles a laugh at Utahime's exasperated whine. "Maybe after we put those boys in their place you can wh-oof"
A wooden spoon comes flying across the kitchen, bonking Yuki in the back of the head, and Shoko can't resist the laugh that escapes her. The laughter soon spreads to all three as she shifts to grab her own apron on the rack. Whatever Gojo's plan was, she's going to have to thank him later. For she can't think of a better way to celebrate the holidays than sharing it with the women that she loves.