Interlude M: Hot Stuff

You'd never have taken Bridgit Pike for a professional arsonist, if you met her in passing - after all, she wouldn't be much of an arsonist if she were so easy to pick out. Oh, sure, she liked a little (or a lot) of extra heat in her food (whether that entailed doubling down on the capsaicin or wolfing it down straight out of the pan, she didn't mind - often both, in fact). Okay, maybe she kept her apartment the wrong side of roasting, even in the summer - but it was Gotham, maybe the dial was busted! Alright, so she refused to swipe right on anyone who didn't describe themselves as 'fiery', but... yeah, that was a bit odd, but it wasn't like that applied outside of dating apps. All of her... little quirks were perfectly explicable, even her firefighter fetish. After all, well over have of Gotham would let those hardcore honeys walk all over them in their reinforced boots if it meant a chance to grind up on them at a club.

So the latina girl was considered a little eccentric (if you were feeling highbrow) or an oddball (if you were feeling less highbrow) or even a bit of a freak (if you were complimenting her in bed - or for some reason wanted a cigarette stubbed out on your tit, which is what anyone who didn't mean it as a compliment got). Still, this was Gotham, being a bit weird never hurt anyone, even if that weirdness entailed being first to any large building fire - presumably, to watch the GCFD hose it down, then watch them peel off those heavy, concealing overalls and ogle their glistening, soot-stained bodies as they cooled off in the literal afterglow. And most Gothamites agreed that those were pretty noble reasons, all told.

The actual reason she was standing across the street from the inferno that had once been Valentin Pharmaceuticals, panting like she'd just run a dozen blocks and back, was because it had taken a dozen blocks to reach the building she'd used to stash her 'office wear' and that shit, for all that she had practice working in it, was heavy enough to make that run a pain in her ass. There was a reason she used a jetpack to stay mobile, damn it! Ignoring the ache in her thighs, and reminding her to get some more leg time into her workout routine, she let her breathing slowly settle down as she admired her work. Fuck, she thought woozily, that stuff burns real prettily. Now we just wait for the hose jockeys to arrive, and I can get my other sort of eye candy.

"Got a light?"

Bridgit almost leapt out of her skin at the question, whipping her head around and finding herself face-to-face with a smirking, smoking hot albino chick.

"I'm not albino," the young woman sneered, holding up a cigarette, "and I asked you if you've got a light?"

Wincing at the fact that she must have thought that out loud, Bridgit stuffed a hand into her jacket pocket and rummaged through the dozen or so ornate silver lighters inside before pulling out a nice, non-incriminating box of matches instead. Wouldn't do for the girl to connect the dots between a silver penguin or question mark lighter and an infamous firebug-for-hire, after all. She'd have to torch the sweet thing, and she'd not had to do that since... since... "Nnngh!" Bridgit's hips bucked and swirling purple and golden flames danced in the back of her brain for an instant, before she slid the matchbox open, picked one out and lit it on a particularly fat, bright ember floating in the air. She touched it to the tip of the pale-skinned redhead's smoke, then flicked it away towards the burning building.

The other woman smirked and turned her gaze to follow Bridgit's as she returned to gazing into the flames. Bridgit could practically feel it, the tongues of fire that coiled up the blackening brickwork licking at her body - the heat, pressing in close like a rough, needy lover. "You know," the redhead murmured in her ear as she slipped an arm around Bridgit's waist and pulled herself in tight against her, "I never really got the fascination with fire. It was always so wild, so out of control, so hungry. It scared me to ****." The woman was scorching hot, Bridgit realised - a furnace wrapped in soft, pale flesh. The pyrophile's cock, already rocking a semi from setting the blaze earlier and admiring the results, quickly throbbed into full hardness. "'Was'," she gasped, voice hitching as the woman's other hand ghosted down her front and grasped her bulge lightly, "so you're n-not anymore?"

"Oh, no," she purred, voice crackling like a low flame, "not anymore. I realised that I wasn't scared - I was jealous." She licked Bridgit's neck with a tongue that felt like a trial of boiling oil, sizzling and spitting against her skin. Bridgit moaned and sagged into the woman's grip, head lolling over and letting her get caught up in her eyes. She didn't even notice the woman's cigarette being tossed away, unused. "I wanted to be wild," the woman continued, welcoming Bridgit's mind into the endless red and gold spirals that were her eyes, "I wanted to be out of control. I was hungry, Bridgit. I was hungry, but I didn't even know it." Bridgit gasped and tried to remember when she'd told this beauty her name, but her thoughts crinkled and blackened like paper in those endless, beautiful, scorching spirals. They were so enticing, so dominant, so perfect, so... so...

"So hot," Bridgit slurred.

"Oh, babe," her goddess of fire whispered as more and more unnaturally bright embers floated across the street and swirled about them, "if you think this is hot, I can't wait to get you inside of me. You're gonna feel your soul burning."