It's a rare opportunity.
She doesn't often get to linger in Elsa's tent where it smells of stage makeup, of expensive perfume, and the sharp bitterness of whatever Elsa had been smoking earlier.
The room's single lamp plays off the glass shards of the chandelier above them. It casts little dancing diamonds of light against all the satin and velvet and brass, everything it feels so good to run her fingers over.
In this light she can't even see how the edges are starting to wear and fray.
She doesn't often get to linger over Elsa herself, to study her when she's this unguarded.
There are moments when she finds just the right rhythm with her fingers, murmurs just the right mix of sweet and shocking against Elsa's breast.
There are moments, but they are brief and Elsa never falls asleep afterwards.
She toys less carefully with the strap of the lavender gown that has fallen down Elsa's shoulder, whispers, "Elsa."
She has no doubt that Elsa will send her back to their tent like she always does if she wakes her up now.
But when else is she going to ask?
Besides, Dot will only pretend to be asleep for so long. They haven't negotiated for this particular circumstance, and Lord only knows what she'll demand in return.
"Elsa," she says it louder this time, adds the pinch of her fingers into Elsa's shoulder. "Wake up."
There's a sleepy, grumpy hum that makes her smile despite her nerves and a hand starting to stir beneath her pillow.
"Do you love me?" she asks.
Of course, she doesn't.
A weight lifts off her chest and Elsa's face is lost for a moment behind a curtain of damp blonde hair.
"Of course. I love all my monsters."
She can't quite look away from that devastating mouth, rubbed clean now save for a bright smudge at one corner.
"Oh."
I told you.
She'll scrub those crimson stains off her ribs and wrists and thighs and throat just a little harder tonight.
Elsa raises up on her elbows, puts even more distance between them—creates an unimpeded view directly down the slip of silk she's wearing.
It's incredibly distracting and almost certainly calculated, as is the hand that reaches between them to where she's still tender enough to shiver at the barest touch.
Elsa's head dips in a familiar way and she can't help but tilt her own to meet it.
Elsa says, "But I love you most of all," and it's better than any kiss could have been.
Elsa adds, "Because you make such pretty noises when you come," and it's easier than ever to prove her right.
"I thought I was tone-deaf."
Elsa laughs and it blows warm against the scar her sister had made just below her collarbone.
"As a post. But you fuck like an angel."