After Pink had died, Blue would come to White. Sitting alone in her chambers, weeping, she might catch something, a piece of chandelier that glinted rose, or an old authority crest she couldn't bear to remove. The unwashed curtains smelled like her, when she would wrap herself inside them, playing. The air hurt to breathe.

So Blue would come knocking with both hands on the outside of White's enormous bust. The inside was mercifully monochromatic, the light unapologetically white. Nothing in those chambers smelt of her; they didn't smell of anything.

Without fail, White would accept her. She engulfed her in pure light, drawing her in by the ankles and wrists. For a few seconds, it felt like a quartering, but then it was over and Blue's lips tingled against the pressure of White's.

She wouldn't really kiss her. White, holding Homeworld together, showed Blue a better reality, where Pink never existed, and the planet wasn't falling apart, and there was no pain. With their lips touching, Blue mumbled, "Oh, White, make it stop. It hurts so much, and it's all my fault."

White, peeling away Blue's clothes, smiled. "I can taste your tears."

Blue had found White's tongue, hot enough to sear away any sensation, as her clothes came off.

White warmed Blue like the desert on a windless day. She overwhelmed on every side and at every angle, yet Blue could feel her hands as they smoothed along her collarbones, over her breasts, down her navel. The space between her legs had become like an oasis, a paradise amongst the heat.

Blue gasped as White slotted her fingers inside it, holding onto what she perceived as shoulders. Her light moved as accurately as fingers, but a little too fluidly. They massaged her most sensitive areas too adeptly, too exactly, even for prints.

White produced tongues and teeth playing with both her nipples simultaneously, lapping up her clitoris and love-biting her neck. Blue hollered and came one, two, three times. She lost count.

White bit and stroked her until she was sopping and raw, spent in the wasteland of her attention. Even then, she kept going, pulling the cries from the chasm of Blue's open mouth. Her back arched and her muscles moved as if White were truly inside her, strumming her web of nerves, tightening as they seemed to go in. Really, Blue writhed on the floor, bending her knees and howling without voice.

White watched her naked body rolling and pulled out another orgasm. She had taken nine of them with a smile, glowing with a tinge of Blue's color.

"Does it hurt any longer?" she asked as Blue came again. That was ten.

When she didn't receive an answer, White reclaimed her theoretical fingers. She wrapped Blue in her gown and kissed at her throat. Blue didn't turn to her as she phased through the wall, not even when she had passed through buildings and ended up on the floor of her chambers. She lay there as though she were still climaxing.

White sometimes told Blue that she didn't want to see her the next day, but she tended to show up anyway. Once the room grew clearer along its hazy edges and the little pink glares returned, she would go. But for the moment, she laid content upon the floor, scent caturised and pain seared away.