And everything clicks into place.
The final puzzle piece. The warmth Blake's always craved. The cosmos and all
their infinite wonderings, narrowed to a single touch. Blake grips the shirtwaist
beneath her fingers, arching up onto her toes. She presses as deep as she can
into those impossibly warm lips. Trying to drown herself in the heat.
Yang makes a quiet noise in the back of her throat, and they part slowly. It's
almost languid, the way Blake's lower lip catches in Yang's teeth. The sting
drags out as they regain an inch of space. Sparks skitter up Blake's spine,
resonating down to her toes on a ricochet. Their eyes meet, deep violet to dark
amber.
Yang silently searches for her permission to continue, but Blake finds herself
impatient. She reaches up, her fingers sinking into soft gold threads with care.
She pulls Yang back down into the wet heat of her mouth.
It's their second kiss that remakes the world.
Where the stardust shared in their bones pops like gunfire and vibrates through
her entire body. Where Yang's hands turn to claws, and end up digging into the
meat of her hips. Teeth flash between kisses, and Blake grows hungrier and
hungrier still.
She finds her back digging into the corner of her broken desk, a sharp gasp
passing steam between them. Yang's touch is a greedy thing.
Her hands flick up under Blake's shirt and trail fire up her torso. She catches a
breast in her palm, a dusky nipple pinched at the webbing of her fingers. Blake
arches up with a hitch in her cry, the sound smothered into oblivion by their
lips.
She feels feverish. Insane. She wants air to breathe. She wants to breathe it in
from Yang's lungs. Love is like oxygen, and Blake wants nothing more than to
replace every breath in her chest with one that has a bit of Yang in them.
Before she can blink, they flip around and she's pushed till her back hits the top
of her mattress. A wild heat falls over her in a blanket, weight pressing into her
thighs and at her chest. Yang's lips find hers again, and again after she hastily
rids Blake of her shirt.
There is no hesitance as the cold air nips at her exposed skin. Blake's body
arches up into Yang's; needy, gasping. Steeping in the unearthly heat of her.
"Shit, are you actually made of the sun?"
Yang's responding laugh has every hair standing on end.
"Too hot to handle?" She asks playfully.
" Ugh ," Blake groans, half in exasperation, halfway pleased. A muscled thigh
fits between her legs for some much needed friction, and her hips jump eagerly,
hands grasping for some part of her to hold on to. "That's horribly cheesy."
"Not a fan of fromage? Not gouda enough for you?"
Blake breaks on a high peel of laughter, her hand coming up to cover Yang's
grinning face. "Oh gods , you're horrible!"
Yang curls her arms under Blake's head, laying a smoky kiss along her jawline.
"Well you aren't running for the window so I must be, at the very least,
tolerable."
Blake feels like she's flying as she says, "A little more than tolerable, perhaps."
"Oh only a little? Blake, you wound me." Teeth scrape at Blake's skin, fire licking
at her bones again. Blake's next breath comes on a stutter.
She attempts, "I can't let your head get too big or it won't fit in the elephant -
oh-"
"Cool your clever tongue," Yang hums, rocking her hips and thigh down again. "I
have better uses for it."
Blake anchors herself with a hand hooked around the back of Yang's neck,
gasping as they rock together. The pit in Blake's stomach caves in on itself with
the need for more.
"Please," she finds herself gasping, " More , I need -"
"Turn on your stomach."
Blake freezes, panting lightly. "My stomach?"
"Do you trust me?"
Yang's even breaths stutter as they lock in a stare. She looks one part
hesitance, two parts hunger, and Blake can't deny that even now, she feels safe
with her. She's always felt safe with her, really.
Blake nods, and the grin crawling across kissed-red lips has heat coiling low and
filthy in her gut. Yang simply twirls her finger, and Blake obeys. Adrenaline
making her tremble.
Yang's palm fits over the back of one of her hands, their fingers lacing together.
Blake relaxes as the weight of her falls over her hips and shoulders, pressing
them into the mattress. A soft kiss is laid on the back of her neck, and she
stifles a whimper, goosebumps crawling down her spine.
"Tell me if you're okay." Yang murmurs. She absorbs Blake's shiver into her
body, blunt teeth grazing the top notch of her spine.
"More than okay," Blake pants, pushing her ass back into Yang's hips
impatiently. "Please-"
"No no," Yang hums, her other palm pressing into Blake's belly, "I'm savoring
this."
Blake nearly whines again, but the idea of Yang pulling her apart piece by piece
sticks itself into her skull and burns a mark there. She fantasizes about being
covered in marks. Bitten red and purple, rather than the charcoal handprints of
her dreams.
She tilts her head back to ask if she plans on fucking her today or waiting till
the entirety of France decays, when Yang's hand slips beneath her trousers.
Sliding smooth through coarse hair and wet folds.
It's a shock to Blake's system. Her hips chase the touch eagerly on a high,
breathy sound. Yang presses another kiss to the back of Blake's neck, leaving a
fiery trail up behind her jaw. Teeth scraping a low promise to fulfill the fantasy.
"And you say I'm warm," Yang breathes. A full body shiver rocks through
Blake's body.
Gods, if she could only drown in a voice.
She pushes her hips back again, and is rewarded with a low groan chuffed right
by her jaw. They start to move together, rocking, grinding into each other like
neither could help the wait. That heady please chants itself through Blake's
mind, begging and begging- .
Yang keeps rocking into her, her fingers slicking themselves along her clit.
Winding her up tighter, tighter-
"Yang-!"
Blake tilts her head into the blankets and empties her lungs on a stuttering
moan as Yang presses a finger into her. Blake stifles a relieved sob in the
blankets, gripping their interlocked fingers with all her might. Yang's fingers
sound obscene as she slides them out just as slowly as she pressed them in.
"Still okay?" Yang asks pleasantly.
She's teasing, is what Blake realises amidst the despair of being empty. She
growls a little, tilting her head to the side and fixing Yang with a light glare.
"I'd be better if you were already fucking me- ah!"
Blake's mouth drops open in a wordless keen, Yang's weight pushing her body
down onto waiting fingers.
Yang tsks, breath pushing Blake's hair out by her chin. "Filthy mouth on you.
Who knew the poet's tongue was so foul?"
"Gods please - please move I want -"
"You want what? My mouth?" Her fingers slide out, and Blake croaks out a loud
whimper. "My fingers? Tell me what you want, Blake."
Her head is swimming in molten rock and stone, pulses of electricity rattling her
bones until she feels like she's going to fall apart if Yang doesn't touch her
more.
That mantra of please grows loud as a scream in her head, but she manages to
reply with a much more honest, "All of it. All of you."
Gold peers back, finding a rim of lilac dancing with flames. Blake's hand, still
held by Yang, receives a short squeeze.
And then Yang starts to move again.
It's nothing like Blake expected. She'd gotten a taste, but it's nothing like this.
It's a full body movement, Yang dropping her weight onto Blake's hips and
letting gravity do its due diligence. Her fingers sink in near knuckle deep; thick
and calloused, lovely and warm. It's a tragedy when they pull back, but with
every thrust, her body welcomes it faster.
It's been a year since she was last touched by someone. The utter relief is
staggering.
The rhythm, the heat, the noise. It all builds and build and builds too fast for
her to comprehend - until she's squeezing at Yang's hand and her mouth gapes
in a silent scream. It all tilts behind her eyes like she's falling off the edge of the
world, dunked into a blinding white light. A myriad of colours pop at the edges.
She tastes incense and dry fabric. Her lungs feel abused.
And as she winds down, Yang only pauses to press her forehead to the back of
Blake's jaw. She pants, "Turn over baby, I want to see you this time."
Blake whimpers as those fingers leave her again, but she moves as quickly as
her leaden limbs will allow.
When she faces Yang, she doesn't waste a moment before she pulls her down
for a hungry kiss. She's hastily divested of her trousers and underthings before
two fingers press into her again. Blake arches up to haul her entire body into
the woman above her. Some part of her still trying to see if they can go back to
being one person.
They're a mix of teenage haste and adult experience, and the fact that Yang
falls into it just as easily as Blake is reassuring in a way. Her hands bury
themselves in Yang's gorgeous hair, loose strands getting caught between their
mouths as the kisses get sloppier and sloppier.
The mantra of please echoes louder in her chest. Bouncing off those bannisters
of alabaster. Begging and begging - but for what?
Yang groans into her mouth as Blake's hand wanders between them, sliding
beneath her skirt. Fingers slippery with slick in moments. The heat in her body
rises to a fever pitch. She's never done this with a woman, but the mechanics
are easy enough to copy. She desperately wants Yang to feel something too.
And as if in a dance, they move together.
Wet heat engulfs Blake's fingers and Yang's forearm braces her against the
mattress, the bridge of her nose pressing into Blake's crown for a gasp and soft
moan. Every movement drives that litany of please higher in her throat.
Her thighs tremble in exertion and there's static fuzzing at her toes, but she
loves every second of it. Yang's smooth movements start to stutter and she
gasps high in her throat, " Blake-! "
Blake can feel the molten lava coiling in her belly, and it's almost like she knows
where Yang is and what she needs. Like the electricity crackling through her
limbs is doubled, mirrored - belonging not wholly to herself.
She tugs Yang's head down, kissing her chin, her throat, laying her teeth
against the skin for a short, sharp nip. Yang's hips jump with a low groan, and
Blake fits a third finger seamlessly into the twitch.
The pressure spills over as Yang's thumb presses into Blake's clit, her body
locking up as Yang pants a choked moan into Blake's hair, her entire body
shuddering in release at the same time as Blake's.
Their dance stills, and all Blake feels is the humming drift of warmth pulsing
through her veins. Where it's just her and Yang, floating in the sea. Giving each
star a name, because they know who each used to be.
But eventually, the sounds of the building finally filter back into the room.
Tromping feet, off-key singing, laughter and free verse poetry spilling out into
the night.
Yang's weight on her is a comforting thing. Hot, encompassing. Her head is
fuzzy at the edges, and for the first time in a long while, her mind has gone
silent. She pulls her hand free, earning a shudder and glance from Yang.
Thoughtless and curious, her fingers disappear into her mouth, and Blake smiles
around them as Yang's pupils expand at the sight.
"So you've done this with women before," Yang says, more as a statement than
a question.
Blake pops her fingers free, cleaned with the slick, tart taste of Yang lingering
on her tongue. "No, actually. I've thought about it, but I've never committed."
Yang's eyes narrow playfully, her fingers leaving Blake and collapsing her
composure in one measure. She shivers at the emptiness, but her heart gives a
full stop when Yang gives a languid lick to her forefinger. She suddenly
understands the look in Yang's eye. It's easy to imagine that tongue in other
places.
Yang grins, "Well, if that was your first attempt, any after might just ruin me."
Blake swallows hard, reaching up and gently carding her clean hand through
Yang's free bangs. She lets her blunt nails drag a little, a pleased little hum
vibrating from Yang's throat. She chases the touch, abandoning her fingers as
her cheekbone molds into Blake's palm like it belongs there.
The image alone is enough to divest Blake of her sensibilities. She almost
doesn't believe it.
"You are just…" Blake's thumb traces along those constellations on her cheek,
"Gods… Your eyes could be comets, you know."
"Oh, more actual poetry?" Yang rasps a soft laugh, mirth dancing in the creases
of crow's feet at her temples.
"Well," Blake shrugs, an idea brewing as she pushes at Yang's shoulder, rolling
her over, "when the spirit moves you."
Yang lays back in the blankets, still fully dressed with her hair spread around
her body in a great splash of colour. "And where is the spirit moving you now?"
"Still poetry," Blake hums, swinging her legs over Yang's hips to straddle her.
She leans down, her hands dropping to press into the buttons of her shirtwaist.
"Would you object if I start speaking it?"
"No," Yang bites at her lower lip, her hands dropping to Blake's bare legs.
She draws distracting circles on the outside of her thighs, and Blake huffs as
she pops the first button.
"Your hands are tools of sin and I ask, kindly refrain from tempting me. Fool
that I am," Blake's long fingers wind under Yang's clothes, feeling the jump in
her stomach. Blake's lips curl in a smile. "Your touch will ruin me again."
"What is it with the British and their obsession with sin?" Yang asks with a
shiver.
"Guilt is sexy," she shrugs, "touching what you're not supposed to touch, giving
in to temptation. Doing everything you're not supposed to in the eyes of the
gods."
Blake leans down as she speaks, pressing a kiss to Yang's exposed sternum,
right above her heart. She feels it jump to kiss her lips through golden skin.
"Oh...your heartbeat remembers me."
"It does," Yang says, her voice a little strained, like she's trying to force her
pulse back into its normal rhythm. "It doesn't listen to me anymore."
"Sweet thing," Blake murmurs to it, tracing lazy circles over Yang's stomach,
"you should listen to her."
Yang makes a noise in the back of her throat that draws Blake up from her
chest. She reaches up, framing that sharp cut of her jaw. Sliding long fingers
past her pierced ears, and into the soft tumult of hair beyond.
Blake hums, "I've dreamt of this, you know."
"Undressing me?"
Blake laughs, the sound barely travelling away from them. "Partially."
Her thumbs brush under liquid gemstone, crossing over the stars set in her
cheeks. Tracing the curve of her cheekbones, finding her lips parted wordlessly.
"The other night, I dreamt that sweet love swept through my window," she
whispers like a prayer, "and took my chin in her hands."
"She laid her lips over mine, and sanctified them as holy ground." She gently
presses down, pulling Yang's jaw open. "So that I might worship you with
them."
She follows the bow-drawn curve of Yang's mouth with reverent fingertips, and
leans down. Yang's breath skips into her mouth, their lips grazing on the
thought of a touch - and Blake drifts further down instead. Laying kisses over
the freckles she can see. Anointing them with a touch of tongue and teeth.
Yang's breath hitches, peeling out on a high whine as Blake sucks a mark onto
her breast. Tongue sliding up and applying pressure to the pink flesh. There's a
fervent pulse in her hips as Yang's nails drag red lines over her skin. She keeps
moving lower, and Yang has to find something else to hold on to, red lines
marking up Blake's spine.
"Are you intent on ruining me tonight?" Yang pants, her body jolting as Blake
sucks a mark just below her belly.
The lamplight catches in her eyes, Yang's thighs bracketing her head. "Only if
you decide to stay."
Yang bites her lip, one hand winding gentle and soft through black locks, fingers
skating between Blake's feline ears.
"Only for the night?" Yang asks softly.
Blake presses an open mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, memorizing the
quiver of muscle under her lips. She hums, "Or forever, if you'd like."
"Dangerous," Yang pulls lightly at her roots, "Would you stay forever with me,
though?"
Blake doesn't hesitate for a second.
"Yes. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
Blake's nails dig into flesh and Yang gasps. Her lips descend, and that particular
conversation ends for the night.
And for many nights after.
It's strange, how fast the days flow by. Where time is just a river with no end in
sight. Blake's been drowning in it for years with hardly a moment to breathe.
It's like she blinked and she was five hundred kilometers from home. She
blinked, and five years went by. She blinked, and Adam had died.
Now a month, two, three swing by, and Blake barely feels like she's had a
second of them.
She desperately wants time to slow down.
She wants to savor every moment, every sunrise, every second of every day,
now.
Because Yang smiles at her when she enters the Moulin Rouge. They sit
together, hips near touching, and Blake's heart is on the move. Migrating box
after box of herself onto her sleeve. She doesn't fight the way she melts in the
wake of Yang's attention. Her touch. Her sun.
Blake basks in the glow, and Yang only grows brighter as she falls into the role
of the queen in their show. She sings and it sends Blake's pulse shaking. She's
an addict for that voice, she fears.
The only black mark is that Ilia is never home. Blake's asked Sun and the twins
upstairs, and she knows Ilia is safe. She just doesn't come into the apartment
when Blake is around. Blake doesn't even give her updates anymore. She's sure
the White Fang's found a different whale to spear. One that's white instead of
red.
Within the lost months, they've practiced for Spectacular Spectacular during the
day and still continue business as usual, but there's something new about it all.
A light that Blake never thought to look for. When the night comes and the
Moulin Rouge rises for its graveyard dance, Blake fits herself into a booth and
waits.
She knows the routine by heart now; knows that when the crystals and
tapestries part, she'll see time itself take a breath. She'll see bright amethyst
search the crowd. Curling something bleeding and vulnerable in her chest, until
they land on Blake. They always land on Blake nowadays. Yang hones in on
where she sits and grants her a fortune of a smile.
And Blake returns that smile with her heart fit to bursting. Gods, those lilac
comets she finds amidst man-made stars, bright glass lanterns and the scents
of cinnamon and clove - the Moulin Rouge becomes a living love story every
night. Blake doesn't know how she's survived without it this whole time.
After the Rouge closes down for the night, Blake finds her backstage, waiting for
her. Some nights they're roped into drinks with the other dancers, kept at arm's
length from the secret they bear. Other nights, they sneak away just to drown
in each other's lips and hands. She learns all the ways Yang can sing. She learns
all the ways she can sing, too. Blake learns what it means to hold that face in
her hands. She learns what a beautiful smile feels like, pressed against her
palms.
And sure, the Duke is there as a looming thing - but it's interesting. Every time
he shows up, he seems distracted. Nervous. He's not as insistent for time alone
with Yang. Instead, he paces the polished stage with something akin to a twitch
in his eye.
Blake sees that dancer in white more often than not these days, and she finally
has a face, but still no name. Long white hair, pink scar bisecting her left eye.
She sees her in the shadows of the stage, sees her talking quietly to Ruby on
days she's feeling alright. Every time Blake catches a glimpse of her, her blue
eyes are locked on the Duke like she's aiming down an ironsight. It seems like
she's intent on haunting him within an inch of his life.
Far be it from Blake to prevent it. Though she does sit down with Yang one day
to ask, "Is the Moulin Rouge haunted?"
Surprised, Yang tilts her head back and laughs. Blake can't help but watch, and
time drags her along unwillingly. Too soon that laughter is gone, but a genuine
smile still sits firmly in place.
Yang leans in and murmurs, "Why? Have you seen something?"
Laughing off the palpitations thudding in her throat, Blake replies, "Just one of
the dancers. The Duke's been paranoid as of late, and I think she's the reason
why."
"Well...there is a rumor that the Rouge is cursed." Yang's voice lowers in
conspiracy, her eyes flashing in the dressing room lanterns like an unspoken
dare.
Playing along, Blake leans in with her till they're nearly nose to nose.
Soft as down, she asks, "Oh? What kind of curse?"
A little breathless, Yang grins. "The last time they tried to make this place into a
theatre, a woman died. Any time after has been met with one disaster after the
other."
"Like?"
"Sandbags falling from the rafters, loose boards coming up and injuring
someone. Those sorts of things."
Yang's hand drops to Blake's knee and her pulse nearly leaves her skin. "Do you
think it's a ghost?"
"I think this place is full of them," Yang says, her pupils eclipsing that gemstone
gleam, "but I think the real danger is in all of us."
A touch of incense at the roof of Blake's mouth, the slightest pressure at her lips
gives way to a low sigh. Blake doesn't want to lose it or she'll lose herself, so
she leans in. Sealing warmth in the soft touch of a kiss.
Yang's fingers wind through the hair behind her ears, her ever present hat
knocked askew. Blake has never felt so alive, her mouth opening on a gasp as
Yang takes a greedy nip of her lip. Ocher hands grip at Yang's clothes, pulling
herself into her lap - and a door opens.
They both scramble back, Blake nearly falling on her ass - but it's just Ruby.
Red-faced and embarrassed, but already starting to laugh.
"Subtle," she chirps on a rasp, grinning. "That shade of red looks good on you,
Blake."
Blake's face feels like it'll burst into flames, her sleeve coming up to scrub
Yang's lipstick off sheepishly. She opts for casualty, fixing her hat and saying
sincerely, "It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"
Ruby's expression doesn't move, her easy smile still firmly in place - but the
shine of her silver eyes dims a bit. She replies, "Good! Just gettin' some fresh
air, y'know?"
"Don't go too far," Yang says, rising from her seat.
Ruby rolls her eyes, looking for all the world like any ordinary teenager. Fresh
faced in a white split skirt and shirt, black tights and black vest accented with
red embroidery. In this lighting and clothing, she could be as healthy as Blake.
If it weren't for the hollows carved in her cheeks, or the too-sharp edges of her
hands and elbows.
"I'll be safe mom ," She says, layering on the petulance as she tromps away.
She snatches a thick, deep red cloak off a costume rack on her way out.
"Brat," Yang huffs, unable to contain her fond smile.
Yang looks after Ruby with a sort of happiness that Blake's never quite seen on
her. As if the world finally relaxed its grip on her. As if she finally could lean into
the love she exudes naturally. Like it's finally safe to do so.
Blake wonders what it's like. To have love as an epicenter of being.
Because that's what it feels like, watching Yang lately. It feels like Blake is at the
start of the universe, because something so vast could never have edges but it
always had a beginning. Blake's found the primordial eye of living. Love
becoming the reason for existing.
She reaches out and winds her fingers with Yang's. Pressing deep into her side
with a bone deep sigh.
Yang automatically leans down and presses a sweet kiss between Blake's ears.
They flutter in response, prompting a little laugh from her.
"I'll have to get ready for the premiere tomorrow," Blake says with a dreamy
sigh, slinking up the length of Yang's body and curling her fingers around the
nape of her neck, "and you need to get some rest."
The smile fades on Yang's face, lips pulling into a wounded pout. "You don't
want to stay the night?"
Blake's stomach lurches a bit. She wants so badly to reconsider, but there's
another factor nagging at her. She squeezes the back of Yang's neck, tilting her
chin up for a heady kiss. There's a little too much heat. A little touch of
desperation.
And Yang pulls away, looking a little dazed, a little confused.
"What was that for?" She whispers.
"Did you forget?" Blake asks softly. Solemnly.
The mirth escapes from Yang like a switch. Her expression hardens.
"...Right." She swallows hard, tendons pulsing under Blake's palm. "I have to
sleep with him tomorrow."
Blake nods slowly, nothing but concern on her face.
Yang barks a bitter, sour laugh. She presses her head into the side of Blake's,
powerful shoulders trembling a tad. Her breath shifts down Blake's shirt on a
shaking sigh.
"And I was so enjoying being exclusive," she murmurs, her arms coming up to
wrap around Blake's waist.
"I know," Blake says, heat building behind her eyes. She wraps Yang up in a
tight hug and Yang sinks into it like Blake is the only thing holding her down.
There are no tears. No pleas or plans to escape. Just a span of time where
neither of them let go. Sinking into their solidarity. The knowledge of what
needs to be done.
And eventually, Yang stands straight, flicking a bit of moisture from the corner
of her eye. She's a breath away from becoming Satine, again.
But she meets Blake's gaze. She reaches up, cupping her jaw in warm palms.
"Come what may, I will be yours." She says firmly. "You are my starlight."
Blake gapes at her, a fist-sized lump choking her. Yang's gone and shovelled out
Blake's heart to set her own in the empty cave. Blake can't quite keep the heat
from rising in her eyes, but she can surely keep them from spilling.
Even if her voice is a bit too thick. Even if she squeezes the right hand on her
skin a little too hard. Even if she gasps, "Come what may. Come what may, I'll
always be yours. I've always been yours, Yang."
Yang's answering smile is soft enough to break Blake's heart.
"I love it when you say my name," she says. "It makes me feel like I'm myself,
at long last."
Oh, Blake can't stop the tear dripping down her cheek.
"Me as well." She croaks, blinking rapidly. "I- you call my name and I
feel...worth the weight of it."
"You are," Yang murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to the gap between Blake's
eyebrows, "but you don't need me to tell you that, sweets."
Blake swallows hard. Squeezing her hand just a little tighter.
"Go on then," Yang says, letting go of her reluctantly. She jerks her chin towards
the door, smiling valiantly. "Have one night to yourself, if you want."
"If I want?"
"I'd welcome you to my bed anytime," Yang says, attempting to be cheeky - but
Blake has always been able to see past that dying spirit in her eye.
Hollowly, "Will it make it harder for you? To have me stay?"
That cheeky smile drips off her face.
"...It'll be hard either way. The difference is the company I get to look back on."
"And forward to," Blake adds despite herself, grasping Yang's hand again. "You'll
have me before, and after the fact. Nothing will change that." And she adds,
because she can't help herself. "Come what may."
Yang's smile returns in increments, Blake matching her for each one. She
squeezes the hand in hers, memorizing the feel of them. Memorizing the
callouses along her palm, the barely visible scars over her knuckles.
"I'll grab my clothes from the apartment and meet you back here tonight," she
says, backing up towards the door.
"Come what may?" Yang asks, a little teasing spark in her smile.
Blake rolls her eyes, huffing. She makes to leave, muttering, "You're dramatic
one time and she holds it over your head."
"It's never just once with you," Yang says behind her, a hand falling to her hip,
"And you're short enough to where I don't have to reach too high."
"Fuck you," Blake pouts.
"Fuck me yourself," Yang hums, pressing a swift kiss to the apple of Blake's
cheek.
Blake pushes her away with a laugh, lighter in her step. "Not with your sister in
the room!"
Yang just shoots her a wink, and Blake glares at her suspiciously as she fixes
her hat once more.
Slipping out of the dressing room finally, Blake's smiling all the way through the
Moulin Rouge. She waves at Nora and Pyrrha partially dressed for their
respective roles as knights, the two casting her bright smile a knowing glance.
Blake staunchly ignores it, thankful the Duke had already left at the end of
rehearsal that day.
She still feels uneasy about this whole thing, but Yang seems bolstered by the
fact that she wouldn't be alone after the fact, and Blake has to take solace in
that. She winds her way out into the snow-dusted courtyard, following the
pathway of several shoeprints leading her to and from the Moulin Rouge. She
spots a flutter of red beneath the elephant and nearly stops in her tracks.
Ruby doesn't see her at all. She's too busy wrapping a big hug around that
dancer in white she's seen around. The other woman is stiff as a door, but she
pats Ruby's shoulder with an awkward sort of warmth. Blake quickly starts to
move along, feeling a bit like she was intruding. She makes a note to mention it
to Yang later. She didn't know Ruby had friends outside of Nora and Pyrrha.
The thought of it is still spinning around Blake's head as she ascends the fire
escape. Sharp cold biting at the tips of her black ears, snow clinging to her
shoes. She climbs into her apartment and closes the window behind her.
So wrapped up in her thoughts, she doesn't notice the other body in the room.
And when she turns to find Ilia sitting on the edge of her bed, it shaves off
years of her life.