.

.

Emil's a little shady at times, but she trusts him to care about other people.

But, okay—a key party?

"It's pretty simple. Half of the party who wants to join in the fun, you see—they put their keys in the bowl by the door," he explains, stepping aside in the doorway and holding out a clear fishbowl as Mila glances around the foyer. "And whoever wants to go home with someone, they pick a key and locate the owner!"

Already there's a crowd of people she doesn't know, making out in the living room or the staircase.

Mila lands herself an eyeful of pink satiny panties and the firm, tight ass wearing them, as some nameless guy nearly shimmies out of his undone jeans, moaning into another guy's open mouth.

"I came for the free beer, you know that, right?" she deadpans. Her hands shrug into jacket-pockets.

Seems like just another weekend party with too much drinking and groping. Mila will probably wake up with a gigantic hangover. Or a jackass guy's phone number scribbled in permanent marker on her wrist.

Her Uber driver might not be that far from Emil's manor—his parents' manor—and left for the highway.

Mila palms her mobile, thinking it over still before looking up. A girl with waist-length, black hair laughs from the other room, swaying her hips in cut-off denim shorts. An off-white halter top exposing her tan, flat abdomen and her upper back. Her glittering and teeny belly-ring immediately tempts Mila's attention.

Emil flashes a grin. He tilts towards Mila's ear and drops his voice, "You know that's not beer, right?"

Humiliation charges through her, flushing her body.

(Red cheeks do not look good with red hair, goddammit.)

"You're hilarious, Emil," she mutters, punching him in the side.

.

.

Mila tries not to think of this as stalking.

The pretty girl—who even Emil isn't sure who she is; ppft, some friend he is—seems to be interested in conversation, and especially with a very stern-looking and disinterested Korean guy. Pretty Girl can do better. Clearly.

While not-stalking, Mila refills her cup of beer, loitering around the less populated corridors.

Soon enough, people are waving around keys out of the fishbowl, hooting and hollering for their match. Emil marches out with the bowl, jangling their contents. They make eye-contact across the way.

Mila gnaws on the tip of her tongue as Emil bounces over, hesitating before reaching in.

"This could be anybody?" she asks, pale and slender fingers digging into the multitude of keys.

"Anybody who wanted to play!"

"Does that include you?"

Emil fakes a deeply offended noise, placing a hand over his breastbone dramatically. "Am I not pretty enough for you, Mils?" He even sniffles, as if fighting back tears. "I'm so hurt… so very hurt…"

Mila hums, giving him a mock pleasant look. "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last dick on this planet."

"Ouchies."

Her fingers still around something soft, clasping around it and pulling out a single set of silver keys dangling around what appears to be a carnation pink, fluffy toy rabbit. "Good luck with your match!" Emil chirps out, weaving around Mila and heading upstairs for other party-goers.

What in the hell…?

Mila edges back towards the foyer and living room, narrowing her eyes at the keys. "Oh, hey, my keys," comes a brand new voice and Mila jerks her head up so fast that her neck twinges in pain.

Pretty Girl.

She gazes over Mila with increasing and smiling amusement. Her eyes… are they actually the color violet?

"What's your name, honey?"

"… Mila."

It feels difficult to breathe for a moment. Mila's lips dry and tack-sticky, peeling apart.

Pretty Girl nods, grabbing onto Mila's hand and entwining their fingers. It's a friendly, warm gesture, if not unassuming. "Nice to meet you. I'm Sara." She giggles, and Mila blinks, dumbstruck. "Wanna get out here?"

"… … yeah."

.

.

They don't make it far.

It turns out Sara is from Italy and visiting with her twin brother—who doesn't know she's here.

(Mila isn't from the Czechia either, and is more or less, visiting a close friend.)

"He would lose his shit completely," Sara adds, before pressing her grinning, lipstick-stained mouth over Mila's throat. She bites and suckles a trail of wet, hungry kisses down to Mila's now bared shoulder.

There's a bitter tinge of nicotine smoke in Sara's thickened, dark hair. Her brown, lithe fingers pushing under Mila's crop-top, gathering up the skin-tight fabric. Mila feels dizzy and heavy at the same time. "That's so cute," Sara murmurs, staring approvingly at Mila's plaid, crimson bra before unhooking the front clasps.

If there had not been an available guest-room upstairs, with a lock—Mila would have retreated. It's not worth getting caught fondling the prettiest girl she's ever seen, while a dude-bro stumbles in to jerk off to them.

A delighted, gasping noise. Mila pulls herself back into focus, gasping too and arching against Sara's hands touching over her breasts, rubbing down her nipples in light, constant pressure.

"Oh my god, you have the cutest tits," Sara breathes out.

Mila groans out a wordless, thrilled response, squirming on the bed and clutching onto Sara's hips. She's about to tug the other woman down, yanking off Sara's own halter, when damp and hot lips touch her. They shift onto Mila's rosy, hardened nipple, tracing over its shape and molding a playful, licking kiss.

She's probably as red as her flaming hair, but Mila couldn't care less.

(Emil's not getting credit for this hook up.)

Waking up with a litter of neck-hickeys and Sara's phone number scribbled on Mila's palm—that's fine by her.

.

.


Yuri on Ice isn't mine. WELCOME TO DAY ONE OF FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2017! We need some good shit happening, especially with how this year is going. Kicking it off with some Milasara, and adding to another YOI Wednesday in the process! I ended up saving "Sara/Mila + NSFW, breastplay, nipple worship" from the YOI Kink Meme to work on in the future, and booyah! Any comments/thoughts are so appreciated, and I hope everyone is so excited for all of the goodies!