DISCLAIMER: Blaze Union © Sting. I seek no monetary profit from this writing.

"I'm serious, you would be so cute," Siskier insisted.

There was a manic look in her aquamarine eyes and every bit of her body was trembling with energy. Zilva had studied the human body as a child—learning its weak points, learning what kind of touch was effective on each part, learning what the different tensings of each muscle meant—and the way that Siskier exposed herself, she could see more, understand more, than she would have been able to for any other.

The muscles of her stomach and her chest were taut, her hamstrings tensed and quivering beneath her garters until they vanished under the fabric of her shorts. Her hands formed fists—it was probably a subconscious movement—and her eyebrows rose when she smiled. She dimpled. The blue tattoo on her left shoulder rippled as she moved her arm.

Zilva could sit fascinated all day, just watching.

Siskier shook the dress at her as if she were playing at being threatening. "You would be so cute in this," she said again, still a little too excited to sound wheedling. "Just try it on, pleeeease?"

"I don't know how to wear a dress." And doubtlessly, it would look better on the girl in front of her.

"I'll do it up for you so you can see how," Siskier volunteered instantly. She continued to waggle the dress, hands fisted tight around the hanger. "Please please pleeeeeease?"

When Zilva didn't answer, Siskier swiveled her hips from side to side where she stood and pouted her lower lip out. She wore lipstick—pale pink and subtle, soft but shining. It made her mouth look as though it must have the texture of silk.

Fortunately, Zilva had been taught self-control at the same time she'd learned speech.

"…All right."

"Yesssss." Siskier did a little victory dance that was mostly bouncing in place and wiggling her hips. "I'll let you try on my new scarves too!"

The real reward, of course, would be the feel of Siskier's cool fingers against her skin for as long as this session of dress-up continued.

And naturally, Siskier herself remained entirely oblivious to her ulterior motives, focusing instead on clothes and ruffles and bangles and soft fabrics—gushing the entire time about such an article of clothing being cute, such a piece of jewelry being pretty.

Zilva liked cute and pretty things too, of course.

…So she remained focused on the way Siskier's hoop earrings swung and tapped at her cheeks, on the continuous bubbly stream of words she spoke, on the swell of her breasts and the clear line of her clavicle.

Letting Siskier do as she pleased with both their clothes was more than a fair price for being able to devour the more gregarious girl with her eyes.