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Living Fancy

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Gauche kept her cool all the way through Dahngrest -- she might have wanted to gawk out the side of the carriage the way Droite was doing, but somebody had to make sure their weirdo new boss didn't get too full of himself. So what if it was the furthest either of them had ever been from the harbor, and there was a lot of exciting stuff to see on the way through town? Gauche wasn't about to act all impressed.

She's glad Yeager had business to worry about after he got them settled in the manor, though, because it's getting tough to keep up the act. First off: a manor, maybe not quite as big as the Imperial governor's but just as fancy. Second: a room for just them, once they don't have to share with anybody. Third: real weapons on the walls, like Yeager isn't worried about what they might do, doesn't care about the trouble they could cause. And fourth...well, everything Droite is commenting on as she cases the room.

"Pretty swank," Droite says, tracing the silver scrolls around the edges of this big mirror in the middle of one wall. Then a minute later, at the window, "The view from up here is awesome." She pulls open the door to the closet and finds it full of matching dresses. She laughs. "Sweet! Look at all these."

"Kind of have to wonder if he's a pervert, don't you?" Gauche says. There are like six different matching sets in there -- how much would it cost to order all that stuff?

Droite shrugs. "We can handle one pervert," she says. She grins at Gauche. "Especially one rich pervert." She leaves the closet door open and goes to rummage through the drawers of the bedside tables. "Aaw, empty," she says.

Gauche can't help it. "There's always the rest of the house," she says. "He must be keeping something good hidden around here somewhere."

"Yeah, we'll have to check it out," Droite says. She tugs back the quilt on the bed -- just one bed, but it's huge -- and goes, "Oh, wow."

"What?" Gauche says. She takes a step closer. The quilt was that purply blue that Yeager seems to like so much, but the sheets are black.

Droite is running her hands over them. "Silk," she says.

Gauche is really glad she doesn't have to worry about being unimpressed right now. "Totally a pervert," she says.

"Yeah, I don't think I care," Droite says.

Honestly, Gauche doesn't either, at least not a whole lot. He's rich, and he's not bad looking, and the house is full of ways to off him if it turns out they need to. She turns away from the bed and goes to look at the dresser, this big thing made of dark-stained wood, probably the same stuff as the headboard of the bed. There's a little pink glass bottle on top of it -- when she opens it, the stuff inside smells like some kind of flowers. She pulls open one of the drawers, and it's full of fancy underwear, slips with lacy edges and soft ruffly bloomers. Looks like most of that is silk, too.

Droite makes a happy little sighing noise. "We are so living fancy from now on," she says.

Gauche turns around. Droite has stripped right out of her old clothes and sprawled across the bed naked. "You've made yourself right at home."

"You have to try this," Droite answers. She pets the bed with one hand. "It feels really nice."

It does look pretty tempting. Gauche checks the doorknob, and it turns out it locks from the inside, even. So she locks it, and then comes over to the edge of the bed. Droite looks really -- really pretty, stretched out like that, against the black sheets. Lively, like all her colors are brighter next to that much darkness. There's going to be a price for all this, Gauche knows it -- nothing in the world comes for free -- but that's all the more reason to take what they can get. She takes off her clothes.

"Wow," she says as she stretches out on the bed. She squirms a little, rolls over just to feel how soft and smooth the silk is.

"Right?" Droite agrees. She grins, her eyes bright, pupils wide and just barely ringed with green. "It's a pretty good deal." She reaches for Gauche, and her hands feel so rough by contrast -- they're both like that, tough and callused, too hard for this soft room.

Gauche pulls Droite closer, leans in to nuzzle under her chin, to find one of the soft spots they do have. "We'll make the most of it," she promises.

They're a good match, always have been -- except maybe for that one summer when Droite hit her growth spurt first and Gauche had to catch up, and mostly they pretend that never happened. Because it's good like this, when they balance each other, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, the slide of their breasts against each other as Droite's arms wrap around Gauche's waist.

Droite makes a tiny sound in her throat when Gauche bites her there, but Gauche doesn't linger. That kind of bruise doesn't look like anything else, and she's not ready to give Yeager that much evidence. Instead she moves up, seals her mouth to Droite's for a real kiss, lets her hands slide up between them to pinch Droite's nipples and twist. Droite moans again, and digs her nails into Gauche's back, blunt but still enough to rake bright stinging furrows. Gauche kisses harder, bites Droite's tongue. Droite tangles their legs together for leverage, rocks against Gauche's thigh. They're too raw and hard for someplace fancy like this, a match for the jagged blades on the walls but not the silk sheets on the bed.

Heat pulses between Gauche's legs, and Droite slides wet against her thigh. The crush of curls against damp skin burns. The room is going to smell like sex, probably already does. They're going to stain the fancy sheets.

"Come on," Droite says, pulling away, squirming. She twists, slides down the bed to part Gauche's thighs with her hands. Her breath is warm, and she bites the inside of Gauche's thigh where nobody's going to see the bruise.

Gauche shudders, swallowing the noise out of habit, and reaches out to drag Droite's hips closer. Her grip is probably too rough, fingers digging into the swell of Droite's ass, and she's not careful with her teeth at all when she presses her mouth to the wet folds of Droite's pussy. They've always been a little hard on each other, and being in a place this makes her want to be tougher, maybe, just to make up for it.

Droite doesn't go easy on her, either, shoving a couple fingers up inside her and sucking on her clit almost too hard. Probably they could take their time. Probably they could relax and make it sweet and everything, do it like a couple of girls who belong in this fancy house and this fancy bed, but they don't. They use their teeth and grind their hips and the taste is sharp on Gauche's tongue, and Droite's fingers push deep up inside her, and it's a race to finish first -- and this time Gauche wins, but only by a couple of seconds, so Droite's thighs are still trembling when Gauche goes off herself, bright light bursting behind her eyelids.

They roll apart, both of them sprawling on their backs. Gauche can feel how hard her pulse is beating in her throat, and it takes a minute before it starts to slow down. She sits up. "You think the window opens?" she says.

"I think it's probably cold outside," Droite answers, without moving.

Gauche rolls her eyes. "There are plenty of blankets," she says. "I want fresh air. I don't want to make it that easy for him to figure us out."

Droite shrugs. "If you want, then," she says. She crawls over to the edge of the bed, then walks unsteadily toward the closet. "What do you bet we could get a hot bath around here if we just said we wanted one?"

In a rich pervert's fancy house? "I bet we could," Gauche says. She gets up and takes the robe Droite is holding out for her. "Let's find out."