Work Text:
Hilda is indecision.
Flannel is Zelda’s cold hands warming themselves on the backs of her thighs, is goosebumps and giggles from head to toe. Flannel is Zelda like a fox, circling twice then settling into its den. Feral instinct painted domestic. Flannel is her sister greedy for her warmth, gathering her up, pressing a nose pink from the night air into her neck but exhaling fire through her mouth.
Cotton is too warm to sleep too close. Is Zelda’s fingertips painting masterpieces against her back, slower and softer, until they fall away. Cotton is waking with Zelda’s slender arm flung heavy over her waist. Cotton is humid and sweetly obscene. Sister sweat strained through a loose weave.
Polyester could be laughter in sync. Playing dress up again to a different end. It could be Zelda’s smile—brighter on the right—stretching until her teeth shine. Polyester could be destruction. Those teeth plucking off pink bows sewn with merely a single mechanical stitch. Seams ripping as easily as Zelda striping the head of a crowngrass blade between her fingers.
Chiffon could be soft enough to make Zelda sweet. Chiffon could move like water, could leave them both wet and swaying without music. Chiffon could puddle nicely in the floor around her feet.
Lace could be Zelda’s eyes leering, dropping from breasts to mound and deciding. Lace could be Zelda on her knees. Lace could turn Zelda’s tongue kitten-rough over her veiled cunt.
Silk could be a dangerous trespass. Zelda’s skin is silk. Moonlight white shaming robe’s ivory trim. Copper gown jealous of her hair. Sapphire blue gift, a compliment. Silk is her fingers reverent and unworthy, a callus catching Zelda’s breath. Zelda is silk inside and out.
Satin is only a pale imitation of silk. So always said their mother. So would say Zelda.
“For me, sister?”
Skin is being caged beneath long arms and longer legs and relief at being caught. Skin is Zelda looking and looking. Skin is Zelda’s closed eyes and open mouth, savoring. Skin is Zelda’s hair writing love songs down her spine.
Skin is--
Skin is Zelda still greedy for her after, gathering her up. Breath to cool the sweat on the back of her neck. Zelda’s near-extinct giggle at her ear to make her wish it were still during.
Skin is peeling a dark imposter away and finding real silk pale under her fingers.
Silk puddles as well as chiffon.
“For me, sister?”
Skin is knowing her mouth can’t trespass where it is meant to live.