Chapter Text
"So tell me," Blake starts, and Weiss looks up with a certain twist to her mouth that's endearingly annoying. She has a certain smugness about her, a cockiness borne not of name but of skill, and Blake's found that there's very few things more exciting than wiping it right off her face. "What makes you so determined to fuck every cutie on the face of the mountain? Got a legacy as the sluttiest snowboarder to be upholding?"
Weiss's wry smile blooms into a grin when Blake grabs her narrow wrists, pressing them down against the sheets. Straddling her as they are, their weight is more than enough to keep her nearly entirely still.
"What do you expect?" she asks in return, pink tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Riding down that mountain, brushing past the trees, watching your life flash before your eyes when you realise the drop was bigger than you thought... when I come back, riding high, is it any surprise my first thought is burning it up by riding some handsome tourist like yourself?"
Blake can't help but laugh. She says it with such a sultry whisper that they can see the bait for what it is — put that strength to good use, is what she really wants to mean — but feeling her struggle against them just a little harder, testing the boundaries, makes them want to leave her stew for just a few minutes longer.
"You know what I think?" they say, teasing, mulling over the words, connecting the dots, remembering what they wore when they met and how her eyes had glimmered when they'd worn their purple, mirror-like goggles. "I think it's why you have that love of sportswear."
There's a sudden flush of pink across Weiss's cheekbones that's all too telling, and her heavy boots struggle behind them, gripping to the sheets. "You come back to the resort and see all these posters of hot athletes with their helmets and goggles and boots and jackets and all you can think about is what's underneath, right? The muscle and the sweat and the heat and how easily they could pin you down and fuck you just like this, yeah?" They shift their hips, fluorescent trousers still wet with snow scraping across pale skin, before they lean down to brush their lips against one pink-tipped ear, grinning when they feel her whimper, squirming underneath. "You wouldn't even know who did it. Just your reflection in their visor, watching your own face as you get ruined."
"Fuck you," Weiss gasps, and Blake's grip about her wrists tightens until she begs.