The men aren't the only ones who like the Fuhrer's new dress policy. [Yuri]
Warnings: Yuri. Don't like? Don't read.
Notes: Writing challenge taken from a generator...somewhere. I can't remember. It was supposed to be an R rated Riza x Schieska with the words bed, wind, and skirt. I got a little...fuzzy on the line between NC-17 and R. I think this is just right though.
Schieska loved books, and not just to read them. She loved the way they felt. Heavy or light, the coarse texture of the covers, and the smooth or not so smooth paper in between. She loved the way they looked. Rectangular, dull, colorful. Every book was the same in basics but the variety of them was amazing to her. She especially loved the way they smelled. New books were always light and airy reminding her of a bright day and gentle wind. Old books were the best though. They were musty with age and fading ink which just made her wish there were a perfume for it.
Yes, she loved her books, and for a long time her books were all that she loved.
Schieska felt herself blush as she laid back on the bed, hands automatically smoothing down the edge of the miniskirt when it rode up. She didn't know why she did it, some attempt at modesty perhaps. Meaningless when her chest was bare and her underwear was kicked off one slim ankle.
This had gone too far for her to be showing shyness now, she scolded herself. It didn't stop her blush from spreading or keep her hands from fidgeting with the edge of her skirt as blue eyes watched her intently. Schieska's breath caught in her throat as Riza removed her coat.
Riza loved guns, and not just for the power they gave. She loved the way they felt. Heavy and cool, and the kick that sent familiar shocks up her arms. She loved the way they looked. Sleek and metallic, nothing ever looked more perfect to her than a well cared for gun. She especially loved the way they smelled. The smell of the metal in a weapon never fired, and the harsh flinty smell of a freshly fired bullet. She loved the smell of oil and carbon that stuck to her hands long after she had cleaned her guns, and she cleaned them often just to always have that smell with her.
Yes, she loved her guns, and for a long time her guns were all that she loved.
Riza had remained in her starched uniform as she'd firmly ordered Schieska to disrobe. She had done so slowly but willingly, blushing the whole time. She laid back onto the bed breathing erratic and Riza was caught between watching her chest rise or her hands tug uselessly at the bottom of the skirt.
It was undeniably endearing and enticing. Riza removed her coat and climbed on top of the woman. Wide brown eyes looked up at her as Riza slid on hand under the skirt, slowly trailing fingers up. Schieska gasped and arched when the blonde lowered her head to kiss one pert nipple.
Schieska loved her books, Riza loved her guns, and both women were finding that they loved the Fuhrer's new policy that required all women(with one notable exception) to wear miniskirts.