.

.

Sara doesn't visit Avetrana that often, but the beaches along Puglia deserve some attention.

This hot, dry season warms the Mediterranean waters to a refreshing temperature. She's glad that most tourists are scarce. She invites Mila her way, commenting about how her pale Russian ass needs some sun.

It's miles and miles of coastline as far as the eye can see, with the shimmering white sand and translucent waters lapping at their toes. For now, they remain in the shade of the ombrellone.

Sara didn't know Mila owned a bathing suit, but this one is nice: black, low-rise bottoms and a black bikini top with interconnecting straps and two triangles of fabric being the only thing covering her. However, the black only brings out Mila's pale skin more, and Sara will not allow her best friend to leave without a tan.

Mila's classic, gold-framed aviator sunglasses are removed from her face, the sky blue and mirrored lens glinting. She peers off towards some leftside stretch of the beach, squinting her eyes a little.

"There's some hotties down there," she says idly. Sara can sense Mila's amusement deep down.

Unlike Mila's bikini, Sara chose her favorite swimsuit: an ivory, bandage-style monokini, generously exposing her moisturized, brown skin and Sara's cleavage. She loves her own boobs — why not show them off?

Her Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, accented with Swarowski, flowery crystals, tilt away from Sara's eyes.

"They're not that hot," Sara concludes, elbows digging into her towel. She sounds for once monotone, disinterested.

Mila's eyebrows shoot up.

"You? Turning down boys?" she asks, nearly laughing out.

Sara wrinkles her nose, her lovely, dark brown features twisting up in exasperation.

"Boys are… uuugh, boys."

The last time she fucked some good-looking guy for the hell of it, two days ago after hitting a dance club, he didn't even know what a clitoris was. Sara doesn't even remember his name. She does remember he howled embarrassingly loud during sex, and then smacked her ass hard enough to bruise right before orgasming. Once he was gone, Sara never wanted to be near any dick for at least a month.

Michele kept ringing her, leaving wailing and heart-wrenching messages — she had enough of everything going on, packing her things and heading south of the country without telling anyone. Calling up Mila.

She adores Mila to death, and would do anything for her.

Well, except throwing her chance at the Worlds.

"… I have everything I want right here," Sara murmurs knowingly, glancing over a pleasantly flushing Mila with an obvious and coy look. She places back on her sunglasses and laying down on her towel.

"Want?"

The sunglasses tangle into Sara's fingers as she goes upright, tossing them onto the ground. Mila's blue eyes go wide. Sara leans into the other woman's breathing space, her eyelashes fluttering. "I want you…" she trails off, voice dropping a level sultry and Mila's chest hitches. "To help me with sunscreen?"

Sara flashes a little, timid smile, holding up a bottle in Mila's now gobsmacked face.

"Pretty pleaseeee?" she begs, wiggling in place. "I need at least an hour of sun to not feel like death."

Mila sighs out, rolling her eyes and muttering, grabbing the bottle from Sara. They end up closing the striped, rainbow-colored ombrellone, exposing themselves to the harsh and bright sun-rays.

She doesn't mean to tease. Mila makes it so easy, and Sara would be lying if she didn't admit crushing on Mila. Maybe since their first competition together. Mila seems like she's responding to the lowkey flirting, even if it's tentative, but Sara can't be entirely sure about what this is. Boys and girls are so difficult.

Life is hard.

Sara rolls out onto her stomach, folding her arms together and under her chin. She mewls out contented noises as Mila's fingers rub over her aching back-muscles, sliding over her nape and down Sara's lower back.

"Don't think you're getting out of this, hun," Sara announces, twirling a finger lazily.

Mila chuckles and shifts, facing her own back to her when the other woman straightens up, finishing applying the lotion to her arms. Mila's skin, every metre, every curve, blazes with heat and feels softer than Sara's. She envies that, in a way, but also loves the sensation of Mila's prominent muscles against her hands.

By the time she's done, Mila's cheeks seem reddened. It gets worse, including a helpless, awed noise from Mila's lips when Sara adjusts herself, tucking her swimsuit into a thong-like shape to expose her buttocks.

"What are… you doing…?"

"Sunbathing? Same as you, right?" Sara replies cheerfully, getting back on her stomach and closing her eyes with a grin. "My ass isn't getting pasty like yours. Sorry, Mila."

An offended, breathy huff. Sara peeks to see Mila sticking out her tongue playfully, laying down on her own towel.

.

.

The clear and aqua blue water calls to her.

Sara convinces Mila to try a water-skiing session, and they both fail miserably. Sara manages to glide on the ocean's surface for a good, full minute before a choppy turn from the boat sends her tumbling in.

A second, braver attempt results in the same fate. Mila barely makes it twenty seconds.

They laugh about it over supper at the villa's resort, and Sara's delighted to see Mila's skin on her shoulders and face slowly tanning. The flavor of sweet peppers and figs and salty, fatty herbs lingers in her mouth. The skies cascade into midnight colors with streaks of pale peach and blues in the clouds.

Sara digs her bare feet into the still-warm, wet sand, hugging her arms to her knees. The glowing embers of the bonfire in front of them crackling.

"Thanks," she whispers.

"Thanks?" Mila repeats, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah," Sara says bashfully, smiling toothy at her. "For coming to see me? We never get to talk outside of the competitions, and even then, you're like my best friend?"

Crap… she admitted it. Mila echoes her smile, reaching out and touching Sara's wrist.

"I hate never getting to see you either."

"We should just date," Sara murmurs thoughtfully, eyes lidding. She pushes a loose, wavy stand of Mila's red hair behind her ear, a sandy fingertip pressing gently against one of Mila's sterling silver piercings.

The other woman thins her mouth, seeming defensive. "Are you being serious or…?"

"I… yeah," Sara breathes, her fingers touching ruefully over Mila's earlobe. "Only if you want to be…?"

"So all of the flirting was—"

"—real flirting. It was very real." Sara feels like disappearing with her embarrassment and terror, up until Mila's smile fades back into existence, if not coming off as mildly frustrated.

"Your brother is gonna hate this," Mila tells her softly, their faces pressing in cheek-to-cheek.

Sara tsks, practically beaming with glee.

"Mickey never said anything about staying away from girls—and since when do I ever listen?"

.

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Yuri On Ice isn't mine. IT'S THE MIDDLE OF MILASARA WEEK AND I'M SO PLEASED IT'S HAPPENING! I'm actually on a very tight publishing schedule (because my 500th fic is so close) so I only had the opportunity to do one fic. But I really love this one! I hope you do too! I LOVE MY GIRLS. Today's day for Milasara Week was "Seasonal" and I was exploring the YOI Kink Meme (who is currently having a fill party!) and found "Mila/Sara + any rating, long distance girlfriends" and I started thinking about them vacationing in Italy, and here we are! Any thoughts/comments are so so appreciated!