.

.

Post-season blues hit harder than expected.

Mila feels herself getting cranky, avoiding the ice stadium for practicing a brand new routine. She's not even bothering to spend any time hanging out and teasing Yuri. Her favorite pastime of all. Yuri himself notices this, reaching out to Mila's long-distance girlfriend about her recent attitude change.

While this is happening, Mila lives out in St. Petersburg, renting a cheap, blank-walled room and brooding over her mobile, ghosting most of her social media, curling up in her pajamas all day.

I got you, hun Sara texts Yuri slowly getting less worried, booking her next flight.

(And her and Mila's flight.)

There's a hotel made of ice out in Sweden that Emil was telling her about. Jukkasjärvi, Sweden, way up north of the country, to be more exact. Most of the buildings and corridors and such are made of tonnes of pure, untouched water turned to ice from the Tornes River and also hardened snow molded into artistic structures and designs. Honeymooners and explorers alike pay good money to come here.

Once she's convinced the travel itinerary to bypass regulations, she and Mila are set up with a massive luxury suite including a tour of the grounds and the art gallery, and unlimited access to champagne bar.

Sara gazes up to the classic, catenary shape of the ice-beams, placing her gloved hand against the meter-thick wall nearby. Their first night in the hotel will be in the cold room, as it is recommended to only stay for one night, and then they will spend the rest of their vacation days in the warmer rooms.

Mila carries out her expedition-style, blue sleeping bag, passing by the glowing icicle-chandelier and yawning softly. She flops into the reindeer-fur, padded blankets, facefirst, muffling out unintelligibly.

"Thanks for coming with me, Mimi," Sara whispers, removing her snowsuit and balaclava.

It's too damn cold anywhere. But she knows that Mila feels more comfortable in a place like this.

"Mmhm…"

Much to Sara's relief, there's waterproof mattress over this elaborate, turquoise-opaque ice bed. She rolls down to the pillows, with bare hands on Mila's hips, kissing her fiercely.

Sara's forefinger and middle finger presses over Mila's salmon-pink thermal underwear, rubbing against her labia hidden from Sara, teasing her until she's wet. Mila smells like floral oil-based creams and perspiration, when they crowd each other, giggling, wrapping arms and legs, their socked feet clumsily knocking.

They'll go river rafting and cycling in the early morning. Go to the sauna right after. But for now, there's plenty of ways to get warm… with Mila's body right up on hers…

Sara palms over Mila's flushed-red cheeks, keening happily and nuzzling their swollen, cool lips.

.

.

Yuri On Ice isn't mine. SOMETHING SHORT BUT SWEET FOR MILASARA GIFT EXCHANGE! I GOT PANDAMILO! ANY COMMENTS ARE WELCOMED! -BLOWS A KISS-