Trade negotiations have been going on for hours, while the castle prepares for the ball tonight. It will celebrate the new alliance between their kingdoms, the two queens joining forces.
The best thing about “trade negotiations” is that no one is ever likely interrupt them: they sound just important and boring enough for people to stay away, leaving a respectful distance.
Merida is the giggly one, twining messy fingers in Elsa’s hair as she kisses her, the ties at the front of her gown falling easily apart under Elsa’s touch. The fashions in Arendelle are not nearly so accessible – perhaps something Elsa will discreetly bring up with a tailor before the next visit – so Elsa is the one with her hands full of Merida’s pale, freckled breasts, fingers twisting a nipple with occasional icy sparks to make Merida gasp into her mouth, while Merida claws at the velvet front of Elsa’s bodice with no matching luck.
“This is unfair,” Merida pants, kissed-wet mouth drawing into a pout.
“We’ve still got several more terms to negotiate,” she reminds Merida. Merida groans and huffs but acquiesces easily enough when Elsa ducks her head to curl her tongue around a warm stiff nipple.
Elsa’s skin is craving touch in a way she wasn’t allowed for years; Merida likes to have things when she wants them, a by-product from a childhood snatching things from her brothers, but Elsa can be a little more cerebral about later happiness, especially with her queen shivering against her.