He likes to count her freckles. She never stops him because it's just another one of his quirks. Another indisputably Kristoff thing. Another thing about him that she loves. Besides, she adores the attention. So he counts her freckles, comes in real close, his eyes focused on the pale of her cheeks, and starts numbering them out loud, gives each one a name, a story.
He counts, but he never makes it very far because he always ends up doing something that makes him lose track, like kissing her dimples, or telling her how much he loves her. He always ends up doing something stupidly endearing that brings a pleased smile to her face. Then there are warm hugs and long, sweet kisses that leave breathless and wanting.
So one day they're in her room, huddled close under the thick blankets of her bed because it's February and the castle's stone walls aren't very good insulators and she was complaining about being cold and who is he to let her shiver? She curls herself against his chest, liking the scent of pine and sweat the tickled her nose, the burning cedar warmth emanating from him. The broad arms wrapped around her feel like home.
Kristoff is quiet for a long while, simply staring down at her face. She closes her eyes and braces herself for the whispered numbers, like a familiar lullaby to rock her to sleep. She waits but they don't come. He has an idea that's eating at him that just won't go away. It's just there. There until the thought comes rushing out of his mouth like a stampede of dumb, "Do you have freckles everywhere?"
He wants to take it back, because how stupid was that. How stupid and inappropriate and she's the princess for gods sake and thats not something a man should ask a princess not even Kristoff. At first she's confused, then she blushes in understanding. He watches the flush run down her neck and into her dress and he wants to see if it goes as far down as her freckles. Anna sits up straight as she sees the helpless look on his face melt into eager curiosity, feeling something bubbling in the pit of her stomach, and he's always been so obliging whenever a question nipped her, so...
"Maybe you'd like to find out?" she says.
He blinks down at her, confusion and rising arousal battling in his expression and she fights off a giggle at the silly sight because she wants to be sensual and womanly, but a quick snort sneaks out anyway and she laughs at the sound she's just produced. He curls his hands tight around her waist, though, and it brings her back to the situation at hand, and he looks at her, his smile longing and endearing and so very Kristoff that her giggles fade into a luxurious sigh as he says, "Maybe I would."
She doesn't wait for him to do something. Her hands rise to fist into a hem of lace and she peels down the collar of her dress slightly, achingly slowly, so when she finally returns her arms to Kristoff's shoulders her clavicle is exposed and he hesitates before tracing a gentle, testing finger over her skin. He takes a moment to admire the delicate, polka dot marks there. A billion tiny spots of gold draped over her shoulders. He wants to trace constellations with them, name them, mark them, make them his.
She pulls her dress down lower, turns around and tells him to undo the laces, so he does, visiting each new inch of skin with pleasantly rough lips. Her blush hasn't gone away. She feels his smirk between her shoulder blades.
The tiny spots stretch over her shoulder blades, down the groove of her spine and into her skirts, like a teasing little treasure map.
She turns back around so shes in his lap, straddling him. She wiggles out of her bodice and it bunches at her waist. Her chest is completely unobstructed to his view and she flinches at his sharp inhale, watching him in a dazed gaze as he attempts to memorize it all in a single look.
He knows he's staring. He can't help it. He's blushing sunburnt red, biting his lip with hands twitching nervously on her wrists and he just can't stop staring. He's never seen a girl like this before. Sure, the other ice harvesters would recount tales of their conquests around the campfire in very vivid detail, but they could never have possibly gotten it as absolutely perfect as it is. Because those were just some girls, and this was Anna. Anna. Beautiful, quirky, perfect Anna above him like always.
He wants to bury himself between the soft rise of her breasts and never come out. He smooths his hands down to the curve of her hips and draws her as close as possible. He wants to feel every inch of his body against hers. He wants all of her. He wants everything.
She winds her arms around his neck again, bringing him down for a hard kiss. It's clumsy, at first. They can't seem to get a rhythm with the prospect of what comes next hanging over them like a lazy fog. It's thrilling and daunting at the same time, making their movements less natural, too eager, teeth clashing, hands at the wrong place, but somehow all the screw ups make them feel more at ease, less on edge, knowing that their follies won't be chastised.
Kristoff reaches a hand between them to test the sensitivity of one of her breasts. Slowly, cautiously, he sneaks a thumb up to prod at a salmon nipple. He jerks back at her gasp, looking like he'd just killed a man.
"Sorry," he says quickly, moving to slip her off his lap, but she grabs his hand and puts it right back where it was.
"Don't be sorry," she says, righting herself on top of him. She lets out a quaking sigh.
He grunts at the feels of her nimble fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck and squeezes her hip just a fraction tighter. He grinds his hips up, breathing her name on her lips.
She smirks at the sound, ragged, caked with lust. But then the moment of victory is gone and he's got her pinned underneath him, caged in by sturdy limbs because even in a lusty delirium he knows better than to put his whole weight on fragile little Anna. She'd definitely break. He knows it.
Kristoff doesn't even need to worry because with the way he's kissing her, all hands and tongue and warmth, true and right, she's about to burst anyway. She plucks at the edge of his shirt and he lifts himself up for just a second to yank it off before his lips are on her again, demanding and bruising and so much more than Anna can handle. He pulls back to look at her, eyes searching.
"Are you, is this- are you okay?" he winces through the fumbling words, dropping eye contact with Anna and feeling his nerve ebb away like the purple pink of twilight dissipating on the horizon
She smiles at him, rubbing her hands up and down his sturdy arms in long, comforting strokes, "Yes," she assures him, "I'm absolutely wonderful, actually."
She kisses away his doubt, tenderness leaps into smoldering heat and somewhere in the midst of the lust driven frenzy, she manages to wiggle out of the rest of her dress and tosses it to be forgotten in some corner of the room. His hands are shaking as they scour her body, touching and feeling and learning. She runs her hands up and down his bare chest, liking the way the muscles contract under her fingers.
"I think," he whispers between melting kisses, "I'm feeling absolutely wonderful too," she smiles against his lips. He smiles too, "More than wonderful," he runs a hand down her bare thigh, "Great," trails back up, "Amazing," ghosts sly fingers over the lines of her ribs (She should eat more, he thinks absently), "Anna, you're amazing, you're-"
She halts him with a hand over his mouth, "Kritsoff," she says, "You're babbling."
He blushes, rubbing a shy hand over his neck. "Sorry," he says, muffled by Anna's palm.
She removes her hand, looking up at him, all adoration and giddiness, "I love you, you know."
"Love you too."
She reaches for the waistline of his pants, and he rests a large hand over hers, "We don't have to do this," he tells her, "Not if you don't want to."
"I do," she says.
"I just don't want to do anything you're not ready for."
"If it's with you, I'm ready. I trust you."
"I-"
Knock knock. The intimate moment fizzles out as the pair turn horrified eyes to the door.
"Princess Anna?" comes the muffled voice of a maid.
She hesitates, looking at Kristoff before answering in a voice too thick, too guilty, "Y-yes?"
"The Queen wishes to see you in the library, ma'am."
"I'll be down in a moment," she responds, a little too loudly.
The maid hesitates at the door, until finally her footsteps echoing down the hallway allow the scantily dressed princess and consort to breath again. Kristoff shifts over to take a seat, tucking one of Anna's tiny hands in his own.
Anna looks forlornly to her crumpled dress across the room, "Well," she sighs, "We'll have another chance sometime, right?"
"Sometime," he agrees.
Another chance to see just how many freckles she really has.
AN: Mai bbys. I can't with these two. They are so perf I just can't. And their first time would be hella awkward and amazing and just fhvxtkhagd;flg. Sorry for the abrupt cut off, but I'm pretty sure any sex scenes I attempt will cause me to be burned at the stake by angry fans... Hope I didn't disappoint too much.
Comments are love. Give your opinion. Leave a lovely, helpful critique. Yell at me for terrible ooc-ness and minor league grammar fuck ups. Form and angry mob. All are welcome.