A/N: This story was written to fill a prompt on the Rise of the Guardians kink-meme (Round 1). Check it out here: . ?thread=345575#cmt345575

So, this is my second post on here. I go from a Teen story (mainly due to gay relations) to a Mature, blood-play and dub-con story...what the hell is wrong with me?! Oh well. It was a lot of fun to write. Hee hee hee...

Trigger Warnings: This needs to be stated just because there are a lot of things in here that could set someone off and I really don't want to do that to anyone. Here they are: Dub-con, Blood-play, Bondage/Restraints, Self Injury, and what could be considered abuse.

From Your Blood, I Take Pleasure

Blood: a viscous fluid that courses through the veins, carrying Oxygen and signifying an organism is alive within the Animal Kingdom. Occasionally, it also signifies life within the Spirit realm too. For example, a certain winter spirit still has blood coursing through him; it just runs colder than when he was a mortal human – before his untimely death as an eighteen-year-old. Now, 300 years later, he maintains that eighteen-year-old appearance and hormones as he spreads winter across the globe. After the battle with the Nightmare King five years ago, the winter sprite just can't seem to get him off his mind.

He was sorely tempted during the confrontation in Antarctica to join the King of Fear just because of his empathy and understanding of not being seen or believed in. However, the youth knew the older spirit was tugging his chain and using his fears against him, which was not ok. That was why he refused the hand in companionship and joined the Guardians. Sure, he liked playing with the kids and seeing them safe and happy, but he knew his powers also caused a lot of fear and accidents that weren't entirely avoidable. Unfortunately, that was part of spreading ice and snow to the world, though he did try to make sure none of the accidents involved children.

The only problem he had run into thus far was that, while he was slowly being believed in more and more, he was still alone for the most part. Who would want to be around Jack Frost, the perpetual mess-maker, even if he was a Guardian? He was still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that he had responsibilities now. It didn't really give him a whole lot of time to think – though, that was a good thing. When he thought about things, he normally dwelled on the negative since he was so positive around the children of the world.

This was one of those rare times he had a break. Jack Frost was sitting perched in a snow covered tree somewhere in Greenland thinking about his life as a spirit. His fears consumed him in this time, making him anxious and depressed. Sure, he was being believed in more, but a lot of children still walked right through him. He hadn't seen the others in a year and a half at least, making him wonder if they even cared about him. He was constantly worried he wasn't doing his job well enough and would be booted off the team at any minute.

With those thoughts and more in his head, Jack couldn't take it anymore. He formed an icicle in his hand, nice and jaggedly sharp, and placed it to his left wrist. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but it did help. He sliced slowly and with a medium pressure. He felt the skin give way and watched the fluid of his life well up in the cut before dripping off the side of his wrist to the snowy ground below. Jack instantly felt relief course through him at the pain distracting him from his thoughts. He cut twice more, adding a total of three new cuts to his scar-laden wrists, before leaning back against the tree and playing with the now blood-covered icicle in his hands. His left arm hung down the side of the tree, adding more drops of blood to the ground below him. He was so out of it, he didn't even notice the shadows moving below him.

Spending five years in the shadows and having to fight off Fearlings is no walk in the park. That's how long it took before he had the strength to put the harbingers of nightmares back under his control and make it to the surface. He was strong enough now that the sunlight wouldn't hurt him and could move about freely in the shadows of the trees in the forest that housed the new entrance to his lair.

As soon as he stepped out of his hole in the ground, Pitch took a deep breath, allowing the crisp scent of winter to burn his nostrils and sequentially, his lungs. As he inhaled, he noticed a strange scent in the air. The smell was blood. How did he know? Many of the nightmares he has caused resulted in very bloody deaths of the victims and occasionally those around them.

There was something different in the way this scent came about though. True, there was the heady smell of fear carried along with the copper, but he had nothing to do with this one. The source of life was particularly appealing to Pitch – partly due to a prior attraction to it and partly due to the intoxicating mixture of elements in the smell: anxiety, depression, fear, curiosity, arousal, and desire. It was curious though; it also vaguely reminded him of the crispness of the winter air surrounding him and coating the forest.

"It couldn't be…" Pitch mumbled to himself as the pieces started to fall into place, and the whole picture became clearer. He followed the trail with his nose like a bloodhound (no pun intended), only stopping when the trail ended at deep crimson dyeing the otherwise immaculate snow beneath an old oak tree. Pitch chanced a look up to see the very person he thought the scent came from.

"Jack Frost?" he muttered in curiosity. Apparently Jack heard him, despite his current euphoria of the pain. He gripped his staff tightly, dropping the icicle, and jumped from the tree assuming a defensive position.

"What do you want, Pitch? How are you even able to breach the surface? I thought we got rid of you!" Fear coated Jack's voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"Jack, Jack, Jack. Remember the last thing I said to you Guardians before being turned on by my own minions? There will always be fear! I will remain alive until the end of time because of that little fact. It grants me power even if no one actually believes in the Boogeyman," Pitch explained with an evil smirk on his sallow, grey face. Jack seemed unnerved by this simple statement, subconsciously gripping his staff even tighter. The only problem with that was the increased flow of blood from his shredded wrist. The life liquid dripped at a fairly consistent rate to the snow-coated forest floor, the unique smell of it drifting downwind to Pitch.

Pitch inhaled deeply as the wind pushed that delicious aroma that was the unique essence of Jack Frost toward him. It was at this point – and he would blame the five years of solitude for this ludicrous thought – that Pitch realized, Jack Frost's blood was incredibly arousing. Not just the fragrance, but the viscous flow of the essence of life, dripping from the frost spirit's arm, unhindered and ignored by its owner as well.

Jack stood by the tree, still in defensive posture, confused by the dark figure in front of him. Had he just inhaled something in the air? Jack sniffed lightly, trying to find the reason for the deep intake of breath. He could smell nothing. When he looked back at the Nightmare King, his eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back, shoulders tensing and grip on his staff slackening. Pitch's eyes shone deep gold, well, what he could see of the irises anyway. His pupils were so dilated, very little of the band of color was visible. His brow darkened in what Jack assumed to be lust, causing the shadows under his eyes to contrast harshly with his pale grey skin. But that's not all that unnerved Jack.

Pitch was looking at him. Not him as a whole, though. No. Where the Nightmare King was staring was right at Jack's self-inflicted wounds. It was then that Jack remembered the state his wrists were in and quickly moved to hide the deep gashes. Pitch was faster.

Grabbing a hold of the right wrist, he twisted it to get the winter sprite to drop his staff and snatching the left wrist on its path to finding a hiding spot. Then, Pitch brought the junction to his face, inhaling deeply again, the exhilarating aroma of blood. What happened next surprised both parties, though, not necessarily in a bad way.

A grayish-pink, moist appendage darted out to catch the next drop as it was leaving the cohesion of the skin. Pitch hissed at the taste, the heat going south immediately. For a spirit that was the embodiment of cold and winter, Jack's blood was excruciatingly hot. Pitch took a shaky breath in at the taste of the life fluid. He opened his eyes that had been closed as the drop hit his tongue to look at Jack.

Jack's eyes were wide in surprise while his cheeks became frosted over and slightly purple. Pitch assumed this was the winter spirit's version of a blush. His wrist was lax in Pitch's grip, making no move to respond, too stunned to do anything. Pitch looked back down at the appendage in his hand, noticing the continued trickle of blood. He once again let his tongue glide over the red-ish blue fluid, this time actually licking the wound to get more of a taste. He heard Jack inhale sharply, unsure whether it was from pain or shock. Another scent began to mingle with that of the blood. It was one that surprised Pitch a little, but also gave him an idea.

He swiped his tongue over the wound again, keeping the coppery liquid on his tongue, and brought Jack closer to him, pressing his lips against frozen ones. Because of the dazed state the newest guardian, Pitch was easily able to let his tongue explore the mouth of the young spirit, letting him taste his own blood. Pitch heard a faint groan before the lips began moving against his in response. He wrapped his other arm around Jack's waist, bringing him closer, shuddering at the coldness of his body.

All of a sudden, Jack jerked back as a wave of fear rushed over him. Pitch knew exactly what this fear was: Jack was afraid the Guardians would find out, and he would lose the only ones who cared even a little about him; the boy began struggling in earnest to get out of Pitch's grasp, but Pitch just tightened his hold. He noticed in his peripheral vision the widening of the cuts on the wrist in his grip, more blood trickling down the sprite's arm.

"If you are so afraid of what your little Guardian friends will say, we shall take this elsewhere," was the only warning Jack had before shadows surrounded him and Pitch, taking the two of them to Pitch's lair.

Pitch kept hold of Jack throughout and when they arrived, went back to licking the wounds on Jack's wrist.

"Let me go, you bastard! Quit licking me! Damn it…" Jack cried in frustration, beating against Pitch's chest. He gasped as Pitch nipped at the still fresh cuts, trying to encourage the flow of blood. Jack continued struggling and cursing Pitch.

"Oh do shut up, Frost," Pitch complained as he commanded the shadows to gag the smaller winter spirit. Said spirit's eyes widened in fear as the shadows wrapped around his mouth, effectively sealing it for the time being. Two small tears made their way half-way down his cheek before freezing as he gave a light sob. This halted Pitch's ministrations temporarily, bringing back a small sense of reality that had escaped in his ecstasy of Jack's blood.

Why am I doing this? Why is his blood so alluring? Why does it have such an addicting taste? Pitch's mind raced with questions of his motives. Jack noticed the lack of movement from his tormentor and chanced a look, making eye contact. What Pitch saw nearly made him stop, yet it also egged him on.

Jack was frightened, more so than he ever had been, to the point that it bordered on terror. He looked up at Pitch, eyes wide with fear and pleading Pitch to let him go. Tears continued welling up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill out any minute as he gave quite sobs. It made Pitch want to taste more of the young sprite, see more of his blood, claim him. And yet, part of him also wanted the boy to experience pleasure.

Making up his mind, Pitch called the shadows to bring him and Jack to his bedroom, laying Jack down upon the bed and using the shadows to restrain him. He had more shadows remove the offending sweatshirt from the pale boy's torso, showing off perfect, alabaster skin. So it was only the wrists Jack ever cut. Good. Jack resumed his struggle to get free, tremors running through his body anticipating what Pitch was going to do to him.

Pitch took one sharpened nail and placed it at the top of Jack's sternum. He then dragged it down the boy's chest, just hard enough to barely draw blood, until he reached Jack's navel. Climbing on top of the young frost boy, Pitch licked the trail of blood from the bottom up to Jack's neck, stopping to lick and nip at the juncture of the neck and shoulder, drawing more blood and licking it away. Why was this boy's life essence so enthralling?

It tasted of copper, iron, as well as cinnamon, peppermint, fresh fallen snow, and most importantly fear. How could one person's blood taste like that? And why was it so addicting? Pitch didn't know, but what he did know was that he wanted to see more, taste more.

As Pitch continued nipping at Jack's neck, more frost covered the boy's cheeks as he breathing became more labored, his eyes shut tightly. Tears slipped out occasionally, but whether they were from pain or shame, Pitch was unsure nor did he care. He worked his way down the white torso, stopping at the right nipple. He licked the bud lightly before also nipping at that. The reaction he received was amusing.

Jack's back arched up into Pitch as he let out a surprised and breathy mewl. Interesting thought Pitch. So he nipped at the bud again, earning the same reaction as Jack tossed his head from side to side, more sobs coming out. Pitch moved to the other pert nipple, doing the same thing and garnering the same, beautiful reaction. Just to the right of the left nipple, he bit down harder to bring forth more of the delectable life blood of the winter sprite, causing Jack to left out a small yelp of surprise as his eyes shot open momentarily before sliding closed again, a few tears making their way down his face.

Pitch continued biting and licking his way down to the hem of Jack's trousers. He traced the line with his fingernail, again drawing forth a line of the fluid of life. Jack - who had quieted down while Pitch was focused on his chest - began struggling again, the panic and fear rolling off him in waves. Pitch merely laid an arm across his stomach to keep him from moving and ripped the article of clothing off his legs. If Pitch thought the unmarred torso was beautiful, he was even more impressed with the lower half.

Flawless, hairless, white legs contrasted beautifully with the black satin sheets that lined Pitch's bed. Jack, despite having met his untimely end as a teenager, seemed to have hit physical puberty before he died. He was well endowed and half hard. The arousal Pitch smelled earlier seemed to have remained, even though Jack denied and tried to hide it by shaking his head back and forth and trying to move his legs to cover the beginning erection.

Pitch had the shadows bind the boy's ankles to the edges of the bed, so his knees were bent up and legs were spread, giving Pitch a perfect view of his twitching hole.

"Beautiful. You are a work of art, Jack Frost. I am thoroughly pleased you have only marred the skin on your wrists. I get to mar the rest," Pitch said with an evil, lust-filled smirk before leaning down to one of Jack's knees. First, he kissed the top of the knee, trailing small kisses down to the inside junction and bit at the inside. Jack arched his back again as his penis twitched a little in response. Pitch licked at the blood trailing from the new wound, looking at Jack.

The boy was staring at Pitch, so many emotions flitting through the crystalline orbs. Pitch identified most of them: fear (obviously), shame, surprise, and a couple others that piqued his interest – pleasure and lust. The boy was enjoying what was happening to him. Good thought Pitch, an idea coming to him.

"Keep watching me, Frost. Watch me mar your legs. Watch the blood trickle down them as I wound you ever so gently. Don't look away, my lovely," coaxed the Nightmare King. Making a show of licking his way up from the junction of the leg and groin, Pitch held Jack's gaze. A sharpened fingernail traced the fresh trail of saliva up the inside of the thigh, stopping at the knee. He scratched much harder this time, just under the main artery. Blood welled instantly and began running down the youth's leg to pool at his groin. Pitch leaned down to the knee and began breathing in the fragrance as he moved down. The grey-pink appendage that so lovingly caressed Jack's wrist earlier darted out to lap at the blood just to the left of his member, causing said member to twitch more and grow harder.

Pitch did the same to the other leg, maintaining eye contact with Jack, making the boy's breath hitch every time more blood was drawn only to be licked away by his enemy. The stench in the room began to acquire the arousal of both men as time progressed. The Nightmare King pulled away to look at his handiwork. Scratches lined the frost spirit's legs and torso with bites placed intermittently, all of them bleeding and beautiful.

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning, Frost," Pitch groaned as his arousal became too much to ignore in favor of decorating the alabaster canvas before him. He shrugged off his cloak of shadows and banished his trousers as well. Jack's eyes opened impossibly wide from the half-lidded lusty look he'd adorned during the bloodletting. Once more, the young spirit struggled in his restraints, alarm taking hold over the lust he'd begun to feel. Whimpers tore from his throat and once again, tears ran down his cheeks.

"Hush, young one. I promise, I'll make this good for the both of us," Pitch whispered soothingly while stroking Jack's cheek. "Hush. All will be fine. You'll see." Jack just shook his head violently, whining in protest, and continued bucking around, trying to get free. To quiet him, the Nightmare King dragged his nails down the boy's chest again. A loud moan made itself known against the youth's wishes as his cock swelled back to life. Pitch smiled gently, trying to reassure the young spirit.

The master of shadows continued where he left off, lapping at the life essence of one leg. One of his hands ran from the knee down of the other, smearing the blood as it went, before moving up to the winter sprite's torso and doing the same. When his hand was coated in blood, he brought it down to Jack's still twitching hole, gently coaxing one finger past the ring of muscle. Jack bucked in surprise, shying away from the touch.

"Relax, Jack. Look at me. Focus on me. Watch as I continue marring your beautiful skin." Jack could only whimper in response as his erection wilted. The Nightmare King lightly thrust his one finger in and out while nipping at Jack's neck again. Said boy tilted his head to the side subconsciously allowing more access as his breathing became slightly labored again, sweat beginning to adorn his brow. As Pitch began inserting a second finger, he bit down hard on Jack's collarbone, effectively distracting him from the pain of the intrusion and reawakening his arousal. He did the same on the opposite collarbone when Jack was loose enough to add a third finger.

By the time Jack was ready for Pitch, he was an incohesive mess of moans and whimpers as pre-cum dripped from his twitching member. Pitch felt it was ok to remove the shadow gag at this point. He wanted to hear more of the arousing sounds the spirit was making without them being muffled.

"Oh gods, Pitch. What are you doing to me?" Jack keened when he realized he could speak again.

"I am going to fuck you, Frost. I am going to fuck you hard as I play with your blood," Pitch responded honestly as he once more coated his hand in blood, bringing it to his penis and rubbing. Jack watched with lidded eyes, his breathing even more labored in anticipation for what was to come. When Pitch felt lubricated enough he lined himself up with Jack's entrance and began pushing in. The winter sprite cried out and tried to move away from the not entirely unwelcome intrusion.

"Shhh, relax, Jack."

"Ngh! Di-distract me, P-Pit-ngh!-itch. Scratch me, bite me, I don't care! Hurt me. Just get distract me-AHNG~" he cried as Pitch did just what was asked of him, running his fingernails down Jack's sides, not quite drawing blood, but leaving bright welts in their wake.

"You want me to hurt you, Frost? I thought you didn't want me to touch you?" Pitch teased, moving in just a little more.

"Fuck! Pitch! I change my mind! I need the pain. Make me feel alive. Remind me I exist. Leave bruises, scars, whatever. Oh God!" Jack threw his head back as Pitch began to suck on his collarbone, leaving a hickey, before moving to another spot on his torso to do the same.

"Look at me, Jack," was the simple command Pitch gave. Jack obeyed, panting, sweating, frost blushing, with lust in his eyes. "Do you like me hurting you? Do you like watching me licking at your wounds? Did you like the taste of your own blood, Frost?" Pitch felt Jack's cock twitch against his stomach in response to the heady questions asked. Pitch still wasn't fully sheathed, but he needed an answer before he would continue.

"…yes," was the boy's simple answer. Pitch smiled gently before licking at the wounds on the youth's chest and bringing his blood filled mouth to Jack's. Kissing him forcefully and letting Jack taste his life blood, Pitch jerked his hips forward, at long last finally sheathing himself completely in Jack. Jack's scream of pain and pleasure at the sudden sensation was swallowed in the kiss, but his back arched, pushing his front against Pitch and smearing blood over the chest of the other man, cock rubbing against the Nightmare King's stomach. Said Nightmare King didn't even wait for the boy to adjust to his girth and immediately began thrusting in and out forcefully, wanting to sate the lust coursing through him.

Jack broke the kiss, blood trailing from the side of his mouth courtesy of biting Pitch's tongue accidentally when Pitch thrust in all the way, to gasp and moan and just fucking breathe. Pitch released the shadow restraints on his wrists, knowing the boy wasn't going to try to escape, being too far gone in the pleasure to probably even think about a plan to get away. Jack's arms immediately wrapped around Pitch's back, nails digging into his shoulders. This caused Pitch to gasp in pleasure, though he tried to hold it in as his hips hesitated momentarily. That was enough of a signal for Jack though, a slight smirk making its way onto his face.

The nails that dug into the shoulders began to slowly make their way down the strong, expansive back, drawing blood in turn.

"Shit, Frost!" Pitch gasped involuntarily as Jack did it again, making the scratches even deeper. His hips thrust sharply and deeper than before into the youth under him, hitting that bundle of nerves that made Jack scream in ecstasy.

"PITCH!" he keened in surprise, raking his nails down the shadow king's arms this time, quickly due to the unexpected sensation. Pitch had to still his hips and get himself under control lest he become undone right then. It was too soon. He took deep breaths as the sweat trickled off his brow and into one of the many wounds on Jack's chest. This caused the boy to hiss in delight at the salt water burning his scratch.

While Pitch was regaining control of his body, Jack rubbed his hand against the scratches he made on the taut grey skin of his enemy. Blood smeared across his palm and he felt the uncontrollable desire to taste the life blood of the darkest being he knew. He brought his hand to his mouth and tentatively licked one of his fingers. Oh wow. He tastes like coffee and dark chocolate – bitter, but sweet, too Jack marveled at the taste of his enemy. This time he licked with more confidence, wanting – no, needing – the substance coating his hand.

Pitch watched Jack lick his blood and find delight in it. He nearly lost it at that but just barely managed to keep himself under control and began shallowly thrusting in and out of the winter sprite again. Jack placed his hands on Pitch's arms again, as Pitch moved to rest on his heels and hold Jack's hips up, hitting his prostate every time at this angle.

The Nightmare King looked down at himself, noticing his stomach and chest smeared with blood and precum. He then looked at Jack, running his nails down the boy's chest again, reopening some of the already healing wounds. He covered his palm in Jack's essence of life again and brought it to the youth's weeping erection. Said youth watched in anticipation as Pitch gripped his cock and slowly pumped it, coating it in blood. Jack moaned at the erotic site.

Pitch sped up his thrusts and pumped Jack in time, mixing pre-cum with the blood as lubricant. He loosened the ankle restraints, bringing the boy's hips up even more and pounding into the body beneath him. From the clenching of Jack's insides on his cock, he knew Jack was close. Pitch himself wouldn't last much longer, so he dragged his nail down the sensitive vein on the underside of the boy's cock, bringing forth more blood and an extremely intense orgasm.

Jack let loose, coming hard, as he screamed Pitch's name and dragged his nails down the Nightmare King's forearms. He hissed in pain and pleasure as his cum mixed with the blood in his wounds. Jack's clenching around Pitch and the way he called his name sent Pitch over the edge. He thrust in nice and deep and hard before spilling his seed in the youth below him. Pitch collapsed on top of the boy in exhaustion after riding his orgasm.

They both laid there, trying to catch their breath and come down from the high both of them had just experienced. As he was regaining his senses, the shame of what just occurred hit Jack like a bus. Pitch noticed the change in demeanor immediately and pulled himself off the young spirit, banishing the shadow restraints entirely. Jack pulled his limbs in and struggled to sit up on Pitch's bed, looking down at himself. His torso was covered in smeared blood and his own cum, the scratches themselves already healed for the most part, leaving behind only the bruises and welts. No scars were present on his chest and stomach, which confused him.

"It's because the wounds on your wrist are self-inflicted. They will scar. If you are hurt by another, you won't scar," Pitch explained. Jack started at the shattered silence and stared at the Nightmare King with uncertainty and a little disappointment. He looked back down at himself and a tear made its way down his cheek.

"Why?" was the croaked question, voice raspy with the strain of screaming.

"Because of your blood. I was attracted by the scent and became addicted to the taste. By the end, I was stunned by the beautiful masterpiece I created on the canvas I was given. A masterpiece of blood, sweat, and pleasure. A masterpiece riddled with scratches, bruises, welts, and frosted tears. A masterpiece by the name of Jack Frost. It was a mistake, but I will not apologize for it, nor will I regret it." At the mention of the happening being a mistake, a dark shadow crossed Jack's face and he turned it sharply to the side. Pitch reached over to grasp the boy's chin and turn his head toward him.

"Look at me, Frost. I did not mean it that way. I simply meant that I should not have done that because I am quite sure I am now addicted to you and quitting you after only one time of unrivaled bliss shall be the worst pain in the world." Blue eyes widened in shock.

"Do…do you mean that, Pitch?"

"I do. Have I ever lied to you, Jack?" Pitch responded gently with a light glare, releasing the boy's chin and moving back. Jack just looked at him in wonder, contemplating the question.

"…no. You haven't. You've never lied to me," he stated in shock. "You are the only person who's never lied to me. Why didn't I see that before?" Despair replaced the shame the frost spirit had been feeling. Unsure of what to do, Pitch sat quietly on the edge of his bed next to Jack.

"…why? Why do you tell me the truth every time, Pitch?" Pitch pondered this for a moment.

"Because people fear the truth, whether hearing it or telling it. I am fear, Jack. I have become brutally honest because of this. The truth I tell you, you never want to hear. You are afraid of it. It is a subconscious act anymore."

"Huh. I guess that makes sense." Silence overtook them for a while before Pitch spoke again.

"My turn for a question. Why do you cut yourself, Frost?" Jack jerked back at that question before deciding to answer honestly as well.

"I'm scared. I have so many new responsibilities being a Guardian. I'm afraid to let the others down or do something to be removed from the Guardians. I'm afraid of the time when the kids I play with stop believing. I'm afraid of being the screw-up I always was. It was a habit to deal with the loneliness before, but it took on a new meaning in addition to the others once I became a Guardian." Jack buried his face in his knees as he brought them up to wrap his arms around them, shame rolling off him in waves. "It reminds me that I am alive. It takes my mind off the depressing thoughts. It distracts me, Pitch. I just never knew it could bring pleasure, too." Pitch studied the pitiful spirit before him before reaching out to put a hand on the boy's shoulder, startling him into looking up. Jack looked at him in confusion for the tenderness.

"I understand," was all that was offered as Jack glanced at the hand on his shoulder. Scars littered the grey wrist, criss-crossing this way and that. Jack chanced a look at the other wrist lying on Pitch's lap and saw the same. He really looked at the grey body in front of him, noticing scars everywhere – forearms, hips, ribs, thighs, even a couple across his chest. Jack finally met Pitch's eyes again, seeing the depth of understanding in those golden irises. Sighing, the boy started to speak his thoughts as they were being formed.

"I still don't like the way you frighten children. Children still need their hopes and dreams, not just fear, you know. However, I guess you're not as horrible as I initially thought. Honestly, if you had gotten to me before the Guardians, I most likely would have sided with you, although I still don't want the children hurt." Pitch looked at Jack in mild surprise.

"I can't change who I am, Jack. Fear will always exist, and I am the harbinger of it. However, if you ever feel the need to cut or need to talk to someone who would understand, my home is open to you. I will be your distraction, Jack. I offer this in all sincerity because I do understand, but also because you are very addicting, frost child." Jack dropped his eyes in contemplation. What harm could this really do? He would be getting what he needed, and Pitch would get what he wanted within reason. He glanced up at the Nightmare King uncertainly, only to see honesty in his eyes.

"…maybe. We'll see."

"That is all I ask for – consideration." Silence took hold in the room again. The only sound being made was Jack shifting position to sit cross-legged on the bed with his hands between his legs.

"You know? You were entrancing and delicious, too. You tasted like coffee and dark chocolate – bitter but sweet. I am learning that is a pretty accurate description of you as a person as well. And it was very erotic watching you play with my blood, more so than I would have ever expected." Pitch raised an eyebrow at the confession. "Also, thanks for this. I never knew I needed it until now. Not too bad for a first time," Jack finished with a cheeky smile. Pitch just chuckled amusedly, shaking his head.

"You will never cease to amuse me, Jack Frost. Now budge over." Jack complied, scooting to the other side of the bed, allowing Pitch to stretch out on the side he occupied previously. The winter spirit watched Pitch as he got comfortable.

"Come, Frost. Lay down for a while to regain your strength. Unless you would rather leave?" Pitch made eye contact, eyes expressing his subtle desire that Jack remain. So hesitantly, the frost sprite lay down next to his enemy. His whole body was sore, making the process more painful than it normally would have been. Once he was almost settled, Pitch pulled the young spirit to him and had the shadows cover them like a blanket. Frost blush covered Jack's cheeks at the action. Glancing up at Pitch, he noticed the other's eyes already closed in relaxation. Sensing it was alright, Jack snuggled closer to his not-quite-enemy-anymore and let his eyes drift closed. Pitch was right. He needed to rest and regain his energy before he could face the Guardians and the children again.

"When you are rested, your clothes and staff will be by the door for when you are ready to leave. I had my shadows retrieve them and clean up the blood under the tree so the Guardians would not suspect you were hurt, should they look for you," came the tired statement from the man wrapped around him. Jack just sighed contentedly.

"Thank you, Pitch, for everything," was the last thing said between them as they drifted off into restful slumber, each of immortal content in the possibility of having their needs satisfied after so long of being denied the simple joys in life.

End Notes: Oh. My. God. I cannot believe I wrote that... I am one messed up individual. *sigh* Please note: this is a ONE-SHOT. I have issues writing multi-chaptered things, though I am attempting to get past that. If you truly want another part, I have to have at least 10 reviews saying they want one to consider it. It'll give me incentive to actually do it. Critiques are also welcome (constructive criticism, that is. If you flame me, fuck you. I WILL ignore you).

So, again, here is the second story I have posted on here. It was actually beta'd! By the wonderful, if not a pain-in-my-ass-of-a-roommate, mydetheturk! *slow claps* No really guys, I love her. She puts up with so much of my shit, it's not even funny. You should check her stuff out, too.

Anywho, I've rambled long enough. Bless your face, and if you sneezed while reading this, Bless YOU! PEACE OFF!