Fionna didn't read much outside of comic books, but even she was familiar with the stock descriptions of the kinds of things that were supposed to set the mood for a scary story.
However, tonight the wind didn't sound anything like 'someone screaming' so much as they resembled a horde of ghouls, moaning and sobbing outside her window, mournful and shaken. It picked up and let down, varying in pitch from low mumbles and moans to sudden blasting shrieks.
Nestled deep in her furs, Fionna remembered their first winter in the tree house.
The young girl had chosen this room as her own, not knowing at the time that it was angled just right to catch all the horrible night sounds that harsh winter winds could bring. More than one evening had been spent in abject terror, afraid to leave the cover of her blankets to even go find Cake and cuddle her for comfort. One morning she had complained about it, though, and Cake had paused in the middle of cooking breakfast, pricking up her ears to let the girl know she was listening.
"I think I want to switch rooms," Fionna said. "It's not as loud in the other rooms."
The cat flicked her tail. "Of course it's not. But it's also not gone. You can hear that noise through the whole house at night, girl- trust me, I'm pretty much nocturnal."
Full of a misery not even pancakes could fix, the young Fionna stared down at her breakfast with the certainty of childhood. "Then I'll never sleep again." The fork clattered down onto the plate and her face went pale.
Biting back a laugh, Cake served herself and went to join Fionna at the table. "Well, let me put it this way, sugar. Whenever I hear those noises, or when it's wet'n nasty outside, I just let it be a reminder of how safe and snug I am inside my own bed." Stretching out her neck, she gave Fionna a wet, raspy kiss on the cheek. "Now eat your breakfast."
Glancing outside the window, she couldn't take solace in that years-old advice for this particular night, even though it had served her well in the past. Furs strewn about her, she twisted and turned, wondering if she should even bother going through with her plan, which would certainly entail going out into that cold, screaming mess. Finally getting up and tossing her blankets aside, she went over to the window, pressing her palm against it to feel the chill. It wasn't a harsh winter- not as bad as the previous one, at least. She had experienced a more bitter cold than this before.
And no amount of sleep or snow would soothe the burning in the pit of her stomach.
That last thought was what made up her mind.
Shedding her pajamas and getting dressed as quietly as she could, she put some extra clothes and items into her backpack and cracked open the window, scaled the tree house and landed softly into knee-deep snow. Wading her way through the mess using her many years of knowledge of how to travel through the Ice Kingdom, she trudged her way to the only thing that would alleviate her restless mind. If she noticed a small shape watching her leave from the one of the bedroom windows, she paid it no mind.
Every step was a battle against self doubt, against what she thought was right, against what she'd been told was right. But the days had stretched on, and the nights had grown longer, and each opportunity for a new adventure had turned out to be a bust. It was more than being bored or stir crazy- she was going through withdrawals. Yet the more she went on these 'excursions' the less the Ice Queen concocted any new devious plots to overthrow the Candy Kingdom, or steal a monarch, or cause a revolution. Which left even less for Fionna to do. It was a horrible vicious cycle, one that always ended with her losing the sensation in her limbs as she trekked through miles of snow, knowing Simone would be waiting for her again.
Numbing, aching, stiffening, burning, freezing, bleeding.
She was addicted to these sensations, the memories associated with them. The pleasure of an adrenaline rush or the recklessness she gained when presented with the fear of certain death.
The Ice Kingdom grew closer. However, a dead tree root hidden by the snow caught her little foot, sent her crashing down onto her hands and knees. When she got up, her heart rate spiked in startled concern to see her own crimson blood soaking up all the moon light, staining the snow around her. A scraped knee, a little girl's injury. Many perils hid underneath the snow, it seemed. The cold had numbed her to the point that she didn't even feel the wound, but she knew it would sting her later. Wiping the blood aside to see how bad it really was, she sighed and felt her muscles loosen to note that it was just a superficial scratch- not anything that would endanger her or her… excursion.
She lifted her bloody hand to her face, not introspective enough to muse on how it was her life force or anything deep like that, but instead think dang girl if I had a gold coin for every time I've seen my own blood I—
I—
Memories of Cake flashed behind her closed eyes again, enveloping her for an instant before being whipped away with the northern winds. Wisps of conversations, of being bandaged up as a child and a teenager. How quickly she had learned, even then, that when Cake said things like, "Sorry, this might sting," not to respond with, "It's okay. It doesn't feel bad."
Feet moved of their own will. A ghost of a name hung on the edge of her tongue. The very thought gave rise to the gut-twisting guilt that she had been forced to associate with her desires for so long. For so long she had kept them hidden away in a little box, deep in her think-pan, deep where she didn't have to examine it for too long because it made her uncomfortable. Because it made the people around her uncomfortable.
Come to think of it, she did that with a lot of things she didn't want to think about.
Better to be a fool than a freak.
Her tongue skimmed across a palm left hard and callused from almost seventeen years of sword practice. Just a small taste, but it spread across her mouth quick as wildfire, the copper flavor clinging and familiar. Wiping the rest off on her skirt, she shivered once and wondered-
What now? Head straight through the front doors of the castle? Try to sneak in?
She was still just on the border of the Ice Queen's domain. Still enough time to turn around and make it back before morning, and maybe Cake wouldn't notice her absence. Subterfuge was not her strong point, though; her usual style called for too much flair and arrogance for that to be the case. Hot-blooded young ladies didn't have much skill in breaking and entering into and out of houses without detection.
The scrape on her knee was already clotting up. Another scar to add to the collection, soon to become another reason for Cake to smack her hand when she would inevitably start picking at it just to feel the sting. Her guilty heart throbbed again; her innards twisted and turned. She wished she could explain it, how it made her felt, to willingly throw yourself into a tussle just to be able to poke the bruises later and brag.
When her withdrawals grew too bad, when her desires made her shake and quiver, when there was no way to get over to Simone to beg for release, she would sometimes wonder if turning her blade on herself was a valid option. It seemed wrong, like so many of her thoughts these days. It also seemed like a line she wasn't willing to cross any time soon. So she relied on Simone to sate her appetite for pain when she could, and learned to suck it up and deal when she couldn't.
The fortress walls were in front of her before she knew it. Distracted by her own thoughts as she was, the journey had seemed to take no time at all. Kneeling down, she reached into the hidden sheathes in her boots, pulling out two long twin daggers. Tapping once against the icy wall to test its resilience, she grinned with just a flash of childish glee as she began to scale the walls, break the rules, do something bad.
How much noise was she making? Was Simone awake? The steady chnk tip chnk of her ascent seemed to echo through the mountains even though she knew the wind and snow's constant blowing would mask the worst of it. She was pretty sure this side of the fortress housed the Ice Queen's living quarters, but she still didn't have the whole area mapped out in her mind's eye. Once she reached the top, though, she should—
A hand yanked her by the back of her sweater, pulling her and her daggers free from the side of the wall. A gasp was all that escaped her as her arms windmilled about, slashing at her attacker as best she could. Legs kicked out at the empty space between her and a fall that spelled certain death with a capital D.
"Hold still, you— ahrgg."
Her stomach lurched as she was zipped up a few meters and then tossed unceremoniously through an open window. Rolling along the stone floor, she landed in a crouch with her long daggers crossed in a defensive x in front. The Ice Queen stepped in through the window, her feet hovering just above the floor and a knowing smirk growing on her face.
High heels hit the floor with a crack, loud as icebergs colliding in the silence of the bare room. "You're lucky I have nerves of steel, girly. Otherwise I may have dropped you," she said, hitching up her dress just a bit to let Fionna see she had scored a hit on her leg. Strangely enough, the girl felt a warm burst of pride to know that even when she was panicking and suspended midair on a dark night she could deal damage.
Bending down again and sheathing her knives, Fionna collapsed backwards onto the floor and sighed loudly. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have surprised me like that!" she accused the woman, shrugging off her coat and taking a look to see if she had torn it. While she was busy wiggling a finger through a brand new hole, she did her best to control her heart rate as the queen moved closer to her. Warm from the exertion of climbing and running through the snow, it made the inevitable shock of the woman's hand on her shoulder all the greater. Breathing in deep through her nose, Fionna let it go with a shudder as another hand reached under her chin, forced her to look up into solid white eyes.
"You're the one tresspassing, little snowflake," the Ice Queen reminded her, tone deceptively gentle. Fionna's tongue worked in her dry mouth, desperate for something snarky to say in return but she kept getting distracted by the iron vise around her heart. Instead, she got up on her knees, pulling the woman down by the front of her dress to press their lips together. Sharp talons pushed aside her hat, digging knuckle-deep into piles of long golden hair.
Grabbing the Ice Queen's hand on her shoulder, she averted her eyes as she placed it around her throat instead, shivering, goose bumps rising on her body from the contact of skin against skin. "We should move somewhere else," the queen said, disappointing Fionna by loosening her grip to trail one finger along her exposed collarbone. "This room is meant to remain empty."
The girl looked around her at the stark stone walls and floor, not graced by a carpet nor decorated with a painting or an ancient artifact stolen from some long-abandoned bunker. She wanted to ask what used to be in here, but in the long run, she figured she honestly didn't care to know. Another gust of wind knocked her thoughts out of her head as the Ice Queen stepped through the window again. A flash of her blue skirts was all Fionna could catch before she disappeared into the snow storm. Fionna knew where she was headed, and exited the room to traverse the castle's hallways in search of the queen's private quarters.
She stepped inside, surprised to see the Ice Queen wasn't there yet. The thought that she had been blown away by a sudden blast of snow made it difficult to do anything other than pull her hat off and chew on one of the ears to stifle the giggles. She stepped further into the room, tossing her sweater onto the bed and stretching, knowing she should be sleepy but too excited to do anything other than pace anxiously and wait for her consort to arrive.
The door slammed behind her. Spinning around, she found the woman with her hand on the door, one finger sliding the lock into place. Fionna's eyes darted to the floor, teeth catching the flesh of her lower lip to keep from saying anything. An even, steady clik clik clik of heels grew closer; the girl kept her eyes down, trained on the floor until they came into view. They were new shoes- tiny, silver, tasteful. "Tell me…" Simone whispered from somewhere above her, a looming blue giant taunting the captured heroine. Except in reality she was only 4 inches taller than Fionna without the heels.
And Fionna had let herself be captured.
Her response was gruff; she gripped the straps of her backpack, as though preparing to bolt. "Tell you what?"
The Ice Queen reached out to touch her. Fionna gasped, closing her eyes and preparing herself for the sting, the burning, icy flesh.
It never came.
"Tell me what took you so long," she finished, cupping Fionna's face in one warm hand, brushing her thumb along her lower lip, red and chapped from the winds outside and her own anxious biting. "I was wondering if I'd be forced to kidnap someone to get your attention." She caught a confused question as it tried to escape Fionna's lips, crushing down with a kiss. She stumbled over herself, stepping backwards until she felt the walls of the room against her back.
Somehow Simone had controlled her body temperature. The fingers that pried her hands from her backpack were warm and soothing. They fit in the grooves between her own digits, pressed her hands back against the wall behind her.
It wasn't that Fionna couldn't appreciate the body heat, or the fact that the form pushed against her was soft and squishy in wonderful ways she hadn't been able to notice before with numb, frozen hands. However, she was disappointed by the unexpected tenderness. "You don't—" she managed to gasp in the intervals when her lips were free. It became simultaneously easier and more difficult to speak when Simone moved down to her neck, caressing the pale flesh with her wet, sucking lips. Ripples of heat shot straight through her, and her clit throbbed with the aching desire to be touched.
Frustrated, she twisted her hands free to hold Simone at arm's length so she could speak. "You don't have to pretend to be nice," she said, turning red, but not breaking eye contact. This was important. She wanted to be as clear as possible about what she wanted, about what she expected from this.
The Ice Queen had put her hands up, palms out, when Fionna resisted her. An automatic reaction, a gesture to display non-threat. It was almost amusing, how quick she was to remember that Fionna could turn the tables. But once she understood what Fionna was trying to say, a decidedly vicious smile grew on her face. "I'm not pretending," she said, gripping Fionna's wrists and breaking the girl's hold on her. They were crushed close together again, body to body as Simone's free hand crawled up the bottom of Fionna's shirt to rest on her stomach. It was still warm; Fionna's mind tore at itself, too many conflicting thoughts colliding and keeping her from figuring out what game Simone was playing. Then her voice, low. Lips soft against the girl's ear. "And I'm not being nice."
Close as they were, Fionna was able to feel it as Simone relaxed, letting loose her reign over her body temperature. The sudden blast of cold was like a slap on the spots where Simone was touching her bare skin, tearing a broken moan from her throat. The palm on her stomach was frostbite cold. Claws clutched at the thin layer of fat on her belly, rubbing over the tense muscles underneath. Yet the rest of her was still warm— hot, even. With a heavy breath, the Ice Queen tensed up again and the cold fled, retreating back into her system, leaving nothing but a tingling aftershock.
"Nice trick," Fionna wheezed, legs trembling and knees growing soft.
Simone didn't even try to hide a smug look. "I had a feeling you'd like that," she said.
She started slipping off her backpack. Simone let her go long enough for it to drop to the floor with a thunk. "You really- grrrrn." Teeth clenching, Fionna snarled at the hand locking around her throat again, strong and cold as a block of ice. The air could barely escape her lungs, and when it did, it fumed out as cold fog.
A thin crackling layer of ice remained in the shape of Simone's hand when she shifted down to paw at Fionna's breast. They melted quickly from her body heat, trailing cold, serpentine tendrils that soaked her shirt. "Help me out of my dress?" Simone suggested, still gentle in tone while her talons dug into whatever exposed skin she could find on Fionna, forcing strangled growls from her.
Grinning loosely, still a little loopy from the pain, Fionna grabbed the front of her dress, pulling her down to her level. "What, did you forget how?" she said, words hidden somewhere within her gasps. As always, they danced along the edge between the safe planes of friend and foe, too rough to be the former, too closely entwined to declare the latter. Razor sharp teeth found her lips, punishing her for talking back.
"Do it," she said, harsher, her breath like soft eddies of winter wind across the landscape of Fionna's face. They curled and twisted, promising the screams of a full blown tempest. "Or leave, if you want. I've not kidnapped you." Possessive claws ceased their scratching and marking. Hard, bony fingers danced along her fringe to push aside her bangs so that she could pierce her with an unreadable, snow-white gaze. Her lips were set; neither anger nor sadness was betrayed by her expression.
To be honest, she had already gotten more or less what she came for. But the gossamer fabric slid through her hands anyway, layers rippling like fish scales in the meager light of the moon filtering in through the glass windows. These encounters knapped away at her reservations little by little each time, honing her desire to a fine point. The edge of this new blade only shone in the dark, only severed buttons, spilled only sweat— and maybe a little blood, too, as her nails tore at Simone's bare back, pulling her bra off once the dress had been kicked aside.
Chapped red knees hit the floor. This part was good, too, she was beginning to find; the hand on her head, pushing her down. The part where she gave Simone something in return. Taught muscles relaxed, and a surprisingly small chest heaved with a sigh. A laugh spilled by accident; on some level she could understand the kind of vanity that led to wearing padded bras but at the same time not getting it at all. Fionna avoided the murmured query— "What's so funny…?"— by running her hands up Simone's thighs to grip at her behind, tongue flicking at the wetness that had been begging for attention.
Simone was still standing, and still maintaining a normal body temperature, somehow. The girl wondered if she could change that without using force. The hand in her hair tightened as she enveloped Simone with her lips, tongue stroking in a delicate rhythm. Simone gasped, bending at the middle and clutching onto Fionna with both hands now, but her trembling limbs didn't grow any colder. Some part of her was still focusing too hard on keeping warm for some reason— maybe to try and make this easier for Fionna, or perhaps as an attempt to delay her own climax. Fionna rasped her tongue harder, curling her lips to suck and catch every drop of wetness that threatened to escape her.
Her hands slid forward now, parting Simone with eager fingers, still new enough at this to be excited about the fact that she knew when to start teasing at her entrance, trailing slick circles around it before delving inside, slow and agonizingly gentle. A steady stream of cool air blew down her back as Simone sighed again, knees starting to tremble from the effort of keeping aright. She thrust three fingers into her at once, grinning again when Simone twitched and gasped, warmth draining away at last. The hands on her head urged her closer, and Fionna knew it was only a game of patience now that she had taken Simone this far.
When she came, it was sudden and unmistakable, though almost completely silent; an icicle snapping, snow sliding off a shivering bough. Curling forward, she fell to her knees, holding Fionna close to her chest until the tension drained and she was limp against her, chin resting on the crook of her neck.
The winds screamed again, knocking against the windows, demanding to be let in.
Even with her body heat being drained away by Simone's proximity, Fionna still didn't complain. In the end it was her own muscles that began to protest with regular little shivers running down her back. Simone noticed it at once, straightening up and running her thumb across Fionna's messy lips like she had when the girl had first arrived. She was asking her what she wanted to do now— would she head out, or would she stay a little longer as the Ice Queen's guest?
It had been brain-crushingly early in the morning when Fionna arrived at the castle, and she was probably too exhausted to risk traveling back now. A quick glance out the window let her know the sun would soon be shyly poking its head over the horizon, coloring the sky. It would sit there like an inviting little glob of butter sliding across the pancakes Fionna wouldn't be eating soon because Cake hadn't made breakfast for a very long time. Probably because Fionna was rarely at the table in the mornings anymore.
Blue lips derailed her already scattered thoughts, nothing but tenderness now that the typical friction between them had been temporarily muted. Sharp spikes jolted up her leg when she shifted to be more comfortable, cupping the woman's face in her hands, and she remembered the scrape on her knee from earlier that night. Wincing, she let Simone go to stand up, declaring, "I'll sleep here for a bit, I guess. No use trying to— h-hey."
Simone hadn't stood up with her, instead pressing a chilly finger against the scrape. "This isn't one of mine," she noted, something like concern coloring her tone, though in reality it was probably just curiosity. "Get on the bed," she ordered, not waiting for Fionna to respond before striding from the room, still stark naked. Shame apparently concerned her as much as the temperature did. Aching from the numerous scratches and covered in hand-shaped welts from the ferocity of Simone's uncontrolled, frozen release, she collapsed on the covers of the bed without question. She felt cold hands on her some time later, a small sting, and then being coddled up in a cocoon of blankets.
When she awoke hours later, the sun was burning high in the sky and a bandage was wrapped carefully around her knee. Simone was nowhere to be found. Curling up under the blankets, Fionna lay there with dozens of excuses running through her mind until she found one she could latch onto. Secure with it, she got up and searched for her hat, pulling the straps snugly under her chin. By the time she pulled her torn sweater over her head and hefted her backpack, she had an almost airtight alibi for her whereabouts and actions.
Should she even bother saying goodbye before she left? Fionna wasn't a stickler for most social norms, having lived in a tree house half-wild for most of her life, but even she would have been grateful for an instruction manual on how to deal with this situation right then. (Maybe "How To Interact With Your Main Source of Sexual Tension").
She decided to sneak out. There was no telling how long the Ice Queen's hospitality would really last.
It was easier than getting inside the castle had been. She was already well on her way home when she remembered their food stores were low, and that maybe Cake would be more receptive to whatever explanation she concocted for her absence if she showed up bearing gifts.
Pausing on the edge where the Ice Kingdom ended and the grasslands began, she spared one glance behind her. For now, at least, the feelings inside her were easy to squash down. Locked away in a vault where she didn't have to examine them. The doors would only last so long, though.
Another wind blew against her, blasting down from the mountains to whip about tendrils of her unwashed blonde hair. No noise escaped that castle in the mountains. The quiet breaths, the surprised groans— the snow muffled it all, swallowed it whole. As though it had never happened at all.
Go, it said instead of releasing all those secret sounds, urged her onto the grasslands. The cold at her back hastened her descent, gentle one moment and lashing the next. When the grasslands quicken once more and the flowers push through the melting snow, I'll still be here.
I'll still be here.