Melted
by Concolor44
Author's Note:
This story goes into some depth concerning the events of Carlos & Elsa's wedding night (or, actually as it turned out, afternoon).
Dedicated to Shadowruni for his constant reminders that this NEEDED to happen.
Disclaimer of Standardness: All the canon characters are the property of Disney. This story is written solely to entertain. I make no claims to anything belonging to Disney, nor any pelf from this work. I wish only that my Gentle Readers will enjoy my effort.
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Chapter 1
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Sunday 27 March 1842, 9:08am
A shaft of sunlight streaming in through the tall window opposite the bed had been working its methodical way up Elsa's bare torso (oh, that lucky sunbeam!) for several minutes, and finally touched her face. She sensed the increase in brightness through her closed lids, and moved her face slightly away. The Queen had never suffered any ill effect from a lack of heat; she never even noticed if the temperature dropped to what would be for most people uncomfortably low levels. Carlos, for different reasons, held the same indifference. That made any sort of sheet or blanket entirely superfluous, so they hadn't bothered with any, which meant she didn't have anything to pull up over her face to block the light. No drafts penetrated the magical castle, leaving the air in the room perfectly still and free of dust motes.
The increasing warmth on her face finally began dragging Elsa from her sleep, and a tiny smile made itself at home on her lips as the comfortable presence of her husband registered on her mind. Spooned up against him, she hugged Carlos's arm close to her chest, smiling dreamily in her half-awake state. A slight re-positioning of a leg brought to her attention the small, delicious, residual ache in her nether regions, and her smile grew. He had far exceeded her most generous fantasies, let alone any expectations. A low, contented sigh escaped as those events slipped across her mind …
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The Previous Day, 1:15pm
Elsa gave a tiny shriek of delight when her new husband swooped her up in his arms. "Carlos! What in the world …"
"This is a tradition in some parts of Europe."
"Whatever for?"
He moved her into the crook of one arm in order to open the latch on their borrowed suite with his other hand. "So that it looks like you're being forced into your new role as a wife."
Her mouth opened and then shut. "… I will have to admit to being mystified by that statement."
"It provides an alibi for you."
"Excuse me?"
"It's a cover," he continued, setting her down on the smooth, dark flagstone. "So you can later say, 'He took me by force! I had no way to preserve my chastity!' You know, so you won't seem so eager about losing your virginity."
She gave him a long look, her smile gradually growing until she burst out in a laugh. "Seriously?"
"Hey, there are people for whom that whole mystique is absolutely crucial." His grin grew wide. He loved hearing her laugh. Even more, he loved being the cause of that laugh.
"They should enter a convent, then." She turned to look around at the room. "Oh, my. Morana didn't spare any expense, did she?"
"Possibly."
"Huh?"
"This could all be glamor."
Elsa walked over to the huge, high bed and felt of the blanket. "Goodness. If it's glamor, it's very convincing."
"It would be, given how powerful she is."
"Well, it feels real enough. I'm just going to go with it."
He came up behind her, stroked her hair back from her neck, said, "That's a sound policy," and placed a warming kiss on the spot where that flawless column joined her shoulder.
Her legs tried to buckle, but she stopped it. "Oh, dear Lord. We're really, truly, finally going to do this, aren't we?"
"Absolutely." He took a step back and began undoing the buttons on his white jacket. "And I've been thinking on how we should go about it."
"You have my full attention, sir." They'd had a few conversations about their wedding night – or afternoon, as it happened – and had always had to stop the discussion and separate before things got out of hand. She reached for a catch on her bodice. "Shall I …"
"No. Just wait." He continued disrobing until he stood clad only in his long underpants.
Elsa, by that point, was deeply flushed. "Oh … my."
She'd seen him shirtless before, and so had caught brief glimpses of his musculature, here and there, usually from a slight distance while he trained her Guard, and had never failed to be captivated. This was different, though. This time, he was close, he was hers (all hers!) and there was no impediment …
She found herself suddenly right in front of him, her slender fingers trailing over the sculpted landscape of his chest and abdomen. Her breath came fast. This is … this is legal! No one can say me nay! I'm actually expected to … to …
[[ My Dear One, we have all the time in the world. We will not rush this. ]]
[[ Yes. I know. It's just … so much … ]]
He turned her face up to his and kissed her, slowly, tenderly. [[ I want you to explore. ]]
[[ Yes. ]]
[[ You have to be comfortable with me. ]]
[[ I'm already comfortable with you! ]] The slight exasperation was clear in her Sending.
[[ Yes, you are. You are comfortable with my presence. You appreciate my advice. You trust my intentions. You share fully in my mind. But that is not the same as your body being comfortable with my body. ]]
[[… That's … um … ]]
[[ I have some small understanding of what you went through that forged the woman you've become, and it only makes me love and respect and admire you more. But that's me. You have your own walls to breach. I will help where I can, but in the final analysis, it is something you must overcome. We have held our passions in abeyance for these many months, and it has almost become second nature to deny ourselves. ]]
[[ Um. Yes. That's true. As if we had a choice. ]]
[[ Exactly; and you've practiced denying yourself most of your life. But now that has changed. ]]
[[ Are you worried I'll freak out on you? ]]
[[ Not in so many words. But letting yourself go, allowing yourself indulgence in those things that have been held, perforce, in the realm of fantasy, isn't something you can just flip over like turning a page in a book. ]]
She knew he was right … and it did bother her. This was not the same as her thirteen years of fear-based isolation. She'd had no illusions during that time that she would ever have the luxury of expressing herself freely through her magic. That door had to remain closed. It was a dreaded thing, a shameful thing, something to be hidden, and when the curtain had been torn away, right there in front of her kingdom and half-a-hundred foreign dignitaries, her expectations got shredded with it. Concealment was no longer the issue, and would never be again. Eventually, the immense feeling of freedom had been life-altering in a lot of good ways. But at the time the fear drove her away. She COULDN'T simply stay at the castle and explain everything. In her mind, there was no explanation that could suffice.
With Carlos, with their marriage, it was different. She'd been putting something off that they looked forward to, not denying an essential part of her character. Nevertheless, underlying her eagerness to get to the 'heart of the matter' in their physical relationship was a deeper layer of dread. She didn't speak of it, though she knew he had to be at least partially aware of it.
Would she be able to bring herself to fully partake in the physical aspects of their love? Yes, she craved his touch, but … what of that final boundary of intimacy? What if she froze (figuratively and literally) at a crucial point? She certainly didn't want to compare unfavorably with the Eastern courtesans who had taught him the things he was ready to teach her. Would she even enjoy it? Could she … could she really let herself go to that extent?
In her heart of hearts, she suspected these fears to be unfounded, but that didn't make them any less real. Firming up her resolve, she knew she would have to rely on her trust in his love. He loved her nearly beyond her ability to comprehend. There would be no disappointment, she decided, only passion and pleasure and fulfillment. Still …
[[ So … I keep doing this, then? ]]
[[ You do whatever makes you comfortable, and then when you think you can, go on to those things that might cause a bit of trepidation. But please remember: we have time. So much time. It will take time for us to become intimately familiar with each other's bodies, our likes and dislikes. It will be a journey of discovery for both of us. ]] He kissed her again, then again, lingering long, savoring the fresh, crisp taste of her, the moist, silken pressure of her lips, the clean, slightly spicy scent of her hair. Finally stopping for breath, he Sent, [[ For now, you may simply think of it as play. ]]
[[ Very well. But I don't know how you … not that I'm complaining, please don't think that … I just don't know how you can be so … so controlled. I can sense what's roiling around under the upper layers of your mind. ]] Indeed, his poorly-hidden thoughts were highly flattering.
"Hey, I'm old. I've had lots of practice at controlling myself."
"… Is that a dig?"
"God forbid! I would never make light of your extreme youth and innocence … that I find so intensely arousing."
She had to grin at that. He knew exactly how to put her at ease. "Then hold still."
"I am yours to command."
She walked around him, trailing fingers over and under and through, slowly absorbing detail after detail. His dark skin was unmarred, unblemished, though he'd been in more battles than he could remember, and had remarked more than once in their conversations about the many wounds he'd taken. "Where are your scars?"
"Scars?"
"You don't have any scars. You've taken hundreds of wounds, so I'd assumed …"
"Ah. Right. Over time the healing aura erases them. And Lord knows I've used it often enough."
Allowing herself a small smile, she said, "Handy." Softly caressing his shoulder where the knife had struck him that first night, she let her fingers slowly graze down his chest to his lower ribs where the head of that hideous bolt had protruded. Her touch left a wake of fire on his skin, and he couldn't quite suppress a groan. She glanced up at him. "Wasn't there a sort of a scar here?"
"Yes, but … only for a while. Decided I didn't need the reminder of what had happened. I applied the aura again and again until it was gone."
"Oh." It was true that there had been an angry, red lump after she completed the work of saving his life. But she hadn't seen him up close and shirtless since that night, and she had been understandably distracted at the time.
Running her hands around to his back, she mapped it just as carefully. At length, unable to contain herself any longer, she let one hand drop to his rump.
Carlos was repeating a soothing mantra to himself, trying his best not to tremble. The feathery touches of her unschooled ministrations were straining his control, no matter what claims he'd made, and if she …
"Do you … have to keep these on?"
"… What?"
"These pantaloons. They look … uncomfortably tight."
"They are now."
"You were, um, planning to take them off. Eventually. Weren't you?"
"Yes." He didn't trust his tongue past that syllable.
"Would you go ahead and do that, then?"
He had them off in seconds, his length springing free.
Elsa simply stared at it for several long moments, finally whispering, "Are you completely sure that will … all of it will … fit? I just don't see how."
"Yes. I am sure." He had become ridiculously rigid from watching – and feeling – her innocent explorations.
For her part, Elsa was excruciatingly aware that she was venturing into that part of the map inhabited by dragons and wind gods. She'd gone thirteen years with only the most restrained of physical contact – with anyone. And the last ten of those, she wore gloves. She hadn't hugged anyone, and no one hugged her, at her request. Skin-to-skin contact was simply too risky in her mind. She could freeze someone to death – perhaps someone she loved – without meaning to. Without even being aware of it.
Her self-imposed isolation had shaped (or, more accurately, warped) her basic response to human contact. Fear was a constant companion. Fear underlay everything she did. Fear had nearly destroyed her and everyone she loved. And even if love WAS the opposite of (and the antidote for) fear, that fear could not be eliminated with one selfless act. It could barely be stunted.
After her coronation, after learning how love was the key to controlling her powers, after her reinstatement as Queen, after coming to terms with her abilities and redirecting them for the good of her people … she still wasn't comfortable with physical contact. One of the phobias she'd developed during her years of solitude was that of touching – well – anyone. After the Great Freeze, she had allowed Anna in. (Anna hadn't really given her a choice in the matter.) She learned to be comfortable with Anna touching her. But even then, she had to limit the contact. Yes, she derived comfort from her sister's presence, and even from her hugs – most of the time – but sooner or later, she REQUIRED her solitude.
Much of that had changed eight months ago. When she and Carlos had merged their powers, she finally got a sense of what it felt like to be whole, to be without fear. Not only COULD she touch him … she CRAVED it. Needed it. But she didn't crave his touch in the same way that other human lovers did. It wasn't that she desired the feel of his skin on hers (though that was nice) or the sense of being held and cherished in his arms (though that was even nicer) or the taste of his kiss (which frequently left her light-headed).
What she coveted most was the melding of their minds, the unlimited feeling of completeness that came with his slightest caress of her skin. It would be like that now, only vastly intensified. And while the concept was thrilling, it also gave her seriously to pause. So she approached the idea rather tangentially.
"Can … may I … touch it?"
"If you want to. This is your show, your pace."
She reached toward him, then stopped, one eyebrow rising. "You have no hair?"
He frowned at that statement for only a second. "Ah. No. I don't have any body hair."
"Is that part of your Fey heritage? Because I … well, um … I've got … some. Not much, really. But men … men are hairy. Usually. I think? Aren't they?"
"Oh, I used to have hair. By the time I hit my fifties, I'd gotten very hairy, all over. But it didn't stay that way. About, oh, a hundred and ten, hundred and twenty years ago, it started getting thin and falling out. By the time I turned two hundred, the only hair I had left was on my scalp and eyebrows. So far, so good there. I don't really want to be bald, and Hamaraja still had his hair, so I'm not worried, exactly. Although I must say that not having to shave every morning is a real plus."
"Hmm." She thought that one over and then put a single finger on the slight dip right at the base of his manhood.
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Chapter End Note: Yes, they are taking things slowly. They have centuries, after all, and Carlos wants this to be really, REALLY good for her. That doesn't mean, though, that it's going to be easy for him.