So... Midterms are over and now I have a long weekend. I don't know what happened with this chapter. Originally it was going to be straight up dumb fluff, and then I was like, "Wow, no, tough and sassy Elsa." Bitch can hold her own. She don't need no man telling her what to do.
On an unrelated note, I've fallen head over heels for the story Jump Into The Fog by Eliza Darling. It's like my drug, it's so good. I really wish my stories could be like that and not like... Whatever garbage I usually write. Seriously, if you haven't read it, read it right now. It's amazing. You won't be disappointed. I wish I could personally tell the author how much I love the story, but I am such a wuss when it comes to initating conversation, so... I can't... Just.. Read it.
Gloves:
Let's face it... Practically everything that their relationship revolved around was weird. No other relationships functioned in the way theirs did. Now, was that something to be proud or ashamed of?
Gloves were a particular part of their relationship.. This one actually went way back to when they first started dating.
Hans almost always wore his gloves, but no longer out of fear of burning everything he touched.
They were thick, black leather gloves that he had worn since the time he was six; after he had accidentally set his seventh brother's room aflame in a fit of anger. If only one could say that had been the first occurrence of such things. When he first received the gloves, they were much too big for his tiny hands.
"You'll grow into them in time." The King of the Southern Isles had assured, patting Hans' gloved hands. They were so large on the six year old's hands, they were simply just falling off. "You'll learn to control your powers. But, these are just a precaution so you do not.. Light anything on fire accidentally again."
By no means did the King want to shame Hans for his powers or pretend they didn't exist. And he certainly wasn't going to lock him up and act like they wouldn't notice.. No, Hans would learn to control his powers and use them to his advantage. He would have a normal life. Practically the exact opposite of the King of Arendelle and his eldest daughter...
Hans' father had been right though. By the age of 16, his hands had grown to fit into the gloves perfectly. He had learned to control his powers, so he really didn't need the gloves by then. They were really just a force of habit.. And he looked damn good in them, of course.
Her story was obviously much different from Hans'. Elsa wore her gloves out of fear, and they were most definitely never for fashion.
It was only after the Great Thaw, and after the two had began their ridiculous relationship, that they began questioning each other silently.
One morning at the crack of dawn, Elsa awoke to find Hans' bare arm slung around her midsection, her back pressed against his bare chest; as they lay in that enormous thing she called a 'bed'.
She wiggled out of his embrace, moving towards her vanity, making a weak attempt to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She was still so tired. Her handmaidens wouldn't be there for a while, but she could look a little acceptable, and not like a peasant. Out of force of habit, she pulled on a spare pair of gloves that had called her vanity home temporarily. She'd hardly even paid a second thought to it.
"Why even bother?" Came the gruff voice, a hint of drowsiness on top of it all. Unbeknownst to her, her stirrings had woken up Hans.
She pivoted quickly on the ball of her heel, the bottom of her nightgown twirling with her. "Huh?"
"The gloves, Elsa. The gloves. Why bother with them? You don't need them."
The blonde blinked sleepily. "Gloves..?" She looked down at her hands, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. "Oh."
"Please take them off. You don't need them anymore."
"I don't know, I might. You always wear yours." She finished the last statement by stifling a yawn with her hand.
"You don't. I don't even need mine... I just look good in them." He shot her a tired, feeble attempt at a cheeky grin; which she barely saw through her half-lidded eyes. "I'm sure the rest of Arendelle is longing to see what the Queen's hands look like."
"Why... Would they care about my hands..?" Another yawn, rubbing at her eyes with her gloved knuckles.
"It's just.. The point of it. Don't wear the gloves anymore."
"You don't have control over me. I'm the Queen." God, she could get so fucking sassy when she was tired! She probably wasn't even aware of half the things she was saying. The woman did look half-dead, after all.
"For the love of God... Elsa. Shut up, take off those stupid gloves, and come back to bed." Hans hissed.
That caught her attention. Elsa sneered at him, yanking each glove off one by one and throwing them rather violently onto the vanity. "Fine, I'll come back to bed." Okay, so she was waking up.. Maybe she would more sensible now.
She slipped back under the light purple colored sheets, sliding right up to him; leaning against his shoulder slightly, one of her legs loosely slung over his.
One of her petite hands reached out to grab his much larger one, holding it loosely. "You know what I want...?" She simpered, running the index finger of her free hand down his chest tantalizingly.
"What?" He asked, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He leaned up in attempt to shower her neck in little kisses, but was immediately pushed back down by the Queen.
Rather quickly, pressured was being applied to his hand and his chest, Elsa's sharp little nails digging into his skin little by little. One knee was threateningly close to his nether region too, and was inching closer by the second.
"I want you to stop treating me like you own me. Don't tell me what to do. I can make my own decisions. I couldn't for thirteen years, but now.. Now I can." She growled, her fingernails still digging into his skin. Her damn knee was beginning to press into the one place he didn't want it and it was starting to hurt!
"Do you understand?" She grumbled, dragging her nails down his chest rather roughly.
"I understand that you're a bitch." He spat, furious green eyes glaring up at her.
With one swift move, she jerked her knee up roughly, earning a loud yelp from the man below her.
She moved off of him as the Prince curled into a tight ball, wincing with a loud groan.
"Understand?" Elsa gritted her teeth, crossing her arms. He was just getting on her last nerve and the day had hardly begun.
"Yes...!"
"Thank you. Now get out and go to your room. I don't need my handmaidens seeing you in my bed."
"You can't be ser-"
"Get out."
The Prince stood and stumbled slightly, moving towards the door.
"Oh, and Hans-" Elsa paused, watching him turn, "I'll wear whatever I damn well please." Certainly not language fit for a Queen! Elsa didn't necessarily mean the gloves, but just as a general rule now.. She really didn't want to wear the gloves anyways. Hans made a face at her before leaving with a grumble.
No one ever said the one story they had about gloves was a happy one.