A Word from Pitch;
Hello hellions.
Bear in mind that this story is rated M. The author would rate it higher if she was able, or allowed rather. I understand Rise of the Guardians is an animated feature family film (in which I was completely botched and made a fool). Fun for all, let the light shine in, let freedom ring, hail the concurring hero, etc.
I get it.
This, however, is in no way a cartoon. Moreover, in this delicious universe, I do not prey on children.
I prey on adults.
Why, you ask? Simply this.
Adults take more finesse to frighten. And once you truly frighten an adult, they will believe in you forever. Adults cannot "magic" away memories, or write them off, the way children can. No. Adults know better.
You think it is coincidence that this entire universe can see me?
The profession of a world class judge, who as a side makes more in a day than a typical mortal could in a lifetime, is mine to enjoy… as a carnal being. Stage fright is delightful.
Case in point - This is a live action NC17 rated fanfic. It is not for children.
If you are a child reading this, do go scour the site for more appropriate material. Save the erotica and pornography for your older years, lest there be nothing to look forward to. Naughty, tragic, nasty little things, mortals are.
Forewarning, it will only get "worse" from here. VisceralFringe is not known for her family friendly material, which is why we get along quite splendidly. Let us now spare a moment for the children to click out of this window and remove themselves from this next highly explicit chapter.
To the rest, enjoy.
Jack's body is buzzing with energy and embarrassment by the time he finds his room. By this point, he is overtired and cannot fathom resting. Jack busies himself with unpacking and putting things where he thinks they belong. He scrolls through his ipod. "Vapid, huh?" he muses. "What does that even mean? Boring?" Jack guesses. Vocabulary has never been his strong suit.
Now his mood has him craving a good metal mix. He hooks himself up with some Psyclon Nine, a native band his mother would never, ever… ever… approve of.
He proceeds into a series of exercises in sets of fifteen: crunches, sit-ups, pushups, and then uses the crown of a doorframe for pull-ups. Just because Jack is short does not mean he is weak. The constant criticism has dulled his spunk, but he is physically more impressive than ever. He attempts five sets, finding himself winded by the fourth. He manages to get through the fifth, ending with his body misted with sweat and his muscles shaking from exhaustion.
"Damnit," Jack mutters. He is so wound up from what happened in the locker room. He does not want to lay down or close his eyes. His mind is playing tricks on him, drawing all manner of sordid similarities to his haunting experiences and Pitch Black. Jack makes a mental note to raid Adam's liquor stash at his earliest convenience. Granted, that will be after Worlds… assuming he can last that long.
The exercises were a bad idea. Now, his temperature is feverish and his body is unable to sit still. He peels himself out of his sweats, completely accustomed to the thong underwear his vocation requires. Jack, like many performers, does have his insecurities. He inspects himself in the bathroom mirror for lack of something better to do. Jack glances over his shoulder to take inventory of his posterior side. The ash blond is cut. He has to be in this game.
Jack starts to wonder what Pitch would think… He bites his lip. Jack's eyes widen in horror and he makes a disgusted face at himself. He combs his fingers through his hair – evidence of his anxiety.
Jack glances towards the bed waiting to embrace him. He eyes the other harmless furnishings incredulously. He needs to sleep. That must be the root of all these ludicrous fantasies. He is so tired, he hallucinated everything. Pierre's advice lingers into his mind. Sundays mean afternoon practice. He can sleep in.
He gradually turns off the hotel room's lights, but leaves the one in the bathroom on, cracking the door to let the warm glow spill into his room. Jack climbs onto the bed, his eyes darting over the room. He forces his breathing to even out as he lays down. He is still too hot to be under the covers. Plus, this makes it much easier to escape… if need be.
He must sleep. He is competing for the World Championship the day after tomorrow. He shuts his eyes, squeezing them tightly. He refuses to open them for any reason, which is why he does not notice the bathroom light go out, or the smoky black sand threading its way under the door.
Within five minutes, Jack is asleep, out cold; his body sinking gratefully into the mattress. The black tendrils snake upwards, swirling around the bedskirt. More coalesce at the foot of the bed. They slither upwards, spilling out and combing the bed, inching their way towards the sleeping teen. Jack hardly stirs when they start to caress him, creeping over his limbs and up towards his nose. Jack turns his head and inadvertently inhales a breath of black sand. There is nothing that will wake him now, aside from being released from the Nightmare King's clutches. His body is free to react apart from his consciousness, unfettered by his inhibitions.
The sand, solidifying, ropes its way around Jack's throat. Two more tendrils wind down his arms and seize his wrists which they slowly drag under his back. More swarm his bare legs, curling around his knees and ankles, prying them farther apart. Jack groans softly in his sleep, his shoulders moving just slightly. He sighs gently. The sand probes farther, ghosting over the nipples of his chest and his inner thighs.
"mmm-" Jack unconsciously hums. He squirms a little.
His pulse heightens. His desire grows. His body reacts of its own accord. One tendril worms its way into the confines of his lacking underwear, rubbing against him and moving lower. It explores. Jack's lips open in a surprised cry when the tendril abruptly penetrates him. Another forms and plunges into his mouth. Jack emits a choked moan. He bows his back, at the mercy of the writhing tendrils.
Meanwhile, a tall, dark silhouette looms at the foot of the bed. His glowing citrine leer fixes on the arousal tenting Jack's scant dancewear. No matter how much Pitch craves to touch him, he resists. For now, he is content to watch his black sands ravish his prey – his blushing cheeks, his pert nipples, his tense arms, his muscular thighs, his young snowy flesh so easily stained, and the flash of his throat as he tries to breathe. Jack will need to undergo extensive preparation if Pitch truly intends to use him as planned.
"My forgetful little ice fairy… I intend to enjoy you to the fullest. Delight in this. It will only get better."
Jack's moans become desperate and strangled, even over their engorged obstruction. The way Jack's hips start to undulate as he sucks lasciviously on the tendril sends Pitch's mouth watering.
"That's it."
Pitch's pulsing tendrils seek deeper. Jack's telling expression of immense pleasure and absolute abandon lets him know the one between his thighs has found an ideal spot. Pitch longs to replace the sand with something more personal. But it is not time. He must deny himself. It will only make the ultimate conquest more gratifying. Pitch will teach him, through these erotic dreams and explicit visits, precisely what to do. He will cultivate a lust in Jack so insatiable, so primitive, that the boy will beg to have him. He knew from the instant he saw him at dinner that only he would satisfy his truest hungers. Jack Frost will serve him well.
Release rages through Jack and Pitch adopts a wicked smirk as the boy's seed streams his own torso.
"Come now. Play time is over," Pitch prompts, drinking in Jack's sexually spent body, splayed and vulnerable before him, while the boy is catching his breath. The black sands recede and rejoin with their master who senses the experience even more vividly with them wholly apart of him. Pitch breathes a satisfied sigh.
"Soon Jack. Sleep now. This is all in your head. But remember…Nightmares are a matter of perspective. They can become the best of dreams if you only embrace the fear."
Two minutes later, Jack springs up in bed, finding his torso sticky with his own cum. It has been years since he had a wet dream. His cheeks are hot. His entire body is flushed. His thong is half tented. There is an easy way to fix this, but for some reason, Jack does not think self-pleasure will suffice. Neither will a woman.
Adam answers his door, sleepy eyed and squinting against the hall light as he runs a hand down his face. Jack stands there in his sweatpants. "What's up kiddo?"
Jack hooks his hair behind his ear, pursing his lips. "Can I come in?" he whispers, hoping Adam won't notice the color in his cheeks.
"Sure," Russell says, stepping aside. Jack enters and shuts the door, slouching back against it, grateful for the support. "What's up?" Adam inquires, rubbing his eyes.
Jack did not think this far ahead. But he is so aroused… "I… I um…" Shit. Out with it. "I want to have sex with you."
And all the sudden, Adam is wide awake. "Excuse me?"
Jack musters all of his courage, occasionally meeting his eyes. "I… w- want to have sex with you."
Adam, slackjawed, gawks at him. He flips on the overhead light. "Jackie… are you drunk?"
"No," Jack confesses sheepishly, his voice cracking. His breaths come shaky. He isn't himself at all.
Adam shakes his head sympathetically. "Jack… Jay… Jackie." Adam fumbles with words until he says, "You're underage. I'm twice your age. And I'm not gay."
"Barely. I'll be eighteen in two months. And I'm not gay either," he adds quickly. And then Adam, who is thirty one, gives him this look and Jack balks. "I'm not!" Adam folds his arms, accentuating his chest. Jack has never noticed how broad his shoulders are or how sexually enticing he is until tonight. Adam is not chiseled, but he is toned. His body suggests, rather than shouts. He's large… assertive… protective… controlling… Jack flushes and swallows thickly. "I'll do anything."
"Jackie…" Adam sighs, watching him with newfound… something-or-other. "As tempting as this is… you can't risk it. And I can't risk it. You have two days until Worlds. I could hurt you."
Jack can't keep the desperation out of his eyes or his voice. "I want you to," he whispers.
Adam approaches him with concern, his sleepwear low around his hips. He frames Jack's jaw with his hand. His palm is warm and broad. "After Worlds," Adam whispers. He smiles gently, trying to calm him down, to reassure him. "After Worlds, ok?"
Jack doesn't understand, not in his current state of mind. "You take control of my life every day. Every minute. Why not now?" Jack insists.
"Jackie," Adam soothes, "What is this about?" His thumb strokes his cheek.
All the sudden, Jack wants to tell him a slew of things. He hardly notices how much he is shaking. "Can I sleep with you? Just sleep?" Jack whispers on the verge of tears. "I don't want to go back in that room, Adam." He starts to shake his head. "There's something in that room. There's something following me."
Adam wraps him up in his warm arms and sighs apologetically. He props his chin on Jack's head. "You've been working too hard." He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "I've been working you too hard."
"I'm scared, Adam," Jack chokes out. He feels violated and exposed and he cannot explain why. He has mixed revelations about it too.
"Of what?" Adam asks carefully, the pads of his fingers traversing Jack's bare spine.
Jack pauses, because he cannot answer truthfully. It would provoke too many questions… and Adam would probably laugh at him. "I don't know," he says.
Adam accepts that answer without question. "I have you. I 'ave you, mate," Adam tells him, his birth accent slipping through his professional speech.
A few minutes later, Adam guides Jack into his bedroom. He pulls back the covers and climbs in. Jack does the same from the opposite side. The ash blond immediately moves closer and snuggles up against his side. Adam is worried. This is not like Jack – not at all. The boy is normally quite distant and quiet. Did something happen? Adam turns towards Jack without a word and wraps an arm around him. Jack tucks in under his chin.
As much as Adam knows he grates on Jack's nerves, Jack apparently needs him… especially in times like this. It is probably just the result of stress overload from the upcoming championship. It has to be.
"Jackie?" he says.
"Yeah?" Frost whispers, sounding close to tears. Adam can feel his young fists uncurl and his fingers dust over his chest.
Adam swallows. "Winning isn't everything. Ok? I know I tell you otherwise but… you're such a great skater. I wish I had half the talent you do. You're amazing. You're incredible. And you don't need some title to tell you that."
He can feel Jack's lips on his chest, kissing him, as surely as he can feel the two teardrops that follow. Jack kisses his chest, his collar, and his throat. "Are… Are you sure we can't?" he whispers against his skin. "I won't tell anyone."
Adam is conflicted for the first time that night. He can imagine it – every detail. "Not tonight," Adam whispers, despite the growing erection in his athletic pants. Jack's hand travels down his torso just under the waistband. Adam seizes his wrist before the hand can reach its target. "Not tonight," he reminds hotly against Jack's forehead.
"Can I just feel it?" Jack asks. The innocence and curiosity in his quiet, quaking voice melts Adam's resolve. He relinquishes his grip on Jack's wrist. His hand explores. It touches and tickles, caressing and sweeping. Before Adam knows what is happening, both hands are down his pants and Jack's tongue his exploring his left nipple.
"Jack," Adam warns, seizing the boy by the upper arm.
"Let me," Jack pleads. "Please… Let me. I just want to understand."
"I did not take you to bed for this," Adam says, teeth clenched.
"I know," Jack replies. "Just let me." Adam's grip reluctantly complies, easing into a rubbing motion against Jack's arm. Jack strokes and tugs, feeling his shaft solidify under his palms. It is warm and smooth… and hard. "Wow," he whispers, unable to keep the grin off his face. "It's big." Adam breathes against Jack's hair, clearly more aroused with every passing second. "Does it feel good?" Jack wonders, moving his head to prop his chin on Adam's chest.
"It does," Adam whispers. "It does."
Jack's entire body sings in symphonies of tingles at the way Adam answers. He can sense the man reacting and it makes Jack's desire skyrocket. Jack looks down again, his lips so close to Adam's chest. He wants him. He wants to do this. He wants Adam… inside of him. Jack is even vaguely aware how he wants it to be, and how it might feel, but he has no idea how he knows this. He's so far out of his comfort zone. He's so nervous. He's so… horny.
Jack's nose brushes over the man's skin. He kisses his collar bone. Against the flesh of his throat, "Can I lick it?" His eyes glance up at the face he can't quite see.
Adam groans with need, retreating just enough to separate their torsos. He knows, should Jack's lips find his gentleman's sword, that there is no turning back. Adam cranes his neck down and fits his forehead against Jack's upturned brow. He presses sincerely. "Jackie… we have to stop. We can't. I could lose my job. You could be disqualified for the scandal. The consequences of this—"
But before he can finish, Jack swiftly shuts him up with a kiss. Jack does not kiss often. He kisses as little as he… well… tries to seduce his boss. So there is no telling as to whether he is good at it or not.
All Jack knows is that he wants Adam, desperately.
He must not be half bad, because Adam kisses back and eventually rolls on top of him. The crushing weight of the grown man's bulk is somehow comforting and highly pleasurable. Jack separates his legs. Adam just barely starts to induce friction between their loins when he suddenly remembers.
"We can't," Adam vows against his lips. Jack's thumbs pinch and rub at his nipples while he gently nibbles on his bottom lip. "Jack," Adam half moans. He wants nothing more than to act on instinct and burry himself inside him. Impious fantasies fill his mind as he wonders how Jack would look covered in sweat and cum, or how vocal he might be… how flexible he is. Shit.
Adam has to stop this. It has to end. He braces his palms on the bed, creating space. "Jack!" Jack stops, staring up at him as if he was struck, with wide, blue, sparkling hues. Adam relents as he watches the light leak out of Jack's expression, replaced with shame as he shrinks inward and averts his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Jack whispers. He starts to quiver again and folds his arms. "I feel so strange. I'm sorry."
Adam watches him. "I want to," he expresses, willing his heart to stop racing.
"You do?" Jack asks, venturing a glance into his face.
Adam eyes him dubiously. "You know I want to." Just to prove it, Adam pushes his groin against Jack's thigh. Jack cracks a smile.
"After Worlds?" Jack asks, starry eyed.
"After Worlds." Adam sinks down between his meaty arms and kisses him.
Jack's sex drive puts on the breaks, decelerating. They settle in beside each other, Jack's head tucked into the crease of Adam's arm. "You want to know something stupid?" Jack whispers as he traces meaningless patterns in Adam's bare skin.
Adam glances down, his head propped up on his other bicep. He waits.
Jack bites at the insides of his cheeks. "If you couldn't tell… I've never had sex before."
Adam chuckles. "You want to know something worse?"
"Yes!" Jack replies excitedly, nestling against him.
Adam sighs dourly. "My middle name is Bunnymund."
"…" Jack sits up, planting his palms on the mattress. "What?!" he exclaims, devolving into a fit of laughter. He tumbles aside, chuckling.
Adam smirks. "Yeah. Laugh it up, Frosty." Adam scoops Jack back into the safety of his arms. Jack feels better here. He nods off quickly and sleeps through the night against Adam's chest. Nothing else visits him in the darkness.
For now.