It's Dark; It's Cold; It's Winter

Rise of the Guardians fanfiction

Pitch/Jack/Pitch, eventually

Disclaimers: So, to explain the title because I didn't in the last chapter, I totally ripped it off from the Sleepmakeswaves song of the same name, which is what I am using for inspiration for this fic. If you're into instrumental music, I highly suggest checking them out, as they are absolutely amazing. Anyway, I've gotten enough kind words to think that continuing on may be a good idea, so here we go. (It's also two in the morning, almost, and I don't make my best decisions at two in the morning, but hopefully this will be... not... one of them I forget where I was going with that statement.)

Chapter Two

He had seen many different things in his memories in the past year, and so many of them seemed to revolve around the small lake that rested just outside his mortal home. It was a little ironic, he supposed, that he had ended up drowning in that same lake; then again, he wasn't really one to believe in coincidence anymore.

This memory started the same way that many of his other memories had. He remembered seeing the boy that Jackson (even knowing they were the same person, Jack couldn't see it that way, so he always referred to him as Jackson mentally) was now pulling through trees in previous memories. His name was-

"Come on, Nathan," Jackson laughed, looking back over his shoulder at the other male. Jack realized that this was the first time he had actually seen Nathan in a memory where Jackson was older. He was tall, his wavy black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his piercing green eyes were constantly half-lidded with a look of taxed amusement. "We have to hurry before anyone notices we're gone."

It was late, but the moon shone so brightly overhead that it didn't really matter that the sun wasn't out and neither boy held a lantern. Jack knew, instinctively, that this was from the Autumn of the year he drowned, and he realized with a small pang of melancholy that this was in the last few months of his life. He pushed that thought aside as curiosity overtook him, and closer inspection nearly made him die laughing in his own head.

The two boys were both drunk, that much was obvious. Jackson stumbled against a tree, his hand still gripping Nathan's sleeve, and the other boy swayed as his smile widened a little. "Jack," he mumbled, "you're going to break your skull open one day."

"Nah," Jackson said with a grin as he slumped against the tree fully, his head tipping back until it hit the bark with a soft thud. "That was fun, though, wasn't it?"

"Old Man Smith is going to kill us if he finds out we got into his home brew."

"I know, right?" The two of them looked at each other with broadened smiles, and Jack himself was oddly delighted. He had known for a long time, after all, that he wasn't exactly the purest being on the face of the planet, but it was still good to know that he had turned into something of a good role-model after what he had been.

Nathan's hand had moved to rest against the bark of the tree beside Jackson's head and he swayed again, letting out a soft groan. "I am never... ever... ever letting you talk me into anything ever again," he said sincerely, trying and failing to use his breathing to steady him. "I seriously feel like I could fall over and die right about now."

Jackson laughed quietly, using the tree as his own support as one hand moved to his friend's shoulder, steadying him. "You promised."

"You sure this is a good idea?"

"Have I ever had a bad one?"

"Have you ever had a good one?"

"S'just mean," Jackson slurred just slightly with a lopsided grin. Leaning up, he nudged Nathan's nose with the tip of his own, his voice changing ever so slightly to a deeper register. "Come on. I saw Lark and Sam the other day. I'm curious."

"Couldn't you be curious with a girl or something?" Nathan asked as his eyes fell shut, though he leaned into the weird caress regardless of his words. He smiled a bit as he heard Jackson's scoff of annoyance, though it clearly wasn't enough for either boy to move away from each other.

"I could, but it wouldn't be the same," Jackson said with a frown. "They were both boys-"

"I'm almost positive they still are."

"And," Jackson said just a little louder, overriding the interruption, "it wouldn't be the same with a girl and... a guy as it would with two guys, right?"

Sighing quietly, it was Nathan's turn to nuzzle Jackson with the tip of his nose, but his target seemed to be his friend's cheek instead. "Bible says s'wrong."

"Don't care," Jackson said, shaking his head slowly. "Bible says s'wrong to steal, too. Did that. Just now."

Nathan opened his mouth to form another protest, but whatever he was about to say was silenced rather effectively by Jackson pressing his lips to the other male's, his arms winding around his shoulders slowly. Nathan kept his eyes closed and gripped the tree with his other hand to maintain his balance, a soft, muffled sound escaping his chest that may or may not have been a combination between a groan and a sigh. Their mouths parted enough that Jackson's tongue was visible as it slid into Nathan's mouth, earning another soft sound from the taller male as his hands left the tree to find purchase on Jackson's waist.

The next few minutes were a rush of rustled clothing, gasps, sighs, murmured apologies, quiet confirmations, and moans muffled into the caverns of each other's mouths. One of Jackson's hands wound into Nathan's shirt tight enough to pop a seam. One of Nathan's hands dug into Jackson's hip hard enough to bruise. Though clothing hadn't been actually removed, considering both had their free hands down the front of each other's pants, there was really no question at all as to what they were doing. Jackson moaned deeply as his hips jerked forward erratically, his head tipping back and giving Nathan the opportunity to lean forward and mouth at his throat.

It didn't take long at all, but on the other hand, it had felt like a small eternity. Most of the drunken haze gone from their eyes, the two boys exchanged glances, both of them looking away as nervous, uncertain smiles formed on their lips.

The memory ended the next moment and Jack found himself sitting on the ledge of the Tooth Palace, his eyes wide as he stared at the colorful diamond patterns on top of the tube in his hands. Slowly, he moved his hand up to rub his forehead and was a little disturbed to see that he was shaking slightly. Quickly, he shoved the tube back into place, grabbed his staff, and took off before Toothiana could find him and ask him what was wrong.

There was a very, very important aspect to being a Guardian, and that aspect was purity.

Jack Frost was a lot of things. He was impulsive, sarcastic, often rude, evasive, mischievous, teasing, irresponsible, unprofessional, rash, nosy, demanding... there was not a list long enough to hold all of Jack's negative qualities, but for all of that, he was not impure.

The thoughts that had entered Jack's mind since seeing that memory were anything but pure.

Now, to be fair, Jack wasn't exactly naïve. He knew what sex was and he knew how it occurred, it just wasn't something he usually went out of his way to think about for many reasons. He was a Guardian, first and foremost, and he didn't really have time for the kind of relationship that would be required for such an activity. For another thing... it had always struck him as being a necessity for reproduction, something he would never have to worry about. A man and a woman would... do that thing, and then they'd have a baby, and then they were done.

Right?

That in and of itself was why he found the memory so fascinating, though he would never actually admit such a thing. They were both male. There had been no real reason for it. So why had they done it? And, for the love of all that was good and decent, why was he still thinking about it?

And if the memory playing over in his head hadn't been bad enough, it had soon evolved into the dreams.

It wasn't as though Jack had never dreamed of Pitch before. He had, several times, and the first time it had disturbed him, so much so that he had gone to Sandy to ask him about it. Over the years, Jack had managed to learn the intricate language of the sand images the little man communicated in, or as he called it, Sandskrit. (Yes, he was aware of what a horrible pun that was, but it amused both Sandy and North, so he kept the name.) He had told him that dreams were basically your mind's way of sifting through all of the information that it held, and that it was totally natural for just about anything to show up in your dreams. It didn't matter that it had been years since Pitch's defeat: he would return in dreams occasionally for Jack, just as he did for everyone else. It didn't mean anything was wrong.

That was fine, he could handle that.

What he couldn't handle were the dreams of Pitch that had started after he had witnessed the memory.

Muttering under his breath, Jack paced back and forth in his room, staff in one hand (for no particular reason) and forehead in the other. He was thankful, suddenly, for the lock on his door; the last thing that he needed was for an elf to wander in and start focusing on him with one of those unnerving, wide-eyed stares that seemed capable of going on for just about forever, silently asking him what was wrong without actually saying anything until he invariably snapped.

Five steps one way, heel, turn, five steps back, heel, turn, repeat. He could keep this up for forever, really, his mind working overtime to determine just what exactly was wrong with him. The fact that he was leaving ice behind in his path as he paced was probably a good thing, since it meant that he wouldn't actively be wearing a hole in the wooden floor. Still, though, he was going to have to come to terms with this eventually, and then he was going to have to come out of his room. He couldn't just-

"Jack Frost?"

Startled, Jack dropped his hand from his forehead and stared straight forward, though the voice had come from behind him. His room was gone. More importantly, his staff was gone. Before him sprawled the seemingly infinite ebony of a lair he had been to twice in his waking life and more than he could count in dreams. He turned at the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps and immediately began backing up, though he didn't take more than three steps before he found himself flat against a smooth obsidian wall. Hadn't he been in the middle of the room when he had first turned around?

Not that such a thing really mattered at the moment. It was hard to think of petty details like the world warping itself around you when you had Pitch Black staring you down with an undisguised malice, hatred, anger... and something else, something just slightly off that Jack had never seen in his gaze before. He didn't flinch away from ash-skinned hands that moved to the wall either side of his head, nor from the tall, lean frame that loomed over him, glaring him down.

In a normal situation, Jack would have fought, would have ducked under his hands to get away, anything but just stood there and stared up at him. He took a slow breath, his tongue darting out to wet his upper lip, and mumbled, "Hello, Pitch," in a voice he was quite unaccustomed to using at all, much less around his enemy.

Unfazed, Pitch narrowed his eyes and leaned in slightly closer, an act that would have been purely intimidation if it wasn't for the something else Jack could still see in his eyes. "And what does Jack Frost think he's doing here," he began, spitting his name as though it were a vile curse, "coming into my home after all of these years? Do you think I am so weak you can defeat me single-handedly?"

"No," Jack said in the same voice, shaking his head slowly. "That's not why I'm here."

"Then why have you come?"

Slowly, Jack's hands moved from where they had pressed against the wall to Pitch's chest, small swirls of frost spreading out from his fingertips across the Nightmare King's cloak. He tipped his head back a bit to better meet the golden-gray gaze boring into him and he took a slow breath, shaking slightly on the exhale. "I thought about your offer."

"My offer," Pitch repeated dully, as though he had no idea what he was talking about, though realization crossed his face the next second. "Have you, now, Jack...?"

"Yes," the Winter spirit said with a slow nod, his eyes dropping halfway shut. "It's not so wrong of me to reconsider, is it?"

One of Pitch's hands slid down the wall so that it was braced beside Jack's waist instead, bringing the tall figure down further to better facilitate eye contact between the two of them. There was something replacing the anger in his eyes now, and Jack recognized it as confusion. "No," the Nightmare King murmured, still looking at Jack as though he had never really seen him before. "No, there is nothing wrong with that."

Jack's right hand slowly moved up Pitch's cloak, leaving thin swirls of frost behind, to move to the nape of his neck. Pitch didn't seem to mind the cold, though the invitation was taken with a soft growl. The two met in a nearly violent clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, Pitch's hand moving to Jack's waist to grip him, Jack's leg moving up around Pitch's hips to pull him closer. Pressed as he was against the taller spirit's solid weight and the wall, it was easy for Jack to move his other leg up as well, both arms winding around Pitch's shoulders for purchase.

When Pitch stepped forward, grinding against him, Jack broke the kiss in favor of letting his head fall back, a low groan escaping him. It turned into a sharp gasp as teeth found his throat, biting down hard enough to send a shock through his spine, but all it did was wrench a loud moan from him that echoed off the walls of the cavernous lair.

Pressing back into Pitch's grinding motions drew a hiss from the Nightmare King, and hearing that made Jack smirk before he leaned forward, cold breath brushing his earlobe as he spoke. "Not the wall, Pitch," he murmured softly.

The request was heeded, though how they moved from where they had been to where they ended up without becoming disentangled was completely beyond Jack's comprehension. He fell back among soft, black and red sheets, one hand coming up to fist the material beside his head and his feet bracing on the mattress, knees up and legs spread as he stared up at Pitch. They were only separate for a moment before Pitch fell upon him, hands moving up beneath his worn blue hoodie, knees pressing into the mattress and making it dip and sway under both of their weight. Jack pushed the cloak from Pitch's shoulders with a practiced ease he shouldn't have held, the material falling away and disappearing into the shadows of the room. His hoodie was ripped from him and discarded, and when sharp teeth found his chest, teasing sensitive skin, he didn't bother to hold back his cry.

The darkness swayed around them, and the frost swirled beneath them as the two of them moved together, first in a rhythm, then in a frenzy.

And then, Jack Frost woke up.

He woke up with a force that sent him shooting upwards into a sitting position, his eyes flying wide as his breath caught in his throat. Swallowing hard, he looked around his room, his chest rising and falling erratically as he felt his heart beating against his rib cage hard enough he thought it might have been trying to escape. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down, but it wasn't doing any good, and a glance downward could tell him why. Pressing his hand against the bulge between his legs, he groaned softly, raising his hand to bite the heel of it and muffle the noise. In the time since he had been having these dreams, he had learned that ignoring it sometimes just made it worse, and unlike humans, he couldn't will it away with cold; finding something cold enough to have that effect on him was almost impossible.

Fumbling with the fastening of his belt, then his pants, Jack took his member in hand and bit down harder on his flesh to stifle a groan. Unable to think of anything but the dream anyway, he began stroking himself quickly, his thoughts focused on the almost-real sensations, the almost-real pleasure the dream had provided him. He didn't last long, leaning back slightly as his hips jerked to thrust into the circle of his own hand. He fell backwards again, his chest heaving once more, and moved his other hand from his mouth to examine the damage he had created this time.

He winced at the deep grooves his teeth had pushed into his flesh, but he knew they would go away easily; he hadn't bitten hard enough to bruise, at least, and explaining a bite bruise there was more than he really wanted to have to deal with. He laid on his bed until he could calm down, and then he cleaned himself up quickly, his thoughts slowing down enough to actually think coherently.

The dreams still disturbed him, but honestly, it was less the content of the dreams themselves and more the fact that he wasn't repulsed in the slightest by them. Maybe repulsed by himself for not being repulsed, but that was a different point entirely. What disturbed him the most was the fact that he was completely okay, it seemed, with probably the most hedonistic, impure act he could possibly commit as a Guardian, an act that he wanted to replicate in real life.

He wanted to have sex with Pitch. He didn't even know why Pitch, and he didn't know why he wanted him so badly, but he did. The dreams said as much, and thoughts of the Nightmare King were beginning to infiltrate his every waking moment.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He needed to talk to someone. Badly. For all his faults, however, Jack was not an idiot and he knew that talking to anyone about this in too specific of detail was asking for trouble. He needed to come up with a way to phrase it to raise the least possible amount of suspicion while still getting the answers that he sought.

He wanted Pitch. But he still wanted his Guardianship. What did that say about him?

Taking his staff in his hand, he carefully left his room and immediately ducked beneath a yeti, sidestepping a small line of elves as he searched for his quarry. He heard the singing behind a large closed door, took a deep breath, and raised his hand to knock.

"Hey, North. I want to talk to you. You busy?"

Nothing wrong with a little emotional trauma, right? Right. Don't worry, other stuff will be more... descriptive? Yes, descriptive when we get to the "oh god this is really happening" and not just what Jack's limited knowledge is trying to provide for him. Hope everyone's still enjoying the story! Let me know what you think.