The darkness crawled across them like a blanket; their bare bodies warm, sweating, hard and breathless. The air was thick and musky, heavy with heat and desire.
Though through the darkness, ice crept steadily outward from the source, extending and consuming everything in its path in a thick, pure layer of lush, beautiful snow.
A disembodies moan echoed from somewhere amidst the shroud of darkness, filling the Nightmare Kingdom with cries of lusty aspirations. Slick, grey skin moved easily over alabaster flesh; lovely red and purple marks marred both men’s bodies—some the result of fingertips clutching too hard or too deep, others from teeth just barely managing not to break skin. Lips were tugged, sucked and bitten red until nothing but gasps of need and want could be heard.
Pitch remained between Jack’s slender thighs, hips rocking against bare, boney protrusions rhythmically—pleasantly. Hissing and moaning became a form of currency, traded with cravings that had been ignored for far too long.
“Pitch,” Jack moaned, elongating the Nightmare King’s name slowly. His nails digging gullies into the back of perfectly grey skin.
The Nightmare King didn’t mind, though. He craved it; the feeling of Jack Frost beneath him, withering with every thrust, every smooth finish and split seed. He swallowed up Jack’s every sigh and shiver. See, Jack was lithe and just but Pitch never let him get too carried away; controlling the pace with every punishing, vicious roll of his hips. The slick smacking of skin on skin resounded with deep, guttural growls—but the darkness would never tell.
The night slid by in one long, beautifully brutal memory of hot breath and slick skin; bitten-back moans and the constant, throbbing, aching of flesh meeting flesh. Jack’s eyes closed tightly, his back arching up as his last moan was choked off in the back of his throat. “Jack,” Pitch groaned wantonly—the clenching of Jack around him drove Pitch crazy—his release completely stripped from him as Jack moaned lowly—he released all over their stomachs—and pressed himself closer to the base of Pitch’s very being, grinding slowly against the King’s throbbing member. Jack took his time in soaking up every last inch of Pitch Black inside him.
Pitch panted, his breast rising and falling rapidly while the sweat rolling from his masculine chest dripped onto the body beneath him. Jack claimed his mouth repeatedly, tugging at his already raw lips.
“Jack, you are pleasantly satisfying.” Pitch mumbled against his partner’s lips. He pulled away from Jack’s mouth slightly, running a hand through the boys winter white hair and clutching a handful of strands at the base of his head, yanking Jack’s crown back and exposing his pale, perfect neck.
Jack hissed when Pitch’s teeth claimed the freshly bruised skin of his jugular, leaving lovely teeth marks down to his collarbone and back up again. “Wait,” Jack begged, feeling Pitch harden inside him once more, “I’m sore, Pitch.” He was nearly inaudible with embarrassment.
Pitch growled, but hesitantly removing himself from Jack’s warm, smooth entrance. Jack groaned, pouting, suddenly feeling rather empty. The King merely chuckled lowly at the Winter’s desperation, bowing his head in exhaustion. Jack leaned up, his elbows holding most of his weight as he sighed. A smile tugged mischievously at the corner of his peach colored lips as he stole a soft kiss from the Boogeyman’s raw lips. Pitch tried to hid his fatigued smile, but all he could do was rest his body atop Jack’s. His arms folded across the Winter’s chest lightly while they rested, gaining their breath and composing themselves.
The darkness swooned with Pitch’s every satisfied breath. Jack placed a gentle hand on the man’s damp back, drawing circles with his fingertips. Could this be? Jack thought lovingly, smiling down at the exalted King. The snow glistened with every flourishing strand of love Jack felt creeping leisurely into his heart.
Jack hummed while they lay tangled together, on a bed of snow and shadow. Pitch simply enjoyed laying his head on the boys’ chest and listening to his wild heartbeat pounding within his breast.
Peace—thought Pitch, placing a kiss on Jack’s collarbone—doesn’t the boy know anything about peace? His teeth grazed the pale skin just light enough to be mistaken for goose bumps. Jack shivered, bemused. Jack is everything the Nightmare King has ever yearned for; ever ached for—mischievous light, fulfilling love, grace.
Jack grins at him with all his pearly white teeth—and oh, is this a ruptured ventricle? Pitch felt his heart ache and crumble with every
sense of longing beneath his very skin, thriving in every bone. But he breathed, trying to control himself. He buried his head in his arms as his muscles cried out with soreness at every small, tedious movement.
Jack Frost continued to draw circles on the grey skinned man’s back. Pitch reveled in the feeling of Jack’s soft touches and the feel of the body remaining under him. “Have I proved myself yet?” Jack asked, a sardonic tone to his voice.
Pitch scoffed as he pushed his upper body up slowly, glancing around to see the beautiful disaster of snow and shadow, writhing together on the Kingdom floor, mirroring their masters. Jack Frost looked about, smiling absentmindedly.
How lovely, Jack thought, the monsoon darkness and ice could create out of passion.
“Perhaps.” Pitch muttered, a sneer tugging relentlessly at the corner of his lips.
Golden-grey eyes watched the boy casually move from beneath him to a standing position, admiring the raw red marks across his shoulders and neck, wrists and hips and so much more. All mine, thought the Nightmare King, satisfied.
Shades receded to the shadows around the Kingdom, pulling away from Pitch himself and leaving him exposed to the grey light and plush snow beneath them. His heart skipped beats as Jack turned to look at him over his shoulder.
He smiled, and Pitch marveled in those upturned lips. “Tell me how you destroyed all the Nightmares, Boogeyman.” Jack teased, his brow cocked in genuine curiosity.
Pitch’s shoulders tilted, shrugging. He reached for a shadow, pulling it over his lithe form and letting it fall around his feet as he stood and straightened up. “I had this thought,” Pitch’s lips hung loosely as he spoke, “it was a powerful one. I used it to summon up the rest of my energy and I just—“ his hands rose upwards like claws, black sandy darkness swirling around in his palms, clawing up his fingertips and then his slender frame shook with a dark energy that glowed softly against the ever present snow; like motor oil on water.
Jack was fascinated by the darkness swirling so powerfully around them—like they were trapped in the middle of some devastating hurricane. His eyes grew wide with amazement, watching Pitch becoming so enthralled with his powers that it shook the Kingdom; just as the cave had shook. Jack cackled with amusement and wonder.
But Pitch simply sighed joyously and willed the shadows away, bringing his limbs back down to his side as the darkness fell and crept back to the corners. He shrugged again, “—they were gone when I opened my eyes.”
Jack Frost mulled the thought over in his head, trying the wrap his mind around the concept. "So," he started off slowly, "basically your power came from some powerful thought, like, what? A happy thought?" He questioned, brows furrowed together in confusion.
Pitch nodded once, firmly.
Jack reached for his staff and tapped it on the ground lightly. A pale stretch of translucent moonlight creeps across the room from Jack’s outstretched staff, and inch by inch, Pitch’s domain of nightmares was slowly consumed by more and more ice and then, just for Pitch’s amusement, long, sharp icicles hung from the ever present upwardly down staircase.
Pitch loved the ascents, a raspy laugh coming forth from his throat, turning into a chortle. For a moment, Jack thought Pitch would destroy it all, but before he could stop him, Pitch was touching a pillar covered in a thick layer of the frozen water and combining his darkness with the ice; twisting and warping the ice into beautifully architected monuments. The wave of darkness attacked the ice again and again; bending it to a completely different shape every time; adding textures and definition.
Jack laughed in disbelief, revealing in the beautiful interior of their combined creation. Pitch loved that laugh and committed it to memory, striding over to Jack’s side once more. He curled his slender fingers just above the boys’ collarbone, whispering sensually into the boy’s ear; “we could be great together.”
“Yes.” Jack breathed back.
Pitch felt his soul pulling towards the Winter, bending at the waist to place a kiss at his neck.
“What was your powerful thought?” Jack teased, though impressed with the workings of the Boogeyman’s imagination, his thoughts became fuzzy with Pitch’s lips at his neck. Jack had to lock his knees in place to prevent him from loosing his balance and crumbling beneath the Nightmare King once more.
“You.” Pitch says without hesitation.
Jack is in disbelief, turning quickly to face the Boogeyman. He searches the man’s blank face for a hint of a lie—but finds nothing; nothing at all. Golden grey eyes soften as his hand finds Jack’s jaw, his thumb drawing careful circles along his cheek.
“My only thoughts are of you, Jack Frost.” Pitch Black professes softly, and Jack Frost believes him.
The Winter kisses the King of Nightmares passionately, furiously hard. They’re breathless and desperate, clinging righteously to each other as if this is the last time they’ll ever see one another. Two hearts rupture within separate ribcages, spilling over with shadow and ice, rapidly building and becoming one; covering a palace in terrifyingly beautiful sculptures.
Children will be drawn dangerously close to such lovely creations, won’t they? The globe could flicker to life with dreams of Guardians, or drown in a river of terrifying fear; either way, Jack Frost didn’t care, so long as a shadow remains.
“We could be great together.” Jack mutters against the lips of a King.
How beautiful—Pitch thought, pulling away and starring down at the only thing he’ll ever truly cherish—the monsoon ice and darkness could create when there is finally something to cling onto.
And they are a powerful storm, indeed.