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

Rise of the Guardians fanfiction

Pitch/Jack/Pitch, eventually

Disclaimers: Oh. My. God. You guys. You have no idea how sorry I am. Life just went and got majorly in my way the past eight months and I haven't had any time for such trivial things as "having a life" or "doing fun things". Seriously, between working two jobs, a shitton of travel, dealing with the joys of Education... man, it's just not been good, I haven't even been able to write my own stuff, let alone fanfic. And I know people have been waiting for this and I'd be surprised if people are still waiting for this, but for those of you who are, here we go. To make up for the absence... yeah, the entire chapter is The Interesting Part. And it gets smutty. And I don't write a lot of smut so I'm sorry if it's not very good. Sadface.

Chapter Four

"I didn't even say anything."

"You didn't have to."

Jack looked down at the floor again, but this time, it proved to be a mistake. A soft rustling sound was his only warning before he realized that the Nightmare King was quite simply gone. A sound like the hybrid of a gasp and a panicked whine escaped him, stifled down into his chest so it turned to something weak and choked escaping through his nose. He didn't dare move, knowing that attempting to navigate his way out of here would be a terrible idea and without the wind to really carry him, he would be on foot.

On foot, and completely at Pitch's mercy.

That same sound escaped him again as he felt... something behind him. It was a presence, certainly, but while he associated nearness with his fellow guardians or the children whose friendship he had acquired as something akin to warmth, this was far from it. Something solid pressed up against his back and before he had the presence of mind to jump away, two hands like vices gripped his wrists, holding him in place. If he tried to move too far away, he would probably just end up dislocating his shoulders, a fate that could still befall him no matter his guardian status.

"I can only see snatches of dreams, you know," Pitch was saying, and his breath was on Jack's earlobe and suddenly the room was starting to feel hot and he didn't think that was possible, not down here in the Pit of the Nightmare King. He only registered the fact that his left wrist had been released when he felt a cold hand slip beneath his hoodie to press against his abdomen and since when had he found anything cold because even snow was a pleasant temperature against his bare feet-

Pitch's voice pulled him back out of his thoughts, and Jack realized that his left hand was still up and clenching on the air as though it would be able to come up with something to hold onto. "But, well, with that direction you gave me? I could see everything pretty clearly. And that, my dear Winter spirit," and how the hell could someone pack so much hatred into a single word and not send him catapulting away, "tells me that what you had was not a dream, but a nightmare."

A nightmare? Jack thought, but on the heels of that thought came the words that escaped his naturally dry lips in a voice that was almost his own but for the tremor and uncertainty in it. "Of course it was a nightmare," he said, forcing his eyes open halfway and his head to turn at an angle to peer up at the far taller figure. "Can you... even enter dreams, Pitch?"

The dark laugh had his eyes rolling back in his head and his eyelids fluttering shut again, a shiver working its way up his spine as his fingers unclenched before gripping at the air again. "No," Pitch said, and there was no uncertainty in his tone when he spoke. But Jack wasn't certain, despite the words that he had spoken, because he'd had nightmares in the past and none of them made him feel the way that these... whatever they had been made him feel. In fact, he wasn't even positive he knew how they made him feel, just that they weren't altogether unpleasant and he wouldn't mind continuing to have them.

His train of thought vanished in a light gasp as Pitch's hand, palm flat against his abdomen, trailed up to press against his sternum. Long fingers like the legs of a spider splayed out across Jack's skin beneath the dark blue material before slowly beginning to clench. Jack let out a soft hiss as Pitch's nails scraped along his flesh, not deep enough to break the skin but with enough pressure that he knew he would find five lines like a misshapen star even after he had left here. "Frost, you're almost warm," Pitch said, his tone light and conversational and completely at odds with what he was doing. "That's not like you."

"Your... lair," Jack said through clenched teeth, swallowing hard. "It's... hot down here, that's your fault."

Pitch laughed again and Jack opened his eyes at the sound this time, looking back at him. He knew he was being mocked and that thought pissed him off, but it didn't piss him off enough to actually make him want to move or anything to that effect. With a glare that was as icy as he could make it (and even he could tell that there was no way it was as effective as he wanted), Jack lowered his hand to Pitch's forearm and gripped him tightly enough to form indentions on the dark arm wound around his torso. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, his voice low but with a more steady timbre than his previous words.

"It must be so hard on you," Pitch said, shaking his head as his golden eyes glittered with amusement, anger, hatred, and something Jack couldn't place no matter how he focused. Something distant and dark and strangely compelling. "Being trapped that way, I mean."

"What way?" Jack asked with a frown, irritation and genuine confusion warring with each other until they simply swirled into indignation.

Pitch smirked, clearly enjoying this far too much. Jack gripped his arm harder for his trouble, but if it fazed the Nightmare King, there was no evidence of it. "You know, that body. I mean, even being a guardian, you're still human enough to interact with those who are... normal. We're still human enough to not be alien to them, not wholly. If I didn't have a shred of humanity, I wouldn't know what they fear. If you didn't have a shred of humanity, you wouldn't know what they... enjoy."

"What are you getting at?" Jack asked, narrowing his eyes as irritation began edging curiosity out.

Leaning his head forward a bit, Pitch nudged Jack's head to the side with his chin before dropping his face to the Winter spirit's neck. "You still have the body of a teenage boy, hormones and all. And you always will. That has to be hell on you," he murmured, his lips grazing the spot where Jack's pulse was beginning to flutter fast enough that it could be seen. Jack wanted to say something just to prove to Pitch that he was wrong and had no idea what he was talking about, but all he managed was a faint groan as it felt as though his knees were going to buckle.

"You were built for this, anyway."

"What?" Jack asked, all of the force gone from his voice, the distance in it proving all he was trying to do was keep himself focused on the conversation at hand and continue to actually concentrate on it rather than ignore it entirely.

Pitch shook his head, lips brushing the column of Jack's throat and making him shiver. "You're the guardian of... what is it, fun?" he asked, the venom-laced amusement back in his voice and proving that he less than approved of the title. "Many people find recreational sex to be the height of a good time. If you enjoy what is... fun, then of course you would enjoy this."

Jack's expression contorted a bit as he fought for control of himself again, clenching his eyes shut. "I-I'm a guardian of childhood," he managed, his voice strained. "Children... kids don't... they..." He couldn't finish, instead just shaking his head as emphatically as possible.

He couldn't see Pitch's expression, but he could feel his smirk widening slowly. "You know that childhood, technically, continues until you reach the age of eighteen, right? Trust me, there are many 'children' who find much joy in this activity." To emphasize his point, he bit down on the spot his lips had been sensitizing. Jack let out a sound that was almost a scream, but wasn't really, his head falling back on Pitch's shoulder. His right hand clawed at the air as his left hand almost immediately released Pitch's arm enough to move to the back of the hand still pressed to his own chest, pushing it down further.

The moment the contact had been established, it was gone. How Pitch managed to slip through his fingers like that was beyond his understanding, but Jack was suddenly left without anything to hold onto. With his staff having fallen to the ground at some indeterminate time in the past, he found himself on his knees on the floor, one hand clasped firmly over the throbbing, heated mark on his throat. His breath came in short gasps and it was just so damn hot and why was it that Pitch always, always, always had to be right about him?!

Opening one eye, Jack looked up to see a long black robe in front of him and slowly followed the line of the material up to see Pitch standing directly in front of him, looking at him with a questioning look. "I thought you wanted me to stop," he said idly, one eyebrow quirking in amusement as Jack leaned his head back slowly, resisting the urge to groan.

"Why?" he asked slowly, his eyes opening halfway as he stared up at the Nightmare King. "Why are you doing this?"

"What a broad question," Pitch said idly before snapping, and just like that, Jack felt the bottom drop out of his stomach in tandem with the floor dropping out from under him. With a soft flump, he landed among black and red sheets that were too much like those he had dreamed about but different enough to assure him that it wasn't in fact a dream and was that supposed to be a comforting thought? Before he could push himself up into a sitting position or even on his elbows, Pitch was above him, holding him down with knees locked either side of his narrow hips and hands pressing into his forearms to pin his hands beside his head.

As though the interruption hadn't come at all, Pitch tilted his head, eyes glittering with malice, and anger, and something that Jack could only interpret as hunger and didn't that just make absolutely no sense at all? "Do you want to be a bit more specific, Jack?"

Jack swallowed hard enough that he heard the click in his ears so loud he was positive it echoed. "You hate me," he said, the statement one of blunt fact that Pitch conceded with a nod of his head. Jack hadn't been expecting a denial – would have been worried if he had received one – and continued on as though he hadn't even noticed it. "You and I are enemies. If it hadn't been for me you would have succeeded. Why are you doing this?" His voice wasn't strong, but it was steady, and that was all that he could ask for at the moment. "I'm unarmed. Couldn't tell you where my staff is right now. Not enough wind around here to even try to escape from you. Why aren't you killing me?"

Pitch tipped his head back and laughed then, and there was so much genuine amusement in it that Jack was startled into a wide-eyed stare. "Oh, Jack," Pitch said, looking down at him, and Jack felt alarm crawling over him because there was fondness in his name that time, "you should know by now." He shook his head slowly, his lips forming into an actual smile that was more terrifying than any rage-filled stare could have hoped to be. "I always take the method that suits me best, and killing you wouldn't suit me best."

"Then-"

"No," Pitch said, talking over him without letting him continue, "there are far, far worse things than killing you or feeding your hatred for me. There are much better ways that I can use to destroy you, Jack Frost. And do you want to know the best part?" he asked as he shifted, knees sinking into the mattress between the Winter spirit's thighs and forcing them apart. He leaned down, covering Jack's body with his own and brushing his lips along the shell of the younger spirit's ear. With a gasp, Jack arched his back, pressing his chest up into Pitch's as the room became all too hot again so very quickly.

"I have just told you what I am going to do," Pitch murmured, pushing his leg forward in a way that made Jack's vision go hot white and his head fall back into the pillows further. "I am going to destroy you. I am going to ruin you. And there isn't a single thing that you can do about it," he continued, his voice a purr as his leg set up a slow rhythm. Jack twisted his wrists to catch the blankets in his hands, yanking on them as Pitch continued to speak. "But that isn't the best part. The best part, Jack, is that you are going to accept your demise. You are going to welcome it with open... arms." His voice trailed off in a quiet laugh as he jerked his leg once more for emphasis, drawing a strangled sound out of Jack's throat.

"I-I..." Jack trailed off before swallowing hard, shaking his head. "W-won't," he managed to finish, breathing hard.

"You already are." Jack hadn't even seen or heard the black sand approaching until he felt it winding around his wrists, holding his arms in place and freeing Pitch to brace one hand in the mattress, the other pulling his hoodie up to expose his chest. "You are welcoming it, and you're going to keep welcoming it. When we're done here? You'll come back for more. You can't help it, Frost. Don't try and pretend that I'm wrong."

Any protest that Jack would have formed died in a cry as a cold mouth descended on his chest, licking along the red lines created by the nails, lines that could have been created moments or hours or days or years ago for all Jack could keep track of time now. The sand took over with Jack's hoodie, pulling it up over his head and shifting enough to discard it somewhere else in the room. His tattered brown pants were next, and he was barely even aware of them slipping his belt free before they had vanished as well. Considering that Pitch's tongue had found one of his nipples and was rolling it between teeth and lips while the other received mirror treatment from Pitch's thumb and forefinger, he was amazed he could focus on anything at all.

Jack wanted to say something, but all he could manage to choke out was, "God," followed by a far weaker, "Ahn..." as his eyes slid shut and his back arched upwards again. The heat was overwhelming but somehow welcoming all at the same time, and Pitch's body felt so cold against this unrelenting fire that seemed to be coiling within his own skin that he couldn't help but want to bury himself in it. Pitch's free hand moved to grip Jack's hip, sliding his body up into his lap with his back still pressed firmly against the bed.

Rolling his hips as best he could, Jack fought weakly against the sand that was coiled around his wrists. It wasn't tight unless he fought too much, at which point it became more restrictive than painful. Pitch's nails dug into his hip at the same moment that his teeth bit down on the flesh around Jack's nipple. It hurt, both of them did, but it didn't escape him that neither instance broke skin yet again and there was a spark of pleasure that shot up his spine, spiraling with the pain and making him light-headed and dizzy.

He murmured something, and that something might have been Pitch's name, but he was mostly unaware until he felt a cold finger suddenly press into him up to the second knuckle in a place that absolutely no one had ever touched him before. He let out a yelp of surprise that turned into a scream as Pitch hooked said finger and pressed down on... something within his body that made him see stars. He choked and began gasping for air as Pitch started rolling his finger, stroking that same spot over and over again until he felt like he was falling straight through the bed and into an abyss.

"Say it," Pitch purred as he pressed down on that spot again, and Jack was too busy crying out to even ask him what the hell he wanted him to say. "Say it," Pitch repeated, pressing more firmly, and Jack's legs raised so that his knees pressed into Pitch's sides to keep himself at least slightly grounded.

"S... s-say-" Jack began, but his voice was cut off into a choked whimper as a second finger was pressed into him.

"Say it."

The pressure was applied again and Jack tilted his head back, practically screaming Pitch's name as his back arched again and he came hard... and just like that, it was gone. Left shuddering and gasping for breath, Jack closed his eyes and managed to move his hand to drape his wrist across his eyes. He was shaking so badly that he could barely move, and he would have stayed like that forever if he hadn't slowly registered the fact that the bed felt much, much harder than it had a few minutes ago.

His hand slowly moved down from his eyes and he squinted at the fading sunlight above him from where he was lying beside the lake. A cursory glance at his arm proved that he was dressed again, as well, and considering how dizzy he was he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd blacked out. He'd almost have been able to convince himself he'd dreamed the whole thing if there hadn't been that lingering soreness as he slowly sat up, as well as a painful burn across his chest as he reached over and picked up the staff that had been laid so thoughtfully beside him.

Jack's hand was still shaking as he moved it up to scrub down his face, forcing himself to calm down. It was all right. But why the hell had Pitch just dropped him out here? He abandoned the question the moment he had asked it; because it was Pitch, there didn't need to be a better reason. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal and the trembling in his limbs vanished as he allowed himself to attempt to rationalize the things that had just happened. He had been in Pitch's lair for about three hours, judging by the passage of sun, which meant that it would be dark by the time he got back to North's-

His eyes widened slowly as what little color he possessed drained from his face, the cold returning to his body along with a sense of dread. North. Sandy. Tooth. Bunnymund. What the hell had he just done? What had he just allowed Pitch to do?! What was wrong with him?! He could feel his breathing beginning to increase its pace again for an entirely different reason as something akin to panic seized his heart and began crushing it in a tight fist. He was so completely screwed if they found out what had just happened.

...which meant they wouldn't. They couldn't. Pitch wouldn't tell them. Would he? No, of course not- yes, of course he would, so his panic was more than completely justified. Mouthing almost wordlessly, Jack resisted the urge to slam his fist into his own face and figure out how to explain that away. Staggering to his feet with the help of his staff, he took off at a run, jumping to the wind the moment he caught a gust and riding it hard, his mind going a million miles a minute. No matter how he tried to calm himself down, he couldn't.

But there was one thing that was absolutely certain.

Pitch was wrong.

He would never allow that to happen ever again.

So that was a thing that happened in my head and is now finally "on paper". Again, I am so sorry for the wait, you guys, and I know there wasn't a lot of story progression here, but we'll get into the meat of it next time. Well, at least Pitch revealed his Grand Master Plan. And how grand and masterful it is, too.