Change of Seasons

I kicked the doors to her private chambers open. The room was a testament to her isolation. It was vast, open to the elements on one side where a balcony overlooked the frozen world, and filled with furniture sculpted from clear, hard ice. The bed in the center was a massive slab of diamond-frost, draped with sheets made of woven snow. It was beautiful, sterile, and impossibly cold.

"It's freezing in here," I noted, my voice echoing off the crystalline walls.

"I don't feel the cold," Elsa whispered, still clinging to my neck, her face buried in the fur of my collar. "I never have."

"You will," I promised. "You're going to feel everything."

I walked to the bed. I didn't lay her down gently. I dropped her. Elsa gasped as her back hit the ice mattress. Usually, she would blend into it, but now, having soaked up my heat, the ice felt shocking against her skin. She flinched, arching her back, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface.

I stood over her. The contrast must have been striking. She was a creature of winter, pale skin, platinum hair, a dress that shimmered like a frozen waterfall. I was the invader, dark clothes, radiating a visible aura of heat that distorted the air around me.

"Your dress," I said, looking down at the intricate bodice of ice-silk. "It's in the way."

Elsa looked down, clutching the fabric. "It's part of me. I made it. It protects me."

"It's armor," I corrected. "And the war is over."

I reached down. I didn't look for buttons. It was magic; it responded to will. I placed my hands on her hips. The heat of my palms seared through the magical fabric. Hiss. Elsa cried out, a sharp intake of breath, as the ice-structure of the dress began to fail. Where my hands touched, the silk didn't tear; it melted. The magical weave turned into water, soaking her skin, turning the fabric translucent.

"You're destroying it," she panicked, trying to cover herself.

"I'm changing the season, Elsa."

I gripped the bodice and ripped it open. It didn't sound like tearing cloth; it sounded like shattering glass. The ice disintegrated, falling away in shards that turned to puddles before they hit the bed. I stripped her. I peeled the frost from her body like I was unearthing a statue. The cape, the sleeves, the heels, I tore it all away with the heat of The Solar Zenith coursing through my veins.

Within seconds, the Ice Queen was laid bare, a masterpiece of winter stripped of her defenses. She lay shivering on the melting slab, her skin possessing a translucence that bordered on the supernatural, faint blue veins mapping the cold blood beneath the alabaster surface. The dissolved remains of her dress clung to her like a second skin, a slick, viscous glaze that made her entire body glisten in the light. Her breasts were heavy for her small frame, perfect globes of white marble, heaving violently with every jagged breath, topped with nipples that had turned a deep, bruised purple, frozen buds protruding sharply, begging for heat. Her stomach was impossibly flat, a snowy plain leading to hips that flared with a sinful, breeding width. Her legs were endless, smooth pillars of ice clamped tight in a futile attempt at modesty, tapering down to feet of pristine, porcelain perfection. Her high arches were tensed, straining against the slick ice mattress, while her delicate toes curled inward in a spasm of helpless sensation. She was a vision of frozen purity, trembling and exposed.

She tried to cross her arms, to hide her nudity. "Don't look," she pleaded, turning her face away. "I'm not... I'm not made for this. I'm cold. I'm too cold."

"You are perfect," I growled.

I stepped back from the bed. I shrugged off my black coat, letting it drop to the wet floor with a heavy thud. My shirt followed, ripped open and discarded. My boots and trousers were next. When I stood naked before her, the air around me shimmered. My skin wasn't just warm; it was radiating a visible haze of heat. Muscles corded with solar power, my body looked like it was forged from bronze and fire, a stark, dark contrast to her blinding white frailty. Steam curled off my shoulders, and my cock stood hard and heavy, pulsating with a feverish warmth that made the nearby ice weep.

Elsa, her face still turned away, heard the heavy thud of the boots and the rustle of fabric. Despite her terror, despite the lifetime of discipline that told her to conceal and withdraw, the woman inside the Queen couldn't resist. She peeked. Through the screen of her wet lashes, she watched me stand before her. She saw a tower of bronze muscle wreathed in visible waves of heat. Her sapphire gaze traveled down my chest, over my abs, and froze on my groin.

My cock stood proud, impossibly large, pulsating with a rhythmic, solar glow that actually distorted the air around it. Elsa’s breath hitched in a sharp, audible gasp. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the golden, throbbing light of the weapon. She had never seen a man naked, let alone something like that. It looked like it would destroy her, yet it radiated the very fire she was starving for. She squeezed her eyes shut instantly, a violent flush of pink rushing up her neck to her cheeks, but the image was already burned into her mind. She was terrified, but she was already wet.

I climbed onto the bed. The ice groaned under my weight. My knees left deep indentations in the mattress as the surface melted on contact. I crawled over her, caging her in. The heat radiating from me was intense now. It trapped us in a pocket of steam. Water dripped from her, pooling around her body.

"Look at me, Elsa."

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I can't. If I let go... if I feel... the storm gets worse."

"No," I said, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the pillow of snow above her head. "The storm happens when you hold it in. When you let it out... that's just weather."

I lowered my body onto hers. Contact. Elsa screamed, a raw, guttural sound of shock. My burning chest pressed against her freezing breasts. My warm stomach hit her icy navel. My heavy, heated thighs **** her cold legs apart. It was thermal shock. Fire meeting Ice.

Her body convulsed, trying to reject the invasion, but the pleasure was instantaneous. The heat felt like life. It felt like a heartbeat restarting. "It burns!" she sobbed, thrashing beneath me. "It's too hot!"

"Get used to it," I whispered into her ear, biting the lobe.

I ground my hips against hers. She gasped, her hips snapping up to meet mine instinctively. Friction. Warmth. Pressure. "You're melting," I told her, running a hand down her wet, slippery side. "You're turning into water, Elsa. And I'm going to swim in you."

I moved my hand between her legs. She was freezing down there, a fortress of ice. But as my fingers brushed her entrance, I felt the change. She was dripping wet. Not just from the melted dress, but from her own body reacting to the intrusion.

"Please," she whimpered, tossing her head, her wet hair fanning out like a halo. "I don't know what this is. I don't know what to do."

"You don't do anything," I said, positioning myself at her entrance. "You just endure the thaw."