Author's Note: I was inspired to do this after how much I enjoyed writing Strangers, which you might consider the "companion piece" to this two-parter. Be warned, though: this one is much darker, much more tragic, longer in length, and … well … a tad more, let's say, "explicit" than its older sibling. (It also takes a lot longer to get going, but I hope you stick around through the exposition to reach the gooey, smutty caramel deep inside.) Hope you enjoy.
Acknowledgements: Special thanks to my best friend, who again wrote the beautiful poem below for me as the intro to this story based only on the fever-dream outline of it which I concocted over the course of five minutes during a Skype conversation with her, and to her and another friend (jii-ro on Tumblr) for beta reading this insanity. I couldn't do it without you guys.
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The air will have to settle between us
I long to breathe what clean, untouched, unmingled
Unclouded air is left in this unchaste
Uncertain bed of yours. No longer try
To ravish me. No longer enthral me.
Yours eyes must close. I cannot see that
Each pupil widens every time I speak.
My body runs so hot and blushes red.
So inflicted it is by fever caused
From your soft mosquito touch. So stop!
Let ice from my rejections cool my veins.
Let resting heartbeats take over my love.
So fiery love decomposes flesh and bone
From embraces born in septic passion.
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She's looking at the man standing in front of her, and she's certain she seems attentive, and modest, and appealing all at once—even though she's not really there.
This one's nice, Elsa—at least give him a chance.
She smiles, thinking he said something witty, probably, since he's laughing nervously—not that she actually knows, though, since she hasn't been listening at all.
How many suitors have you had this year? Seven? Eight? Well, maybe this one's lucky number nine.
She holds back a grey chuckle, and that's best, really, since he now looks serious again, and he's leaning on her father's old desk with one hand and gesturing about something with the other—but mostly, she only notices his first hand, because it's leaning on her father's desk, and she almost frowns.
Besides, he's got it made, if you know what I mean. And being allied with Madris wouldn't hurt.
He hasn't noticed her staring at his hand, because he proceeds to lean his full weight on that same desk, and then touches her father's globe, and comments with a slightly surprised look that it's out of date, and would the queen like a new one?
YOU ARE READING
Fractures
Fanfiction[Frozen; Hans x Elsa; 5 years post-film; 2-parter.] "No one was getting anywhere with her.” She thought, five years later, that she could forget those words; but time doesn’t heal all wounds, and love doesn’t thaw every frozen heart.
