Born of Cold and Winter Air

Surrender

The coverlet was pulled to her chin. Her breathing came in a soft and even rhythm. Mouth pursed in sleep and brow lax in peaceful reverie, Elsa looked years younger than her true age. Jack felt the dark urge to rip back the bedclothes and wrap his flesh around hers.

We're not doing that.

But you want to...

Of course I want to! But I'm no fucking fool, either. Do that, and to hell with ever getting her to trust me again. As much as her soul is Mjoll, Elsa is still her own free thinking person. I may not have known her long, but given the time I've had watching humans interact, I'd say I'm pretty adept to reading them. She's not ready for any of this quite yet.

As you wish... But we both know it's going to take a little "push".

...
...

Jack?

I heard you!

Stop talking to me, Jokul. It's driving me manic!

Jack carefully reached down and brushed back a stray hair from her face. She didn't stir. Slowly kneeling beside the bed, Jack balanced himself like a cat, careful not to make a noise. Before thinking better of it, he gently pressed his index and middle finger against her exposed temple. He had no experience with such things, but there was a growing sense of confidence building inside.

You don't need to think.

The memory came spilling out like a cascade of fog, enveloping them like a glove. Minds intertwined, one asleep, the other awake; both knit together like the tapestries decorating the walls. Jack was pulled, soul first into a time long lost.

Her laughter filled the room as her body moved as if in a dance. The clang of steel and the scent of sweat filled the space. Their bodies colliding and ricochetting off the other, her hair sticking to her sweat-soaked brow and the way she bit her lower lip in deep concentration made the monster dwelling inside come to his knees. Jokul, dipped to the right, too slow to avoid the sting of cool metal biting into tender flesh. Her eyes blazed with mischief, teeth gleaming in victorious laughter. His fingers curiously prodded the now healing wound and brought them up to eye level; blood coating the pale digits.

"I've killed men for less."

Her face broke into a half sympathetic expression. Dragging her left hand across her forehead, Mjoll let the sword in her right lower. "Shall I kiss it for you?"

His large hand was wrapped around her neck in seconds, his gold eyes boring into her blues. She made no effort to break free, nor did her eyes reflect any hint of fear. Jokul could feel the steadied pulse in the delicate flesh of her throat. His thumb stroked the smooth skin, feeling the dampness of her exertions from swordplay.

"Facetious minstrel...You would do well to remember your unchecked tongue, woman." His mouth was inches from her face. The scent of her filled his senses and sent a fire roaring through his veins.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. "Forgive me, my Lord. I didn't realize we weren't yet past subtleties."

Jokul's hand gently tightened as he pulled her to him, mouth closing over hers. He felt her body tense beneath him and then relax as his grip on her throat released and moved into her wild hair.

Mjoll's hand slackened, sword clashing against the stone floor in a deafening clang of metal. Jokul felt her small hands slide up his chest and cling to his forearms. All his god-like resolve melted as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting the remnants of wine. He felt himself grow dizzy at the feeling of her supple body pressed against his; the response unlike any he had experienced before. No immortal woman had stirred such fires inside him.