When he had woken from the nightmares that night, it had been much like stepping out of your bed without putting any clothes at all on. With nothing but his skin he'd walked out of the cave, naked, bare, devoid of masks and shields. Every breath went straight to his heart, every smile came from his soul. Without its glacial weight upon his shoulders he felt light, like the dust stirred by the wind, and every thing he did, every thing he felt, was genuine. Deep. All the little quirks, sign of life, would otherwise have been smothered, controlled, willed out of existence — but now, he was quivering, ever so slightly, as the night wind touched his wet skin. It stole the very warmth out of him, and he'd barely been aware of vocalizing the slight discomfort. Her voice slipped into the darkness, and his own ears pricked forward. A small, amused smile curved his lips. Only a fool would think the Ice King was literally a king of ice, wasn't that so? Frostheart, not Frozen Heart, though the latter could certainly be applied after a fashion. Slowly his smile grew a little lopsided, but he gave no voice to the thought which answered her.

You melted me.

In a way it was a sobering thought, though he did not let it ruin his relaxed, released state of mind — only paused for a moment to look at her again, to wonder what had happened, or where it had begun. When she caught him unaware? Or when the subject had turned deeper, into souls? He didn't want to spoil it by over-thinking, wanted to just run with the moment for once, and decided that it had been something gradual, two sparks in time suddenly running as tangents towards the future. It was not the nervous warmth of love, but something which was growing headier. His pause lasted for a moment longer as he felt inside himself, searching, looking, for a connection, something that went deeper than the skin. A bridge for the future, a bond, some kind of foundation for a friendship: he couldn't know her mind, but part of him felt that the words they had exchanged on this night would not be forgotten. That they would not ignore one another once the sun rose. Releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding he suddenly found himself by her side, invited by the slight extension of her muzzle. He shifted slightly, leaning a little closer to her, to touch his wet hip to hers — to feel the strange blend of hot and cold.

She threaded her head beneath his neck, and he angled his head, glimpsing the wet white lying upon her red, her face out of sight. Warm breath brushed against his chest, followed by her black nose again, and he blinked a few times, wondering why his heart picked up pace at it.. why his skin felt flush and warm. Lowering his own head, he gently brushed his muzzle against the curve of her curled neck, making the touch very light on purpose. "You're so cold, but you feel alive," she murmured, and he smiled in the dark, knowing that she couldn't see, nor the glimmer in his muted eyes, but knowing that she could feel the hum of a small laugh. "You make me feel alive," he answered her quietly, one side warm, one side cold. Pulling back his lips he reached for her skin again, arching his alabaster neck around hers, carefully grooming her with little gentle bites. In his chest, his heart kept its slightly higher pace, but it was steady still, and each breath of cold air felt almost like it shivered when he drew it in, feeding something he wasn't at all sure what it was.. knowing only that he wanted this moment to last.

Mauja Frosthjärta