[rd][fic][Rise of the Guardians] Hierogamy 1/?

[sakon76]

Hierogamy, part 1: You Give Me Fever
by K. Stonham
first released 23rd January 2013

"Anything I can get for you, man?" his roommate asked for what had to be the fifth time.

Jamie Bennett unburrowed himself enough to glare blearily in David's direction. "No. Leamme alone, I wanna die."

David, to his credit, looked as concerned as amused.

"Go to class," Jamie told him through a throat that felt like a cheese grater. "And don't catch this crud from me."

"You got it. I've got a study group after, so don't wait up."

"Nnn," Jamie said noncommittally, and closed his eyes again. David went out into the hall; the door shutting seemed abnormally loud, and Jamie could track his footsteps all the way to the staircase at the end of the hall. He drifted back to sleep after that.

He woke again some time later, overheated. He struggled against his comforter - when did it get so damn heavy? - and managed to get free of it. The lack of its heat felt so good. Jamie closed his eyes again in relief.

Ugh, his jammies were sweated through. He plucked at the damp fabric, then painfully managed to divest himself of the shirt and trousers. All his muscles ached. Even his hair hurt, which he hadn't thought possible. But when he was done, he laid back down on his bed, and being naked felt even better, little swirls of air moving against his body.

He fell asleep again.

And then woke again, dizzy and burning up.

It was so hot. Why was the room so hot? He needed cold. He needed the winter air. Jamie fell out of his bed, took a moment to recover, then crawled over to the window. He was shaky as he pulled himself up the wall, and he fumbled twice with the latch before managing to open it.

The winter breeze, redolent of snow, was like a balm. Jamie stood there, leaning heavily against the wall, for long minutes, his body shuddering with heat. When his legs finally threatened to give out, he stumbled back to his bed, managing to collapse on it. Jamie's eyes prickled with tears. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home, where his family would coddle him and his mother knew to leave the window open.

Miserable and feverish, he closed his eyes.

* * *

The third-story dorm window was open. Not just a crack ajar, either, but wide open all the way. Jack paused, surprised, then dove through the air, wanting to check on the inhabitants.

Well. Wanting to check on Jamie.

He landed on the sill, balanced in a perch, and looked within. His eyes were night-adjusted; he could see clearly that one bed was neatly made up, and that the other....

Jack blinked. My, my.

Hopping off the windowsill, he stepped into the room, snowflakes drifting in his wake like a cape. He absently tapped his staff to the glass of water atop the mini-fridge, freezing it solid. He crouched down by the bed, and reached a hand out to the young man he could no longer touch.

Heat burned off Jamie in waves. Jack's eyes widened.

Daring, he brought his hand closer, not quite touching Jamie's skin. Not quite going through. Because he'd had Jamie pass through him once, and that had nearly broken Jack. He couldn't do it again. He wasn't that strong.

"You're burning up," he murmured. "If even I can tell that, it's definitely not good." His breath hissed through his teeth. "Can't touch you. Can't call for help. And God only knows where that roommate of yours is."

His mouth in a line, Jack stared at Jamie's flushed face for a long minute before doing the only thing he could think of. He tapped the crook of his staff to Jamie's bedsheets, freezing them.

* * *

The shock of cold woke Jamie from hazy, discomforting fever-dreams. He took a breath of appreciation, his fingers brushing over the cool sheets. They were... fuzzy, and slick by turns. He blinked his eyes open, and saw frost silvering the blue cloth. His eyes closed again. He'd loved frost as a kid, been fascinated by its beautiful, intricate patterns.

It felt like home, to have it with him now.

He'd been so enamored that he'd even made up an imaginary friend who brought him frost and snow....

It felt like his fever had kicked up another notch. Jamie whimpered and opened his eyes again, staring into the face of the coolest friend he'd ever had. Some part of him was aware it had to be a hallucination, he was sick, but even so he smiled, reaching out. "Jack..." Jamie breathed.

* * *

Jamie's hand landed on Jack's hoodie, pressed firm against the blue cloth.

Shocked, Jack stared at that hand for a moment, then looked back up at Jamie's fever-bright half-lidded eyes. "Jamie."

At twenty, Jamie's smile was still as sweet as it had been at ten. "You're awful nice for a hallucination," he said, his voice raspy. "I wish you were real, Jack."

Jack bit back tears. "I wish I was real to you too, J."

Jamie's eyes drifted closed; he smiled beatifically. Then he started, coughing harshly several times in a row. "Ow." He'd curled into a ball, his hand now fisted and pressed against his chest.

"You don't look like you're doing too good," Jack said, brushing brown bangs back from a damp forehead. Jamie pushed into the contact. "What can I do to help, Jamie?"

"Nnnn." Jamie took a rough breath. "Too hot."

Setting his staff down, Jack ran his other hand down Jamie's arm. "Better?"

"More," Jamie requested.

Closing his eyes, Jack sighed. Then he clambered over Jamie, pressing up against his back, coaxing him to uncurl.

Jamie breathed hoarse laughter. "Your feet are like ice."

Jack smacked him on the shoulder. His whole front was pressed against the raging heat of Jamie's back. "Kind of the point, J."

"'S good." Jamie was silent for a long time. Long enough that Jack thought he might have fallen back asleep. But, "Where do you go when people stop believing?" Jamie asked. Jack stiffened slightly; that was tears he heard in Jamie's voice.

He swallowed. "I didn't go anywhere, Jamie." His own voice sounded a little rough. "You just stopped seeing me."

Jamie squirmed, turned over so they were face-to-face. "I forgot, didn't I?" he asked. "I grew up."

"Everyone does," Jack said. Being seen was better than being invisible, but, oh, losing each believer hurt. And losing Jamie had hurt more than the rest of them combined. Somehow he'd thought that Jamie would keep his belief forever.

Jamie looked at him for a minute, then wrapped his burning arms around Jack, pulled him close. "Are you a hallucination?" he whispered.

Jack shook his head, tucked beneath Jamie's chin. Jamie wasn't so much taller than he was, but then for the modern era Jack was pretty short. "I'm real."

Jamie's fingers ran up and down the back of Jack's sweatshirt, right over his spine. He didn't say anything for a long time.

* * *

Jamie's thoughts ran in blurred circles. Maybe Jack was real. Of course, a hallucination would try to convince him it was real, too. But hallucinations were usually only visual and auditory, weren't they? He couldn't be imagining Jack's delicious chill. Or the texture of the icy hoodie under his fingers.

He tugged at it. "Does this come off?"

A sigh into his collarbone. "Jamie...."

"Does it?" He didn't know why he wanted to know, but he did. Jack had never changed clothes as long as Jamie had known him.

Another sigh. "Sure." Jack sat up, taking that delicious cold away, and pulled the sweatshirt over his head, giving a glimpse of a white shirt underneath. Both garments were thrown on the floor, and then Jack was laying back down next to Jamie, skin against skin.

And, oh, Jack was even cooler under his clothes. Jamie pressed up hard against him, leeching off that chill. His fingers strummed along Jack's back. Eventually, he wondered, "Why can I count your ribs?"

Jack breathed out against him. "Do you remember that I told you I drowned, a long time ago?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That was a hard winter even before then."

"Oh." Jamie momentarily felt small and stupid. Which was a dumb way to feel over someone who probably wasn't even real.

But Jack felt real.

Jack sighed. "It was a long time ago, Jamie."

A thought occurred then to Jamie. He wanted to make it better for Jack, which was stupid considering it was three-hundred-year-old imaginary trauma, so he really couldn't. But he could give what he could. "I can't get you sick, can I, Jack?"

He felt the brushing sensation of Jack shaking his head. "Haven't gotten sick in three hundred and ten years."

"Then...." Jamie pushed back, squiggled down a little. Touched his mouth to Jack's. Didn't look away.

Jack's eyes were impossibly lovely in the moonlight, impossibly big as Jamie kissed him. But he didn't move away either. At least not until Jamie tried sneaking tongue into it. Then he jerked back and didn't stop staring. "Jamie, you can't... you can't do that to me."

"Why not? Are you straight?"

Jack swallowed. "When this fever breaks, when you're better... you're going to go back to not believing in me, Jamie. You think I'm a hallucination. And I can't take... that, from you, just to lose it tomorrow."

"And if I don't stop believing?"

"You will." Jack looked scared.

Jack should never, ever look scared. Jamie stroked the long, chilly line of his pale torso. "Even if I do stop believing again... which would you regret more, later? Kissing me? Or not kissing me?" And why was he trying frat-boy pickup lines on a figment of his imagination?

It was a very long quiet minute before Jack closed his eyes, drew a shuddering breath, and admitted in a very small voice, "Not."

"Then don't regret it." Jamie leaned forward, kissing Jack's cool mouth again.

* * *

Jamie's mouth was like liquid heat. And Jack never felt cold, though he knew he was to others, but... neither had heat had ever intoxicated him like this. He wanted to feel warm. He wanted to lose himself in Jamie's heat. He didn't want to care that Jamie didn't think he was real.

Except that he did care.

Whether he pulled away now, or went through with this, either way, Jack knew he was going to break his own heart. Better to have the memories, his mother's voice whispered to him from a century long gone. She'd been talking about his father. Better to live and lose, Jack, than never live at all.

Jack wanted to sink into Jamie's heat, warm himself by it, and never let go.

"Jack," Jamie breathed against his mouth. Jack opened his eyes, not having realized he'd closed them. Jamie's eyes were fever-bright still and luminous in the dark. "What do you want?"

"I don't even--" Jack bit his lip. "What do you want?"

Hot fingers ran up his back, cupped his cheek. "I want you to fuck me," Jamie said, smiling dazedly, like this was all a dream. "I want to feel you cold and hard inside me...."

Jack laughed, just a little. College boy apparently had some experience with this; he himself had almost no idea how one would go about such a thing. "You just want me for my body temperature," he accused, running his hand down Jamie's back. He stopped at the waist, not daring to go farther.

Surely, he thought, he was about to go to hell.

"Mmm." Hallucinating or not, Jamie's smile was still dazzling. "It's a definite plus," he admitted. His own hands felt no compunction about having to stop at Jack's waist.

"Jamie," Jack was forced to admit, ignoring the hands on his ass, "I don't have--"

"I do," Jamie cut him off. He reached behind himself, nearly falling off the bed, fumbled around beneath it, knocked something over, then apparently found what he wanted.

A bottle of hand lotion.

Jack took it, wondering what he was supposed to do with it. He propped himself up on one elbow. "Jamie...."

Fingers hooked into the waist of his trousers, and tugged. "Off," Jamie suggested.

Sighing, Jack set the bottle atop the mini-fridge at the head of the bed. He could wing this. Somehow. Batting Jamie's heated hands away, he untied the cords that held the trousers to his legs, then unfastened the waist buttons and flap. Jamie's fingers immediately came back, delving beneath the cloth to grope Jack's rear. Jack glared. "You're not helping."

Fingers kneaded; Jamie smiled almost drunkenly. Jack rolled his eyes and ignored the heated touch, divesting himself of his last garment, trying to pretend he wasn't as naked as the day he'd been born. Conscious of Jamie's gaze all the while.

* * *

"Oh, Jack," Jamie murmured appreciatively, "very nice." He pressed his hand against the winter spirit's half-hard penis. Jack sucked in a gasp, his cool member coming fully to life in Jamie's hand. Jamie stroked it slowly, once, twice, not missing the way Jack stopped breathing, the way his stomach shuddered.

Part of Jamie wanted to play with those reactions. But an even larger part wanted to feel the prize in his hand inside himself.

Slowly, Jack's hand touched Jamie's cock. Jamie hissed through his teeth, head falling back in delight at the cool touch. Only to have Jack jerk away. Jamie whimpered, found Jack's hand, and pressed it firmly back against him.

Jack breathed a laugh. "Like that?" he asked, stroking up and down.

"God, yes." Jack's touch was slowly becoming firmer, more confident, as he played. If he felt as cool as fresh-fallen snow to Jamie, was Jamie like bubbling magma to him? Because that was what Jamie felt like. "You gonna prep me?"

"Prep you?" Jack's hand paused for a moment.

Jamie nodded, dark eyes on Jack's blue. "With the lotion. I... don't like raw." He'd tried it that way precisely once, and learned to regret it.

"All right." Jack reached for the bottle of lotion, pumped some onto his hand. His expression held something glittering and fragile, something Jamie didn't know how to read, as he asked, teased, really, "And just where would you like this?"

"Jaaaaaack," Jamie groaned, even as he grabbed Jack's wrist and pulled it between his spreading legs, ending up touching Jack's fingers to his pucker.

"Oh. Um." Jack's face was flustered for a moment, then he recovered, smirk sliding back into place even as he rubbed his fingers against his palm, coating them in cold lubricant. "This'll be cold," he warned, one icy finger pressed against Jamie's entrance.

Which was the point, Jamie thought, then that thought broke up into pieces as Jack slowly pressed in, and oh holy stars it felt right, that cold touch inside him.

"More," Jamie demanded.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Anything you say, o master. I live to serve, o master...." His finger wriggled back out of Jamie, then was joined by a second. Jamie groaned and rocked his hips against that touch, against Jack's hand on him.

Now Jack's eyes really were glittering, with amusement, with affection, with something that Jamie could only label heat. The winter spirit languidly pumped Jamie's erection, teasing horribly by thrusting his fingers in and out of Jamie's ass far too slowly. Their crooked tips just barely brushed against Jamie's prostate, making him whimper. He wanted more. Harder deeper faster, whatever. He curled his hand around Jack's pale cock, measuring abstractedly.

Two fingers was not going to cut it.

"More," Jamie demanded.

Jack's dark brows rose into his pale hair. "You sure, J?"

"Yesss," Jamie hissed, wiggling his ass. "More."

Jack looked less sure, but said, "Whatever you say," and obeyed. And, okay, that third finger stung a little and felt awkward, but on the other hand, it felt so good, so right that Jamie groaned in pleasure as Jack's fingers worked him.

Jamie's fingers scrambled blindly for the bottle of lotion, found it. He pumped some into his hand, knocked the bottle away. He heard it fall to the floor. Palming Jack's erection, he slicked it.

He wasn't expecting Jack to tense. Wasn't expecting the pale fingers to hit his prostate hard. Jamie shouted, helpless against the want that swamped him for a second.

"Oh, God, Jamie--"

"Jack," Jamie managed, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

Jack's face was right over his, pale and fine-boned, his impossibly blue irises almost eclipsed by the black of his pupils. Jamie had never seen Jack's eye color on anyone else. He knew he never would. "How do you want me?" Jack breathed.

He wanted Jack in him all the way, to the very hilt. In reply, Jamie turned over, Jack's fingers slipping from him. He lined up his ass and Jack's cock, nudging down until the tip parted his cheeks, pressed against the opening. Jack's fingers, trembling slightly, landed on Jamie's hip, steadying him, giving Jack leverage. Then Jack slowly pressed forward until the head of his cock made it past the ring of muscle at Jamie's entrance.

* * *

Jamie gave an inarticulate cry that Jack almost didn't hear over the pounding of the blood in his ears. Jamie was even hotter inside than out, and so tight. Jack couldn't help the buck of his hips that wrung a second sound, a gasp, from Jamie.

Oh God.

Jamie moaned, "More, Jack," and Jack couldn't have disobeyed if his life had been on the line. His fingers tightened on Jamie's hip as he pressed forward, deeper. Every inch felt so damn good.

No wonder he'd been taught, lifetimes ago, that this was a sin.

By the time Jack was fully in, Jamie was gasping and whimpering and shuddering, and Jack was surprised to realize that so was he. "Jack," Jamie managed, and reached blindly to find Jack's hand, pulled it forward to his raging erection. Jack curled his fingers around that hard heat and stroked it as he pulled out.

In and out, and in and out, and sometimes he was hitting something that made Jamie shout his name, so Jack gritted his teeth against what his body wanted and concentrated on finding that sweet spot again. Something was curling up in his belly, something hot and tight and strange. Then Jamie gasped, his body tensing like a bowstring. Scalding liquid boiled over Jack's hand. Something in Jack's head said Jamie had just come, but something older and deeper didn't care, only cared that the body around him had, impossibly, grown tighter, and it ferally slammed his hips deeper, once, twice--

Jack keened, and the hot-tight-strange thing in him broke. Shuddering waves of pleasure, so intense it almost hurt, spilled through him as he spilled cold deep into Jamie's body.

He was left empty, gasping against Jamie's back.

Not that the college student was much better, shuddering wordlessly in front of him.

Eventually, what seemed like centuries later, Jack's breathing calmed. He pressed a cool kiss to the back of Jamie's neck, and slowly pulled out. Jamie whimpered a little, but made no other response. His member was limp in Jack's hand. In fact, he was....

Jack scooted back. Jamie rolled into the space he'd vacated, sound asleep.

Touching the college student's forehead with the hand not covered in come, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie was still warm, but his fever had definitely broken. Jack watched the sleeping human for a moment, feeling an odd mix of content and sad, then made his way over Jamie. He found a box of tissues, and used it to clean off the both of them. He redressed, sitting on the edge of the bed to tie his trousers back tight to his calves. When he stood, he looked down at Jamie, pale in the moonlight, and frowned as he noticed small goosebumps forming on the human's skin. "Too cold for you?" Jack murmured, and tossed Jamie's comforter back over the human.

Finding his staff, Jack turned toward the window, then paused. He went back to Jamie and knelt down beside him. "I've never had anything like that before," Jack said quietly to the sleeping human. "Even if it was just a dream or a hallucination to you... thank you, Jamie." He pressed a kiss to Jamie's mouth.

Jamie's lips parted, giving him deeper access. Jack went with it, knowing it was the last time he'd ever get to kiss the young man. When he finally pulled away, he was smiling, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "Good night, Jamie."

"Mm," Jamie murmured as he shifted, turning onto his side. "Jack..." he said in his sleep.

Jack paused, then went to the window. "Sweet dreams, kiddo," he said, and left the dorm room, kicking the window closed behind himself.

*~*~*

Author's Note: "Hierogamy" is a sacred, divine, or holy marriage. Essentially, a union either with or between gods. The word seems to be typically used in a "symbolic ritual" sense, but I chose to interpret it a bit more literally. What is it about this fandom that makes me use three-dollar/SAT words for titles?