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aftanithTitle: Snuggling in Front of the Fireplace
Author: AFTanith
Fandom: Parabellum (original fiction)
Pairing(s): Stelian Frost/Sparrow
Prompt(s): OTP Christmas 2015 Day 13. Snuggling in Front of the Fireplace
Summary: These are the moments when she fears she might've already fallen in love.
The cold front had come in early this year. The freezing temperatures and icy nights normally didn't arrive until January, but here they were, not even halfway through December, and she was watching Frost light the fireplace for the first time. She'd never even seen a fireplace lit before, not outside of movies and shows, at least, and she watched with a kind of detached fascination as sparks sprang into orange flames. "Isn't this dangerous?" she asked, and he looked back at her, surprised, as he put the grate back into place.
"Of course not," he said, moving toward her. She was curled up on the couch, her body buried beneath the softest blanket she'd ever felt in her life and her legs pulled up onto the cushion beneath her. Even in the warm heat trapped with her beneath the fabric, her fingers and toes were still freezing, and she watched disdainfully as Frost sank down onto the couch beside her. If he thought he was going to be taking this blanket away from her now that they had the fire going, he was sorely mistaken. "Why would it be dangerous?
"Oh, I don't know, because there's a damn fire in our house?"
He laughed quietly, though it was with that same undercurrent of barely hidden discomfort that he always had when she reminded him just how far removed the past twenty years of her life were from his. "I'd wager there's a fire burning in just about every house in Proxima tonight. Sure, some idiots will probably catch their homes on fire, but that's user error, not a flaw in the product."
"You've lost me."
"The fireplace is only dangerous if you don't know how to use it properly. We're perfectly safe, I promise."
She shrugged. "If we burn to death, it's entirely your fault. Just remember that."
There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips as he replied, "We wouldn't burn, darling. We'd die of smoke inhalation before the flames ever reached us. But we have the safest fire alert system in the world, so I'm fairly sure we don't have to worry--so long as you're not planning to disable it."
She stared at him, unimpressed. "You don't have to worry about that, Frost. I don't know how to disable it."
He laughed, as dismissive as ever of the thought that he might in fact be in terrible danger from her at any given moment; she still didn't understand how he could trust her as thoroughly as he did. And yet, of course, there was the knowledge that she hadn't, in fact, ever tried to hurt him; she struggled and screamed at him for what he'd done, but so far she'd gone almost a year without so much as landing a hit.. At this point, she doubted she ever would. What would be the point?
Beside her, Frost was still staring, but she was a bit surprised to see that it hadn't yet morphed into that suggestive, lustful look she'd come to both dread and enjoy; instead, he was merely surveying her, clearly thinking about something more than his usual desires. She couldn't guess what.
"Frost," she tried after a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that? I was just joking."
He shook his head, confirming that it wasn't her empty threat that had put that look on his face. She hadn't thought so. "Come here," he said instead, and she raised a skeptical brow.
"Why?" she asked testily. "We're sitting right beside each other."
"And you look comfortable."
"Yeah, I am. So I'd kind of like to not move?"
Rather than keep insisting, Frost moved toward her, and she sighed as he reached toward the blanket. Of course he was going to ruin this for her. She'd finally gotten warm, and now he was going to--
His arm slid around her lower back before she realized what he was planning to do, and he pulled her, blanket and all, into his lap with one firm tug. "Frost!" she protested, startled. "Warn me first, damn it."
"I did," he murmured, still holding her waist with one hand while the other pulled the blanket tight around the two of them. Sparrow relaxed against him--what point was there in protesting now?--and she felt his lips against the shell of her ear. She shuddered at the sensation of his breath against the back of her neck and shifted slightly, turning in his lap until she was sitting sideways, and now both of his hands were on her hip, holding her close. Reluctantly, she leaned into him as she knew he'd hoped she would, a hand on his shoulder while she buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Nestled this close to him, every breathe brought in the scent of his cologne, a heavy fragrance that reminded her of wood and spice and seemed, just as the rest of him was, specifically designed to tempt her into wanting him, even after all he'd done. It was only getting worse, she knew; an infection had set in over the summer, and it had only spread since then. It was to the point now that Sparrow was entirely sure she wasn't going to be able to put this all behind her the way she wanted, even if--even when she finally managed to get free. This desire, this lust he had forced her to feel for him whether she wanted to feel it if not, was a part of her now, she feared, something she had taken in so deep that she would never be able to root it out without leaving a terrible void behind in its place.
Sparrow snuggled in close to him, hating as she always did the quietly nagging little part of her that actually wanted to stay. It was a tiny voice in the back of her mind, the faintest hint of a whisper that unequivocally proved that some tiny bit of her had already gone insane, and it was always desperate for him. It loved this, loved the way he held her and to hear the constant reassurance of his love, and it was the part of her that at this point genuinely wanted her to give in.
It was the part of her that was infected, the seed of insanity he'd spent months sowing inside her mind and nurturing with every concession, every apology, every little sign of affection, and every single time he made her come, her nails on his back and his name on her lips.
She honestly hated that little voice even more than she hated him.
But right now, in moments like this when he was finally quiet, that voice always seemed to get louder. She risked sinking into it, descending into a kind of peaceful appreciation--a kind of bliss--that should've been impossible and yet came so readily despite everything he'd ever done.
These were the moments when she feared that the little, traitorous voice inside of her might've already fallen in love.
Author: AFTanith
Fandom: Parabellum (original fiction)
Pairing(s): Stelian Frost/Sparrow
Prompt(s): OTP Christmas 2015 Day 13. Snuggling in Front of the Fireplace
Summary: These are the moments when she fears she might've already fallen in love.
The cold front had come in early this year. The freezing temperatures and icy nights normally didn't arrive until January, but here they were, not even halfway through December, and she was watching Frost light the fireplace for the first time. She'd never even seen a fireplace lit before, not outside of movies and shows, at least, and she watched with a kind of detached fascination as sparks sprang into orange flames. "Isn't this dangerous?" she asked, and he looked back at her, surprised, as he put the grate back into place.
"Of course not," he said, moving toward her. She was curled up on the couch, her body buried beneath the softest blanket she'd ever felt in her life and her legs pulled up onto the cushion beneath her. Even in the warm heat trapped with her beneath the fabric, her fingers and toes were still freezing, and she watched disdainfully as Frost sank down onto the couch beside her. If he thought he was going to be taking this blanket away from her now that they had the fire going, he was sorely mistaken. "Why would it be dangerous?
"Oh, I don't know, because there's a damn fire in our house?"
He laughed quietly, though it was with that same undercurrent of barely hidden discomfort that he always had when she reminded him just how far removed the past twenty years of her life were from his. "I'd wager there's a fire burning in just about every house in Proxima tonight. Sure, some idiots will probably catch their homes on fire, but that's user error, not a flaw in the product."
"You've lost me."
"The fireplace is only dangerous if you don't know how to use it properly. We're perfectly safe, I promise."
She shrugged. "If we burn to death, it's entirely your fault. Just remember that."
There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips as he replied, "We wouldn't burn, darling. We'd die of smoke inhalation before the flames ever reached us. But we have the safest fire alert system in the world, so I'm fairly sure we don't have to worry--so long as you're not planning to disable it."
She stared at him, unimpressed. "You don't have to worry about that, Frost. I don't know how to disable it."
He laughed, as dismissive as ever of the thought that he might in fact be in terrible danger from her at any given moment; she still didn't understand how he could trust her as thoroughly as he did. And yet, of course, there was the knowledge that she hadn't, in fact, ever tried to hurt him; she struggled and screamed at him for what he'd done, but so far she'd gone almost a year without so much as landing a hit.. At this point, she doubted she ever would. What would be the point?
Beside her, Frost was still staring, but she was a bit surprised to see that it hadn't yet morphed into that suggestive, lustful look she'd come to both dread and enjoy; instead, he was merely surveying her, clearly thinking about something more than his usual desires. She couldn't guess what.
"Frost," she tried after a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that? I was just joking."
He shook his head, confirming that it wasn't her empty threat that had put that look on his face. She hadn't thought so. "Come here," he said instead, and she raised a skeptical brow.
"Why?" she asked testily. "We're sitting right beside each other."
"And you look comfortable."
"Yeah, I am. So I'd kind of like to not move?"
Rather than keep insisting, Frost moved toward her, and she sighed as he reached toward the blanket. Of course he was going to ruin this for her. She'd finally gotten warm, and now he was going to--
His arm slid around her lower back before she realized what he was planning to do, and he pulled her, blanket and all, into his lap with one firm tug. "Frost!" she protested, startled. "Warn me first, damn it."
"I did," he murmured, still holding her waist with one hand while the other pulled the blanket tight around the two of them. Sparrow relaxed against him--what point was there in protesting now?--and she felt his lips against the shell of her ear. She shuddered at the sensation of his breath against the back of her neck and shifted slightly, turning in his lap until she was sitting sideways, and now both of his hands were on her hip, holding her close. Reluctantly, she leaned into him as she knew he'd hoped she would, a hand on his shoulder while she buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Nestled this close to him, every breathe brought in the scent of his cologne, a heavy fragrance that reminded her of wood and spice and seemed, just as the rest of him was, specifically designed to tempt her into wanting him, even after all he'd done. It was only getting worse, she knew; an infection had set in over the summer, and it had only spread since then. It was to the point now that Sparrow was entirely sure she wasn't going to be able to put this all behind her the way she wanted, even if--even when she finally managed to get free. This desire, this lust he had forced her to feel for him whether she wanted to feel it if not, was a part of her now, she feared, something she had taken in so deep that she would never be able to root it out without leaving a terrible void behind in its place.
Sparrow snuggled in close to him, hating as she always did the quietly nagging little part of her that actually wanted to stay. It was a tiny voice in the back of her mind, the faintest hint of a whisper that unequivocally proved that some tiny bit of her had already gone insane, and it was always desperate for him. It loved this, loved the way he held her and to hear the constant reassurance of his love, and it was the part of her that at this point genuinely wanted her to give in.
It was the part of her that was infected, the seed of insanity he'd spent months sowing inside her mind and nurturing with every concession, every apology, every little sign of affection, and every single time he made her come, her nails on his back and his name on her lips.
She honestly hated that little voice even more than she hated him.
But right now, in moments like this when he was finally quiet, that voice always seemed to get louder. She risked sinking into it, descending into a kind of peaceful appreciation--a kind of bliss--that should've been impossible and yet came so readily despite everything he'd ever done.
These were the moments when she feared that the little, traitorous voice inside of her might've already fallen in love.
