Page 94 of The Prince and the Ice King

“I-I… hadn’t thoughtthatfar.” Reardon flushed brilliantly scarlet. “But I wish to prove my affections for you.”

Jack didn’t need anything proven, but love wasn’t some magic spell—or an end to one. “Then lead,” he said again, skeptical though he may be, “and I’ll follow as far as I can.”

It was Jack who had to lead in the beginning, bringing them to the bed and leaving Reardon at the foot of it. He slipped his trousers and shirt off and climbed onto the bed as asked, lying upon his pillow and watching his prince.

“The stage is set,” he said, wondering what Reardon had planned.

Reardon smiled, nervous still, but seemed bolstered when he started to hum, and nimble fingers pulled on the ties of his doublet.

“The noble prince went on his quest

To become a greater king,”

Reardon sang—to its own unique melody—the verses he had taken from Jack’s desk.

Jack tensed, though he’d known a reckoning was due.

“Than those before who’d shamed their lands

And bards denied to sing.”

Drawing the doublet open, Reardon let it drop from his shoulders, slowing feathering his fingers down the center of his chest to the edge of his trousers, where he tugged his shirt free.

“He traveled far to learn abroad

How other kings reigned just,”

Reardon gripped the bottom of his shirt and drew it over his head without losing a beat.

“But for all he found who’d earned their crowns,

Men made beasts ruled thus.”

Sliding a careful distance back, Reardon began untying his trousers, ensuring Jack saw every coil of those ties around his fingers.

Jack spread his legs as he looked on and reached between them, surprised, though pleasantly so, when Reardon sang a chorus not previously written.

“Ever was, ever more,

Love can conquer any lore.”

Down the trousers dropped, Reardon already twitching to hardness while Jack pulsed to life in echo, barely needing the aid of his leisurely strokes. Reardon stroked himself too, once, twice, and reached forward to begin climbing up the bed.

“He pitied one such beast

To turn him from his ways

In hopes that tenderness might win

And pierce the heart that strayed.”

Reardon crawled to Jack until he arrived at the spread of his legs, first rising onto his knees to feel up his own chest, and then down his hips to rake blunt nails across his thighs and stroke himself again.

“Hearts made of ice aren’t made for melting,

But the prince did burn so bright,”

So bright, and next he fell forward, found Jack’s thighs, and raked his nails there too.

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