Page 103 of The Prince and the Ice King

Keeping his hands on the bed or tentative down Reardon’s hips, mindful of the wound in his side, Jack straddled the prince’s waist and ground into him, kissing him deeply once more. Each twirl of Reardon’s tongue was rapture, though he always pulled away between presses of their mouths to look at Jack and smile again before he claimed his lips with another press.

The longing in Reardon’s emerald eyes spurred Jack to sink against him. Reardon shoved his trousers down, and then shoved Jack’s down too, clawing at Jack’s shirt like he’d never been so desperate to be rid of clothing. Jack tore and kicked it all away, until they were bare and grinding and kicking down the covers too.

But Reardon stopped, grabbed hold of Jack, and rolled them. He spread Jack out, taking in the full form of him, head to toe, like taking nourishment in the view.

Jack hadn’t had anyone’s eyes on him this intimately since before the curse. The rest of his body was as scarred as his face, worse, and even the hair between his legs had been turned white from the ice so deep-seated within him when once he’d been as brunette as Josie.

Reardon saw it all and continued to smile, no guile, just contentment, as he drew a hand from Jack’s face down his neck and chest and hips to his thighs, and then further between his legs. Jack gasped as the prince’s fingers curled around his length. It was hardly the first time Reardon had touched him, but it was the first time with his eyes on him.

Slowly, Reardon started to stroke, shifting closer to lift one leg over Jack’s hips and straddle his thigh—only to hiss and fall back with a twinge.

Jack moved after him, concerned at first, but then amused by Reardon’s pout. Carefully, Jack pulled Reardon to him, but it was then that he felt the far too similar scars covering Reardon’s back.

Jack ran a hand up and down the expanse. Across Reardon’s shoulder blades, down the center, and as low as his waist, the scars Jack had caused could be felt like the surface of an oil painting. Jack didn’t have to see them to know how they must look, so like his own bare skin.

“Reardon….”

“I don’t care,” Reardon said, smoothing a palm over Jack’s chest and resting it over his heart. “All that matters is this.”

Jack’s heart was beating wildly, and as he slid his hand from Reardon’s back to mimic the gesture, he felt Reardon’s pounding just as fierce.

He rolled Reardon onto his back, Reardon’s hand returning to between Jack’s legs and joined by Jack’s own, connecting their heated cocks. With Reardon sprawled and comfortable, Jack straddled the prince’s thigh instead, rocking their slick lengths together while his hand curled around Reardon and Reardon’s remained on him.

It was a synchronized clash of fervent pumping through budding wetness, with only so much movement allowed without risk of hurting Reardon, but it was enough. Anytime Reardon’s eyes closed, they opened again, locking on Jack’s or straying down his body. He truly seemed to love and want everything he saw, even though Jack was ruined and had ruined him too.

“Reardon,” Jack gasped again, foregoing the use of his hand to rut with more urgency, half at Reardon’s side and half atop him, thrusting with a maddened need to release while those emerald eyes were on him.

“Jack… oh, Jack,” Reardon mewled back, weak and struggling for breath but still pumping upward to meet him. His hand fell away too, leaving them as two mindlessly grinding bodies, slick with sweat and the moisture from their cocks, until Reardon’s gasps grew harsher, and then Jack’s did too, and they finished, almost overlapping.

“I love you,” Jack said, too caught up in the moment to hold the words back.

The smile Reardon graced him with was more breathtaking than any Jack had yet seen. Reardon took Jack’s face in his hands once more, kissed him again, and held him close, never once believing that this bliss between them wouldn’t last.

Jack knew better, but oh, how he wished it could.

Reardon

Reardon awoke with a creeping feeling of déjà vu, but there was no body wrapped around him and no increasing pain from deadly cold.

Of course, Jack hadn’t stayed in bed with him after what happened last time, but when Reardon rolled over, he found Jack, human still, sitting in a chair and looking at Reardon with a soft expression.

They’d done it, Jack would see. The curse was lifted now that Jack had confessed his love for Reardon and….

And….

And then the sun rose outside the castle walls, prompting Jack to stand with a wince and move for the door so he wouldn’t leave too long an ice trail when the curse finished taking him and remade him into the beast.

Take him it did, the first time Reardon had seen the change happen, when he had thought… he had hoped that he could be enough to end it.

It looked so painful, the strain on Jack’s face and tension in his steps that stuttered and stopped when he reached the door. His beautiful, scarred, naked body seemed to grow the ice out of itself, stretching and deforming him and causing Reardon to shiver from the expulsion of cold and pull the covers tighter around him.

The Ice King wasn’t ugly to him, never had been, but now the sight of him made Reardon’s heart sink. Jack looking back at him with so much sorrow and shame in his expression only made it worse.

“But I… I love you,” Reardon said miserably.

“And I you,” Jack repeated without taking back the words he’d said last night, “but as I told you, my little prince, sometimes love isn’t enough.”

He left, and Reardon stared at his now iced-over doorknob, wondering what he’d done wrong to fail his love so terribly.

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