A/N: Just a bit of shameless smut reposted from Tumblr. Because there will never be enough Kristanna smut. :P
(Please note that this fic is rated M for strong sexual content. If that offends and/or upsets you, please give this fic a pass. Otherwise, enjoy!)
"Keep Her Warm"
Winter takes hold of Arendelle, deep and dark and bitter-cold, natural this time, but still a sharp bite hangs in the air, a deep frost fringing the mountains, the fjord, the days short and the nights glinting silver-white with snow and ice twisting in the cold northerly winds.
Anna wraps herself in sweaters and scarves, in fur-trimmed hoods and cloaks, her cheeks rosy with cold, eyes bright, a dancing flame struck bright against the falling snow.
Kristoff watches her, heart full, warmth spreading to his fingertips, and he wraps an arm around her, pulls her close, willing his warmth into her as he feels her skin too-cold against him, memories of her lovely features shot through with blue-ice, still and silent, and his heart splinters like the spiderweb-spread of cracked ice at the memory.
Got to keep her warm, Kristoff tells himself, always, tilting Anna's face up to capture her lips in a kiss, and she hums happily as he strokes his hands over her hair, her face, her shoulders, desperate to give her whatever warmth he has.
"You're still too cold," he says against her lips, folding her into his arms, nuzzling at her cheek, and Anna smiles at him, open, adoring, and I'm okay, Kristoff, you're plenty warm for both of us and she laughs, so very bright and alive, but he can't stop remembering that brief, heart-stopping moment where she wasn't.
Got to keep her warm, Kristoff thinks, as Anna nestles into his embrace, curls her mitten-clad hands against his chest.
He thinks it as she comes to dinner later that night, wrists bared, the fabric of her bodice far too light in the cold castle air, and Kristoff frowns and tugs off his sweater, draping it around her shoulders, and Anna stares at the solid definition of the muscles of his arms and chest beneath his thin undershirt and flushes, looks away.
He thinks it as Anna shivers in his sweater as he escorts her back to her room that night, as he pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly, and she shivers more and shakes her head when he asks if she's cold.
"That's…" she says, faltering briefly. "That's not it."
Anna slides her hands down the front of his shirt, lightly dragging her short nails against the fabric, lip folded in against her teeth, and her eyes meet his, dark and shining in the cold winter night.
"Keep me warm?" she asks, voice a low whisper as she takes his hand in hers, a fraction too cold, and Kristoff pulls her in close, slants his lips over hers, tangles one hand in her hair and wraps an arm tightly around her waist as Anna reaches behind them, fumbles blindly for the doorknob to her room, and they stumble over the threshold, shutting the door behind them.
Anna keeps her eyes steady on his as she carefully flicks open the buttons at the bodice of her dress and slowly peels it down, her skin pale and luminous in the moonlight, gooseflesh rising and nipples tight and peaked in the cool night air as she bares herself to the waist.
Got to keep her warm, Kristoff thinks, reaching forward, kneeling down, running his hands over her, warm and large. His lips brand fire against her throat as he cups her breasts, trails warm, open-mouthed kisses over her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts before taking one pert nipple into the heat of his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers, one arm warm and tight and supportive around her bare back. Anna's hands smooth over his hair, the back of his neck, as he alternates warm, gentle licks and suction, and her skin grows warm beneath him but he wants her to burn, hot and open, the last vestiges of winter ice melted against his touch.
Before Kristoff knows what's happened, Anna's pressed him back up against her bed, and there's a flurry of clothing as she pushes her dress off, as he tugs off his shirt, his pants, and they fall back together, Anna rolling so that she's under him, clutching at his arms, his back, her legs tangling with his, his length hot and hard against her inner thigh and god, he wants her.
He pulls away, just a fraction, and hey, come back, I'm cold, Kristoff, is at his ear, soft and teasing, and he slides his hands over her shoulders, down her sides, her hips, and lowers his head as Anna squirms, ticklish as his hair brushes her stomach.
Anna attempts to cross her legs, cross her arms over her chest, and she bites her lip self-consciously as Kristoff strokes her belly, presses a kiss to the sloping curve at her side.
"Are you okay?" he asks, genuinely, and takes her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it, and her skin is turning cold again in the night air and he wants desperately to keep touching her, to keep running his hands over her, brisk and warm, but he'll never do anything she doesn't want, never.
Anna takes a deep breath and smiles down at him, running a hand through his hair. "I'm okay," she says, and her voice is a touch breathless, but her eyes are open and loving even as her shoulders tremble. "Just… just nervous."
"We don't have to…"
"I want to," she says, words firm, decisive, heavy with meaning, and she slowly, very slowly curves one hand around the back of his neck and presses him down, just a little, and he kisses her stomach, slow and lingering, and squeezes her hand.
"And hurry up, I'm getting cold," Anna says, teasingly, before Kristoff gently parts her thighs, stroking his fingertips lightly over the warm wetness between them.
Got to keep her warm, he thinks, before he follows his hands with his lips and tongue and Anna's head falls back on a long moan.
She's burning-hot beneath his tongue as he licks her, slow and gentle at first, until she presses the hand at the back of his neck harder and he responds by flattening his tongue against her in a slow, firm drag and she cries out, voice strangled as his tongue strokes over just the right spot and she rocks her hips up against him, biting back a cry as he draws her into his mouth. Her nails are painfully clenched against his nape but she's so warm, so beautiful, so beautifully warm, and he'll do anything, anything to keep her that way.
Kristoff pleasures her with his mouth until his neck grows sore, and he realizes it's partly because Anna's moved both hands to curve around the back of it, tugging him up insistently, and he rises up, over her. Anna curls around him again, beneath him, her skin warm and soft as it slides against his, and she raises her hips up and lets her legs fall open to either side of him, his length pressed tight to the wet heat between her thighs, and he can't help the gasp that escapes him at the feel of her against him, wet and slick and wonderfully, wonderfully warm.
Anna rises up, just a little, and slides one hand down to wrap around him and nudge him forward, her breath coming in short pants between clenched teeth as she guides the tip of his erection inside her, just barely, and then her hand is gone, sliding up his side to wrap around his hip, pulling him forward just a fraction. Somehow, even with logic clouded by overwhelming sensation, Kristoff isn't quite that dense and slowly presses forward, tilting his head down to watch as his length disappears inside her, inch by delicious inch, until all he can feel is wet, silken heat wrapped around him and he lowers himself down onto her, head against her shoulder, and groans into her hair.
Anna's hands are curved tight around his hips as Kristoff rolls and rocks them against her in a slightly clumsy rhythm, but it's enough that all he can feel is warmth, Anna's warmth, everywhere, her arms and legs warm and tangled, her lips warm as they press into his shoulder, and her wet heat wrapped tight around him as he leans down, wraps his arms around her and thrusts deeply into her, every inch of her skin laid along his, heated and beautiful and oh god, Anna…
She moves one hand from his hip and slides it into the curved space between their stomachs, dips it down to rub at the spot he'd felt pulse beneath his tongue, and his fingers join hers, stroking firmly in time with his thrusts as he dips his head to crush his lips to hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth, limbs tangled tightly around each other and then Anna's clutching tightly to him, crying out his name in a long, protracted moan, and god, she's warm, she's so wonderfully, beautifully warm as he pulls her tight and presses as deeply into her as he can, holding himself deep inside as his heart pounds in his ears and all he can sense is Anna, beneath him, tight around him as he comes.
Kristoff stays there for a long moment, breathing heavily, wrapped tight around her, sweat dripping from the ends of his bangs as he finally pulls back, and Anna is staring up at him, teary-eyed and smiling at him with such open adoration that he leans down, supporting his weight on shaky arms, and kisses her, and even her lips are warm and soft beneath him.
Kristoff holds Anna tight, soft and pliant in his arms, and rolls her to one side, still inside her, pressing warm kisses to her temple, the shell of her ear, her cheek, the slope of her neck, and he toes at the rumpled blanket at the foot of the bed before Anna reaches blindly down and pulls it over them, snuggly-warm, sighing contentedly.
"Are you warm enough?" he murmurs against her hair, gently stroking the soft skin of her belly.
"Plenty," she says, before turning a slightly impish grin up at him. "But I might get cold again later…"
The memories intrude, unwelcome and frightening, and he tells himself that it's okay, Anna is here, with him, safe and warm (beautifully and so very pleasantly warm) and his, as long as she'll have him, and he'll make sure she's never, ever cold again.
Almost as if she can read his anxiety (and maybe she can — she's an observant sort, especially with the ones she loves, and she can likely read the slight tense of his shoulders, the way he tightens his arms around her just a fraction), Anna turns slightly, kisses him, slow and lingering, and snuggles into his embrace, closing her eyes and folding her hands over his.
Got to keep her warm, Kristoff thinks, and she's so comforting, so warm in his arms, that he knows he doesn't have to worry, just for a little while, just for now.
Together they watch, sated and content, hands clasped, gentle whispered words of love lingering between them as winter snow twists beyond the frosted windowpane.