Warning: Not recommended for minors. Contains masturbation, voyeurism, and implied m/m. Slash, yaoi, whatever you want to call it.
Disclaimer: Electric Plum does not own any of the rights to Rise of the Guardians. This is a fan-made work. Self-beta'd, all mistakes are author's own.
Author's Note: It seems like all I've been able to write lately is gay smut. Oops. Please pay attention to the warning! It is there for a reason! The story begins innocently enough, but quickly descends into PWP… If you still wish to read, go on! Please drop a review with any questions, comments, or critiques. I'll also take requests!
A chill had begun to descend upon the town of Burgess that night. The land was prepared for the coming winter season. The residents had celebrated their Thanksgiving with the typical gluttony of the American holiday season, and the days became shorter as the nights began earlier. A few houses sparkled with premature Christmas lights, chubby-cheeked Santa statues glowing with artificial light in the middle of withered lawns. The trees were skeletons of their former selves, bare branches awaiting the dusting of powdery snow sure to come. Clouds hung in the sky, fat and grey, ready to herald the season with flurries of fat flakes. Silence reigned as shimmering sand drifted through the air, bringing pleasant dreams to young ones.
The peace of the darkness was shattered as a young-looking man flew through the air, whooping with joy. "Sandy, what's up?" he hollered. The Sandman waved at the white-haired spirit from his golden cloud, but raised a finger to his lips. "Oh, right. Sorry."
Jack Frost still wasn't used to being heard. He had spent three hundred years yelling with joy as the wind carried him where he willed, unable to awaken sleeping humans, even if he had wanted to. Now, thanks to the children of Burgess who were now in their late teenage years, many young ones could see and hear him. They knew who to thank for snow days and white Christmases.
He directed the winds to bring him to a stop next to his fellow Guardian, who controlled wisps of golden sands like a master conductor with a well-tuned orchestra. "What do you think," Jack mused with his signature grin, full of promises of mischief. "Is it too early for a snow day?" Sanderson shook his head, images of celebrating children appearing like a desert mirage above his head. "Alright then!"
Jack gripped his staff rightly, and dove down to the town, freefalling until he was about to have a painful collision with the ground. He pulled up and shot forward, eyes watering with the speed of his flight. He tapped windows and cars with his hooked staff, coating the glass with lace-like patterns of frost. He left slick patches of ice in his wake, and called to the clouds, bringing a thick snowfall. It was pure white, pristine powder, not quite good for snowball fights, but come morning, the sun would melt it just enough. The flakes would be perfect for packing into shapes.
The snow would be just deep enough, the roads just slippery enough, the temperature just cold enough that the adults would have to announce on the weather channel and radio stations, in the midst of warnings about safe driving and avoiding frost bite, that Burgess School district had declared classes cancelled for the day.
"Jamie's gonna be so excited…!" Jack said to himself as he approached the Bennett household. He, too, was eager to spend the next day with his best friend. He hoped the boy was surprised – Jack was early this year. The house had tasteful white icicle lights hanging from the gutters. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett had never really been enthusiastic about the holidays, unlike their children…
Jamie's window was closed, and the curtains pulled halfway shut, but no Dream Sand flowed through the glass. Despite the darkness illuminated only by the glowing alarm clock, the now-teenaged boy wasn't asleep. Jack looked through the curtains, but hesitated before knocking and alerting Jamie of his presence.
He watched with cold blue eyes as his first believer tossed and turned in bed. The boy had grown, at least a few inches in height, and gained muscle mass. His baby fat had melted away over the years, leaving a lean, athletic body. His brown hair was shaggy, in need of a trim, and it seemed he had taken to sleeping shirtless. Frost crept on the glass as Jack placed his hand on the window, leaning closer.
Jamie's skin flushed pink as he bit his lip lightly. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows furrowed in frustration as he turned from his side to his back, allowing Jack to see exactly what was keeping the teenager awake. Unfamiliar heat prickled in the immortal's cheeks.
He should have left; let Jamie have his privacy. But he didn't.
Now, Jack had never seen Jamie with less than a tee-shirt and flannel pajma pants, but he could guess more than Jamie's muscles had grown. The boy palmed an erection through the thin red cotton of his boxers. Jack felt a stirring in his stomach as his brown breeches grew uncomfortably confining, but he made no move, not wanting to be noticed. He imagined the whining, needy noises the young man must have been making –
Inside the warm house, Jamie reached under the elastic waistband and slid the undergarment off, throwing it unceremoniously on his floor among the books and other clothes. His proud member stood at attention, begging to be touched. Jack's own twitched at the sight. He hardly dared to blink, lest he be caught watching the other.
The boy slowly stroked himself, biting his lip harder to contain a moan. His eyes, fogged with pleasure, burst open and stared at the ceiling as his thumb caught beads of precum from his tip. His paced increased, and his whispered to himself. The Guardian outside his window could not make out what he was saying, but in his head, he imagined…
"Jack, Jack, oh Jack…!" He convinced himself that was the name on Jamie's lips. His breathing picked up, white puffs of hot air appearing as Jamie brought his fingers to his own mouth. He slowed his touches, and Jack saw his own fingers, cool but surrounded by the wet heat of Jamie's mouth, in his own fantasy. His breath caught as those fingers were removed, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to the digits before he lifted his hips…
The eternal did not have a good view, but Jamie's eyes squeezed shut and he bit that lip again. Jack could see his friend's face twist in discomfort, then slowly morph into an expression of bliss. He squirmed in his bed, gasping and whispering to himself as he found that spot deep inside and twisted his fingers to hit it, again and again.
The winter spirit could not stay there any longer – as Jamie stroked himself furiously and teased his sweet spot to climax, Jack Frost let the wind carry him to a place he could find his own release.