“I won!”

Bunnymund didn’t think that the little figjam had any right to be that happy about it.

“Yes! Yesyesyesyesyesyes YES!”

There was a lot of jumping up and down and staff-throwing and really, the brat was far too excited. It wasn’t making Bunnymund feel any better about losing. He huffed and folded his arms, scowling something awful.

“Well? What’s my punishment?” he asked shortly. He just knew the bugger would think up something extra-humiliating for him to do – after all, Bunnymund hadn’t exactly held back when he’d won the last two bets. He hoped it wasn’t something to do with women’s clothes. He didn’t think he could ever live something like that down. Jack stopped his ridiculous rejoicing and turned, eyeing Bunnymund with an intent Bunnymund didn’t like in the slightest, stroking his chin. He then sauntered over, hooked his staff around Bunnymund’s neck and pulled him down, ignoring the grinding of the Pooka’s teeth.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said, smooth as fresh snow and Bunnymund was sure he’d misheard because no one could be that calm while asking him for sex, not even Jack bloody Frost.

“W-what?”

Yes, he had to have misheard. It didn’t matter than his ears could pick up sounds from miles away, and his hearing was legendary.

“You heard,” Jack answered, now running a hand down Bunnymund’s furry chest. It took all of the Pooka’s willpower to not lean into the touch. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

Well, maybe he hadn’t misheard, but this had to be some sort of hallucination. Or a nightmare. Nightmare seemed slightly more probable. Perhaps Pitch was back, and Bunnymund was curled up in his nest in a fitful sleep. The tug on his whiskers seemed painful enough to be real, however, and he shook his head, flabbergasted.

“Are you mad, Frost?” he demanded. If this was not a hallucination or a nightmare, then it had to be some sort of ruse. It was all a build up to Bunnymund’s inevitable chagrin, it had to be… He hoped it was. Jack rolled his eyes.

“Just stop complaining and do it!” he snapped. “I won, I choose the punishment. And the punishment is sex with me.”

Jack’s voice was nothing but normal, his tone nothing but business. Nothing betrayed anything out of the ordinary in any way, and Bunnymund knew that Jack wasn’t the greatest actor in the world. It truly did appear he had no second intentions. But what a thing to ask for! In fact, it was probably worse than women’s clothes. Sex with the ice block… great.

“Strip, then,” Bunnymund said flatly. He closed his eyes and cast around for something that would turn him on, anything. Whiskers, caramel-coloured fur, warmth and velvety ears… so different from the cold body that now pressed against his. Not paws, but chilled fingers carding through his fur. He dug deeper into himself for something more primitive, something darker, instincts he kept buried, for he liked his reason, he cherished it… He dredged up his mating instinct from deep within himself, the primal need to take, fuck, have… He could work with that.

“Whoa…”

He couldn’t help but smirk at that. He opened his eyes, darkened with need and instinct, to see Jack naked beneath him, blue eyes wide with shock and… hunger? No, he must be mistaken.

“You’d better be ready,” Bunnymund growled. “Because I don’t hold back.”

Jack’s single nod was answer enough.

He easily manoeuvred the skinny body underneath him, so Jack was lying upon his stomach. Pale fingers gripped the fresh green blades of the Warren grass, and the sprite seemed to tremble in anticipation. He gasped when he was breached, head snapping back, and Bunnymund barely gave him the time to adjust before beginning his merciless thrusting. He did not want to be doing this, and curse his stamina, because it wouldn’t be over with as quick as he’d like.

Jack moaned and writhed underneath him as he was fucked, held still and rammed into with no remorse. He’d wanted to be fucked, and bloody hell Bunnymund was going to give it to him. With his head tossed back and a broken cry he came, shoulders rigid with release. Bunnymund huffed and continued his relentless pounding, heedless of Jack’s orgasm and reaching for his own. As much as he hated to admit it, Jack was tight and warmer than he’d expected, even hotter from the flush of climax, and it was pleasant to be having sex after so long, even if it was with Jack Frost.

With a grunt he found his own peak, wringing a shuddering moan from the limp body beneath him, and he pulled out immediately.

“Happy now?” he demanded, smoothing his fur down with a nonchalance one would certainly not expect from someone who had just had sex. Jack rolled over, stretched with a hum and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, his voice warm and satisfied.

“Good. You can bugger off now,” Bunnymund snapped. “I’ve humiliated myself enough.”

“Fine, fine, Kangaroo, I’m leaving.” The boy slowly got to his feet and gathered his clothes, pulling them on lethargically. He kept his back turned to Bunnymund, but of course Bunnymund wasn’t looking. Why would he look? He had no need to. Besides, he needed to keep his dignity intact.

“See you soon!” Jack said with a laugh, rising into the air and out of the Warren in the wind’s arms. Bunnymund snorted. He hoped ‘soon’ wasn’t actually all that soon. A couple of centuries would do without seeing the bastard after this.

And he certainly wasn’t about to admit he’d actually liked it.

.

His lake seemed colder. Everything seemed colder. He’d hoped that once would be enough, enough to satisfy him forever more and he could forget everything, suffocate that tiny spark of yearning that continued to blossom inside him, circumstances be damned. Perhaps now he’d had what he thought he wanted, he’d be able to live without it.

But the tears on his cheeks and the gaping hole inside him mocked his wishing like schoolyard bullies.

He curled upon himself, knees drawn up to his chest, and sobbed. He should have known it would never have worked. This was not some idle curiosity, some mindless, fleeting lust to be easily sated. No, it was nothing of the sort. It was a deep and terrifying longing, something born of Bunnymund’s bravery and strength and sense of duty. Something born of the smiles that were never for him, and the laugh that was never shared between them. Something born of beautifully painted eggs and delicately tended flowers and a singing voice that he was sure only he had ever heard. He didn’t want a perfunctory fuck that Bunnymund took as punishment. No, he wanted warmth and affection, love-making. He wanted to be smiled at and laughed with and held and loved, and he should have known that his plan was idiotic at best. He should have known his hopes were futile.

Because no matter how much Jack Frost wanted Bunnymund, Bunnymund would never, ever want Jack Frost.

.

When they next met – which was still too soon for Bunnymund, really – it seemed that nothing had happened. Which was fine in Bunnymund’s book because, as far as he was concerned, nothing actually had happened. He was more than happy to push the memory of their tryst into the deepest, darkest pits of his memory and forget about it, and especially not have to deal with any repercussions. Jack was completely normal, as laidback and teasing as ever, and Bunnymund was so relieved it wasn’t even funny. He even smiled at the kid before he could catch himself, and he almost kicked himself for it.

“So… up for another challenge?” Jack asked casually, painting the grass with a fine coat of frost, probably just to annoy the shit out of him. Bunnymund looked up, frowning.

“What sort of challenge?” he asked warily. As much as he liked a good contest, he preferred one he could win. And, although he’d never admit it, he was more than afraid Jack would win and ask him for… that again.

“Aw, afraid, Cottontail?” Jack cooed, and Bunnymund growled.

“Whatever it is, I accept!” he snapped. It took him a second or two to realise the shit he’d gotten himself into, and he rubbed a paw down his face with a groan as Jack laughed. Damn him and his bloody pride.

“All right then, rabbit,” Jack said, crouching down. “You wanted it.”

An hour later and Bunnymund had been thoroughly beaten. Jack was smirking something evil, and Bunnymund didn’t like the look of that smirk in the slightest.

“Fine, ice block,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “What do you want?”

Jack could have said something stupid. He could have said something inane and frankly embarrassing. With a few well-chosen words he could ruin Bunnymund’s reputation forever.

But he didn’t. He licked his lips, his smirk diabolical, and he asked for the same as before.

Bunnymund wished he hadn’t, and he quickly and desperately crushed the tiny part of him that was glad he had.

He was sure the flicker of cold, stark hope within Jack’s eyes as he accepted was a mere trick of the light.

.

For the next few challenges they had that Jack won, he always asked for the same thing. Bunnymund couldn’t for the life of him imagine why, but, as much as he was loath to admit it, he was starting to enjoy it himself. Where before it had been routine, mechanical, he now found himself giving true energy to his thrusts. The need that crawled beneath his skin was no longer born of a long-buried instinct, but desire. As much as he hated it, he wanted Jack. There was no need to try to lose himself in thoughts of long-dead brethren, not when he had begun to see how beautiful the boy beneath him actually was: his skin smooth and pale, a perfect canvas for bite marks and scratches, his hair pure white, his scent sharp as the crisp weather he brought, clean and enticing in ways Bunnymund couldn’t even begin to decipher. And those eyes… When they met his, he could lose himself in them.

And he did. Willingly. He allowed himself to feel the thrill Jack’s moans and sighs gave him. He let himself go to the cool fingers sifting through his fur, digging into his skin, the tightness around him, the pale arch of Jack’s back as he came with a choked cry.

And, to his horror, he found himself wanting it.

His mind would wander to it, wander to Jack, when it had nothing else to ponder. He caught himself wondering how Jack tasted, whether he was as clean and cold as his scent. How would it feel, he wondered, to kiss him, to nuzzle him, to mark him as his? To simply lay among the taller grasses, entwined in each other, nothing but intimate simplicity between them?

Perhaps it was all a trick. A well-thought, long-term plan to get Bunnymund to fall for him and then humiliate him when he got the guts to confess. He winced at his own thoughts. He knew Jack better than that, he argued with himself, but it was always there: the part of him that held grudges that lasted for millennia still demanded revenge for the Blizzard of ’68, already given apologies be damned. He was old, older than the world, and it was harder for him to change him mind that he liked to admit. He wasn’t going to fall for this trick, not in a thousand years.

Jack, throughout all of this, remained the same. Nothing changed between them at all, except now the challenges were trifles, barely a contest of any sort, and Bunnymund let him win. Oh, by the Moon, he let him win. Jack probably knew, he wasn’t a fool, but if he did, he never said anything. The banter was still quick and razor-sharp, the laughter still teasing, the wit still acute.

And Bunnymund could almost lie to himself and say nothing had changed at all.

.

“Jack’s been very subdued, lately,” Toothiana mused, her tone slightly anxious. Bunnymund frowned at her. He hadn’t been any different any time he’d visited the Warren, still his usual, annoyingly cheeky self.

“Doesn’t seem like that to me,” he said. He still had to get used to these impromptu invitations to the others’ abodes. Perhaps Jack’s arrival had changed things for the better between them, rekindling the long-dormant friendship. Bunnymund didn’t mind, but before Jack he could have counted the times he’d been invited to the Tooth Palace for tea and bikkies (rigorously sugar-free, much to his sweet tooth’s distaste) on the fingers of one paw. This was the fifth time in as many months, and as pleasant as it was, it was still disconcerting. Especially when he found himself accepting.

He realised Toothiana was staring at him, her expression confused, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” she asked. “He was round here the other day. He seemed lonely, and he was awfully quiet. I tried to ask him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me. I don’t like it, Bunny. It’s terribly out of character!”

“I don’t know what’s up with him,” Bunnymund said dismissively, trying to ignore the inexplicable guilty twinge in the pit of his stomach. He forced down a biscuit in order to look completely disinterested, but Toothiana was sharp as her scimitar and impossible to fool.

“Bunny…” she began warningly, frowning. He ducked his head guiltily, and mentally kicked himself for doing so.

“It’s not my fault!” he protested. “I honestly don’t know why he’s like that!”

Toothiana raised her eyebrows, such scepticism in her face he groaned.

“Fine! Look, there’s been… I dunno what to call it. Sex, I guess.” If he’d been able to flush, he would have been bright red. His ears drooped back in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he’d just confessed that to Toothiana, of all people.

To his surprise, she sighed. That made him raise his head, his ears swivelling forward curiously.

“Oh, Jack, you foolish boy,” she murmured, shaking her head. Bunnymund frowned in confusion. What did that even mean? Although he agreed with the general idea, he had a feeling the sentiment behind it was very different indeed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. Toothiana gave him such a pitying look he almost recoiled.

“Oh, Bunny, you’ve never noticed, have you?”

“Noticed what?” he asked. He had a feeling he was missing something very, very important, something blatantly obvious, and it felt rather humiliating.

“The way he looks at you,” was all she offered as an explanation. That left Bunnymund just as bewildered as before, perhaps even more so; to his knowledge, Jack didn’t look at him any differently than he looked at anyone else. Perhaps there was an extra spark of mischief there, but that was that. Toothiana’s pitying look worsened and it set Bunnymund’s teeth on edge. He hated being pitied, especially if it made him look like some poor fool like this was.

“He’s in love with you, Bunny,” she murmured.

The bottom of Bunnymund’s stomach seemed to drop out. He felt slightly queasy, his head churning with the statement. No, it couldn’t be true. Not Jack, and not with him. Toothiana had to be joking, and he didn’t find it funny at all.

“Any fool can see it,” she went on, blissfully unaware of the turmoil going on inside her friend. “We all see it. He gazes at you with such raw, open longing it’s painful to see.”

Suddenly, it all clicked, and it sent Bunnymund mentally reeling. It all made sense now, why Jack had made such a bizarre request, and how stupid he’d been not to see it, not to notice it. He’d been so caught up in himself he’d barely registered the longing in Jack’s eyes. Was it possible to be so lost in something you didn’t even see it? Perhaps it was. He placed his head in his paws and stared at the table. How could he have been so selfish and thoughtless? Now he’d come to this epiphany, his mind quickly found proof: the scent of hope would have been intoxicating if Bunnymund had bothered to pay any attention to it. It had been cloying, desperate, hungry – look at me, I’m here! Want me, need me, love me! – and he’d never seen it.

“You should talk to him about it, you know.”

Toothiana’s mild voice pushed aside his thoughts with gentle strength, and she placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“You shouldn’t be cruel to him, and you shouldn’t lie to yourself,” she added. Bunnymund looked up at her, to see her smiling softly. Lying to himself, was he? Perhaps he was. Himself and Jack.

And perhaps a little truth was in order. From both of them.

.

A while ago, Jack would have told anyone that would listen that being invisible and intangible for three hundred years was the greatest pain he’d ever felt.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

So here he was, a hole in place of his heart, grasping at the stupidest way to get Bunnymund to be with him he could ever have thought of. There was no present and no future in the whole thing, and it made him sick to think about it. He was lying to Bunny, and he hated that. He’d thrown his dignity to the wind for some scraps of contact with the being he was in love with, and that was another thing he hated.

The wind tried to wipe his tears away, offering little comfort as it caressed his hair. There had only been a fool’s hope anyway.

“COO-EE!”

Jack almost fell out of his tree in shock. He hastily dried his tears and poked his head out from the branch and down to the ground, schooling his features into curious boredom.

“Well, if it isn’t Bunny Foo Foo!” he said, ever the tease. Bunnymund, however, didn’t even look annoyed. He looked serious, his arms folded across his furry chest, and that didn’t bode well at all.

“Get down here, we need to talk.”

Jack’s insides plummeted. Bunny knew. Or he suspected something, at least. With nervousness turning his stomach into a stormy sea. He alighted gently beside the great Pooka, pretending to lean lazily on his staff. In reality he was poised to fly at any moment. He had a feeling this was a conversation he did not want to have.

“You want to talk? You aren’t exactly talkative, Kangaroo, so forgive me for being sceptical about your conversational abi-”

“Do you love me?”

Jack stopped mid-sentence. His mouth trembled slightly, unadulterated fear in his eyes, and he couldn’t hide it in time.

“Be honest,” Bunnymund urged. Jack lowered his head, clutching his staff like it was a lifeline, his only comfort. He felt as if he stood on the brink of a precipice: he could lie, and continue lying, but he knew Bunnymund would see through it a mile away. Or he could tell the truth. He could risk scorn, ridicule, pity, and be honest.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice cracking like thin ice. “So, so much.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Bunnymund demanded. Jack’s laughter was bitter, as was the hand he ran through his snowy hair and the shake of his head.

“Why? What difference would it have made? To you I’m just the trouble-maker, the trickster, the pest. To you I’m just the Blizzard of ’68, and I’ll never be anything else! You hate me!”

He couldn’t stop the rising of his voice, the fragility that broke through no matter how hard he tried to contain it. He took a step back, shaking his head, forcing himself to keep it in, no matter how much it wanted to be free. Hell, he had no idea what ‘it’ even was.

Bunnymund rubbed his face again, and suddenly he felt every single one of his thousands of years on his shoulders. And yet he also felt very young and very stupid. While even a month ago that would have been the truth, nothing could have been further from it now.

“I don’t hate you.”

Jack’s look was a mangled mismatch of hurt and disbelief, and it tore Bunnymund apart to see it. The silence stretched on, thick and overpowering like some nasty, greasy stink.

“You could’ve at least tried!” Bunnymund said desperately, clawing at a way to break the quiet, but he realised how hollow it sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.

“And for what?” Jack spat, and if Bunnymund thought he’d been bitter before, he’d been very much mistaken. “To be laughed at? Rejected? It was hopeless.”

Bunnymund visibly flinched. Some Guardian of Hope he was, then. But there was still time to make amends. He prayed there was still time.

“Nothing’s ever hopeless, Jack,” he murmured. He raised a paw and pressed it to Jack’s cheek. He half-expected the sprite to pull away, or shrug him off, but to his relief he pressed against the touch, twisting his face to press his lips against the leathery paw pad.

“It seemed hopeless to me,” Jack rasped, his voice so raw it was like an icicle right through the heart. Bunnymund pressed forward, pulling Jack towards him, and Jack followed, flowed against him, and it felt right. He fit against his chest, his arms were meant to be around the Pooka’s waist, fingers in his fur. The tears weren’t, but those could be gotten rid of.

“I’m sorry I never noticed it,” he said. “I never noticed it because I was too stupid to, too blind. I’m sorry.”

Jack’s grip tightened, a sob rocked through him, and Bunnymund pulled back. Jack fumbled, reaching for him, but Bunnymund merely pressed their noses together, his hold loosened but never gone.

“I’m sorry I tricked you,” Jack mumbled. “I should have been honest from the start.”

“Let’s pretend that never happened,” Bunnymund said. “Let’s just… start from here.”

Jack offered a small, watery smile, like spring thaw. “Sounds good to me.”

Bunnymund’s mouth against his was a surprise, but he pressed into it, into the kiss – his first kiss, ha – and he couldn’t think of a better way to start.

.

They’d never done it here before, and Bunnymund was surprised at how readily he’d taken the kid to his bed. But he was also a staunch believer of doing things properly, and bloody hell was going to get it right this time. Because this wasn’t going to be fucking, it was going to be love-making, and while he didn’t do slow, he could certainly do loving.

Jack sighed in anticipation, arms above his head and cheeks covered in a fine layer of frost, and Bunnymund wondered how he couldn’t have wanted this right from the start. There were still marks from the last time, and he doggedly ignored them as he ran a paw down Jack’s chest, over his trembling abdomen to his half-hard cock. It was something he’d never allowed himself to do before, to simply touch Jack, take him in like this.

Jack hummed, eyelids fluttering, and Bunnymund lowered himself to kiss him, nuzzle at his neck and chest. His paw tightened, Jack moaned, and Bunnymund shuddered as his own arousal licked through his veins. He gasped when a hand pressed at his lower belly, unsheathing him, taking him in hand almost reverentially.

“I know we’ve done this before,” Jack said, reaching his other arm around Bunnymund’s neck. “But It feels different.”

Bunnymund kissed him again. He knew exactly how Jack felt. It was different this time around, heavy with promise and yet weightless with something Bunnymund hadn’t felt in centuries. Jack loved him, and he had more than a few suspicions that he reciprocated the feeling. He’d deal with that afterwards, though. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He slid in slowly this time, giving Jack the time to adjust even as he held himself back with great difficulty. With a jolt he also realised that this was the first time he’d been able to see Jack’s face when they had sex… and it was gorgeous. His expression was pure ecstasy, and it sent a ripple of satisfied pride through Bunnymund to know that he got that expression there. It was all his doing, and by the Moon he was going to make Jack unravel.

“Ready?” he asked, low and gruff with arousal. Jack nodded, pulling him down for another kiss as he started to thrust. Bunnymund lost himself to the feeling, how good Jack’s legs felt around his waist, how the sprite seemed to fit against him so perfectly he felt he might break with it. He lost himself to Jack’s moans, to his tightness, his touch, the murmurs of his name. And he lost himself in those eyes, those eyes that screamed of hope fulfilled. And it was perfect.

.

Jack wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, here, curled up beside him, fingers coiled into his fur. His breathing was the soft and deep kind of the sleeper, and Bunnymund merely watched him, playing with strands of white hair absently. He couldn’t smell the ache of shattered hope anymore. Indeed, he couldn’t smell much but the scent of sex, but that wasn’t such a bad thing.

He was sure a wiser, more easily riled, more Pooka-ish part of himself was dying to break free and complain about the whole thing, but if it was, he wasn’t going to let it. He had to make up for lost time, after all, and doubts had no place wherever this was going.

As a new start, it was a good one.