Elsa Comes Out: The Morning After

        Elsa squirmed, the claws of wakefulness ever so slowly dragging her from sleep’s loving arms.

        Her eyes opened, filling her view no longer with the loving smile of her dear sister, but instead that of her ceiling. Right, she thought. She lay there considering the view she’d woken up to the morning before, and the morning before that, and the morning before that.

        I should have a mural painted, she thought, then my ceiling wouldn’t look so empty.

Elsa smiled. Unlike her ceiling, her bed wasn’t so empty. Kristoff lay next to her, an insurmountable mountain range on her bed. He was sleeping almost soundlessly. Elsa always figured he’d be the kind of man who would snore. She sat up, leaning onto her hands, letting the sheet fall away from her body. Kristoff looked like an angel, he really did, sleeping like he was. Elsa softly brushed some hair from his face.

        He had not been an angel the night before, not by a long shot. Elsa’s juvenile little plan to make him jealous had worked and he’d told her those three little words she’d wanted to hear from him since before she even knew it. Then he’d taken her, then and there in the gallery, beneath the gazes of the works of old masters where anyone could have walked in on them. Neither of them had even bothered to remove their dress from the feast. Once or twice she thought to tell him to stop, that they should go to her bed room, but that ended when he had finally entered her. Back pressed against the wall, one leg hiked up and wrapped around his waist, all she really thought of was him.

        There were times, Elsa admitted now, that she would have wished they were naked for, seeing Kristoff’s strong bare arms holding her close, or the feel of his forested chest against her skin always thrilled her more than she dared tell him. But there was a certain excitement to their passions. Of not waiting to even undress, of not being able to wait. He’d always had a hand on her rear, holding her up while his other hand roamed her body, squeezing and rolling and massaging her breast when they kissed, stroking her back, or caressing her thigh when his lips were needed elsewhere. The feeling of the man’s kisses against her skin, even through the lace halter of her dress he was like a ravenous babe trying to suckle at her. She’d pressed his head closer to her, loving the feeling of his lips through the cloth, his obvious hunger for her breast driving her more and more.

        That and the salacious thought of someone finding them, walking in on them in that state had caused Elsa to be far more receptive than she’d thought. It hadn’t taken long at all before Kristoff had take her to the height of a mountainous range, and there, looking over the fog covered valleys and snow dripped peaks, sent her off the precipice as he plunged into her. Elsa was only so glad that she’d had the wherewithal to kiss the man as he did, lest she call anyone’s attention to the gallery.

        Elsa blushed at the memory, a heat rushing through her. She’d gripped him then, finally wrapping her other leg about his waist. She’d hugged him close, pulled him deeper. It was because of him, she’d wanted to say, even if he clearly knew already. She’d held him there, feeling his warmth inside her, heating her more and more. As she panted from the high, sighing at the feeling of being filled, he began again.

        Elsa stroked the man’s cheek. Had he been so… so hungry for Anna, when they’d told each other they’d loved each other? Had he whispered it in her ear every time she gasped as they both wallowed in the pleasure of each other?

        When finally they were both spent, they’d simply stayed against the wall, kissing and carrying on as if they were still in the act until finally she’d whispered to him to take her to bed. What would the subjects of the paintings have thought, if they could see them? What would the Maid of Orléans have made of the tableau before her?

        Elsa shook the thought from her head. She didn’t need long dead zealots in her head. Kristoff was enough for her. More than enough. There had been a second time, once they came to her bedchamber, but unlike the passionate need in the gallery, here it was slow and sensual. They’d been gentle, loving, an almost coy and shy affair of barest touches and faint whispers against a raging hunger and rutting of before. Elsa couldn’t decide which she’d enjoyed more.

        She leaned over the man, kissing his lips softly. His skin tasted of sweat and, she could almost imagine, her perfume from the night before. Just as she was thinking of ways to wake her Ice Master, a pleasant groan escaped his throat.

        “Good morning,” he said.

        “Good morning,” she said softly with a smile, “How long have you been awake?”

        “Oh… since when you kicked me and told Anna to ‘stop tickling you there’,” Kristoff grinned, “I’ve had a lovely view.”

Elsa playfully slapped him before leaning over and kissing the man again. She felt his arm wrap around her and pull her closer, pressing her flesh against his. She could feel the coarse hair at his chest tickle and scratch itself against her breast and the flush of heat returned inside of her. She held his head and let her tongue explore his mouth, counting his teeth. In her head she imagined their shapes and dimensions. Reluctantly they parted as Kristoff let go of her waist and looked at the window. The sun was already bright in the sky; it was well past mid morning.

        “Don’t you have that thing to go to today? That church?”

        “You mean the one that burned down? It’s finally been rebuilt.”

        “Yeah that’s it.”

Elsa kissed Kristoff’s neck, “I don’t want to go,” she said, “Kai can take care of it,” she slid herself down lower, kissing his collar bone, “I’m not feeling well,” again she slid lower, letting her breasts run over the man’s skin.  She kissed his chest, “I should stay in bed…” then his stomach.

        “You can’t shirk your duties just because you want to.” he said. Inside her head Elsa cursed him a little. She sighed and got out of bed.

        “Fine…” she looked back at Kristoff and smiled before walking to a table near the corner on which stood a large mirror, and a small chest.

        Probably filled with makeup, Kristoff thought.

The queen rocked her hips from side to side, almost invitingly. She reveled in her nakedness, Kristoff realized. In more ways than one. She’d told him, once that she felt Kristoff understood how she felt. How she felt about Anna, about other people, about him. That he understood what it was like for her to not want people near her. He really did. To him, she’d said, she nearly felt naked all the time.

        Elsa sat herself down, looking at Kristoff through the mirror as she pulled her braid out from behind her, letting it fall lightly over her shoulder. She pulled at the hair, delicately and slowly pulling the two bundles apart, unthreading them and separating them until her hair was free of the style. She ran her fingers through it, pulling it back and letting it slip down her back, tickling her skin. Kristoff swallowed hard as she did so, the motion of her fingers through her hair oh so similar to what she would sometimes do in the throes of passion.

        Elsa smiled in the mirror, seeing her lover’s arousal in the clear light. She stood up from the chair, her platinum blond locks covered her breasts just enough to make them more tantalizing.

        “The event won’t be until past midday,” she said crawling onto the bed, “and besides, I’m queen. If I order them to wait, they’ll wait.”

        Kristoff found himself straddled by his queen. She leaned down and took both his hands into hers and brought them to her hindquarters. Instinctively Kristoff squeezed. Elsa drew in a sharp breath and looked down at him.

        “Now,” she breathed with a smile as she slowly sank herself down onto him, “Love your queen.”

        Kristoff did as he was ordered.

 

        The people gathered around the churched hadn’t had to wait at all. Elsa had been there to see the newly rebuilt church open on time. The castle’s coffers had ended up paying for the house’s resurrection. Had Arendelle’s people been more ostentatious a statue may have been made in the queen’s likeness and placed in a seat of honor in the church.

        Instead Elsa simply took part in the service, receiving her blessing from the priest, taking communion, and reciting their prayers, almost all of which while having her Ice Master on her arm. She prayed for her sister’s safe return, for the Lord to help watch over her people and keep them safe, and in a thought that turned her a deep crimson, she secretly prayed for an heir. She glanced over at Kristoff when she’d finished. She wondered what he prayed for.