(Disney) Snow-Kissed
February 12th, 2014 12:45![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Snow-Kissed
Fandom: Disney (Frozen)
Pairing: Elsa/Anna
Rating: R
Words: 748
Notes: Incest. For Femslash February,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_women, prompt "white", and Porn Battle XV, prompt "Anna/Elsa - snow, warm, flush, skirts, touch".
Summary: Elsa's powers may be tied to the cold, but nobody can warm Anna like her sister.
Anna’s winter wardrobe has expanded in size at an impressive rate since she and the rest of the kingdom discovered Elsa’s powers. She has an ample choice of thick cloaks and hats and gloves and dresses and boots, plenty of changes of clothes for those days when playing in the snow leaves her drenched and in need of something drier to wear.
Some, like the outfit she’s wearing today, are designed for extra heat, with plush lining and built-in layers to keep her nice and toasty, even on these long walks through the snow-covered woods.
But then Elsa looks at her out of the corner of her eye, bare fingers brushing against the back of Anna’s gloved hands, and says, “You look cold. Would you like me to warm you up?”
Anna isn’t cold at all, not really. There’s a slight sting of wind-chill across her nose and cheeks, but everything else is covered and she’s perfectly snug inside her clothes.
That doesn’t matter, though, because she’s always going to say yes.
She lets Elsa pull her to the nearest tumbled log, tugging the scarf away from her mouth so Elsa can see her smile. She knows that it’s wide and happy and earnest, but also hungry, because she knows what’s going to happen next.
Anna sits on her perch and Elsa kneels in front of her, glancing up coyly through her lashes. Still a little bit shy every time, as if it’s still a surprise that Anna wants her near, that Anna wants her touch. No matter how much Anna reassures her that she wants every part of Elsa, wants her in every way, there’s still that hesitance there. But it’s growing weaker over time, like Anna’s gradually corroding Elsa’s worry out of existence through sheer force of will, and she takes a special kind of pride in that.
Elsa never wears a cloak or thick clothes. She doesn’t need to, not out in here in the snow, not when it’s just the two of them. Her dress is light and shimmers under the weak winter sun, and when she settles on the ground in front of Anna like this, it tends to give Anna a pretty impressive view of her cleavage.
Anna’s giggle manages to be equal parts dirty and sheepish, but Elsa just rolls her eyes affectionately and rests her hands against Anna’s knees. And this is the part where Anna always begins to squirm in anticipation, patience evaporating in the face of what comes next.
She watches Elsa gather the layered fabric of Anna’s winter skirts, pushing it slowly up her legs. Always slow, and by this point it’s nothing to do with hesitation and instead is all about the fact that Elsa’s kind of a tease when she wants to be and that’s just wonderful.
When the material is bunched high around Anna’s thighs, Elsa leans in, hands between Anna’s knees and pushing them apart so her boots leave dents in the snow. Just breathing in Anna’s scent for a moment, while Anna tries not to wriggle and whine, because she wants it, she always wants this, wants Elsa so bad.
Elsa likes to wait and wait, until Anna’s practically whimpering, hips twitching against their seat, legs trying to spread wider. And that’s when she’ll lean in those last few precious inches, when she’ll press her face right between Anna’s thighs, breath hot despite her powers, warm enough to make Anna’s eyes roll as the heat sweeps up through her body.
Elsa’s mouth, Elsa’s tongue, moving against her sex, and Anna hears herself babble nonsense, fingers grasping at Elsa’s hair. It’s too cold to shed any of her clothes, so the touch has to be through the fabric of Anna’s underwear, but maybe that’s necessary. Because it’s already so vivid, and Anna thinks her head might burst into flames if it were Elsa’s lips against her bare skin.
She groans throatily when Elsa rocks on her knees, mouth working always, lip restless and divine, and Anna can feel the flush of warmth pinking her cheeks, a furnace trapped in her chest that leaves her sweating beneath her hat and cloak. It’s almost uncomfortable, to be so hot so suddenly, but it’s worth it, so very worth it. In this, Elsa is not shy at all, and Anna tilts her head back, moaning her pleasure, Elsa’s tongue undoing her, the backs of her eyelids painted white as the snow falls gently on her face.
Fandom: Disney (Frozen)
Pairing: Elsa/Anna
Rating: R
Words: 748
Notes: Incest. For Femslash February,
100_women, prompt "white", and Porn Battle XV, prompt "Anna/Elsa - snow, warm, flush, skirts, touch".Summary: Elsa's powers may be tied to the cold, but nobody can warm Anna like her sister.
Anna’s winter wardrobe has expanded in size at an impressive rate since she and the rest of the kingdom discovered Elsa’s powers. She has an ample choice of thick cloaks and hats and gloves and dresses and boots, plenty of changes of clothes for those days when playing in the snow leaves her drenched and in need of something drier to wear.
Some, like the outfit she’s wearing today, are designed for extra heat, with plush lining and built-in layers to keep her nice and toasty, even on these long walks through the snow-covered woods.
But then Elsa looks at her out of the corner of her eye, bare fingers brushing against the back of Anna’s gloved hands, and says, “You look cold. Would you like me to warm you up?”
Anna isn’t cold at all, not really. There’s a slight sting of wind-chill across her nose and cheeks, but everything else is covered and she’s perfectly snug inside her clothes.
That doesn’t matter, though, because she’s always going to say yes.
She lets Elsa pull her to the nearest tumbled log, tugging the scarf away from her mouth so Elsa can see her smile. She knows that it’s wide and happy and earnest, but also hungry, because she knows what’s going to happen next.
Anna sits on her perch and Elsa kneels in front of her, glancing up coyly through her lashes. Still a little bit shy every time, as if it’s still a surprise that Anna wants her near, that Anna wants her touch. No matter how much Anna reassures her that she wants every part of Elsa, wants her in every way, there’s still that hesitance there. But it’s growing weaker over time, like Anna’s gradually corroding Elsa’s worry out of existence through sheer force of will, and she takes a special kind of pride in that.
Elsa never wears a cloak or thick clothes. She doesn’t need to, not out in here in the snow, not when it’s just the two of them. Her dress is light and shimmers under the weak winter sun, and when she settles on the ground in front of Anna like this, it tends to give Anna a pretty impressive view of her cleavage.
Anna’s giggle manages to be equal parts dirty and sheepish, but Elsa just rolls her eyes affectionately and rests her hands against Anna’s knees. And this is the part where Anna always begins to squirm in anticipation, patience evaporating in the face of what comes next.
She watches Elsa gather the layered fabric of Anna’s winter skirts, pushing it slowly up her legs. Always slow, and by this point it’s nothing to do with hesitation and instead is all about the fact that Elsa’s kind of a tease when she wants to be and that’s just wonderful.
When the material is bunched high around Anna’s thighs, Elsa leans in, hands between Anna’s knees and pushing them apart so her boots leave dents in the snow. Just breathing in Anna’s scent for a moment, while Anna tries not to wriggle and whine, because she wants it, she always wants this, wants Elsa so bad.
Elsa likes to wait and wait, until Anna’s practically whimpering, hips twitching against their seat, legs trying to spread wider. And that’s when she’ll lean in those last few precious inches, when she’ll press her face right between Anna’s thighs, breath hot despite her powers, warm enough to make Anna’s eyes roll as the heat sweeps up through her body.
Elsa’s mouth, Elsa’s tongue, moving against her sex, and Anna hears herself babble nonsense, fingers grasping at Elsa’s hair. It’s too cold to shed any of her clothes, so the touch has to be through the fabric of Anna’s underwear, but maybe that’s necessary. Because it’s already so vivid, and Anna thinks her head might burst into flames if it were Elsa’s lips against her bare skin.
She groans throatily when Elsa rocks on her knees, mouth working always, lip restless and divine, and Anna can feel the flush of warmth pinking her cheeks, a furnace trapped in her chest that leaves her sweating beneath her hat and cloak. It’s almost uncomfortable, to be so hot so suddenly, but it’s worth it, so very worth it. In this, Elsa is not shy at all, and Anna tilts her head back, moaning her pleasure, Elsa’s tongue undoing her, the backs of her eyelids painted white as the snow falls gently on her face.
