Non-con sex. Unconsciousness. Threesome, het and slash sex.
Toward the end there's some philosophy.
If you don't like the first chapter, you won't like the rest.
Contains opinions, assumptions and situations that some might find offensive.
Medical issues are based on my experience with frostbite, information from the internet, and common
sense. They are pretty much correct, but I have ignored a thing or two. It is, however, a whole lot more accurate than "Forever Young."
This is entirely written, so you don't need to worry about whether it gets finished. However, while I certainly appreciate that not everyone gives feedback to every chapter (including me), if I don't get much of any positive feedback, I will probably lose interest in posting.
Rated: Series: NC-17, Chapter 3: NC-17
Type: RP het/slash
Disclaimer: This is fiction. And not intended even to be wise. While some of these characters may be based on real people, I don't personally know them. I made it all up out of my perverted little head.
No, I don't make any money at this.
Archive: No, please.
Feedback: Please feed me. Praise is lovely. Constructive criticism is valued. If you find nothing of value in it, though, please don't bother telling me. You wouldn't be the first person.
Beta: The wonderful elfellon111, whose attention to detail has inspired me to be a better writer.
A DomLijah Story
Ya Gotta Do What Ya Gotta Do
Ellen leaned over the bed, pulled the bottom half of the blanket up over the top, tucked it in around the boy's waist. She didn't want to lose any more heat than necessary. Then kneeling between his legs, where her own body heat would radiate to that cold flesh, she unfastened his jeans, hooked her fingers around the waistband and started to pull. A black spot on the pale skin right beneath her fingers stopped her.
"Ohmigod!" She froze. All of time froze for an endless moment. Thoughts fragmented; scattered and swirled; then coalesced in a different way. She forced herself to breath. It's a copycat, she thought. Of course it's a copycat. Anything else was impossible. Anything else is unthinkable. She realized that her fingers were caressing that tattoo, all by themselves. Stroking, feeling the skin. She pulled her hand away, sat back, contemplated the pile of blanket in front of her. She cast back in her mind to reconsider her first evaluation of the boy's face in the car. She hadn't really seen it. Just a cheekbone. A prominent cheekbone. And in the light of her own car? She hadn't really looked. Just a glimpse of a fringe of beard. The kind young men grow to make them feel older.
The shape of the hips was certainly correct. The pale skin - could just be the result of being so cold. She could lift the blanket and look. A few moments without that insulation wouldn't make much difference. But considering what she was about to do, did she really want to know?
It wasn't him anyway. It couldn't be. So it didn't matter. She stood up, went to the head of the bed, reached toward the blanket. Her hand was actually shaking. She grasped the blanket firmly and carefully eased it back.
Well, a part of her had known. She wasn't really surprised. Just stunned. Again her hand moved without conscious thought, reached out to touch those fine features, let her fingers rest on the sweet line of his cheek. The cold shocked her. And reminded her. She yanked her hand back. Don't touch, idiot. If there was anything she didn't want, it was to cause damage to that lovely skin.
Then suddenly, she was sick to her stomach, gagging. To see him lying there like that … Quickly she replaced the blanket, turned away. Slowly her mind stopped reeling. Slowly she recovered from the shock, abrogated the rules of the universe, accepted that she was standing in this circumstance, in this time, that he was here, needed her ...
Mary will be coming. Her brain kicked into overdrive. In a fraction of a moment she planned her course. She wouldn't tell Mary. Not yet anyway. Mary loved the Fellowship of the Ring movie, and was even sort of an Elijah fan. No, a Frodo fan, really. But she wouldn't recognize him now. Wouldn't know about the tattoo. Keep it to herself for now. Don't tell … those people, obviously not his parents. Who were they? Hirelings of some sort. Probably the names were fake, for whatever reason. ‘Bob and Susan' was just a little too trite for believability.
As she thought, she moved back to his legs. Gently touched the jeans at his inner thigh. The skin should be warmer here than on his face, less susceptible to heat damage. But that was just a cover story, what her brain told her soul that she was thinking, hiding the longing ...
Mary will be coming. She'll wonder why you didn't get his pants off. But it wasn't just a procedure now. A few minutes ago she was dispassionately considering a clinical operation. Now it was incredibly intimate and personal. She hooked her fingers in the waistband again and, leaving the boxers, gently pried the jeans down, again glad of her months of weight-lifting.
Down over the slender hips, past the boxers. Bare legs emerging. She became aware that she wasn't breathing again, stopped. Breathed. Her body was out of her control. Moistness between her legs. Excitement tightening her gut. How much she had yearned to see this body – not like this.
Not like this!
She eased the pants down further. Shoes, idiot. She removed the footgear, pulled off the jeans. Stopped to admire his feet, his toes. Fingers slid up the downy-haired leg. Take off the boxers? Actually look at his private parts? Which he so carefully never exposed to the public? Hell, she was already looking at more than he volunteered. Could she do this?
Admiring the curve of his thigh and calf, she considered for a few precious seconds. Was she certain that this had to be done? Yes, even more so now. To risk this precious life was unthinkable; below 80 meant that he was at very great risk. Above 80 meant that they could just heat up the house and leave the two of them to warm on their own. Below 80 ... would require every bit of ingenuity and prayer that she could come up with.
Other alternative - have Mary do it. She knew that's what she ought to do. But to have someone else touch him in that intimate way - that was also unthinkable. While she was thinking ahead, though ...
She rummaged through her toiletries, found her hand lotion and smeared it lavishly on the finger she meant to use. Stopped and stared at her finger for a moment, then at the still, pale legs emerging from the blanket.
Quickly. Mary will be coming. She pulled the boxers down and off without really looking, deliberately looking away as the door opened.
Mary came in with a pan of water, and a towel. She set it on the dresser, and Ellen forced herself to walk steadily over to it, putting her right hand in the water. It was colder than she expected. The thermometer in the bottom did indeed read 80°. She immersed her whole forearm, the coldness calming her. Mary, accustomed to patients in whatever condition, barely glanced at the bed. "You want me to do it?"
"No, that's okay. My idea; and my hand's already cold." Then after a moment, thinking This is how cold his body is, she added, "Quite cold, actually." I've got to get her out of here. I can't have her watch. "Why don't you see if you can find more information on the internet?"
"You think we need more?"
"More is always better. And make sure the two looney tunes don't come back here."
Ellen watched the door close, then turned around. Seeing the naked bottom half was just too weird, surreal. She looked back at her hand. She had a responsibility here. Should they just let him warm, or start active warming?
Do it, get it done.
Quickly she dried her hand, careful not to wipe off the lotion; went back to the bed, knelt between his legs, resisting the desire to stroke them, to feel the powerful muscle she knew lay beneath the smooth skin. Gently, gently she moved them wide, out of her way, bending a knee up to expose him fully. The testicles were completely withdrawn, nearly inside him. Her hand reached out to touch. No, better not. How many times had she speculated on that crotch? With the genitals shrunken, it looked child-like, in spite of the short dark hair. Left hand holding his leg aside, right hand down, finger probing.
Even in the midst of this, she was conscious every moment of the beauty of him, the strong and slender shape, the swell of his tummy rising from the hollow of his hips. Her awe at his beauty, the wonder of touching him, warred with the nausea she felt at his condition. Trying to ignore all of those emotions, she watched her finger finding entrance. Slowly she pushed it in. Watching fascinated, yet trying to remain detached. Probing, probing for heat. Her hips moving without any volition. Unaware that she was panting softly. Finger deep inside him. No heat.
She felt her vagina clench - a warning of her state of mind - made herself concentrate on the business at hand, panting to steady herself, she forced her attention to return to her finger. Coolness surrounded it. No heat. He was colder than 80 degrees. Slowly she withdrew her finger, watching it emerge. God, talk about guilty pleasures.
She pulled the blanket back down, tucked it gently and meticulously around his legs. She didn't feel good about what she had done. It was like taking advantage. It was taking advantage. Because no matter what she told herself about the necessity, she was glad to have touched him. She should have let Mary do it. She turned away from him, forced herself to concentrate on the decor of the room, anything as far removed from that beautiful body as possible. Steadied, she opened the door. Walked to Mary's room.
Mary was at the computer, Becky hanging over her. She made herself be interested in the information on the computer screen. Except she couldn't quite make sense of it. Her brain was fuzzy, cottony. Mary looked up. "You okay?"
"Yes." ‘Why wouldn't I be' would be a stupid thing to say right now. She took a deep breath. "Colder than 80," she said.
"Damn!" Mary huffed out a breath. "Okay, so we need to do active rewarming, right? And it's getting pretty warm in here. How warm do we want it?"
"Well, warmer than they are, but not too much, right? I set it for 80, but maybe that's too high."
"Better safe than sorry," Mary agreed. "Becky, why don't you go set it for 75 degrees?"
Ellen sank down on the bed with something of a sobbing sigh.
"Are you okay?" Mary asked.
"Yes ... That was harder than I expected."
"I should have done it."
"No. Yes. Maybe. Whatever. It's done. Find anything?"
"Okay. So ... what was it we were going to do?"
"Put warm wet towels on the head."
"Yeah. It sounds the best bet to me." Becky came back in and Ellen turned to her. "So what is the temperature?"
"Good. Probably almost equilibrium. Now we need to start on the towels. Let's see, keep spares ready all the time - maybe six towels? Why don't you go start the water running in the sink and then put the towels in it when it's just nicely warm."
I'll get her that thermometer. Let's see ... what temperature are we going to want to start with?"
"Lower than that, I think. If you think 73 is almost equilibrium, I wouldn't go over eighty for now. We can move it up after awhile. Let's go, Becky."
"I'm going to want you to keep bringing fresh towels," Ellen rambled on, "first to me in the guest room, then to the idiots in the living room …" she paused, sudden fresh sympathy for the ‘idiots', caught up in a web of circumstance. Paid responsibility for someone else's life, and that responsibility on the point of failure. And she hadn't consulted them about this, or advised them of her plan. "Squeeze them out, not too much, but we don't want them dripping and getting other things wet. Then another fresh one for me, another fresh one for the living room …" If that was Elijah in the guest room, was that Dominic in the living room? "It's going to get …" boring? Not for me. "Tiring. You may as well have a movie on."
"Why are we doing this?" Becky asked.
"The top of your head is where heat escapes the fastest. It's also where it's absorbed the fastest," Mary replied.
"I thought you don't want fast circulation?" Becky persisted as they went out the door.
"We don't want the cold blood from the skin circulating. But apparently, from the handbook, this will bring heat to the organs. Does that make sense?" Ellen heard Mary explaining as they went down the hall.
We need to get Becky's air mattress blown up, Ellen's busy brain was thinking as she looked one more time at the blanket-shrouded form on the bed before following to the living room.
‘Bob' and ‘Susan' were talking quietly … make that arguing vociferously but quietly as Ellen came in. She heard Susan say, "But we don't know these people! What if they ..." She coughed to announce her presence.
"Okay, this is how it is. First, we should take off the blankets and clothes now it's warmed up in here. Then we're going to put warm wet towels on their heads. We need to keep the towels at a steady temperature, so this is going to be an ongoing project for several hours."
The two keepers exchanged their Look, and Bob said, "I thought we were only going to do what's necessary?"
Ellen hesitated. She could understand their reluctance. These famous boys, their employers - to strip them, leave them naked in a private house where everyone was an unknown quantity (and hadn't she already betrayed the spirit of confidence, already enjoyed an illicit look at private property?), must be a terrifying thought to them.
"They aren't your sons, are they?" she asked.
Both heads shook at once.
What to do? What would lead gently and naturally into what must be done? "Well, take the blanket off, and his shirt." Bob went over to the bed, lifted the blanket. "Gently," Ellen reminded. "Touch him as little as possible, and really avoid the face. Warming it too fast can cause the tissue to rot." She noticed Susan headed toward the hallway.
"Where are you going, Susan?"
"I'll take care of …" hesitation "… the other one."
"Already done." Boy, is he taken care of. "You two take care of him," pointing to the bed, "and I'll take care of …" exact same hesitation "… the other one."
Susan returned reluctantly to the bed. "You mean you've already taken his clothes off?" There was a hint of incredulity in her voice.
"Yes," Ellen said steadily. For other people, it wouldn't be a big deal.
"Look, we've got a long night ahead. We'll need to trade off and take turns sleeping. There's Becky's air mattress there. Somebody needs to blow it up so you two can take turns sleeping on it. Speaking of blowing, we'll need to blow into their lungs, like we were talking about earlier. I want to get things set up first, get the first towels applied …"
"Is all this really necessary?" Susan interrupted. "I can't believe that they won't just warm up and be fine."
Ellen stared at her coldly, disliking her stubborn unwillingness to understand. "I think it is. Listen." She paused, sighed. She desperately wanted to keep the upper hand, knowing that if she appeared the least bit hesitant she would find the situation out of her control. "I mean to do everything in my power, in every way I can, to help these boys. You haven't even attempted to read the handbook. I wish you would do that. I am very certain that if we just leave them alone, they will die."
Mary interrupted, coming in equipped with old flannel-backed plastic tablecloth and dry towels. "I thought we'd put this under their heads to keep the bed dry," she said.
"Good thought. Flannel side up, I assume."
"Yes, I think so."
"Okay, give me some for …" - hesitation - "… the other one. No, wait." She stared thoughtfully at the body on the mattress, now bare to the waist. Yes; Dominic. Vulnerable; more angelic than she would have thought, lying there unconscious and helpless. She had always wanted to paint him as the villain, the man who had corrupted the innocent Elijah in New Zealand, took advantage of his need for love and connection to sate his own desire for a beautiful boy. But his face was sweet, at least as he lay there insensible and unaware of scrutiny. He looked just as small and helpless as Elijah. She turned her pensive gaze on Susan. "Once we start, we can't stop. So let's make sure we're all on the same page here. First, that's no boy. He's got to be in his twenties. The older they are, the worse the situation."
For the first time, Mary actually looked at the face on the bed. "He looks kind of familiar," she said. Ellen grunted, she didn't want Mary to pursue that thought. "I'm betting," she continued as though Mary hadn't spoken, "that one or both of them are rich and you two are employees." She noticed The Look being exchanged again. For Mary's benefit she added, "The car they crashed was very expensive."
A new thought occurred to her: "It seems to me, if I were in such a situation, I'd rather not have employees working over my naked body. Strangers would be better. A little distance and detachment, like there would be in a hospital." Not that I can manage any kind of distance or detachment!
"So what are you suggesting?" Susan asked.
"I'm suggesting that, if it's all right with Mary, we move this one into her bedroom where there can be some privacy, then you two and Becky keep the towels coming."
"That's okay with me," Susan acquiesced in a tone that sounded suspiciously like relief. "Bob?"
Bob sighed heavily. "I don't mind saying I'd prefer that."
"Mary? That puts a big burden on you and me."
"Not all that big. It's fine."
"Yeah, but … there's a couple other things."
"CPR. You're trained on that aren't you?"
"Yes, but we don't need the ‘cardio', you said. Right?"
"I looked at the papers again. Fibrillation can be expected below 82°. How do we know if that happens? Maybe you should call the hospital again."
"No, I know the answer to that. Without equipment, all we can do is monitor for pulse. Unless we intend to start CPR and keep it up all night, which I doubt is possible."
Ellen closed her eyes and breathed a prayer. Then opened them again. "Well, maybe they will send someone out with a snowmobile. Would they be able to bring that kind of equipment?"
"On a snowmobile? No way. The best we could hope for would be rectal thermometers."
"Okay, but we should call again and see whether someone is coming, anyhow. No ‘cardio' for now, if it isn't going to do any good. But once we get the wet towels going, we need to do the lung warming. Oh, and hydration. The handbook is big on hydration. Got any eyedroppers?"
"Good. We can try just a drop or two and see whether they swallow. Are we ready to roll?"
Once again a deep breath. Ellen realized that her chest was tight. Tension, oh yes. "Okay. Bob, you take him in to the bedroom. Becky, get a glass of lukewarm water for each room."
"Put a little sugar in each glass," Mary added to that.
Nutrition! She should have thought of that! - try to give them something to run on. "About a teaspoon, you think?" She watched as Dom's body was lifted in Bob's arms, flopping limply like a rag doll, was barely aware of Mary's agreement. Where was I? Oh, yes. Something for stress. "Oh, and a couple vitamin C - and one B in each glass. Mash it up fine so it'll dissolve.
"I'll help you with that, Becky," Mary volunteered.
"I'll help Susan start getting the water temperature right. It's going to be a long night."