Taro (mother2012) wrote,
Taro
mother2012

Frozen in Time, chapter 4 of 18

Warnings:
    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 4: R
Type: RP het/slash
Pairing: EW/DM/OFC
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.


Thanks to elfellon111 for beta!

Frozen in Time
A DomLijah Story

by TaroDragon

Part 4

Strangers in the Night



Equipment in hand, Ellen opened the door of the guestroom with her heart hammering against her ribs, paused to stare at the anonymous blanket, then carefully closed the door. Get clothes off before someone comes in with a towel. She had said she'd already done that.

Carefully, she lifted the blanket, arranging it around his legs, avoided looking at his face. Don't stop to stare at him. She opened his coat, tried to work it off a shoulder. Gently, gently. The door opened and Becky came in with a towel. At least it was just Becky.

"How about we have a rule about knocking, Becky?"

"Okaaayyy."

"I mean, do you really want to come in here and see him all naked?"

Becky laughed. "I really don't care, Mom."

"Well, yeah, but part of the reason for doing things this way is so that the ditzes out there aren't seeing him all naked. So let's try a knocking rule. Okay?"

"Whatever."

"Can you help me get his clothes off? I think it's going to be a bit difficult."

Together they got the jacket off his arms, then the zippered hoody. The t-shirt was another matter. How had Bob done it, or hadn't Dom been wearing one? Cut it off. "Becky, there are scissors in my make-up kit over there." Becky found and handed off the scissors, and Ellen started cutting at the hem of the sleeve, up over the shoulder and through the neck. "Hope this wasn't a favorite shirt," she commented, slitting it up the side then pushed it aside toward Becky. Off his chest.

She was really as enthralled with his naked top half as she had been with the bottom. His face was here. His personality ... though that was hidden beneath the semblance of death. She forced herself to breathe deeply. His deep but narrow chest, so small, so delicate. He looked like a life-size doll. With incredible detail.

She needed to get all those layers of clothes out from under him. She slid an arm under his back. The smoothness of his skin, cool against her hand, fuzzed her mind. I am touching him. Touching Elijah. Holding him. The temptation was strong to just pull him against her, warm his cold skin against her own, cuddle and cherish him. Concentrate. She lifted him a few inches, bringing his nipple almost to her mouth. How easy it would be to close her lips over it. Concentrate. "Pull the clothes out, Becky."

Now she stood up and allowed herself to look. Just look at that porcelain body, the sculptured face. She stood an endless time, just caught in the beauty. But the stillness was unreal. Like statues at the wax museum, life-like but still. She allowed her hand to lightly stroke down his chest. Allowed it to lie on his stomach …

"Mom?" Becky's concerned voice brought back the here-and-now. Ellen realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. She jerked her hand away. Don't warm the skin. "Is he dead?"

Ellen interpreted the question as, "Why are you crying?" But she didn't want to answer that one: Because he's hurt. Because he's so still. Because he's Elijah.

"No," she said. "He's just so hurt." She looked at her daughter sharply. "Are you okay, Becky? They could very well die, you know."

But Becky knew her mother. She got up and put an arm around her. "Are you okay, Mom?"

Ellen didn't want to answer that one, either. She wasn't, really, and knew that she wasn't. She knew she should be passing off this responsibility. This man meant too much to her. But for the same reason, she could not give up the opportunity to care for him; to keep him as physically safe as was in her power to do.

So the two of them just looked at him for a minute, Ellen drawing comfort from the warm love and familiarity of her daughter. And suddenly Becky saw it.

"Elijah Wood?"

Ellen started. "Don't say that!" she hissed. "Don't even think it!" She caught a steadying breath at Becky's look of patient inquiry. "We need objectivity. Unemotional decisions. I don't want Mary to know. We need one person, at least, who can be totally objective. And I don't want that other pair to suspect … that I … may not be objective."

Shaking herself a little to get moving, Ellen picked up the tablecloth and tenderly lifted Elijah's head to position it. "Now we're ready for warm towels, Becky."

As Becky closed the door, Ellen took the blanket off. Completely off. Was it really warm enough in here? She studied the small body. Smaller than she expected; perhaps an illusion of perspective. So little body to house so great a spirit. She wanted to flood the room with sunlight, wanted to sweep him up against her, warm him with her body, hold him, protect him from the harsh world. She grunted disparagingly at herself. He deserved the best, which was certainly not herself. She had nothing to give him but love, and right now, that wasn't helping.

Knock at the door. She pulled the blanket over his midsection and called out an ‘okay'. Becky came in with a towel and Ellen meticulously arranged it around the top of his head, not even noticing Becky going out again. This much finally accomplished, she turned her thoughts to other tasks. Water. She filled the eyedropper from the glass, reconsidered and emptied all but a couple drops, gently slipped it between his lips and squeezed it out. There was no swallow reaction, and she sighed to relieve her tension. Then gently touched his lips - the pouty lower lip, the asymetrical upper, the tiny freckle on the edge.

Was he really still breathing? She'd never confirmed that for herself. A finger at his nostrils gave no sign of heat, and her own breathing stopped in her sudden terror. Then she realized that her own warm fingers wouldn't detect any heat. The pan of water was still on the dresser, and she soaked her hand again, thinking about the sensation, how cold it really was. And he was colder than that.... After a minute, she carefully dried her hand and felt for that puff of heat again. Thank God. It was there, just a slight feeling against her finger. With her hand this cold, she dared to stroke his cheek. Got lost in the perfect line of it. Startled at the knock. "Okay." Becky came in.

"Mary says change the towels every five minutes, so here's a fresh one. I was trying to keep the others out, but Susan is demanding she come in here."

"Let her come, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Becky. And yes, five minutes is probably about right." Ellen arranged the fresh towel as Becky picked up the cooler one. "How's her patient?" she asked, suddenly realizing she hadn't thought about Dom since sending him in to the bedroom.

"How could I know? Same condition as this one, I guess." Becky opened the door but Ellen called her back.

"Becky," she said, "have I told you lately how proud I am of you?"

Becky grinned. "Not today, no. But I'm just trying to help them, too." She slipped out again.

Ellen phased out, lost in studying his face. At the next knock she covered him more completely before Susan brought in the towel. Without comment Ellen handed off the cooler towel, arranged the warm one, aware that Susan was watching her every move. Susan went out finally, and now Ellen soaked her hand again. She craved being able to touch him. For a couple of minutes she just immersed herself in tracing the lines of his face.

The next knock brought Susan again, with the towel, and Mary behind her. Ignoring Susan, Mary said, "Becky's watching the other one. I wanted to talk about resuscitation. By the way, Susan, could we call them by their names?"

Susan looked totally nonplussed, and Ellen could see the search for fake names going on behind her eyes. "I don't think she's going to tell us their real names. Right Susan?" Turning back to Mary, "Just call them Bedroom and Guestroom, okay?"

"Whatever. But do you know how to do mouth-to-mouth?"

"I had the Red Cross course in CPR. But that was what? Twenty years ago? I think I remember but I never did it on a real person."

"Why don't you try it now while I can watch?" Perfectly reasonable demand. Ellen's pulse quickened.

"Have you tried it yet?"

"No. I wanted to make sure we're agreed, first."

"I think we should cool our hands first." She went to the basin again, thrust in both hands. "It seems to me I remember something about three puffs of air."

"Yeah, but I think we should just do one. At least for now."

"I agree with that." Ellen withdrew her hands, once more dried them. Turned to the bed. "Susan? I'm sorry, but you make me nervous."

"Oh." Susan appeared surprised. "I hadn't thought of that. Sorry." With an agonized look toward the bed, she left quickly.

Ellen slid a hand under Elijah's neck, lifted gently, tilted his head back; then, apologizing mentally, opened his mouth, slipped her thumb behind his teeth to lift his jaw. Pinched his nostrils with her other hand. Surreal. Slow-motion. Brought her lips down to cover his. Concentrate. Blew once sharply. Backed away, gently closed his mouth.

"Did his chest rise?"

"Yes. You did it perfectly. Come spot for me."

Ellen sighed softly. She didn't want to leave him. But she should do this. She should help Mary care for Dom. They needed to be a team. She pulled the blanket off again; with gritted teeth made herself not really look, then followed Mary out the door and to the bedroom.

Dom was arranged across the bed much as Elijah in the guestroom, totally naked. Ellen stared at the still face with mild antipathy. What's so special about you that you should have him?

She watched as Mary hooked a thumb in Dom's jaw and brought her lips to his. Does Elijah lean down to kiss him like that? His chest rose slightly in response to Mary's puff of breath.

"Yes," she said, in response to the question not yet asked.

Mary replied, "Okay. I think we should do that once between towels."

"Yes, I think we should." Fuzzy brain again. Her lips against his. Parody of a kiss. She licked her lips. Of course, he tasted like a smoker, but that didn't change the hunger she felt for more.



Becky came to the guestroom with the towel. Ellen changed it, then realized that the pan of cold water was gone. Mary had needed it, of course. "Becky, you're going to have to keep us both supplied with cold water. If you get it to the right temperature, it should stay there for a long time, so the thermometer doesn't have to stay in it."

"Sure, Mom. Anything else?"

"No. Oh, yes. Remind Mary that there may not be any bladder control."

Becky looked at her blankly, until she figured it out. "Oh. How about more tablecloth?"

"Yes. I'll cut this piece in half." Then, "Get me the water."

She cut the tablecloth. Performed the bittersweet task of positioning under his buttocks along with a dry towel (her hands on his flesh, on his ass, lifting, pressing, handling his body - his hips, his groin, his private parts - as he lay insensitive and unaware), repositioned the blanket, then waited impatiently for the water to come, anxious to make progress, to do something, to help him. She thought of trying the sugar water again, but decided to wait. She didn't want a build-up in his mouth that he ended up aspirating.

Finally Becky came with the pan; set it on the dresser.

"Must be time for another towel," she said, hands cooling in the water She didn't want Becky to watch the ‘kiss'.

With the door safely closed, she bent to that sweet duty again. But his lips were cold and unresponsive, and a tear slid down her cheek, because this young man should be so full of life and energy. She took off the blanket. It should be off as much as possible anyway. She didn't need to feel guilty about that. And surely there was no harm in looking at him.

His head, turned slightly sideways toward her, the wide and prominent jaw, the way it was defined against his thick, strong neck. His shoulders, the weakest part of his body, which somehow gave him that air of preciousness, of vulnerability and sweetness. No, the sweetness was in his face. In the sweep of his cheek. And perhaps the way his lashes lay against that cheek. His arms, lean and strong, ending in those broad but small hands, those lovely, graceful fingers. And his legs, sturdy and strong - he always gave the impression that it would take a great deal to unbalance him, both physically and mentally. The curve of his thigh and calf, the elegant line of his foot, ending with his short toes.

When the next towel arrived, the next breath had been given, she checked the time. Nine o'clock. With aggressive rewarming, body temperature should rise about one to one-and-a-half degrees per hour. If he had been about 75 to 78 degrees to start, with six to seven hours per ten degrees, then he should be about 85 somewhere around 3:00 in the morning. Eighty-five degrees would be probably out of danger. She looked at him speculatively. Sometime she needed to find out whether he was really warming. If their techniques were working, he should pass 80 degrees by one o'clock. And by 2:00 she should find out whether he had significantly passed the crucial 82 degrees. Having done it once, was there any greater transgression in doing it again? She decided she could drag herself away long enough to talk with Mary.



She knocked on the bedroom door, went in at Mary's ‘okay'.

"I wanted to see whether you had any other thoughts. How's your patient?"

Mary shrugged. "Hard to tell. Cold and still. Breathing."

"I'm thinking I should check about 2:00 to see whether we're making progress."

"‘Check temperature? That sounds about right. I'm thinking that I should check this one now so there's a basis for comparison. No reason to believe that they'll progress the same."

"Yeah. You do that." She wasn't interested in his body, but studied it anyway. Does Elijah love to stroke him? Pinch his nipples, bite his belly. Has that penis been in Elijah's mouth? A chill shook her, followed by a rush of warmth. Elijah's penis in that mouth, being suckled ... She found herself quite caught up in that vision and suddenly realized that she wanted to see that. She dragged herself away from it. Inappropriate. Especially now. "Any other thoughts?"

"Have you tried water?"

"Once. He didn't swallow it and I didn't want to try again yet."

There was a knock and Bob came in with the towel change at the ‘okay'.

"The other two are going to try to sleep awhile," he said. "One person should be able to handle this." Ellen smiled at him. He really wasn't a bad person, and he really did look worried.

"They'll be all right," she said quietly.

"You can't know that," he replied, his voice shaking a little.

"No, I can't. But I can, and do, feel it. We figure we'll know more in a few hours."

Bob came over to the bed and looked down at his charge. "You think they should come to by then?" This time the Look passed between Mary and Ellen.

"No. But we'll check to see whether they're warmer." Ellen waited for a question, but Bob seemed to see nothing to ask. "In line with that," she continued, "make sure that you don't enter a room without the ‘okay'. Some things could take longer than five minutes."

Bob looked at her strangely, but didn't seem inclined to challenge this statement. He just said, "Okay," took the cool towel and went out.

"It'll be my turn for a towel," Ellen said.

"Yes, but I just thought. We should be checking for pulse, too. If they do go into fibrillation, I don't know how we'll know. But if we try to monitor …"

"Yeah, we can do CPR if we know we have to."



Ellen changed the towel Bob brought, cooled her hands, held his beautiful head, breathed into him, checked for pulse. That took awhile. She held his hand, probing his wrist for any sign of the flow of life, but the hardened skin yielded no secrets. She studied his hand while she held it, laid her own hand against the length of it. The palm of his hand was wide and powerful, but his fingers slightly shorter than her own. She gave up on the pulse and got her chapstick from her makeup, then settled on the edge of the bed, took up a hand, and meticulously worked the oily solid into each cuticle. Bob brought another towel.

"Check the air temperature, would you?"

Now she got out her body lotion. This lotion was loaded with aloe, and she remembered reading somewhere that aloe helped prevent frostbite injury. This cycle, after doing the requisite checks and services, she began rubbing in the lotion. Smooth neck, like a column of marble. Narrow shoulders, deep chest. The feel of his skin and the amazing texture of it, pale and soft as a baby's here, not frozen like his fingers; the slenderness of his arms concealing hard muscle, the outline of ribs, the sweet tenderness of his stomach, the vulnerability of his navel ...

"Up to 80 degrees," Bob told her when he came back.

"Should be good for now. Is it still snowing?"

"Yes."

She gave him a level look. "There won't be any getting to a hospital tomorrow," she said.

He looked helpless, frustrated. "What about a helicopter? There ought to be something."

"Can't fly a helicopter in a blizzard."

"Snowmobile?"

"Even if we could find any, these boys can't go out in the cold. And the hospital hasn't even been able to locate one to send someone out. It has to be an ambulance, and they just aren't going to get through until the plows come out."

Cycle again. Rub lotion on his legs, his feet, separating each toe to work between them. Eventually, becoming desensitized to the nagging guilt, she paid the same attention to his hips, his inner thighs, his abdomen. How slender, how exquisitely formed, how fragile. Had she known when she started that she would get to that? She firmly repressed the stirring in her groin, the clench of her stomach, clamped down on her imagination and stuck with enjoying the shape and texture that she stroked. Surely there was no harm in tracing the lines of his body with a cooled hand? Surely the lotion was a good thing?

Cycle: change the towel, cool her hands, hold his head, breathe into him, check for pulse, caress his body, pray. How close now to two o'clock?



It went on. And on. Like a dream. The fear, the sensuousness, the physical exhaustion. New warm towel; check for pulse, for any change in breath; get her hands cold to touch him; tilt his head, never ceasing to wonder at the breadth of his jaw; giving in to some caress, hooking her thumb around those tiny teeth, pulling the jaw forward; a gentle stroke down his perfect nose ending in blocking the nostrils, then the plunge down to cover his lips with hers, the one firm exhalation - breath of life and warmth, a gift from her body to his; giving in more and more frequently to the temptation to explore his mouth a bit while she was there, learning the shape of his teeth with her tongue. Let go of nostrils, carefully let go of jaw, gently close his mouth. Then move down to pet some part of his body.

Somewhere around 11:30, it occurred to her that a pulse might be more available in the throat. She tested on herself several times, investigating just where and how to find it, and thereafter she checked both wrist and throat. At midnight, she checked in with Mary, noting as she passed the living room that Becky and Bob slept peacefully while Susan prepared towels.

"How're you holding up?"

"Very tired. But I'm all right. How about you?"

"I think I'm too keyed up to be very sleepy. Tired though. I hope I'm still thinking straight."

"I'm thinking we could move up to doing the breath twice in the five minutes," Mary suggested. "What do you think?"

"Actually, it crossed my mind."

Around 1:00 she tried two drops of water again, but again he didn't swallow.

As two o'clock approached, she became nervous. Stopped the petting and caressing, sat and looked at him instead. Where are you, Elijah? Are you there, just beneath the surface? Are you aware of me on some level?

And then finally, Forgive the intrusion again, but I need to know.
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