Things are heating up
Non-con sex. Unconsciousness. Threesome, het and slash sex.
Toward the end there's some philosophy.
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 6: G
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.
And thank you, elfellon111, for for driving me to improve it.
Into the Wild Blue ...
Suddenly, with a sweep of eyelash, his eyes were open and looking at her. The world disappeared. Pygmalion, seeing his beloved statue come to life from cold marble, could not have been more overwhelmed. No sound, no thought, nothing but the sight of his eyes, existed in the moment. The eyes, and the face now lit with the spirit behind them. There was nothing else in the universe for a timeless moment, while he studied her. Finally, she found herself breathing again.
“You deserve to wake up to a vision of beauty. Sorry about that.”
He studied her a moment more, struggling with a world that seemed made of cotton.
“I ….” His soft voice was only a whisper. “You’re beautiful,” he managed.
She couldn’t prevent the wide, silly grin that gripped her face. Whispering was good, for now. Was his compliment sincere or simply the habit of always being good to the public?
“…and the grace of an angel,” she quoted.
He wrinkled his brow delicately in a thoughtful frown. “... see ... angels?” he whispered.
Ellen’s self-conscious smile gave way to a pleased one. Had he seen angels? Not so far-fetched, when he had been so close to death. “What angels did you see?” she asked.
“Told me … help … coming,” he breathed, the consonants blurred around his stiff lips. His eyes rolled in remembrance of the cold time in the car, feeling life and consciousness slipping away. “Carried me … away …”
“Carried you out of the car?”
He started to nod, but found the movement too difficult. “Yes.”
There was that ‘aha!’ moment, when something that has been puzzling you suddenly makes sense. She couldn’t resist stroking his cheek in this precious moment as she said, “That’s why you were so light for me to carry.”
He flinched, though, at her touch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll ask your permission to touch you.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but she broke her word already by putting a finger to his lips. “Shh. There isn’t really anything you need to talk about right now.”
“You need to lie still and let your body recuperate.
“Listen …” she said, as he continued to try to speak. She locked eyes with him, a difficult task to keep steady. “You are as safe as I can arrange for. You’re not out …” she started to say ‘out of the woods’, but changed it. Unlikely he would be sensitive about his name, but she was. “ … of danger. I’ve brought you this far. Trust me.” Then she grinned wryly. “Whenever they say that on TV, you know for sure not to trust that person. So I’ll be nasty and say ‘obey me’ instead.” She sighed and relaxed. “If you just close your eyes and try to sleep, I’ll talk for awhile and tell you what’s happened.” He closed his eyes obediently. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, wait, see if you can swallow some water.”
She brought the glass of water from the dresser, held his head up to drink. “As much as you can.” Gently laid his head back down and returned the glass, assessing how much he had taken. More than half a cup, looked like. “Okay. Close your eyes - try to sleep.”
His brain was foggy. He knew his thinking was unclear, but couldn’t understand why. All he knew was that he had been afraid. Cold and afraid. And then the angel had come. And then this woman, whose voice was strong and reassuring, droning in the background of his thoughts. She said he was safe. He believed her. He needed to believe her. The fear had been too much, unreal, tearing it’s way into his soul. When, at the last, he had wanted to lash out at it, and at the monster that gripped him in an icy embrace, he had found himself too stiff, too sluggush, too weak, to do anything but moan a protest. He had sunk into the cotton-soft bosom of unconsciousness with fear but with relief.
Safe. He clung to that. And to the voice that promised that; replayed her face in his mind as she said, You are safe.
Ellen started at the beginning, the road, the car, explained about drinking in the cold. As she talked she could see him relax. His breathing smoothed out. The light went out of his face, but it now looked peaceful rather than death-still. She hesitated, wondering whether to continue talking; probably he was rather sound asleep, or unconscious again. Amazing that he had been awake at all, at this point.
With a knock and an ‘okay’, a warm towel arrived. Susan’s shift. Ellen felt reluctant to mention Elijah’s moment of consciousness, so she said nothing as she arranged the warm towel and Susan went out.
He had been conscious. But now the night just continued, as though that brief sunshine
Cycle. Another change of the other towel.
There was a quick knock and Mary came in.
“We should check temperature again,” she said matter-of-factly.
Ellen was aghast. She had dismissed any further need of that. “Mary, he’s conscious now!” Mary raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Well, he was awhile ago,” Ellen clarified.
“Well, if he’s conscious … that does change the picture ... but that doesn’t make sense. According to the handbook, it looks like shivering should start before consciousness. And the other one hasn’t stirred.”
“Well, the handbook is talking more about getting colder than about warming up. We don’t really know, and everybody’s different. Anyway, Bedroom is older. He’s still colder than this one. You’re right, he should be checked, to make sure he’s progressing, to know whether he’s probably passed danger of fibrillation.” She glanced down at Elijah, then smiled. “Look, he’s getting goose bumps.” She traced a finger along his arm, looked up at Mary again with her face just pure gladness. “He’s up in the last phase before normal. What time is it?”
“Okay, that was …“ she calculated mentally. “At about one-and-a-half degrees per hour ... Give me the paper over there.” Ellen riffled through for the right page. “Yeah, 95 to 86. I’m betting he’s close to 90̊. Oh.” She looked up. “I forgot about this.” She looked down again and read: “may become quiet and withdrawn or confused and combative … He should be …” God no. ‘Trust me’, she’d said.
“Restrained?” Mary understood immediately. “It would be a good idea. They won’t understand where they are or who we are …”
“And it’s going to help if we tie them up?” Ellen was not happy with this conclusion.
“What are you going to do if he starts slugging you?”
“How would you like to wake up in a strange house, naked and tied up?”
Mary suddenly giggled. “Not really funny, Mary.” Ellen looked thoughtfully down at the face beneath her. “Tie up Bedroom. I think you should. And test him for temperature. Not this one. He’ll be okay.”
“Your funeral. ‘Course, I don’t have anything strong enough …”
“I have nylon cord in the trunk of the car. Becky can get it.” Mary went out. Ellen heard a sharp intake of breath and looked back at Elijah. He was shivering lightly. His eyes opened unseeingly, then closed again.