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Fiction Friday! This weeks prompt was to: Your assignment this week was to write about sex without writing about the actual act. Because you always want to leave a little to the imagination.

Queen Snow throws open the door of her chamber and strides angrily towards her dressing table, all the while removing the heavy baubles of Queendom. First the ridiculous, outdated tiara, then the snow seal and its heavy silken cord, the core of which is woven with strands of hair from all Snow Queens past. More still, rings, bracelets, and her curved knives hidden in her sleeves. She flings herself on the bench and covers her face with her hands, taking a long deep breath in. Today was a hard day to be Queen. Her land in trouble, her people in need, assassins everywhere.

Then she feels his nails slide lightly against her skin, leaving dark pink traces, as he lifts her hair away from her neck to brush it softly. She bends her head forwards slightly in supplication. Aching. She can feel his heat warming the air between them, even though he is standing a foot behind and barely touching her. He is melting the floor and it strikes her that even her castle gives away for him. She has a violent urge to turn into him and press her lips against the warm skin pulsing over his heartbeat, to press herself against him, skin sizzling from the sudden contact. But he denies her this, smiling, forcing her still with his hands and his will.


Queen Snow does not answer, instead closes her eyes, feeling the soft landing of her lashes as they come to rest against her bone white skin. His eyes ride the ridges of her face, lingering on the sculpted curve of her jaw, sweeping slowly toward her azure lips now parted slightly, revealing just a glimpse of her lavender tongue so exotic, begging tasting.

Refusing to be stilled now she rises from her seat, eyes still closed, turns and slides her hands up his chest, along the sides his neck leaving wisps of steam, and reaches for the clasp of his hair binding. He does not stop her, growling as her fingers probe the base of his neck. Once released, the hair springs from his head a wild, streaked mane bringing with it the scent of his land, the scent of him. Musk, cinnamon, cloves, smoke, curry leaf, and lemon peel cascade down her body filling her pores. She dreams this smell when they are apart and it brings tears to her eyes now.

Shhh. My love, I’m here.

But, you are not.

Before she can add anything more she hears her chamber door open. She opens her eyes looking in the mirror and sees him there, clearer than ever. She shakes her head pressing her fingers against her eyebrows. This sharing, this new way of being together over distance is starting to shatter her mind. But the door opens further and behind his long legs she sees four more, claws digging in the floor. Alice! She never dreams of Alice.

Overflowing with rage, embarrassment, happiness, sorrow, joy, relief and finally love, she launches herself through the air at the two of them. Landing, sliding on her knees, to Alice whom she wraps her arms first. Holding tightly, making sure she is real, Queen Snow whispers, “Thank you for bring him back.”

Alice tilts her head down resting her furred cheek against the Queens. Waits a moment,walks across the room to the balcony and leaps into the night. Still on her knees she looks up at Syten, he reaches behind his head frees his hair then kneels joining her on his knees.

“Now, where were we?”