Archive of Our Own

A wash of tingling spills across the apple of your cheeks all the way to your toes, the warmth finally permeating limbs that had been flash-frozen on your brief excursion to collect kindling. Eyes flag even lower now that you’re warming up, but you force yourself to focus on the shadows licking at the floorboards. You’re going to stay up this year, damnit.

Each sip of tea spreads marvelous heat within you and by the time you’re finished, you’ve warmed up enough for the back of your robe to stick to your sweat-slicked skin. As much as you dislike the cold, you dislike being sticky even more so. Usually.

That thought ushers a new but entirely unrelated flash of warmth through you, one that tugs your bottom lip between teeth as your robe is doffed and slung carelessly over the back of the chair. And you’re thankful for the lightweight fabric of your sleepwear that allows just enough cool air to reach just enough exposed skin; the mixture of cozy warm and refreshing cool coalesces into the perfect equilibrium that has you nodding off within minutes.

The world is blissfully quiet, air still in the absence of a winter storm. But then you step forward, and—

A shadow looming in the dark.

Paralyzing fear coursing through you.

Rough hands grabbing hold of you

Teeth gnashing, gnawing, dragging down along a shoulder.

Pain that isn’t pain.

Fear that isn’t fear.

Luxurious warmth wrapping above you, around you, inside you.

Breath you can’t catch.

Pleasure you can’t resist.

It’s too much. Too little.

Too…cold?

Eyelids flicker open to the fire still burning strong. But a sharp chill pricks at your shoulders and thighs, enough to have you dragging yourself upright in search of the draft. You cast a cursory glance around the room and immediately still.

The window you’d earlier watched snowflakes dance through is open.

You try not to let your imagination run wild with it. It could just be a critter looking for respite. A faulty hinge blown open by the wind. Or—

Eyes sweep along the tundra outside, searching for what you’re not entirely sure. But you find it, reflected back at you in the glass. Standing in your home.

A single, shaky breath fogs the window.

“You’re here.” There’s no response, not even a shift in posture. The figure just stands there, looking at you with that glowing, molten eye that burns into you even in reflection, and you know the other swims with just as much frightening beauty. You remember these eyes.

“It’s been a long year,” you mutter towards the glass. Courage finally twists its way into your bones and you turn to face the entity standing before you.

“I’ve missed you, Silco.”

And that’s all it takes for the figure to move, to morph into a much less imposing stature and step into the light of the fire.

A slight smile settles across his features, eyes alight but tired. Crinkled in the corners in a way that softens the deep scarring stretching from brow to lip. Strong, twisted horns curl above his forehead. He takes another step forward and you hear the distinct clomp of cloven hooves against the wood flooring. He’s just as handsome as you remember.

“Dove.” His voice tunnels into your chest and trickles down like honey. A single word in that husky timbre you’ve longed for all year is enough to have you moving away from the window. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach, he’s wrapping you in a tight embrace, nuzzling into your hair as he breathes you in.

“Not a day has gone by that I haven’t longed to hold you again.” Your heart melts and pools a delicious warmth in your abdomen as your hands glide up his arms to his shoulders, luxuriating in the silky fine fur between your fingers.

“Smooth-talker,” you mumble into his chest. The gentle rolling rumble of his chuckle seeps into your very bones and you swear you’d be perfectly happy to stay right here for the rest of the winter. Silco pulls back only enough to face you.

“I am no such thing, dove. How selfish I would be if I didn’t tell you how much I’ve dreamt about you,” his mismatched eyes flick over your face, “you’re even more beautiful than last year.”

You swat at his shoulder. “You say that every year.”

“It’s true every year.”

You can feel the color rise in your cheeks and you quickly pivot the conversation. “How is it this year?”

Silco plants a kiss on your forehead, then peppers more around your temples between words. “Not nearly as many attempts on my life this year, which is an improvement. But the weather is miserable.”

“You could always stop doing it,” you suggest weakly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Silco shakes his head at you. How many years will you have to have this conversation?

“Some other beast will take up residency here if I don’t make my yearly appearance. The townspeople may think I’m evil, but I assure you that I am truly benign compared to some of the others. The Abominable Snowman actually eats children.”

The giggle that bubbles from you is involuntary, but it spurs Silco on to press more kisses to your brow, your cheek, your jaw, until he’s picking you up and spinning you like you weigh nothing more than the snowflakes in the wind.

Your fingers tangle in the thick fur at the nape of Silco’s neck—an excellent insulator, a necessity when it comes to fending off the worst winter your town has seen in a decade. Your heart stings, thinking of Silco traversing the horrid terrain outside to do such a thankless job. The townsfolk have conjured up their own tales about the monster that prowls the streets on the eve of Yule; that he snatches up mischievous children and terrorizes them into behaving, but that’s not at all the truth. 

Well, maybe it’s half the truth—he does cut a rather frightening silhouette to the cowardly—but contrary to popular folklore, Silco has not once harmed a resident of this town in all the years he’s lurked in its shadows.

The sting worsens, knowing that the small-minded prejudice of your neighbors will always shed a lie-tinted light on a creature they will never bother to understand, to examine past the horns and imposing stature to see into the heart of the gentle giant that holds you to his chest.

“What’s bothering you, dove?” Silco’s words pull you from your devolving thoughts to meet his eyes again. “Your brow is pinched.”

“It is not,” you try to deflect. But he knows you too well.

“You can’t lie to me. I can see it plain as day, right here.” He pecks kisses in rapid-fire succession to the furrow in your brow until it’s melted away and laughter spills from your lips. Satisfied he’s chased away whatever ill thoughts had plagued you, he rests his forehead against yours even as he places you back on the ground.

“There’s my pretty girl.”

His.

The thought of belonging to the beast that haunts your town propels you forward and you press your lips to his in a long-overdue kiss. You both groan, not from carnal pleasure but from the simple act of being reunited after another long year apart. Silco’s lips are just as soft as you remember, though no amount of imagination on lonely nights can compare to the real thing.

You deepen the kiss slowly, lips reacquainting themselves with the rhythm of one another. But you quickly become impatient and slide your tongue along his lower lip. Silco grants you access with another, deeper groan, allowing you to set the pace as his tongue meets yours, and before long you’re reluctantly pulling away to catch your breath.

A clawed hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb swiping across the corner of your mouth.

“Silco,” you breathe against his roving digit. His eyes drop to your lips as you speak. “It’s been a long year.”

There’s no need for elaboration. You’ve both been waiting so patiently for your annual visit, to wrap yourselves up in one another until the sun ushers in the first light of Yule. And that’s exactly what you intend to do.

You’re quickly hauled over to the seat you’d fallen asleep in and placed onto the cushion so sweetly it makes your heart and core warm in unison.

Massive palms alight on either knee, ends of fingers nearly reaching the top of your thighs as he spreads your legs to kneel before you. Even on his knees, Silco sits at eye-level. You’ll never tire of his gaze; mismatched eyes in perfect coordination with the ice that clouds your windows and the fire that protects you from it. They’re beautiful, even more so when his pupils darken as his eyes skim over your reclined form, fully taking note of the sheer nightwear that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Do you like it?” you ask coyly, gesturing to your attire.

Sharp teeth flash and a palm slides up one thigh, hip, ribs, until a single claw circles a pert nipple, uninhibited by the thin fabric. You suck in a shallow breath at the contact and your legs automatically try to squeeze shut to give you even the faintest bit of relief from the heat already starting to lick through your veins. Silco gives a raspy growl, thumb coming up to roll your nipple between his fingers as his other thumb kneads into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

“It’s divine, dove. You look fit to be devoured.” Your mouth hangs open at the heat in his words. “It almost makes me feel bad.”

Before the question can leave your lips, a sharp claw dips between fabric and sternum and pulls, slicing the garment in half so neatly there aren’t even any frays in the thread. Your shock quickly melts into a strangled gasp when Silco moves forward to clasp the neglected nipple between his lips, tips of sharp teeth grazing over your sensitive skin and your hips buck involuntarily.

He releases another growl that buries itself deep within you and sends shivers radiating across your skin. His mouth detaches from your nipple to nibble a line from your collarbone, along the column of your neck, stopping only once his lips tickle the shell of your ear.

“Almost.”

That single word pours gasoline on the fire within you, kicking it up to a raging inferno and within seconds you are all over each other. Grasping exposed flesh wherever it’s found, running hands over shoulders and along ribs as your mouths clash in a truly starved manner, his lips only leaving yours to trail sloppy kisses back down your neck to your chest. There will be plenty of purpled love marks to admire in the morning, you’re sure of it, but right now your only concern is the pleasure roiling in the pit of your stomach.

Silco’s tongue trails across your sternum to mark your other breast before sliding down the plane of your stomach, highly attentive to the softened skin near your navel.

“A–ha,” you pant as his teeth find the crease where hip meets thigh. Your fingers card through the fur between his horns, so lost in the sensation of Silco’s attention that you don’t recognize your panties being sliced away or that your legs have been lifted over his shoulders until his tongue swipes a hot stripe right through your folds. A genuine sob escapes you as the crown of your head rolls back against the chair and you grab onto his horns, already at Silco’s mercy as his tongue buries itself deep within you to collect as much of your sticky sweetness as he can manage before circling your clit in a pattern that makes you whimper pathetically.

His claws digging red marks into your skin contrasts the intoxicating slide of his tongue over your clit, heightening the fluttering in your core, but when you crane your neck to watch him work between your thighs to find his pupils blown and searing into you, you’re sent barreling into the throes of your orgasm.

“You make such pretty noises for me,” Silco taunts, thumb coming up to rub at your clit as his tongue dips back into your cunt and you clench around his tongue.

Electricity sings through you with each wave of your orgasm until you have to swat Silco’s hand away from your overstimulated bundle of nerves. He obliges, but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, tongue still licking along your inner walls gently as you come down. When you finally catch your breath, you try to tilt his head up towards you but are met with a look dripping in mirth as he picks up the pace within you.

“Fuck, Silco, I ca-hah,” your words are littered with the broken gasps and sighs his continual ministrations pull from you. “I can’t.”

A disbelieving hum vibrates directly from his throat into your core and damn him because as much as you’re desperate for relief from the onslaught of sensations, your pleasure begin to mount again. Your grip on his horns tightens to hold you steady as you grind your dripping cunt against his tongue. Each cant of your hips nudges his nose against your clit and it’s a mind-numbing concoction of absolute bliss.

“Please, please, please,” your bucking hips pick up the pace to match the increasing fervor of his tongue thrusting into you. “I’m so close, Silco. Please don’t stop.”

At your plea, Silco’s palms slide under your thighs to the bend of your knees and lift upward, bending you in half so he can raise up on his haunches to truly devour you. The change of position allows his tongue to delve deeper and find the spot that has you crying out his name as you reach your climax a second time. He extends your pleasure as long as possible with heady moans and grunts of his own, and doesn’t remove his tongue until the last of your aftershocks have subsided.

Gently, he removes your grip on his horns so he can lower your legs back to the chair and lean over you. Through your post orgasm haze you can see the way every inch of his face from nose to chin glistens with your release, and it stirs something within you.

“Even more delicious than I remember,” Silco huffs above you. A little tendril of mischief pulls your lips into a devious smirk.

“Are you sure?” You ask and Silco gives an approving hum.

“Positive, dove. Sweeter than the finest mulled wine,” his tongue darts out to collect more of your juices and you reach a shaky hand up to hook around the back of his neck.

“I love mulled wine.” You pull his head down until he’s close enough to suck his bottom lip between your teeth. This time it’s Silco that whimpers as your tongue runs lascivious lines along his lip, tasting yourself on him.

“You’re right,” you release his lip and make a show of licking yours clean. “I make you taste even better.”

Before Silco has a chance to respond, you careen out of the chair, pushing hard enough to topple him onto his back. Your momentum follows and you land straddling his lap.

His surprise is endearing; it’s not often you get the upper hand on him, let alone the chance, so you revel in it while the moment lasts. Soon, warm palms come to rest on your hips while fingers rub soothing circles into the muscles of your lower back.

“Do you think about me when we’re apart?” The question wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud, it was supposed to stay locked away in your mind, but it’s out of your mouth before you can swallow the words. Silco’s hands still and you suspect you’ve overstepped some unspoken boundary when he smiles so softly you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Of course I do,” he purrs. “I think about you every night we are apart.”

Your skin warms in a way that has nothing to do with your previous activities and you file that away to be dealt with later. Right now, you want to bask in the knowledge that Silco, the fearsome and powerful creature of the winter, thinks about you.

“Oh?” Your eyebrow quirks. “You think about me at night, huh?” You wiggle your hips playfully and feel his cock hard and heavy against your ass. He grips your hips harder.

“How else will I keep myself warm on these awful winter nights if I don’t think about your insatiable heat?” The emphasis he places on the last word tells you all you need to know about his thoughts, but it’s no fun if you let him off that easily.

“My heat?” You roll your hips into his in an agonizingly slow grind. “Please elaborate.”

Silco meets the next roll of your hips with his own, rutting against you in search of more friction for you both.

“You know what I mean, dove.” His voice is strained and now you’ve decided that it’s Silco’s turn to squirm. You raise up on your knees just enough to break contact. When Silco tries to follow, you plant both hands on his chest in a clear instruction to stay there. You lower yourself until you are flush with his chest and your lips brush his jaw when you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it. Tell me how you think of me when you’re alone at night.”

The noise that emanates from Silco’s chest can only be described as primal. You raise your torso back up to look down at him and drop your soaked core into his lap once again. A purely animal look lights behind his eyes and his grip on you goes from firm to bruising.

“You little tease,” he husks, starting another steady grind of his cock against you. “Spoken as if you haven’t created an entire library’s worth of fantasies about me.”

“Be that as it may, I asked you first. Would you really deprive me of such a gift on the eve of Yule?” It’s childish and you both know it, but his cock starts to slide against you a little faster. The pressure against your clit is lighting the tinder of your desire again, but you’re determined to get what you want.

“Fine, you want to hear how I think of you when we’re apart?” You can hear the slick squelch of your bodies moving against each other and you nod for fear of the whine that will escape you if you try to speak.

“You want to know how I think about the way a blush rises in your cheeks when you’re worked up? How the sounds you make when I touch you could be prayers for how reverent they are? How your legs tremble when I eat that pretty little cunt?”

Your mouth gapes slightly as you listen, and one hand moves from your hip to brush his thumb over your clit. The jolt it gives you should be embarrassing, but you’re too caught up in Silco’s honeyed words to care.

“I think about you in so many ways I can’t keep count,” his thumb on your clit and his hips rut against you in earnest now, and you’re slowly losing the determination you had not five minutes ago.

“But I’ll tell you one of my favorites, one I always seem to come back to,” the head of his cock catches at your entrance and you roll your hips up for a better angle. Both hands land on your hips before he speaks.

“Just how perfect you look when you sit on my cock.”

With a hard thrust upward, Silco sheathes himself to the hilt inside you and you could cry from how good it feels to be filled by him again.

His grip on your hips holds you in place as he pulls out, only to bring you down as he thrusts upward again. The pace he sets is slow but deep. So fucking deep. Your fingers splay against his chest so you don’t fly ass over head after each thrust, and it’s all you can do to focus on the sinful words spilling out of his mouth.

“Yes, just like that, dove,” he grits out. “You were made to have me inside you.”

Silco closes his eyes and relishes in the feel of you wrapped around him once again. Without his eyes searing into you, you close your eyes too, tilting your head back as you utter a drawn-out moan.

“I think about how perfect you look when you throw your head back in ecstasy,” his voice grows heavier with the exertion of fucking you so thoroughly. “The way your mouth hangs open when you’re lost in your own pleasure.”

Some distant corner of your mind realizes your mouth is hung open in just the way Silco describes.

You're panting now, shallow and high-pitched, and you can feel yourself rapidly approaching the edge yet again. Silco pounds into you relentlessly, hips stuttering in an effort to maintain his rhythm as his release encroaches upon him.

“But my f-ah-favorite part of this memory,” Silco’s straining to speak through grit teeth, jaw wired shut as he fights off his release a little bit longer, “the image that’s burned into hmm–my mind is the ah–bsolute vision you are when you-hah–”

“Tell me,” you beg as your legs quake with the immense task of keeping you upright. You’re so close now you can taste it. Fuck, you’re gonna—

“Cum on my cock.” His words send you plummeting over the edge, walls clenching in a vice grip that sends Silco following right behind you. Your mind short circuits at the feeling of Silco’s release filling you while your entire body sings from your third orgasm of the night.

An infinite amount of time passes before either of you come down from your highs. As soon as the adrenaline lessens, you fall onto Silco’s chest, cock slipping from you in the process. He winces at the sensation, but soon his arms  wrap around you to hold you close as you both catch your breath.

You don’t try to speak; you already know it would be a fruitless attempt, but words aren’t needed in this moment, so you simply lay on top of Silco. Used, tired, and immeasurably happy, you commit the feel of Silco’s arms cradling you against the rise and fall of his chest to memory.

It’s soft and gentle, a reminder that there is much more to Silco than meets the eye. As much as you wish that he wasn’t ostracized in this town, it selfishly allows you to keep him all to yourself.

You hum to yourself, thinking of the kindness that hides behind his visage, and smile. Quite the juxtaposition, you think, to have such beauty within something so harsh.