Ice

She was cold, cold, colder as she enveloped herself in blankets, scavenging for warmth. The winter chilled her, inside and out. He was the only thing that warmed her, and when he was around she held on to him as tight as she could, but the second he released the wind rushad at her, as cold as before.

Bring her legs up and curling into a knotted ball, she smiled softly as she remembered his presence. Warm, so warm.

"I love boys in winter," she thought.

* * *

Zac held onto the memory, running his fingers over it every few paces to assure himself that it was real. The feel of her body, cold despite all his efforts, and that dampness shivering out of her like melting snow. When he had run his tongue through her shaven lips (the skin perfect and firm as if it was carved) it had no taste.

When he had handed her the square foil package, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed, throwing it away and pulling him closer.

She had been silent, parted lips, eyes steady, as he pounded himself through the caverns of her body.

Dawn was breaking like fine china as he reached the hotel. Zac dropped the cigarette with numb fingers and ground the butt under his shoe, then walked in.

* * *

She stretched like a cat, emerging from a pile of wrinkled cotton bedclothes. The sun shone through the half-open window. Wrapping her arms about her body, she tiptoed towards it.

"Strange to leave a window open with snow on the ground." She froze, inwardly and outwardly at the voice, and her heart clinked as it shuffled the tiny cubes of ice through her veins. "And you wonder why you're so fucking cold." He left, and she sank to her knees, chilly air forgotten. A few minutes later, she heard the door slam.

* * *

He kicked off his shoes and fell back on the bed. Strange girl, she was. Blue with cold and white with naivety. As he had climbed down from her window, ever so careful with footing and such, he had noticed a figure staring at him from a downstairs window. They had exchanged gazes of understanding, cool and calm without malace. Then he had turned and walked away, feet crunching through the snow, cracking the ice. He had smiled, knowing that the snow would never be smooth again and his mark would always remain. A chill grabbed at him as Zac crawled beneath the sheets, feeling her mark on him. A strange reminder: her cold hands running over his body, flawless and pale and shaking, like ice.