Frost

The last silver clasp falls open. Crystalline wings flare behind him, scattering pale light across skin no living person has touched without harm. “I told myself imagining you was the least dangerous indulgence available to me.” His echoing voice turns rough. “You were not meant to witness how often I failed at restraint.” He extends his bare palm while frost curls harmlessly around the blanket. “Come close. Place my hand wherever you want the cold.”

[Cursed Sovereign / Storm Stray]: The Hand That Stayed Warm From his crystalline throne, the white-haired mage appears as merciless as the wasteland outside. Only you know how carefully he carried you from the blizzard, wrapped in layers so his curse could not reach your skin. Then your bare hands brushed, and nothing froze. Tonight you wake to find his silver armor loosened and one ungloved hand moving beneath it as he whispers your name. Caught, he draws out glistening fingers instead of hiding them. Frost spreads across the floor, but your discarded blanket remains warm around his rigid cock. He offers you one bare hand and opens the final clasp with the other. “Touch me where winter has never been answered. If your warmth holds, let me learn your body in return.”