The Ice King Comes Again

Experiencing Festival Day in the Shadow Lands, newly married Emerald and Sapphire Kings, Reardon and Jack, enjoy food and games in the market square. After getting their fortune told, which speaks of a coming surprise, the biggest surprise is the unexpected return of the Ice King. 

Jack had never been to the Shadows Lands. It was a closed and cursed kingdom long before he was born. To see it now was a wonder, for it was like no other lands in all the Gemstone Kingdoms, and the only one cursed that had since purposedly kept its afflictions. 

Like Sapphire and Diamond, the Dark Kingdom, now Amethyst once more, was an immortal land, where people neither grew ill nor aged. Children were possible and matured until adulthood when their aging stopped. All the curses had become blessings, but none more so here, where they celebrated the day their kingdom became bewitched with their largest festival of the year. 

“It reminds me of our fall festival in Emerald,” Reardon said as they traversed the market square arm in arm, the area most densely packed with food stalls and games. 

“Does Emerald have gnarled trees, glowing crystals like the mountains of Ruby, and people with literal horns, tails, and wings?” Jack jested. 

“No,” Reardon giggled, “but children did often where masks or costumes. Here you can’t tell who’s native, who chose to change themselves, and who’s pretending.”

There were some masked people, some like Jack and Reardon who must have seemed boring by comparison as mere humans, and others with fantastical aspects and features like something out of a storybook or myth. 

The setting was just as wondrous. Most of the standing buildings were made of black wood from the equally black trees, though the trees’ shimmer like tiny star speckles had been sanded from their surface. The newly built stalls for the festival, however, were allowed to sparkle. The whole of the square and the area up the market steps leading to the citizens homes was like strolling amongst the heavens. 

Festival Day signs were painted in violet everywhere they tread, and while all areas were lit with glowing crystals of different colors, within the festival was adorned with purple ones only. 

The city was densely packed from many visitors from other kingdoms pouring in, which made it easier to blend with the crowd. Jack and Reardon had worn simpler attire than their more royal tunics and left their crowns far behind. 

“We shouldn’t have too much fun before Josie and Barclay join us,” Reardon said, even as his eyes went alight at a larger open area where people were playing rounds of Prisoner’s Base. 

“They chose to be late, so we can reap the benefits. What would you like to do first?”

They’d already made a round of passing through food stalls and were nearly finished crossing the game area, as they neared the Amethyst Gemstone itself in the center of the square. 

“Apple bobbing? Perhaps try some of the local fare?”

Jack grumbled—two of his least desired choices. “You can bob, little king. I’m not getting my hair wet, and I’m not certain I want to eat chicken that could also eat me.”

“I find their scales fascinating!”

“Then you eat one.”

“Jack,” Reardon drew out the vowel, shaking Jack’s arm like a whining child, which should have been annoying rather than sweet like Jack found it. He brought them to a stop near the Amethyst, one of the few areas where they weren’t herded by the many people. “If we’re going to enjoy the festival together, you have to participate. Let’s find something we can both enjoy. Like—” He turned around, and then spun back to Jack with wide gleaming eyes. “A fortune teller! Let’s get in line.” He immediately started pulling Jack toward the row of permanent buildings where a sign had been hung on a sparkling silver and violet cloth across one of the storefronts proclaiming: Premonitions for Trade. 

“Fortune teller? When we literally know a man with the gift of prophecy?”

“Shush. The line isn’t too long. Please?” Reardon didn’t stop his progression toward the end of the queue—which was mostly filled with children—while he awaited Jack’s answer. He clearly had his heart set on this, and Jack was an ongoing work in progress at being less of a grouch. 

“Should be fun,” he conceded, and Reardon positively bounced once they were in line. 

It truly wasn’t a long line and moved quite quickly, which at least meant the fortune telling part shouldn’t take up their whole evening. Jack supposed he was a little interested, given the unique nature of this kingdom. Perhaps someone here also had the gift of prophecy, rare as it was. 

Though he preferred to be surprised these days. 

Once it was their turn, they entered through an open door covered by a dark curtain, and inside the shop, it was also dark, with only a few illuminating crystals and a table in the center, beckoning them to approach it. 

No one appeared to be in here. 

“Hello?” Reardon called. “Were we supposed to wait to be summoned?”

“You are exactly where you are meant to be, my dear.”

Reardon yelped, clinging to Jack’s arm tighter at the echoey wind-like voice that preceded a specter rising up from behind the table. 

He had black eyes, long white hair, ears like an elf, and a gaunt, ashen face. His waiflike body, draped in black robes, bobbed as though he were literally floating behind the table rather than standing. 

“Do we know you?” Jack asked, hardly phased by a spirit after being made of ice for over two hundred years. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

The dramatic expression the spirit wore fell to a scowl at Jack’s lack of reaction. “Must have been someone else. I’m a banshee tonight.” He winked. “Now have a seat.” He gestured at where a moment ago had been no chairs, only for two to float in with a sweep of his hands.  “And what do you barter with, kind sirs?”

“Oh, um… I have a sash I was saving if we needed something to trade tonight.” Reardon untied it from his waist, one he’d embroidered himself with violet stitching on black silk for the occasion. 

“Silk from Emerald, is it?” the banshee said as he accepted it. His body was transparent, and Jack wondered how the silk wouldn’t pass through him, only for it to remain hovered as he “held” it, not quite making contact with his fingers. “A fine trade indeed.” He let it drop behind the table, as Reardon and Jack sat. 

Another wave of the banshee’s hands brought up a deck of cards. 

“That’s how you tell fortunes?” Jack scoffed. 

“Jack,” Reardon chided him. 

“An ancient practice, reading of the cards. I wouldn’t scoff at its accuracy, sir, or it may predict your doom in karmic recompense.” The banshee leaned over the table. “Don’t tempt me. It’s already been a long night.”

Jack snorted and bit his tongue. He appreciated the candor and passed Reardon an apologetic look. 

The cards were shuffled as though the banshee never touched them, always hovering the way the sash had, faster and faster, until he stopped and presented them closer. 

“Cut them once, please.”

Reardon did so. Then the banshee dealt three cards, all facing Jack and Reardon on the table. The first was of a beautiful royal looking woman. The second bore only the image of a single goblet. The third had three goblets. 

“Oh,” the banshee said. 

“Oh?” Jack pressed. 

“No karmic recompense, though a surprise to be sure. I’ve never had a reading so clearly stating that a new babe will be joining someone’s family.”

“That would be fairly impossible.” Jack snorted again.

A cry and gentle hushing from somewhere deeper in the building was heard. 

“Speak for yourself.” The banshee smirked.

What did that—

“Hopefully, you’ll greet the babe with less scorn. Next, please!”

“That was a waist of your sash,” Jack said on their way out the door. 

“I don’t mind. But how curious that all three cards pointed at the same thing.”

“You know how to read them?”

“It was heresy in Emerald before to do such readings, seen as too close to magic, but I’d read of the practice. They were all very… fertile cards.”

“Not feeling fertile.”

Reardon smacked his shoulder, but then took his arm again. “You pick next then. Where shall we go?”

A sign pointing past the Amethyst indicated a lake behind the bluffs that blocked in the market square, where perhaps they’d find peace from the crowds. “How about a walk by the lake before Josie and Barclay find us? We’ll hardly get any alone time then.”

“Sounds lovely.”

It was. The water was black from nighttime, but the lake was beautiful, as were the bluffs surrounding it, and the almost white color of the sand, glowing bright from the moonlight and stars. There were a few others enjoying the view, but it was too cool for swimmers. 

Jack and Reardon continued around the lake until they found an outcropping in the ravine wall that gave them a view of the lake while being out of sight from anyone else. 

Reardon seemed quiet and contemplative, which could have been from the calm seclusion, with even the sounds from the festival far away, but Jack wondered. 

“Would you want that?”

“What?” Reardon turned to him. The rocks were jagged, so they sat in the sand, almost entirely enclosed within the crag. 

“Children,” Jack said. He’d never thought of it himself.  

“Honestly, I always assumed any heir I had would be through a union I didn't want. Now I have a king by my side instead of a queen.” Reardon took Jack’s hand with a warm smile. “I'm more than content with this outcome over another. Although, I suppose the pitter patter of tiny feet in the castle could be fun.”

“Give it time. I’m sure someone will manage it before long.” Jack chuckled. 

“Revelers be freer still!” a voice snapped their attention out to the lake. 

Someone in a goblin mask—an actual mask, despite the woman clearly being native with bark and moss up her arms and legs, and an otherwise furred lower half—had spotted their hideaway and appeared to be casting some sort of spell. 

Or she wasn’t, because a catlike woman behind her was making the same motions and the spark of colored light in the air definitely seemed to be coming more from her. 

“Be one with the Dark Kingdom!” the masked woman announced with a cackle, and the spell shot right at them as both women darted away. 

“What was—”

Jack pushed Reardon out of the way just in time—so whatever it was hit only him. 

“Jack!”

The sensations that overcame Jack were familiar, horrifically so, for he had experienced this every morning those two hundred years he was cursed. 

Only… there was no pain. He felt himself stretch and shift and grow, even the familiar chill was there, but never did it hurt the way it once made him ache and curse his existence all the more for having to feel it. When it was done, he stared in shock at the form he hadn’t been in months, a year, for no pain or not…

He was the Ice King once more. 

“Are you all right?” Reardon reached for him—

“No!” 

—only for his hands to alight on Jack’s arm and remain unfrozen. 

***

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Reardon assured Jack, running his hands up the sleek, cool surface of his arm. It was fascinating being able to touch him in this form when he never had before, at least not without consequence. Despite the coolness, Jack wasn’t frigid. In fact, he felt… quite invigorating.

“I am going to obliterate those women!” Jack growled, his voice resonating around the rocks of their crag in a way it hadn’t in a year. 

He was a hulking jagged creature made of ice once more, with angular features, clawed hands and feet, fangs as clear as ice themselves when he spoke, and his head lengthened upward into an icy crown. But even the first time Reardon looked on him, fearful for his life, he’d paused at the alluring sight of Jack’s human eyes, cool blue and beautiful. 

“She meant no harm,” Reardon said, moving his stroking hand to Jack’s cheek. Jack was still sitting in the sand, and Reardon had to climb into his lap to reach his face, given his larger size, practically a giant like this. “They know their curse isn’t dangerous.”

“But if it had been…” Jack leaned into his touch. 

“I would have had you just like this all those months ago if I could have.”

“Not with the choice of flesh,” Jack scoffed. 

“I could have either now. You can turn yourself back, can’t you? The natives say you need merely will it.”

“Yes,” Jack said with an obvious heave of relief. “I can feel it.”

“Maybe don’t just yet,” Reardon said before Jack made any effort to change. This was too intriguing an opportunity. “I can prove my words to you. I always wondered what it would be like to touch you in this form.”

“But I have no…” Jack trailed off as Reardon drifted his other hand between Jack’s icy thighs and found otherwise than what Jack meant to say—a long thick protrusion that hadn’t been present in the old version. 

“It seems you do. Their curse isn't as cruel as yours. Does it pain you?”

“No.” Jack shifted his hips, better offering himself to Reardon’s exploring. “Not even the change hurt. And… that feels as it should as well.”

Reardon had long since learned how best to touch Jack, a feathering at first, light, teasing, not yet playing with his head to build anticipation. “It’s um, a bit bigger than usual, like the rest of you.”

“So that’s your interest,” Jack purred, fear and discontent fading from his tone. 

“Merely a curiosity.”

“Am I not enough for you in the flesh, little king?” Jack teased, large claws gently curling around Reardon’s waist to hold him closer.  

“More than. Always. But this is you too.” 

Jack’s cool breath like a winter wind on Reardon’s neck made his skin prickle like it used to—but also his nipples harden. And his cock throb. 

He shivered as he began to rock forward in motion with his hand, feeling the already hard member made of ice spring upward to meet him. His trousers quickly grew wet where he thrust, from the ice, his own cock leaking, and…

Jack’s too. 

What would his pre-release taste like in this form?

Reardon slithered from Jack’s lap between his legs onto the sand. 

Sand. That wouldn’t be the best surface for a bed with all the granules getting places. 

“Could you make us a less intrusive surface, my love?”

“Let’s see.” Jack braced his palms beneath him, and a coating of ice shot outward, making the ground they sat upon a smooth sheet. Not a cushion but still better than sand. Even the granules that had been on Reardon’s clothing froze and flaked off. 

Reardon slid his knees back along the ice to bend his head between Jack’s large thighs. His cock wasn’t jagged like the rest of him, but a smooth rod with a normal head and leaking tip, but it was still ice, frosted and misting from where the tip oozed a clear sparkling elixir.  

Reardon shivered again at his first testing lick. The taste was almost the same, but so cold, it felt refreshing on his tongue. On a hot summer day, he could have splayed himself upon Jack and indulged in him all day. Even on a cool autumn night, Reardon’s shivering was pleasant, nothing like how it felt when he’d needed a potion to be in Jack’s presence. 

“I’ll hardly fit between those pretty lips,” Jack said as a clear challenge. 

“We’ll see,” Reardon said, not giving in yet, for he wanted Jack to demand to fuck his throat before he offered it. Instead, he licked, tasting the prerelease again and lapping around the bulb. The underside rim of the tip was one of Jack’s most sensitive places, and Reardon licked especially slowly there and down the length of him. 

There was no visible sac beneath the base, but a smoother surface where Reardon wouldn’t have to worry about jagged edges cutting him when he seated himself. He wanted that, to see how much he could take, how full Jack could make him, impossibly stretched and rawed open. 

He licked and licked, eventually adding very light strokes of his hand just below where he tongued. The he started avoiding the head, waiting for the dew to build so much, it dripped long rivulets down the sides. 

“Reardon…” Jack growled. 

“Yes, my king?”

He grumbled, understanding the game Reardon played. 

“You need only ever ask, you know.”

“Now.”

“Now what?”

Jack seized the back of Reardon’s head, a thrilling danger and yet equal comfort, for Reardon had no fear of Jack in any form now. Because he still asked. “You’ll open for me, won’t you? Let me try those lips. Let me sear your throat with this icy rod you desire so much.”

Reardon grinned and gladly complied. 

He had to widen his mouth as far as possible to even wrap his lips around Jack’s head, but its wetness eased the remaining stretch as Jack popped inside. 

Oh, he was going to choke for sure, but he’d still try. The taste and thrilling coolness were incredible along his tongue and walls of his cheeks. Even more so at his throat when it reached it. 

He tried to swallow the head, relaxing as best he could, but eventually found resistance he couldn’t surpass. It was too massive, but he had more confidence in his other entrance. 

Even without give to go deeper, Reardon sucked and bobbed on what he could consume, eyes watering from the abundance of cock. This was only a small portion, and the promise of how much more there was made him quiver. 

“There is more of you I’d like to try,” Jack said with a hoarser echo. 

Reardon agreed and pulled off, knowing his mouth was reddened from the stretch and cold. He undid his trousers. 

“I can’t prepare you.” Jack held up a hand, remembering his claws. 

“Then I shall do so myself.” 

Reardon kept on his shirt and tunic, boots and trousers tossed away onto the ice, and climbed onto Jack’s icy thighs that he brought together to better support him nearer to that huge cock. 

Reardon rocked forward, his own length colliding with Jack’s as he reached behind himself to pump his fingers inside his eagerly awaiting hole. They copulated frequently, Reardon far from the virgin he’d been their first night. He started with two fingers that easily gave way to more. Jack’s cock was large on a normal day, and Reardon could take it with no preparation most nights, but this was a different beast. 

He fought to get as many fingers inside as he could. When he thought he could add no more, he gathered the liberal leakings from him and Jack both and used it to fuck himself with his fist.  

“Another time I’d like to see a different angle of you doing that,” Jack husked.  

“Would you like me to turn around?”

Jack thrust in turn against Reardon’s rutting. “I’d like you to sit on my cock and get to it.” 

“Say please.” 

“Now,” Jack growled again. “Please.”

Reardon chuckled. He stopped his fisting and realized he couldn’t climb any higher to take Jack’s cock with him sitting. 

The idea of the solution made his gut clench in expectation.  

“Then lift me, love, and lower me upon you.” 

Jack’s claws captured Reardon’s backside and hefted him with a thrilling strength. The slick, cool, and bulbous head hitting Reardon’s prepared hole made him cry out, and his own cocked bobbed in excitement. The head pushed in as Jack sat Reardon’s upon it, forcing him slowly downward. 

“Oh skies… oh fuck…” Reardon rested his head on Jack’s chest, the coolness easing some of the fever breaking over him. It was too big. He couldn’t do it. “J-Jack…”

“The head will ease the way. You can take it. I feel you swallowing me in already, little king.”

Reardon groaned. He was. His contracting walls were relaxing, almost numbed by the cold without losing any of the good feelings of being so wonderfully stretched, bolstered by the contrasting heat building in his belly. He nodded to urge Jack on. 

Jack pulled him down further, slow but firm. Further—

“Ah!” The head popped in past the breach with a pulse of throbbing fulness inside Reardon. He could hardly believe it didn’t break him, and the next slide of more beginning to enter him and the head pushing deeper made his whole body go slack. “O-oh…” he whined and trembled in Jack’s hold like a doll. 

“Sounds of pleasure, I hope? Not pain?” 

“Oh yes…”

Jack pulled Reardon down further. 

Further. 

It seemed there was no end to how deep the icy cock could go, and Reardon could feel it inside him near to his belly. Still, he was lowered. More. More. 

Jack thrust upward the last of it, and Reardon’s mouth dropped open with a cry he couldn’t let loose. Jack held him steady and pulled him upward until the head nearly sprang free. The gaping emptiness made Reardon long for fullness again, and Jack complied with a brutal yank. 

“Ah!”

“Yes, little king… such faith I had in you.” Jack hefted him up and forced him down again with a harder slam, positively ruining Reardon for any chance at walking later. He didn’t care. He wanted it, the forcefulness, the fullness, the stretch, with cool numbness easing any burn. The cold made him constantly tremble, but any pain was soothed by the frost. 

He braced his hands on Jack’s chest to keep from flailing backward, and they slid up and down the icy surface with every yank of Reardon along Jack’s cock. Reardon’s hole would be far redder and chapped than his lips. Jack used him like a fitted sleeve made purely for his cock to fill.  

Every slam forced a new whimper, pant, plea. Reardon’s sac ached from it, and he could feel himself building toward climax without a single stroke offered to his own member.

Yes. 

“Make me come like this… just this…” Reardon gasped. 

Jack rumbled and hastened his usage of Reardon with sharper and deeper slams. 

“Yes! Let me spill… upon your frozen form… with all my love.” 

Jack growled down at him, and the tickle of icy breath was the final shiver, final tipping point, and Reardon came, his release freezing upon Jack as it hit him. 

Reardon went limper still, so wound up with heightened sensation, his climax went on and on with each fresh slam from Jack trying to follow him. Reardon ran a hand down his stomach to feel the bulge of Jack there too.

Then something bracing spilled inside him with a tingle as rousing as the cock itself. Even Jack’s release was ice, and Reardon never thought he’d loved the cold more. 

Jack pumped him a few more times upon his spent cock, milking out the last of his spillage. Even that with the rawness of Reardon’s insides made him whine and feel like his length could spring anew. 

When Jack pulled him from his cock, the chill spilled inside Reardon oozed out as a reminder of just how much had been in him. It felt as endless as Reardon’s orgasm, and he cherished its coolness down his thighs as much as any warmth when Jack spilled in him as flesh. 

Reardon was a doll still, limp, and Jack cradled him in his arms, tilted his head up, and kissed him. 

Reardon’s cock jumped. Next time, he’d want to feel this mouth on him with all its bracing wonder. The last time he kissed these icy lips, he hadn’t gotten to feel Jack’s tongue. 

They kissed and stayed like that until Reardon’s shivering began to grow into something other than pleasant. Jack cleared away the mess with his ice like a wet cloth, and afterward, Reardon felt how his hole still gaped. He would hold the memory of how much had been in him the whole rest of the night… and likely until it happened again. 

He had trouble getting his trousers and boots back on given his balance was questionable, and Jack chuckled in approval of his teetering, as he willed himself to return to the Sapphire King instead if Ice.  

“I wonder what I’d become here,” Reardon said. 

“One adventure at a time, little king.” 

Arm in arm was a necessity this time when they strolled out of their hideaway, and a slower pace, for Reardon most definitely wouldn’t have managed otherwise.  

“There are Josie and Barclay!” Reardon noticed upon their return to the square. “We should tell them about the fortune teller.”

“So they can also have a bunk future told to them? I highly doubt we just made a baby.”

Reardon laughed. 

The others spotted them as well and hurried over, looking particularly excited about something, but before Reardon could ask, Josie hurried to speak. 

“Before anything else, we’ve been dying to tell you both something and just had it confirmed.”

“What?” Jack questioned. 

Barclay beamed and said, “You’re going to be uncles.”

Reardon nearly lost his balance even with Jack holding him. They stared at each other—then looked to the shop where they’d had their fortune told. 

Huh.

***

Want to read more? Check out the rest of the Tales from the Gemstone Kingdoms here: https://mybook.to/gemstonekingdoms