Work Text:
Day 5: Frost Bite
The cold wind howled outside, a relentless symphony of nature’s fury, rattling the old wooden windows of their isolated cabin, nestled deep within the snowy embrace of the woods. The snow had fallen steadily for hours, transforming the world outside into a picturesque yet desolate landscape, blanketing everything beneath a thick, unyielding layer of pure white. The biting air seeped in through the cracks, sharp and unforgiving, as Gabi stood near the hearth. Even the crackling fire, which danced vigorously, filled with bright orange and yellow flames, seemed to provide only an illusion of warmth—a comforting glow that did little to chase away the chill now settled deeply in her bones.
Gabi stood before the fire, cocooned in a thick, woolen blanket that wrapped around her like a protective layer against the harsh elements. She stared down into the flickering flames, their movements mesmerizing, as they danced and flickered with a life of their own. Though the heat radiated from the hearth, it did little to warm the chill that gnawed at her insides, a cold that felt far more profound than the outside temperature. No, her mind was elsewhere, adrift in a sea of silent contemplation that had been stirring quietly since she and Sir arrived at this cabin for their so-called "retreat." It was not just the solitude of the woods that had her heart racing; it was the tension that crackled in the air between them—a tension that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Gabrielle,” came Sir’s voice from behind her, low and commanding. The sound sent a shiver down her spine—not from the cold that surrounded her, but from something deeper, something sweetly dangerous that had been simmering between them for quite some time. She felt she knew what he wanted, and though part of her was afraid, another part—one she stubbornly chose not to acknowledge—was irresistibly drawn to it. Sir had always maintained an air of strictness, his presence both daunting and enthralling.
Beneath the authoritative demeanor lay a core of care that managed to both comfort and confuse her, creating a whirlwind of emotions that left her off-balance. It was a delicate dance of power and tenderness, and she found herself at a crossroads, unsure if she was ready to surrender and relinquish the control she so fiercely clung to.
With her heart pounding, Gabi turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, an involuntary response to the warmth of the fire, contrasting sharply with the icy winds howling outside. She locked eyes with Sir, his gaze piercing and intense, as if searching for something hidden beneath the mask she frequently wore. At that moment, Gabi understood that there would be no hiding from him; he would demand the truth, and when Sir demanded, he did not relent until he had extracted every bit of it from her.
“I’m cold,” Gabi whispered, the words slipping from her lips almost as a plea. But her declaration—simple in essence—encompassed so much more than just the physical sensation of chill.
Sir took a step closer, never breaking eye contact, his posture rigid and authoritative. “You are cold,” he agreed, his voice a silky thread of a threat that tightened around her like a ribbon. “And that is precisely why you will learn your place. There is no warmth here unless I decide you are worthy of it.”
Gabi felt a lump grow in her throat as her heart raced, echoing the mounting tension in the space between them. She sensed the walls of her composure closing in, the air thick with anticipation. The effect Sir had on her was palpable; he made her feel small and utterly vulnerable, as though he could read her very soul. Yet despite the unveiled fragility, there remained a deep, underlying desire—a yearning for him to really see her and to break the chains of the emptiness that shackled her heart.
“Please…” she murmured, the word escaping her lips before she had the chance to reconsider its weight.
Sir’s gaze darkened at her plea, his hand reaching out to graze her chin, his fingers tilting her face upward to meet his intense eyes. “Please, what, Gabrielle?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft, almost velvety. His grip tightened, not enough to inflict pain, but just enough to set her heart racing in a mixture of fear and longing.
The intensity of the moment felt unbearable. Gabi leaned into his touch, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Please… warm me up,” she breathed, desperation dripping from her voice thick with longing. “Make me feel something.”
Sir’s lips curled into a smile that possessed no trace of kindness, rather a sinister hint of menace. “You don’t get warmth, Gabrielle. Not unless you earn it.”
The air between them was electric, crackling with undeniable tension as Sir stepped back, taking in her form with an assessing gaze, scanning her as if she were a delicate porcelain doll, easily shatterable. Yes, she was cold in every sense of the word—her body, but more importantly, her soul itself quivered under his scrutinous gaze, waiting for his judgment and what would come next.
Without uttering another word, Sir turned towards the fireplace, methodically stoking the flames, adding more wood to feed the fire that roared back to life. The heat surged once again, slowly spreading through the cabin, creating an agonizing contrast with the penetrating coldness that seemed to have taken root inside her.
“Take off your blanket,” Sir commanded firmly, his back still turned toward her as he tended to the flames.
Gabi hesitated, torn between comfort and the weight of his authority looming over her like a storm cloud. The fire was warming, a bastion against the cold, but so too was Sir’s command. She felt the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders, demanding her compliance. With a resigned sigh, she finally obeyed, sliding the thick blanket from her shoulders, allowing it to fall unceremoniously to the floor in a heap at her feet.
As the chilling air caressed her exposed skin, a delightful shiver raced through her—vulnerable and laid bare, yet she dared not utter a sound. She stood there, completely exposed, awaiting Sir’s appraisal. Her chest tightened in anticipation, and her hands curled slightly, fighting to maintain some semblance of control in a world where everything seemed to spin beyond her grasp.
Sir turned to face her, his eyes narrowing as he studied her intently, a careful, calculating gaze that dissected her every nuance. “Good girl. Now, get on your knees.”
Gabi’s breath hitched, an involuntary reaction as she dropped to her knees on the hard wooden floor, feeling the unforgiving surface against her skin. Though the fire burned brightly, the coldness inside her seemed insurmountable —an encompassing chill that no external warmth could remedy. She was utterly exposed, stripped of all defenses, laid bare for Sir to see, and it was precisely what he desired.
“Beg,” Sir commanded, his tone shifting to one that was cold and distant, as if he were awaiting a performance—an exhibition to prove her worthiness of the warmth he so generously controlled.
The command sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving. Gabi’s heart thundered within her chest as she knelt before him, trembling—not from fear of the cold floor beneath her, but from the weight of his expectation bearing down like a heavy fog.
“Please, Sir…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling words that quaked on her lips. “Please warm me up. I need you.”
For the briefest moment, Sir’s expression softened, a flicker of something almost affectionate shimmering in his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by the familiar determination, steely and resolute. He stepped closer, cupping her face in his warm yet commanding hand, lifting her chin to meet his unwavering gaze once more .
“You’ve earned it,” he said quietly. “But remember, Gabrielle, there is only warmth when I give it.”
And with that, he leaned in and kissed her, slow and deliberate, filling her with the heat she so desperately craved, but also reminding her—she was his, always.