Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/768754.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rise_of_the_Guardians_(2012)
  Relationship:
      Jack_Frost/Kozmotis_Pitchiner, Kozmotis_Pitchiner_&_Seraphina_Pitchiner
  Character:
      Jack_Frost_(Rise_of_the_Guardians), Kozmotis_Pitchiner
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Angst, BDSM, Companion_Piece
  Series:
      Part 2 of Love_and_Loyalty
  Collections:
      Evil_Authors_Club
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-21 Words: 4159
****** We Are Extraordinary ******
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary
     Kozmotis loved his daughter unto his own damnation, and as the vile
     creatures clawed their way under his skin, Kozmotis knew the bitter
     truth; that a real hero would never have faltered, would not have
     failed.
     Companion piece to "A Hero to Serve You"
Notes
     Because this particular bunny wouldn't stay quiet, you have more
     Jack/Kozmotis fic. Please enjoy.
See the end of the work for more notes
“Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-
sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love.”
- Morihei Ueshiba
Kozmotis Pitchiner had never considered himself a hero. He was just a man,
albeit one who’d joined the military and worked his way up to General, but he
bled no different than anyone else, and his life had no more and no less value
than any other. He is fair to his men, and they flourish beneath his care. In
an unheard of precedent, he is the first to befriend Sanderson the wishing
star, a powerful being who’d appeared from the ether one day with a
determination to aid their fight, and a celebrity in his own right. Kozmotis
also becomes known for rubbing elbows with royalty and beggars alike, holding
none in higher regard then the other, and of course, leading dozens of
successful military campaigns with minimal casualties. The public seems to
adore his dignity, his humility, calling him the hero of the people, a shining
light against the encroaching darkness. But all public approval came with a
price, and he’d eventually given in to the societal pressures that came with
his rank and status, marrying a woman of good breeding he barely knew and
didn’t particularly love, but didn’t actually hate. Impregnating his wife and
waiting for his child to be born was just another rote duty at first, something
expected of him more than anything he’d ever truly desired himself. To be
honest, it was more then he’d even thought to desire, as most soldiers had a
life expectancy far shorter then he’d already achieved.
The moment he’d first held his daughter, his precious Seraphina, was a moment
Kozmotis had not been able to prepare himself for. He was overwhelmed with the
emotions welling up from within as he gazes at her small, perfect little face.
From then on, Kozmotis knew that he could no longer afford to be just a man.
Somehow someway, he had to find a way to be better, to be more, if only to give
his daughter, his most dearly beloved the peaceful world she deserved. So he
fought harder, planned his attacks more carefully, until finally every last
Fearling in the universe sat locked in a great cage. The world called him a
hero, but Kozmotis knew that he was only a man driven by love, willing to fight
unto death and beyond for the child he so cherished. He was no hero, simply a
man, but even so he stayed as the lone guardsman of the great cage, a locket
with his daughter’s lovely face his only beacon against the dark.
Kozmotis loved his daughter unto his own damnation, and as the vile creatures
clawed their way under his skin, Kozmotis knew the bitter truth; that a real
hero would never have faltered, would not have failed.
For countless untold millennia, Kozmotis’s life passes him by in brief flashes
of light amidst and endless ocean of shadows. Usually he sleep, or dozes, or
passes his time insensate to it, for what is time with no denomination, no
benchmark with which to set the non-existent clock?
Time is indeterminate, is slips through his fingers and flings itself past him
and he knows not what his body does, what tunes his malleable meat revels to,
except for the tiniest, most hesitant of glimpses, usually when the monsters
beneath his skin are defeated, weakened enough that he comes to sharp,
brilliant awareness for a single inhalation, just long enough to fill his lungs
with the promise of freedom before he is smothered by the black once more,
unwilling passenger in the forgotten little corners of himself.
Until one day, his eyes blink open, to a light that blinds. He feels cold, but
not uncomfortable with it, lying in a powdery softness that cradles his
bruised, battered form. He attempts to move, to push his arms beneath him for
leverage to rise, but he aches too much, can only moan with the pain of even
curling his fingers. He does not know how long he lays there, drifting, waiting
to be returned to darkness, but the shadows never come. Instead he feels the
still-falling snow slowly pile upon him, insulating and hiding him from prying
eyes. He eventually slip into a different blackness, not the malicious one he’s
grown used to, but to the blessed neutrality of sleep.
How fortunate for him then, as it would have likely been very painful, when,
barely a half hour later, a young Guardian trips over the figure hidden beneath
the fresh snow.
When Kozmotis next awakens, a large, bearded man is hovering over him, and
Kozmotis has a flash of fear, his own but not, a remnant of his previous
possession, because for all the shadows had laughed and hissed and taunted
their enemies, they had been brought low before and never forgot the faces of
those who had conquered them. The room is unfamiliar, he has no idea where his
Sera is, and it is that split-second that Kozmotis realizes that he is empty,
hollow and aching, and should his chest not have burst, been ripped open by the
force of the darkness leaving? Should his skin not have split? Why is he whole
outside, when inside he is a mess of gaping holes, a Swiss-cheese man beneath
flawless skin and why is the light so bright? Do they not know that he burns in
the light? Perhaps the bright light burnt all the shadows out of him, but left
nothing of Kozmotis left, maybe that is why he hurts, why everything hurts, the
light on his eyes and the sound of the screaming on his eardrums and the man’s
smile and the sheets on his bare skin his fingers digging gouges into the skin
of his face where he is clawing at his eyes… oh.
Kozmotis is the one screaming, isn’t he?
He stops only when Sanderson puts him to sleep.
It is Sandy who sits with him when he awakens next, panic rising until his
friend is able to soothe him. It is only Sandy after that; Kozmotis does not
see the bearded man again, although he hears voices outside his door
occasionally, one of which he swears must belong to him. Days pass, become
weeks, Kozmotis does not leave the little room, opting instead to sleep, or to
spend his days attempting to read the books Sandy brings him in the strange,
unusual languages of the planet he now resides upon. The learning process is
slow going, largely because you can only learn so much from books, and without
hearing the language spoken, well, it was difficult to navigate pronunciation
and proper syntax and colloquialisms. Kozmotis is not ready for visitors
though, no, the very thought gets his heart pumping, blood singing in his ears.
They would fear him, he knows, he’s not stupid, Sandy has filled him in enough
that he knows the atrocities committed by his hands while he slept, weak and
inert in his own shell. He can still empathically feel fear, and still register
the pull of the non-sentient shadows to his call, powers so fully ground into
all his crevices and niches that they belonged to him now. Considering that, he
has no intention of walking into a room full of people who would weep inside at
his presence while he can’t help but enjoy the sensation, even unwillingly.
It is this anxiety, a manifestation of his own fear of rejection that has him
stalwartly ignoring Sandy gentle attempts to encourage him to reach out, to
leave the room, to meet the other Guardians, as Sandy called them. Kozmotis
knew that way lay only fear and disaster, so he refrained, unable to prevent
the uncertainties that seeped in like so much water; the voices in his head
telling him that he did not deserve the companionship and kindness anyways. The
feelings of guilt did nothing to stop the creeping loneliness and continuing
sense of isolation however, so he took to listening as Sandy described his
cohorts in glowing, loving detail; the small man unable to hide if affection
and fondness for his companions. Kozmotis found himself particularly intrigued
by tales of the youngest, newest addition, a boy named Jack, who was the one
who had found Kozmotis in the snow, and had even lent his gift for Joy, to
Sandy to help purify the last of the Fearling taint from Kozmotis’s own body.
In his time as a soldier, and later a General, Kozmotis had met many people
like the friends Sandy described, warriors and leaders in their own rights.
Jack though, Jack was like no one Kozmotis had ever met, assuming Sandy was
accurate in his description. Jack laughed in the face of danger, played games
to cheat death, and treated his own untimely end as a longstanding joke, barely
even bothered by the implications. Kozmotis couldn’t deny that, he found the
idea of someday meeting the boy intriguing.
Someday.
Eventually.
Maybe, if ever a day would come that he felt worthy. In the meantime, there was
always the never-ending guilt that ate him up and spat out his bare bones to
distract him.
As time passed however, Kozmotis could not ignore the exhaustion tugging on his
friend, dragging him down as the weight of his responsibilities and Kozmotis’s
own care slowly began to overwhelm him. Kozmotis longed to be better, to
improve, to not need as much supervision, but he was currently weak; and
ultimately selfish in that weakness, so nothing changed.
Then, there came a day when his dinner was late, when Sandy simply failed to
show at the appointed time. For a man who had missed eons, Kozmotis now found
that his once-impressive internal clock had sharpened to near perfection, and
he could practically count the seconds that dragged by as Sandy continued to
not arrive as he was expected to. When the knock on his door finally came,
Kozmotis had already been pacing for hours, worried and anxious and starving,
wondering if Sandy was hurt, or simply tired of dealing with him. The latter
was perhaps an uncharitable thought against Sandy’s good nature, but Kozmotis
was sometimes and uncharitable man. He finds himself floored however, when upon
opening the door, he encounters a boy.
A boy with ruffled white hair, a face as pale as porcelain and a thin,
diminutive frame made of all youthful angles. It is the eyes that capture him
however, blue and hypnotic, full of as much uneasiness as Kozmotis also feels.
There is determination in the set of the boy’s shoulders though, and no fear,
so with only slight hesitation and much curiosity, Kozmotis lets him in.
Oh, stars above, no fear.
Except there is, isn’t there? Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear that the
boy will somehow hurt Kozmotis just by being in his space, and while the idea
is laughable it makes Kozmotis’s breath catch, because this boy, who could only
be the Jack Frost Sandy had spoke of if by physical description alone, does not
fear him, only for him.
Kozmotis may not have been currently deserving of such consideration, but the
thought of Jack’s care for him just does things to him he hadn’t quite been
expecting…
And the boy is beautiful, and it’s been a long, long time since Kozmotis had
been so close to anyone who wasn’t Sandy, so when his attempts to calm the
younger man’s fears result in the boy looking at him so intensely while leaning
in closer, Kozmotis does not hesitate to reciprocate.
The kiss is sweet for only a moment, before it transforms into something
lustful, wicked. Kozmotis is not even sure he remembers what it had felt like,
to be that young and desperate, but Jack reminds him, with little finesse but
much enthusiasm. Jack’s hands are on Kozmotis’s ribs, and his surprisingly
strong fingers are digging in enough to bruise, and then Jack bites his lip;
Kozmotis can’t help it, he submits himself to the rising tide of passion and
burns.
But then Jack is abruptly yanking himself from Kozmotis’s arms and flinching
when the former General moves to pull him back. It’s only then that he
discovers that Jack’s bite to his lower lip has drawn blood. Kozmotis is so
startled, not by the small injury, but by the heat that had filled him when he
realized that Jack had marked him; the sudden desire to be possessed, to be
owned filling in the empty places that shadows had left. But Kozmotis’s lip is
already healing over and Jack is running away in panic and Kozmotis doesn’t
have to heart to go after him, not when he’s only just uncovered this
unexpected seed of deviancy in his soul.
So Jack flees, and Kozmotis settles in to wait for Sandy, but mostly to sort
his thoughts.
It doesn’t take much to convince his friend that Jack had been pleasant,
charming company, and that Kozmotis would like to see him again. It is more a
lie of omission than anything, Kozmotis doesn’t feel the need to tell his
friend that he’d made a probably very inappropriate, if not at all unwelcome
advance onto his friend’s teammate. So Jack is given the daily task of taking
dinner to Kozmotis, being relegated in one fell swoop to both errand boy and
evening entertainment, all because Kozmotis is selfish enough to take advantage
of anything that will bring hi, further into Jack’s orbit. Kozmotis does not
mention the kiss, mostly because he knows it was too much too soon, and that
these things take time and patience to properly nurture. Any lingering
awkwardness between them fades quickly as they work out a method of
communication, soon becoming so proficient that even Sandy can’t keep up with
their hastily cobbled together dialect. Kozmotis soon finds himself setting
aside time every day to work on it, flushing out the structure and refining the
grammar in the hopes that one day it will be a full language in an of its own,
something only he and Jack will share.
Kozmotis can’t deny that the more time he spends with Jack, the more he
treasures the small things they share, especially the things that no one else
gets; the secrets and little smiles and sidelong glances that are currently
piloting his soul.
Soon, Kozmotis is leaving his room and breaking bread with the rest of the
Guardians. Each tiny step forward should not feel like such a huge victory, and
yet they do, for each step forward takes him closer to Jack, closer to being
worthy of the younger man’s affections. Sometimes when alone in bed at night,
Kozmotis lets himself imagine what it would feel like to be at the epicenter of
Jack’s passion and violence, and the thoughts are so moving he can’t resist the
urge to take himself into hand until spent, wiping away the traces of his lust
afterwards but feeling the brand of it on his heart regardless. Kozmotis cannot
forget the kiss, the way Jack had gripped him, strong enough to keep him from
cracking into a million little pieces and Kozmotis cannot fully explain it but
he needsneedsneeds. The fact that Jack is so wholly wonderful and clever as
well just makes it feel like he’s the kind of gift Kozmotis could spend forever
trying to properly earn.
The days drift on in a holding pattern, Kozmotis carefully biding his time. He
is stronger now, vastly improved from the day they’d first met, and while the
guilt and fear of regression stays, a stubborn stain never to be removed, he
finally declares himself ready to act. Eventually, when the timing feels right,
he convinces Jack to take him home. He is a knot of nervous energy, and he
knows Jack is the same, the boy somehow having read the subtle energy of his
intentions. The tour of Jack’s little home is a sacred glimpse into the other’s
most private of souls, and Kozmotis cannot help but draw out every moment,
going over every inch of memory and shelter the place has to offer, knowing
that precious few are allowed into this private space. When the anticipation
finally overcomes his nerves he seats himself on Jack’s bed, drawing the other
into his air until every one of his exhalations feeds Jack’s inhale. They
tumble together then, and Jack is glorious, far, far physically stronger then
he’d ever appeared and more dominant than Kozmotis could have guessed at. Their
bodies and desires find such rhythm and words are not even required, and
Kozmotis finds himself on the edge of tears, willing to do anything the boy
asked as long as he never, ever let go.
That night they make love three times, each time finds Jack manipulating
Kozmotis’s willing body in any way he desires, the man more than happy to be
made a living puppet. Jack is more than possessive; he is powerful, and
Kozmotis can begin at last to feel himself let go, to relax into Jack’s embrace
and trust him not to allow him to fall. For all Jack appears delicate and
childlike, he is a force to be reckoned with, body mind and soul and for the
first time in his life Kozmotis finds that he is comfortable giving up his
control, turning himself over into the care of another wholeheartedly, knowing
that Jack would never, could never steer him wrong or let him down.
Even better, Kozmotis knows that he’s met his match, his true equal, and that
if the shadows and Fearlings should ever return for him, that Jack would stop
at nothing to either save him or end him so that no more would suffer at his
hands.
So Kozmotis sits still as Jack crosses his arms over his chest, binding them
there with silk ropes wound tightly around his torso. He is already blindfolded
and gagged, the black fabric against his face somehow accentuating the feeling
of total nakedness. His right hand clenches a bell that can be dropped as a
signal if something goes too far, but Kozmotis knows he won’t need the
failsafe, Jack always knows exactly how far to push. The ropes are tied tight
then, immobilizing his upper half like a mummy before he’s eased back onto
Jack’s narrow mattress. His legs are stretched out side by side, and then a
length of the same rope is slowly wound around them, tying them together and
effectively hobbling him completely. He trembles both with the anticipation and
the touch of fear that always flavours these encounters, both on his part and
on Jack’s, as both are afraid of disappointing the other, but Kozmotis trusts
his lover as Jack trusts him, so the fear is only an added spice in the already
excited atmosphere. When the knots are done, Jack rolls Kozmotis onto his
stomach and steps away, and Kozmotis can hear the rustling of clothing as his
lover disrobes. Jack takes his time, and Kozmotis’s tremble increases, his
already hard and weeping cock waiting impatiently trapped between his thighs
and the bed sheets. Soon though, there is coolness and pressure as Jack returns
to the bed, looming over his lover by his hip. A cool hand traces over one taut
asscheek before the hand is brought down, hard and punishing. Kozmotis cannot
help his yelp of shock, the pain from the blow spreading across his rear and he
can feel his skin flushing just in time for the second blow to hit. The force
of it drags a moan from deep in his chest, the pressure driving his hips and
cock into the mattress and causing pleasure to shoot up his spine. Three more
strikes and the pain and pleasure are now mixing, each slap making Kozmotis
want to thrust into the sheets beneath him while somehow simultaneous lifting
his hips back for the next smack. He tries to stay still, to say quiet as Jack
would wish him too, but it’s all too much, each starburst of pain/pleasure
anchoring him in reality and making him feel safe and loved, because Jack’s
dominance and control belonged to him and him alone. Just when he feels like
he’s about to topple over the edge however, the relentless spanking stops and
Kozmotis is casually flipped to his back, both the loss of friction to his
aching erection and the rubbing of the sheets against his abused flesh dragging
a low groan from him.
Jack steps away again, and Kozmotis feels himself shake, panting and sweating
and dying for any small scrap of mercy, for any further violence, for anything
at all to make him come. He hears the wet popping of a lid opening, and smells
that sent of the ginseng massage oil that is their preferred lubricant. It is
only seconds but feels like hours before the hands are back, teasing his body
from head to toe with gentle, feather-light touches made slick and exotic by
the oil. Kozmotis jerks and twitches as first one leg then the other is
caressed around the ropes by cold fingertips, only to be replaced by a wet
tongue. Jack strokes and licks his chest, arms and belly as well, before moving
up to trace the shape of Kozmotis’s face like a blind man, the sharp angle of
his cheekbones and his too-long nose and his thin lips before he begins to move
lower again. Behind the gag Kozmotis can hear himself sob, a high desperate
sound, begging his lover without words for more, or less perhaps, Kozmotis
isn’t sure by this point.
The hands retreat a final time and the cap pops again; this time there are wet,
enticing sounds and soft sighs that brings such incredible images to Kozmotis’s
mind that he can’t prevent himself from cursing the blindfold that is keeping
them from him. When he feels Jack’s final return, the slight body crawling his
way slowly up the bed from the foot, hovering over Kozmotis for only as long as
it took to line himself up, and then Jack’s perfect body was sinking onto
Kozmotis, enveloping the older man in blessed, tight coolness. Kozmotis barely
had a chance to get used to the sensation though before Jack was moving,
working himself up into a sharp, quick pace, knowing that they were both too
worked up to draw it out any longer. Kozmotis was tense, pushing up as best he
could into his lover’s welcoming body and wishing he could touch, could taste,
could see the bliss on Jack’s face as he rode him like a prize horse. But Jack
had set the rules as he always did, and today Kozmotis was only allowed to
feel, to be taken, to be used like a glorified toy at Jack’s own whims, and
that should have been degrading to him, but he could think of nothing better,
nowhere he’d rather be, and oh-
Jack’s orgasm grants permission for Kozmotis to come too, and he does,
endlessly, breathlessly, body arched tightly against his lover before his
passion is exhausted and he slumps to the mattress, Jack small body draped over
him like a human blanket.
In a minute or two, Jack will climb off. He will get the towel the keep nearby
for cleanup and will wipe Kozmotis’s body clean of sweat, oil and semen,
untying the ropes as he goes. He will remove the gag and the blindfold. He will
spend the nest long minutes carefully rubbing feeling back into limbs gone numb
and pressing little kisses to the marks the ropes have left until Kozmotis
feels giddy and spoiled with the affection. They will snuggle together then,
talk a bit perhaps if the mood for conversation hits them, and then they will
sleep in each other’s arms, reciprocal balms against the loneliness and
solitude that had plagued them both for so long.
Right now though, they remain collapsed together, sweaty and spent, tears
pricking at the edges of Kozmotis’s eyes beneath the blindfold, because this is
still something he’s not sure he’s yet earned, this compassion, this devotion.
Jack is a brilliant creature, a lovely and surprisingly pure soul despite his
inherent Trickster nature.
He makes Kozmotis laugh.
He holds him when he cries.
He is the strength when Kozmotis is weak, the candle in the night when he can’t
see. He is the reason and the truth and the love that found Kozmotis when he
thought himself lost and forever damaged.
Kozmotis would do anything for Jack, perhaps even damn himself a second time if
it meant keeping the other safe, healthy, whole.
Because Jack, like only Seraphina before him, made Kozmotis want to be hero.
And this time, he will not fail.
 
“We relish news of our heroes, forgetting that we are extraordinary to somebody
too.”
- Helen Hayes
End Notes
     Crossposted to my Dreamwidth and Fanfiction.net
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!