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sarcastic--metaphor · 8 months

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Winter's Night

AKA frosty old man yaoi

I've been thinking a LOT about the newest Fionna and Cake episodes... i'm not sorry

AU where the Candy Queen never shows up and the F&C gang hang out in the winter kingdom for a while longer.

Excerpt:

He didn't know why, but Simon approached his double as he played away on the piano. Then again, in the Winter King's world, wasn't he the double?

"Yes?" the King asked, not even turning around. Simon paused, his bare feet seemingly stuck upon the frozen floor.

"I..." Simon came to the terrible realization that he didn't know what to say. Or why he'd even come here, following the other Simon's music, "I couldn't sleep."

+++

It'd been a day since they arrived in the Winter King's world. Or two now, given that it was the very early hours of a new day. The sky outside the vast halls of the castle were dark and misty, the moon tucked away in a blanket of pale clouds.

Simon let his fingertips glide over the chilly windows, the pads of his fingers catching on not even the slightest bump or rough patch of ice. Everything in the castle, everything in the entire kingdom, was so perfect.

And this left him restless. More so than the strange scarab man that'd been following them, who was still thankfully trapped in a chunk of ice. If the Winter King's estimates were correct, the duplicate crown would be completed within just seven days of the process beginning. And then Simon would be pulled back into a dizzying, eternal labyrinth of madness.

Not eternal, he reminded himself. He promised to show you how to tame it.

To tame the crown. Simon had tried so many times to do just that only to fail in his own world. Even with the proof right before his eyes, he didn't know how in God's name he was ever going to become like the other Simon.

Which was why he was here, being chased through the silent halls by his thoughts. Somewhere in the haze of memories that belonged to the Ice King, Simon remembered being restless. With all that magic, the Ice King was far more energetic than he ever was. And maybe it'd rubbed off on him.

As he turned a corner, Simon paused at what he thought was the sound of wind. Or maybe not wind, but a whistle? No, wrong again.

it was the high notes of a piano coming from far away.

Finding himself no longer entrenched in his thoughts, Simon made his way toward the sound, unsurprised to find his doppelgänger tapping away at a cerulean piano.

The Winter King was out of the suit he wore during the day, instead dressed in loose robes in brilliant hues of pale white and sapphire. Seems like Simon wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.

He lingered in the entryway to the throne room. The other had his back to Simon, playing a soft but cheerful tune. He didn't yet know he had an audience and was instead playing a concert for himself. Exhaling, Simon closed his eyes and searched for anything familiar in the Winter King's music: a scrap from one of the songs he and Marceline used to make up when she was little, the melody to the Cheers opening, those old Broadway tunes Betty used to hum while she read.

Nothing. He opened his eyes.

He didn't know why, but Simon approached his double as he played away on the piano. Then again, in the Winter King's world, wasn't he the double?

"Yes?" the King asked, not even turning around. Simon paused, his bare feet seemingly stuck upon the frozen floor.

"I..." Simon came to the terrible realization that he didn't know what to say. Or why he'd even come here, following the other Simon's music, "I couldn't sleep."

Before he could apologize and leave, WK, as Fionna had taken to calling him, turned and smiled over his shoulder. He sat to one side of the piano bench, a clear invitation. Feeling as if he couldn't excuse himself at this point, Simon took the offer and sat beside him.

"Oh, dear," the Winter King said, looking down, "Your poor feet!"

"Huh?" Simon followed his gaze. Yes, his feet were looking a bit discolored. They'd taken on an ashen hue and as he flexed his toes, Simon was a bit surprised to find them quite numb.

"What happened to your complimentary slippers?" Winter King asked. He clapped his hands and those two girls, the Ice Scouts, came out of nowhere with a fresh set of plush, white slippers. Simon could hardly utter thanks before they jet off to leave them alone.

Nevertheless, he slipped them on. He, along with the others, had been given very large guest rooms in the castle well stocked with warm, winter clothes. But when Simon climbed out of bed, sick with his thoughts, he'd taken a white robe and nothing more.

He fought the urge to laugh at himself. "Truth be told, I sometimes forget that the cold can hurt me."

He spoke as if this were still a recent development. But the last ten or so years as Simon were nothing compared to the thousand spent as Ice King.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. The other Simon at least didn't stare at him with pity. Just that sort of self-assured confidence that was, admittedly, entirely earned.

“Well, not to fret! Soon you won’t have to worry a thing about the cold.”

The Winter King laughed at his own words, his hand becoming a firm, reassuring touch on Simon’s shoulder.

Kingly, his mind supplied, Yes, that was the only way to describe this exact blend of pride and poise. Simon suppressed the sudden shiver that tickled his spine.

“Tell me, do you play?” Winter King asked, gesturing to the piano.

“Oh, I… do.” Simon said. He’d let his musical interests fall to the wayside in recent years, but yes.

Winter King sat up straighter as he clapped his hands. “Then how about a duet?”

And who was Simon to deny his kindly host?

He rolled his shoulders and began a slow song. The keys were a little lighter than he’d expected, the sound a bit shaper, making his first few notes louder than he would have liked. But neither said anything as his playing even out.

And soon a second set of hands joined him on the keys.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner,” Winter King said, taking Simon’s hesitant song and breathing some more life into it. His fingers danced across the piano with far more confidence, taking what Simon started and making it much more his own.

It was a beautiful song though, as was everything the Winter King touched. And it far out paced Simon’s rusty skills. He paused once he felt that he could no longer keep up.

“You play very well,” he said, smiling politely. Hands hovering over the keys.

Winter King beamed. “And you simply flatter me.”

He tapped Simon on the nose, making him blink in surprise. The Winter King edged closer, shrinking the space between them until their knees bumped and their thighs touched. Simon moved on instinct to give them both more space but found himself already at the edge of the bench.

Winter King studied him with that ever-cheerful expression. “You seem tense, my Simon.”

“Ah, well…” he adjusted his glasses. “A lot on my mind, I suppose.”

Without missing a beat, “And if I could help with that as well?”

Simon blinked and without warning, found them so very close together. The Winter King was leaning over him, making use of his superior height to bear upon him with an eager smile. But it was just so sudden, so much that it left him reeling.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Simon said, standing, “But you’ve already done so much for me, for us, that–”

A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Simon did finally shiver, a little jolt going up his arm.

Winter King rose, still holding Simon’s wrist. At his full height, he was the picture of grace, yet the hairs on the back of Simon’s neck stood on end. Winter King took Simon’s wrist in both hands, raising it, and…

And pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

His breath caught in his throat. Even the Winter King’s lips were as cold as ice.

A stray memory resurfaced in his mind, of something Cake said when they first arrived.

“Kiss each other!”

Which he would’ve brushed off as nonsense if it weren’t for what the Winter King said in response.

“Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me.”

But the inhabitants of Ooo, of most variants of Ooo, were all just a bit silly and strange, weren't they? Simon thought that surely the Winter King meant nothing by it.

Until now.

“It’s been quite a long while…” Winter King began, “Since I’ve had a partner.”

He met Simon’s gaze with unflinching sincerity.

Meanwhile, Simon’s brain was being tossed back and forth between denial and shock. And perhaps a third emotion which he couldn’t yet describe.

He cleared his throat and tried to find his voice. Simon said, “N-now look at who’s flattering who.”

But his meek attempt at humor fell flat. Winter King acted as if he hadn’t even heard it, still holding Simon’s hand. He even wrapped an arm around Simon’s waist, palm pressed against the small of his back. Despite his night clothes and the robe, he still faintly felt that icy touch.

The Winter King said, “My Simon, tell me. How long have you felt so lonely?”

And he shuddered at that. It wasn’t as if he’d disclosed his own sour past to the Winter King. At least, not in full detail. He hadn’t brought up his sad life as a living relic on display, or the use of magic creatures as batteries for his spells.

Or just how empty the world felt. How empty he felt.

“How did you-”

“I can see it plainly,” Winter King said, “I can see it on your face. I see it because I once felt it myself, before I built this wonderful world of mine.”

Again, the space between them was slowly closing. Simon’s body was still ringed by the arm keeping him in place.

Winter King asked softly, “Who better to be at your side than I? And you at mine? Why don’t I assuage that ache you feel?”

And Simon could have said a million things in response.

You don’t want me, I’m just an old man.

I don't feel the same way.

But Betty–

I can’t.

Don’t.

No.

Please…

Simon said not a word as another frigid hand took his chin and tilted his head back. He merely shut his eyes and let the breath be stolen from his lungs. The Winter King smelled of pine and frost.

He tried not to shiver. And he also tried not to think of Betty.

That was rather easy. Betty had been human and warm.

And everything about the Winter King was cold. Cold, but clean and polished and beautiful. Not only that, but willing and wanting.

When the Winter King pulled away, lips parted and eyes partly lidded, he hummed in delight and seemed not the least bit interested in stopping. His cheerful demeanor was gone now, his hold on Simon’s waist growing tighter.

And Simon finally identified that third emotion he felt, a kind of fearful longing. In his world, he had grown to hate snow and ice, even rejecting it in his drinks. But he couldn’t deny how familiar it was.

And try as he might, he couldn’t run from how a part of him still ached for it.

So he relented, leaning into Winter King’s touch with silent acceptance.

He said nothing and put up no resistance as the Winter King pressed him against the piano, a wave of discordant notes filling the throne room as he leaned his body into Simon’s and held him and felt him and took from him.

The cold, once again, was such a great and terrible thing.

#fionna and cake #simon petrikov #the winter king #simoncest #i love this old man #and his hotter taller more deranged counterpart #fionna and cake spoilers #gets a little slutty at the end

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