Swampcat🧍....tho Frostbek will always be in my heart, this ship got my attention bcs of that one awesome fic about it on AO3...and overall their dynamic is pretty interesting..hphbfbthdhrbd
I've gotten over my cowardice I finally drew swampcat🐊🐅
For today's rarepair prompt it's Swampcat tiiime! I didn't realise how much I missed writing them until I finished this. To no surprise, I made them unbearably fastidious freaks getting their kicks through 4D mental chess once again (/lh). (As always inspired by @imnotfromhereofficial, the Swampcat king who's excellent fics, art and musings live rent-free in my brain)
Day 15: Morning Routine: Kremy Lecroux/Morning Frost
Kremy has met plenty of people eager to get him out of his suit. Frost is the only one who also takes pleasure in getting him back into it.
Content warnings: Suggestive themes
Kremy Lecroux is, by his own admission, a man with a healthy appetite for pleasures of the flesh. Whether that be substances, experiences or people, he’s given most things a try at least once and taken the consequences as they come.
He’s had his fair share of affairs, usually quick and dirty and heat-of-the-moment – when you’re a high roller like Kremy, a night of passion followed by sneaking out a backdoor with your coat half-on is par for the course. He was never one to stick around for awkward goodbyes and non-committal suggestions of meeting up again sometime. Too many regrets, too much overthinking. There’s never been anything particularly sexy about the morning after to him.
Morning Frost changed that.
Sex with Frost is sensual. They take it slow, savouring every touch, every noise, each little sensation. Patience is rewarded. Attention is payed in full, even while in the throes of passion. Kremy adores the attention, the way Frost catalogues what he likes and how he likes it and applies that knowledge mercilessly for both of their benefit. It also mortifies him, the horror of being known and having his tells picked apart. In a funny sort of way it’s become a challenge between them, a game of wit and tactics; Kremy plays coy, leaving just enough openings here and there for Frost to spy if he’s focused. Frost is always focused. His clever hands unwrap Kremy piece by tailored piece, piercing eyes working their way through his defences so completely that for a moment Kremy can pretend they never existed at all. He sheds his own barriers in the process, leaving himself bare and gasping under Kremy’s maw. Frost would call the nature of their nights together ‘intellectual’, because he’s a huge fucking nerd, but there might just be something to that.
The challenge doesn’t end there. As the sky begins to lighten outside the window after an evening spent taking Kremy apart, Frost relishes the process of putting Kremy back together again.
By nature or by practise, they’re both early risers. As they wake, they indulge in a little time curled around one another, but eventually Frost pries himself from the mess of sheets and makes his way to Kremy’s ensuite to run them a bath.
The first thing Kremy had done with Roslov’s fortune was buy himself a new bath, one big enough to comfortably fit two of him, or in this case, Frost and himself together. Frost always runs it the perfect temperature somehow. He’s a little heavy-handed with the scented bath-salts but Kremy’s never been one to complain about an excess of luxury. The tub is so large it almost takes up the whole room and Frost tends to fill it near to the brim, so it’s a good thing the previous tenant had invested in a good drainage system. Overflow is a necessary evil, worth it for the satisfied look on Frost’s face as he sinks down into the warm water across from Kremy.
After a while revelling in the heat and heady scent of magnolia, Frost takes it upon himself to start the actual bathing process for both of them. Soft cloth in hand, he travels up and down the front of Kremy’s body, then the back, applying that unshakeable focus to every individual scale and scute. Kremy pillows his head on his arms and leans against the edge of the bath, sighing happily while Frost cleans each ridge of his tail with the utmost care. He can be cruel as he is kind in his pampering – he lingers between Kremy’s thighs, swipes gently under the base of his tail, pays special attention just below his stomach until he hears Kremy’s breath catch, then moves on to the next most sensitive spot. Kremy glowers at him and Frost plays innocent, as if the glimmer in his eyes doesn’t give him away.
Kremy gets his own back while helping Frost towel-dry and brush his fur afterwards. If he squeezes Frost’s hips between his hands or drags the brush gently down his striped tail in a way that makes a shiver run up the tabaxi’s spine, it’s only because he’s being thorough.
The rest of the challenge takes them back into the bedroom, where their clothes have been prestidigitated and folded or hung up the night previous. Laying the garments out one by one, Frost always insists on redressing Kremy himself. Kremy at first thought it was some Frost-specific mark of affection, or perhaps an odd sort of fetish. By this point it seems like a healthy mixture of both, combined with his typical need to prove his mental acuity.
Frost pushes himself not just to remember which clothes or accoutrements go where, but also the ways Kremy had styled them before he’d been eagerly disrobed. He fastens dark garters just below Kremy’s knee, warm hands around his calf, making sure the socks don’t overstretch as he clips them up. Deftly slipping a silk shirt up Kremy’s arms and over his shoulders, Frost takes care to fit each button in its hole but the very top. His fur tickles Kremy’s chest as he straightens the collar, nodding to himself once it’s symmetrical. In the meantime, Kremy preens under the attention. The amount of care Frost treats his things with (treats him with) is duly noted.
‘It’s nice to have someone else who appreciates finery, y’know?’
Frost hums in agreement, cradling Kremy’s wrist in his hand as he fusses with the golden cufflink.
‘A man as fine as yourself is hard not to appreciate.’
‘…Bet you think you’re real clever.’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
Kremy is grateful he can’t blush. Dropping his hand, Frost steps around him for a quick once-over, no doubt comparing the Kremy before him to his memory of the Kremy of last night. Narrowing his eyes, he reaches out and shifts the lavender pocket-square on his breast a millimetre to the left. There’s a pause before finally, he smiles.
‘There.’ His gaze journeys from head to toe, assessing the outfit and the form of the man it holds. He meets Kremy’s eye and his tail swoops around in a pleased arc. ‘Perfect.’
Kremy chuckles, pulling him in by the collar of his robes to nuzzle against Frost’s mouth. He shucks the emerald fabric up over his head and watches his ears twitch as Kremy eases them through the holes of the hood. Some might think it a shame to hide such a beautiful face in shadow, but Kremy finds it all the more alluring.
‘Not too bad yourself, Frost.’
They share one last kiss before Kremy applies his moustache and Frost opens the bedroom door for them both. Together, they step into the light of a new morning.
