When they'd first placed the crown on his head, Jon had thought that he would be able to share his burdens with Sansa. The more he'd learned about her, about the woman his sister had become, the more that possibility had become muddied; she had a head for politics better than his own, but her goals became increasingly less clear, less obvious, less aligned with his own. His sister must have realized before now that any chance she'd have of becoming his most trusted confident was gone, but if she realized the degree to which Jon planned to depend on his new mate, she might very well lash out as much as any of his other bannermen might.
Keeping her safe mattered as much as the safety of the rest of his kingdom did. The more their souls twine together, the clearer it became that he would not continue to exist without her to give him meaning; Margaery Tyrell, scarred by the conflagration of the Sept of Baelor, once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had become his very purpose for existing. Duty still chained him, and as long as he breathed, he would fulfill that duty, but if the air is stolen from a man's lungs or his blood is robbed of it's heat, death will take him... even a man like Jon who'd been called back from death itself would die if his joy and his life and all the colors of the world were taken from him. Margaery mattered to him more than the Seven Kingdoms themselves.
"Yours. Only ever yours," the words returned were hushed, but no less devoted, no less passionate than her own. In that moment, brow pressed against brow, gaze catching gaze, body twined together with body, they truly anchored together. As she spoke, a warmth pulsed in his heart, a feeling of love and affection and a thousand other things filling him, his very being like an empty vessel that had been missing something all its life. "I never knew what I was missing until now." Jon smiled and leaned in for a kiss that's as soft as their voices and the words they whisper. "I think I was born to be yours, Margaery. Truly."
Talk of reality didn't dissolve the moment, but it does make him sigh with some regret. He'd envied Robb, even after knowing he'd been crowned, and now he wishes he could melt the damn thing and go back to being nothing more than a second son. "I know. No matter the flight of fancy, I shan't allow myself to forget what's far more likely to happen." He laughed the next moment, any trace of vexation or annoyance at the possibility of marry Arianne Martell gone. "Very well. I shall focus my energies on more important things, like finding the best ways to fuck you, love."
They truly had left behind the world and morals of ordinary men. His skin prickled with approval at the words that flowed from her mouth, matching so well with his own thoughts just a moment before. The knowledge that he might have her whenever he wished, whether that was in the confined of their bed chambers or in front of the very court itself, her riding him desperately while he was supposed to be sitting in judgement, made him toss away any thought of dousing the ever-burning desire he felt licking away at his restraint. "You may." His lips curled in a fierce grin as he leaned in and claimed her lips again with another kiss that was made of hunger. "I will hold you to that. You had best be prepared, Margaery. I am not an easy man to sate. Less so with your very presence driving me to new levels of arousal. I shall hunger very, very often."
All of that is being proven in the moment. There's an almost madness that lurks in his eyes as he watches her, gaze dark and filled with all those primal things that men fear, an insanity that's brought by the lust that's straining against the bonds her rules have place on him. Every part of her, from the jagged scars racing down her back and thighs to the curls of dark hair cascading down her shoulder, ensnares him with another layer of need; desire does more than simmer inside of him, muscles thrumming with the energy born of a desire to pin her and sate his need, and with each moment that passes, more of him is needed to find some kind of restraint. "You will be. I swear it." The promise is uttered in a voice that's thick and strained, patience almost stretched to it's very limit.
It's no surprise that being allowed to touch her, even indirectly, is what undoes him. Rules and laws are human things, things of the world outside this room, and his nature is different now. At some point, even the rules she sets of their game simply no longer mattered. Instinct drove him. Instinct made his lips curl with approval as she moaned at his touch and then, without pause, sunk to her hands and knees. For a moment, he simply sat back, admiring the view, admiring the sight of her rear held enticingly high, the slickness of her freely on display for him. Jon licked his lips and joined her on the floor, hands returning to her hips to hold her steady.
"Soon," he promised, bending forward at the waist, face returning to where it had been only a moment prior. Her scent filled him once again, that deep, heady smell of arousal so sweet, the heat of it warmed him with a short burst of pleasure, sharpening his lust to a fine, fine point. Jon's tongue taste her again, just once, that act as addictive as any drug, and he groaned softly against her cunt. It's just the once, though, a reminder of what awaits him, a reminder of the sweet heat and unbearable tightness that will envelop his cock once his task here is completed. She will be rutted and mated with soon, as promised, but first there's another promise to keep.
His teeth dig into the skin of a bare thigh, finding a patch of it that's lightly scarred, and he bites down hard, marking her, sucking at her skin fiercely to ensure that a patch of black and blue will discolor her flesh. "Mine," he growls as he straightens, "You're mine. Now turn over on to your back, Margaery. I want to see the look on your face once I fill you with my cock."
no subject
Keeping her safe mattered as much as the safety of the rest of his kingdom did. The more their souls twine together, the clearer it became that he would not continue to exist without her to give him meaning; Margaery Tyrell, scarred by the conflagration of the Sept of Baelor, once Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had become his very purpose for existing. Duty still chained him, and as long as he breathed, he would fulfill that duty, but if the air is stolen from a man's lungs or his blood is robbed of it's heat, death will take him... even a man like Jon who'd been called back from death itself would die if his joy and his life and all the colors of the world were taken from him. Margaery mattered to him more than the Seven Kingdoms themselves.
"Yours. Only ever yours," the words returned were hushed, but no less devoted, no less passionate than her own. In that moment, brow pressed against brow, gaze catching gaze, body twined together with body, they truly anchored together. As she spoke, a warmth pulsed in his heart, a feeling of love and affection and a thousand other things filling him, his very being like an empty vessel that had been missing something all its life. "I never knew what I was missing until now." Jon smiled and leaned in for a kiss that's as soft as their voices and the words they whisper. "I think I was born to be yours, Margaery. Truly."
Talk of reality didn't dissolve the moment, but it does make him sigh with some regret. He'd envied Robb, even after knowing he'd been crowned, and now he wishes he could melt the damn thing and go back to being nothing more than a second son. "I know. No matter the flight of fancy, I shan't allow myself to forget what's far more likely to happen." He laughed the next moment, any trace of vexation or annoyance at the possibility of marry Arianne Martell gone. "Very well. I shall focus my energies on more important things, like finding the best ways to fuck you, love."
They truly had left behind the world and morals of ordinary men. His skin prickled with approval at the words that flowed from her mouth, matching so well with his own thoughts just a moment before. The knowledge that he might have her whenever he wished, whether that was in the confined of their bed chambers or in front of the very court itself, her riding him desperately while he was supposed to be sitting in judgement, made him toss away any thought of dousing the ever-burning desire he felt licking away at his restraint. "You may." His lips curled in a fierce grin as he leaned in and claimed her lips again with another kiss that was made of hunger. "I will hold you to that. You had best be prepared, Margaery. I am not an easy man to sate. Less so with your very presence driving me to new levels of arousal. I shall hunger very, very often."
All of that is being proven in the moment. There's an almost madness that lurks in his eyes as he watches her, gaze dark and filled with all those primal things that men fear, an insanity that's brought by the lust that's straining against the bonds her rules have place on him. Every part of her, from the jagged scars racing down her back and thighs to the curls of dark hair cascading down her shoulder, ensnares him with another layer of need; desire does more than simmer inside of him, muscles thrumming with the energy born of a desire to pin her and sate his need, and with each moment that passes, more of him is needed to find some kind of restraint. "You will be. I swear it." The promise is uttered in a voice that's thick and strained, patience almost stretched to it's very limit.
It's no surprise that being allowed to touch her, even indirectly, is what undoes him. Rules and laws are human things, things of the world outside this room, and his nature is different now. At some point, even the rules she sets of their game simply no longer mattered. Instinct drove him. Instinct made his lips curl with approval as she moaned at his touch and then, without pause, sunk to her hands and knees. For a moment, he simply sat back, admiring the view, admiring the sight of her rear held enticingly high, the slickness of her freely on display for him. Jon licked his lips and joined her on the floor, hands returning to her hips to hold her steady.
"Soon," he promised, bending forward at the waist, face returning to where it had been only a moment prior. Her scent filled him once again, that deep, heady smell of arousal so sweet, the heat of it warmed him with a short burst of pleasure, sharpening his lust to a fine, fine point. Jon's tongue taste her again, just once, that act as addictive as any drug, and he groaned softly against her cunt. It's just the once, though, a reminder of what awaits him, a reminder of the sweet heat and unbearable tightness that will envelop his cock once his task here is completed. She will be rutted and mated with soon, as promised, but first there's another promise to keep.
His teeth dig into the skin of a bare thigh, finding a patch of it that's lightly scarred, and he bites down hard, marking her, sucking at her skin fiercely to ensure that a patch of black and blue will discolor her flesh. "Mine," he growls as he straightens, "You're mine. Now turn over on to your back, Margaery. I want to see the look on your face once I fill you with my cock."