starkish: (013)
jσn snσw ([personal profile] starkish) wrote in [personal profile] thekittenqueen 2016-12-18 08:21 pm (UTC)

The more they had discussed their options for the future, the more Jon had begun to understand his brother. Marriage had never truly seemed like an option for him, so Jon had never given the idea of an arranged one much thought. His hand held little worth to even his Lord Father's bannermen... or it had until several months ago. What he wants now is not necessarily to wed Margaery -- what they share doesn't need something lesser to make it real -- but the idea of letting another woman have any claim on him is distasteful, even if it is necessary. He has done distasteful things before, though, and if it's required, he will do even this. For the sake of his realm and all the people in it, he'll let another woman share his bed and call her wife if it will secure their future.

That would soothe the egos of his bannermen, most like. Sansa would be a different story. As a brother, if he knew what she wanted, if she made it clear and it was in reason, he would grant it to her. If that thing was Winterfell itself, it still might yet be hers once their future had been assured and the wars he was required to fight were won. She kept those things secret, though, and with each day that passed, with each secret she kept and each meeting that took place, hidden from sight, Jon found that the level of trust he had in her was slowly receding, like the waterline of lake in the midst of a drought. Margaery's presence would do little to make his sister happy, but he wasn't certain he particularly cared if it did beyond the potential threat to his new lover.

She might scheme to shift power her way, but Jon had an inkling that, together, they could prevent her from bringing either of them harm. They would be together. Of that, he was certain. Other men might send a lover away for a while, to keep her safe from harm while they sorted their affairs, but that was impossible; to be separated from her for more than a passing moment would be the same as to leave the warmth of Winterfell's warm while a blizzard raged outside. Both would end in pain, ice claiming his skin as oblivion crept up on him.

The swell of warmth that spread through him, driving off any thoughts of danger and death, as she held him, their mouths meeting in soft, sweet kisses, was a reminder of everything she meant to him. It had been less than an hour since he understood what had drawn him to her, that thing that left him circling around her, and now, he simply wanted to feel her, wanted her close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss, each and every moment of each and every day. "I would give up my crown if I could. If I thought the world wouldn't burn if I did, I would do it. I would take you away from Westeros -- to one of the free cities, Braavos or Lys or Pentos -- to spend the rest of our lives in pleasure." He smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes with gentle fingers, and kissed her mouth deeply, tongue delving inside and tasting her again, for a moment that stretched into eternity. "I can not do that, but my heart, my soul, my very self... they're yours. Always."

Those words, sweet, tender, honest, are one aspect of their bond, but the are other aspects too, aspects that are raw and primal and base; once, he would have shied away from admitting that, but not now. A thought that would have once made him flush with shame and sparked an downward spiral of denial brings a resonance with every aspect of him, as if a thousand thousand voices all sound their agreement at the same time. By the time they rose tomorrow, there would not be a man or woman in the castle that didn't know that their king had taken Margaery Tyrell as a lover; within the week, the castle would have a demonstration of just how hot his blood ran for her. There was no doubt that he would take her in full view of court soon. He craved the moment that it happened like a starving man crave's even a scrap of food.

All those human thoughts and feelings faded when her cry, high and sweet, pierced the air; in that moment, the surge of raw, roiling desire that burst through his veins left only the beast that wanted to endlessly rut with his mate. She turned, as he knew she would, legs sealing them together as he gazed deep into her eyes, tongue wetting his lips as she pleaded for him to finally take her. One hand caressed her cheek, an echo of his humanity glowing through the dark cloud of desire, while fingers wrapped around the base of his arousal, long and thick. His cock throbbed as he lined them up, tip pressing against the source of that slick heat, and he leaned in, whispering a simple phrase before his mouth was on hers, hungry and fierce, "I know. I'll give you what you need."

There's no gentleness in the moment that follows. Raw need rules over sense. It's not possible to be slow or tender, not after the way she so carefully fanned the flames of his passion with her show earlier, and he doesn't pretend that he will be. As his mouth seals against hers, lips working with a frenzied passion to kiss her breathless, Jon fills her. There's no other way to put it. His hips push forward and in the space of his heartbeat, every inch of him is buried inside her after a quick stroke. His kiss shatters the moment that his cock is inside her, the heat of her, the tightness of her, the feeling of completion now that she's around him are so overwhelming, he can't do anything else. Jon moans loudly against her mouth, gasping her name, taking a long moment to let that feeling linger before jerking his hips just so, shifting the girth inside her slightly.

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