Some men survived a brush with death and thought they understood it. Jon had met such men before. A warrior that survives a wound that should fester and rot feels that way. A Lady that survives an assassin's blade might also the feel same. Some stopped fearing it while others found themselves waking in terror at the mere thought that their time would one day come to end. Those men and women had no idea how little they understood. Death could never be understood. Not by them and certainly not by him or Margaery. The feeling of death's finger drawing across your skin, though, is an entirely different thing than to be enveloped by it's embrace and let go. It's an experience that changes you, irrevocably, an experience that strips away some piece of who you were, leaves you raw and open and changed.
Margaery was the first person he'd ever known that could understand that. When she'd been brought to him, all those weeks ago, after months of carefully monitored travel, still faintly alive, he'd wondered if she might be able to understand the things that he'd gone through. Her own experience had turned out much different than his own, but still... from the moment she'd woken and he'd heard the reports of his maesters and servants trickle in, Jon had known that she was just as broken as he was. He might have known from that very moment that their pieces would end up fitting together, jagged edges and all sliding into a perfect whole.
"So I would be your prized possession then?" Jon's voice is filled with mock outrage, pretend hurt easily betrayed by the gentle chortle that thrums in his chest and the amusement that lights up his eyes like candles. His lips showered her hair with an assortment of kisses, each one filled to bursting with affection, and he hummed softly as he gazed deeply into her eyes, seeing his future there, with her, and nowhere else. "It would be a sweet thing indeed." Softly, he murmurs as his fingers trace the edge of her jaw and the shape of her cheekbones. "We'd never get a single thing done. I'd be too busy wanting to fuck you to find time for anything else. And without councilors to frown at me..."
Jon makes it sound as if that will stop them, but it won't. The way his eyes burn at the thought and the curl of his lips, teeth bared in a grin that lacks some critical element, broadcasts that truth of that. Pure honesty is the best policy in these situations. Expectations would have tempered them once, a lifetime or two ago, and society would have kept them apart without ever realizing what it was doing, but even if they drape him the finest of silks and set a heavy, regal crown of bronze and iron on his head, those are only trappings and what need has the wolf of things like that?
There will be traps, though, laid carefully by enemies and perhaps by those that should be friends, snares designed to tear them apart. The very thought of it stirs something dark inside him, a fury as intense as the storms that give Shipbreaker Bay it's name. He would not allow it! If someone tried, he would destroy them so thoroughly that it might very well give Tywin Lannister pause, had the man still existed. The fury cools, dissipating as quickly as it came, no threats on their lives palpable at the moment, but other things linger in it's wake.
It's that dark, primal knot of emotions that drives him forward as his length fills her again and again, that frantic need that makes him take her with all the desperate thrusting of a man on edge. His cock is filling her now and they're sealed together, souls permanently twined in a dance of heat and light and pleasure that will never end, but the thought of someone trying to take her away, the knowledge that the future they both lust after is one they can't have... it makes him pursue this feeling they share, the mind-shattering pleasure of each moment being better than the one before, and the eventually end. He's marked the outside of her with his mouth and he wants to mark the inside of her with something else entirely.
His laughter might be shaky as she teases him, but the words that follow are growled in a voice that's as deep and rich as any wine. "I know. I think before the night is through, though, I won't be the only one doing the fucking. Or did I mishear you earlier? I thought you wanted to ride my cock, Margaery." Jon grins as pain tears through the skin on his back, morphing into pleasure the moment after; it's nothing compared to the feeling when her mouth closes and her teeth dig into his shoulder. His voice cries out in a moment of bliss, cock leaking inside her as the sensation very nearly makes him spill right there, marked so very thoroughly as hers.
"Yes," his groan is guttural as he finds the strength to do as she demands, sweat clinging to his skin as his hips furiously ruts her on the floor, cock sliding in and out of her with all the desperate speed he can muster. She wants him to fuck her as hard, as good as he can. That thought lingers even as his ability to reason starts to dull. His back curls and his mouth covers her chest in hungry, open-mouthed kisses that culminate with a wet suck of one of her nipples and a soft murmur that's only loud enough for her to hear. "Come for me, love. Now. I want to fill you with more than my cock."
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Margaery was the first person he'd ever known that could understand that. When she'd been brought to him, all those weeks ago, after months of carefully monitored travel, still faintly alive, he'd wondered if she might be able to understand the things that he'd gone through. Her own experience had turned out much different than his own, but still... from the moment she'd woken and he'd heard the reports of his maesters and servants trickle in, Jon had known that she was just as broken as he was. He might have known from that very moment that their pieces would end up fitting together, jagged edges and all sliding into a perfect whole.
"So I would be your prized possession then?" Jon's voice is filled with mock outrage, pretend hurt easily betrayed by the gentle chortle that thrums in his chest and the amusement that lights up his eyes like candles. His lips showered her hair with an assortment of kisses, each one filled to bursting with affection, and he hummed softly as he gazed deeply into her eyes, seeing his future there, with her, and nowhere else. "It would be a sweet thing indeed." Softly, he murmurs as his fingers trace the edge of her jaw and the shape of her cheekbones. "We'd never get a single thing done. I'd be too busy wanting to fuck you to find time for anything else. And without councilors to frown at me..."
Jon makes it sound as if that will stop them, but it won't. The way his eyes burn at the thought and the curl of his lips, teeth bared in a grin that lacks some critical element, broadcasts that truth of that. Pure honesty is the best policy in these situations. Expectations would have tempered them once, a lifetime or two ago, and society would have kept them apart without ever realizing what it was doing, but even if they drape him the finest of silks and set a heavy, regal crown of bronze and iron on his head, those are only trappings and what need has the wolf of things like that?
There will be traps, though, laid carefully by enemies and perhaps by those that should be friends, snares designed to tear them apart. The very thought of it stirs something dark inside him, a fury as intense as the storms that give Shipbreaker Bay it's name. He would not allow it! If someone tried, he would destroy them so thoroughly that it might very well give Tywin Lannister pause, had the man still existed. The fury cools, dissipating as quickly as it came, no threats on their lives palpable at the moment, but other things linger in it's wake.
It's that dark, primal knot of emotions that drives him forward as his length fills her again and again, that frantic need that makes him take her with all the desperate thrusting of a man on edge. His cock is filling her now and they're sealed together, souls permanently twined in a dance of heat and light and pleasure that will never end, but the thought of someone trying to take her away, the knowledge that the future they both lust after is one they can't have... it makes him pursue this feeling they share, the mind-shattering pleasure of each moment being better than the one before, and the eventually end. He's marked the outside of her with his mouth and he wants to mark the inside of her with something else entirely.
His laughter might be shaky as she teases him, but the words that follow are growled in a voice that's as deep and rich as any wine. "I know. I think before the night is through, though, I won't be the only one doing the fucking. Or did I mishear you earlier? I thought you wanted to ride my cock, Margaery." Jon grins as pain tears through the skin on his back, morphing into pleasure the moment after; it's nothing compared to the feeling when her mouth closes and her teeth dig into his shoulder. His voice cries out in a moment of bliss, cock leaking inside her as the sensation very nearly makes him spill right there, marked so very thoroughly as hers.
"Yes," his groan is guttural as he finds the strength to do as she demands, sweat clinging to his skin as his hips furiously ruts her on the floor, cock sliding in and out of her with all the desperate speed he can muster. She wants him to fuck her as hard, as good as he can. That thought lingers even as his ability to reason starts to dull. His back curls and his mouth covers her chest in hungry, open-mouthed kisses that culminate with a wet suck of one of her nipples and a soft murmur that's only loud enough for her to hear. "Come for me, love. Now. I want to fill you with more than my cock."