That day remains clear in his mind. It wasn't the advise of his council or the wisdom of his maesters that had drawn him to her side that day. All had counselled that her wounds were grave and that there was no knowing if she might ever come out of it. Jon had known, though. There was no red woman here to bring her back, no ancient magic of the first men that could resuscitate a woman that laid between the realms of life and death; even with all the learned men that he'd brought to his side, there was nothing they could do but wait and be patient. Patience had been a great deal easier then that it was now and that had been tempered by the certainty. Her eyes would not remain closed for over. What medicine and magic could not accomplish, Jon took on faith that it would happen all the same.
On that day, he'd visited her only by the smallest chance. His skin had prickled all day, an anxious, eager tension keeping him on edge, and the feeling of expectation had filled the air -- it had been chance he'd been near the chambers they'd laid her to rest in. Chance and luck were fine things, but it had ultimately been a gut feeling that had brought him there. That expectation had become certainty and not five minutes after he'd walked in, she'd awoken. Really, truly awoken. There was no sweeping feeling of love or desire that had overtaken him -- he'd seen her many times before -- but that day, when her brilliant blue eyes had snapped open, something had changed in him. It had just taken until now to find the words to describe it.
"You are more treasured than a mere possession could be, Margaery," a finger stroked the side of her cheek as soft, pleased chuckling filled the air. "But I take your point. I feel very prized indeed to be so dear to you." Honest words for honest words. No matter how hard he tried to picture their much wanted life together, it always faded into shadows. It was a wonderful illusion. If it could be real, if they could spend their lives entangled only with each other, he would have sold what possessions he owned and booked them passage to Essos the next day.
He's honest with himself, though, and there's no trace of truth in pretending that they could have something like that. And yet it's that very same honesty that lets him admit something -- his body craves her, just as much as heart and soul do. To call it lust might even diminish the depth of that need. Lust was inevitably fleeting. This feeling -- this actual, tangible need to have her skin warm against his, to feel her lips brushing against whatever parts of him she could find, to fill her with his cock again and again and again, incapable of ever being sated -- surpasses what mankind knows of passion and desire. To restrain himself would be impossible. Just as his heart and his soul knew they were two parts of a single whole, their bodies knew it as well. It didn't matter where they were. If he was at the head of a massive host and the need hit him, he would call a halt and take her in front of anyone who would dare watch.
The first time Jon had fucked a woman had changed everything he knew; the way he ruts Margaery now, fucking her with all that feral, untamed need, puts that shift to shame. Time stopped having meaning as the pleasure grew, each stroke making the world around them seem a little less real, a little more dull, every sense directed on her. It let him appreciate the sound of each rough, throaty moan that falls like rain on his ears and the sight of her beneath him, flush with that same pleasure and so vibrantly alive, he was loathe to pull away for another kiss. Most of all, it turns that need into something just as important, something just as potent: he wants her. Wants and wants and wants. It's selfish to want her at the exclusion of everything else, but in these moments, all he knows how to do is want and thrust and kiss. That want will not easily be sated.
"Punished, is it?" There's no question at the correction. Mate is the perfect word for what they are. Two wolves incapable of pretending to be proper, two beasts incapable of waiting even the paltry moment it would take to find their way to a bed or couch or anything that isn't the cool stone of the floor. Even the way his hips move, shaky, wild jerks that contain no rhythm or pace beyond the endless need to fuck her, is the kind of raw, untamed motion that no man would make. And despite all the effort it takes, despite how his chest rises and falls with ragged gasps, the strain of it only makes the thing feel better, muscles aching instead of sore from the pure exertion of it. "Like this?" His hand swats her ass then, hard enough to do more than sting, and he grins down at her, just like the wolf he is. "And do you plan to disappoint me often, mate?"
As much as he wanted to draw this out, it was impossible for it to last forever. That feeling of release is slowly welling up inside of him, an inevitability that he can only stretch so long. He nods shakily, groaning his reply softly, "Now. Right now. Before I fill you with my seed."
She does, just a moment later, and it's barely just in the knick of time. Around him, everything clenches down and it's too much. There's no more warning beyond a final, brutal thrust that leaves him as deep inside her as his cock can go and then he's dissolving into a spray of white, hot pleasure. His orgasm slams into him and he's dimly aware of the howl that comes with it, face nuzzling against her neck while teeth bit and nip at skin without discretion. Her name is the only thing he can remember and it's that word he whimpers and groans as his cock pulses and fills her with his seed.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2016-12-22 02:46 am (UTC)On that day, he'd visited her only by the smallest chance. His skin had prickled all day, an anxious, eager tension keeping him on edge, and the feeling of expectation had filled the air -- it had been chance he'd been near the chambers they'd laid her to rest in. Chance and luck were fine things, but it had ultimately been a gut feeling that had brought him there. That expectation had become certainty and not five minutes after he'd walked in, she'd awoken. Really, truly awoken. There was no sweeping feeling of love or desire that had overtaken him -- he'd seen her many times before -- but that day, when her brilliant blue eyes had snapped open, something had changed in him. It had just taken until now to find the words to describe it.
"You are more treasured than a mere possession could be, Margaery," a finger stroked the side of her cheek as soft, pleased chuckling filled the air. "But I take your point. I feel very prized indeed to be so dear to you." Honest words for honest words. No matter how hard he tried to picture their much wanted life together, it always faded into shadows. It was a wonderful illusion. If it could be real, if they could spend their lives entangled only with each other, he would have sold what possessions he owned and booked them passage to Essos the next day.
He's honest with himself, though, and there's no trace of truth in pretending that they could have something like that. And yet it's that very same honesty that lets him admit something -- his body craves her, just as much as heart and soul do. To call it lust might even diminish the depth of that need. Lust was inevitably fleeting. This feeling -- this actual, tangible need to have her skin warm against his, to feel her lips brushing against whatever parts of him she could find, to fill her with his cock again and again and again, incapable of ever being sated -- surpasses what mankind knows of passion and desire. To restrain himself would be impossible. Just as his heart and his soul knew they were two parts of a single whole, their bodies knew it as well. It didn't matter where they were. If he was at the head of a massive host and the need hit him, he would call a halt and take her in front of anyone who would dare watch.
The first time Jon had fucked a woman had changed everything he knew; the way he ruts Margaery now, fucking her with all that feral, untamed need, puts that shift to shame. Time stopped having meaning as the pleasure grew, each stroke making the world around them seem a little less real, a little more dull, every sense directed on her. It let him appreciate the sound of each rough, throaty moan that falls like rain on his ears and the sight of her beneath him, flush with that same pleasure and so vibrantly alive, he was loathe to pull away for another kiss. Most of all, it turns that need into something just as important, something just as potent: he wants her. Wants and wants and wants. It's selfish to want her at the exclusion of everything else, but in these moments, all he knows how to do is want and thrust and kiss. That want will not easily be sated.
"Punished, is it?" There's no question at the correction. Mate is the perfect word for what they are. Two wolves incapable of pretending to be proper, two beasts incapable of waiting even the paltry moment it would take to find their way to a bed or couch or anything that isn't the cool stone of the floor. Even the way his hips move, shaky, wild jerks that contain no rhythm or pace beyond the endless need to fuck her, is the kind of raw, untamed motion that no man would make. And despite all the effort it takes, despite how his chest rises and falls with ragged gasps, the strain of it only makes the thing feel better, muscles aching instead of sore from the pure exertion of it. "Like this?" His hand swats her ass then, hard enough to do more than sting, and he grins down at her, just like the wolf he is. "And do you plan to disappoint me often, mate?"
As much as he wanted to draw this out, it was impossible for it to last forever. That feeling of release is slowly welling up inside of him, an inevitability that he can only stretch so long. He nods shakily, groaning his reply softly, "Now. Right now. Before I fill you with my seed."
She does, just a moment later, and it's barely just in the knick of time. Around him, everything clenches down and it's too much. There's no more warning beyond a final, brutal thrust that leaves him as deep inside her as his cock can go and then he's dissolving into a spray of white, hot pleasure. His orgasm slams into him and he's dimly aware of the howl that comes with it, face nuzzling against her neck while teeth bit and nip at skin without discretion. Her name is the only thing he can remember and it's that word he whimpers and groans as his cock pulses and fills her with his seed.