While his sights had never been set quite so high, ambition was a thing that Jon Snow had known much better than many might suspect. It would not be wrong to say that he'd craved Winterfell as a boy and even as a man; knowing what it would require didn't stop that desire from surfacing. It had only sharpened the guilt with each thought, the pain it brought as vivid as any knife wound. Just as he'd never truly acted on his desire to succeed his uncle as First Ranger, that ambition had fell to the wayside until it had become true when he'd least wanted it. The crown does not sit on his head except on important occasions, but the weight is as great as any mountain and even now, he would gladly pass it to someone else if anyone else existed that could truly bear the burden.
The sluggishness that had weighed his limbs down like lead receded far quicker than he would have expected. As pleasant as it was, it still served as surprise as he found the gentle ache subsiding and felt that vast reserve of heat and energy inside him start to slowly swirl in his gut. While he was still very content to laze about on top of her, it served as a very real reminder that he'd be wild with desire once again within several short moments. For the moment, however, he preferred to indulge in the soft warmth of her body pressed against his, not an inch of space left between them, and bask in that thing that he's been chasing his whole life: the knowledge that he's not merely tolerated, but well and truly wanted. From the moment she'd been brought before him, bundled in layers and layers of blankets, much of her wrapped in bandages, he'd wanted her. It had been a carnal desire, certainly, and brought on as much loneliness as anything, but it had been real. That had grown with each meeting. The desire that had swirled about inside of him yesterday, however, was only a pebble in the ocean compared to what he felt now. Secure in the knowledge that she needed him in the very same way he needed her, he was not ashamed to admit that his lust now would put the rumors of bastards in general to shame.
Truthfully, he's always lingered at their meetings longer than he should. The delays had started small, but they'd grown with each day that had passed; it had fueled much of the rumors regarding the improprieties of their relationship. When he'd been made aware of it, he'd toyed with the idea of cutting his visits out altogether -- Margaery had gone through enough without being drug through the muck by his whims -- but even when he'd resolved to keep his visits curt and proper, the next time they'd chatted, he'd been nearly an hour overdue. The guards were loyal to him (mostly) but even they had talked... and most certainly would now. Winterfell and a crown were things he'd wanted once, long ago, but like the food he never finished, he'd lost his taste for them a lifetime ago; it had been so long since the last time he'd gotten something he really, truly wanted that a days worth of unrest seemed a meager price to pay. By the time they were done tonight, her room would be very thoroughly defiled and they would know each crevice and nook of one another intimately. That was what he wanted to do: to explore every inch of skin he could find with gentle touches and ravenous kisses, to sample every method of taking their pleasure until they found the ones they liked best, to spend hours alternating between wild, bestial rutting and basking in these precious moments of tenderness after.
"Is that a challenge?" The laughter that came with the question was almost husky and his eyes caught hers as his lips curled into a slight smirk. "Would my lady prefer that next time, I make her come thrice before filling her with my seed?" The look of near certainty that shone in his eyes said it all. She had pleased him greatly thus far and, no doubt, she would each and every time they joined again. It was only part of what bound them together, but it was no less real, no less important than any other part of that greater whole. "Yes. Nothing can severe this. Not even the gods themselves could." Whatever came, their souls were as tightly bound as a sword to its hilt. The future would undoubtedly bring struggles: war, alliances, marriages... but even the greatest one, ultimately, would falter before what already existed between the bastard and his paramour. "Then it shall be so. Consider it another promise to add to the list." His neck tilts to press a couple kisses along the slope of her neck, lips sucking lightly on the lobe of her ear after. His voice is hot as his breath as he whispers into her ear. "I shall not take offence if you decide to wake me instead, Margaery. With your hands or your mouth or your cunt. It would be a very lovely way to wake."
Once their day was over, she would be given new chambers, adjoined to his, with a door between them. More for convenience in the morning, so she might slip back into her chambers to dress than for secrecy.
"Some may have plotted towards that end, but I would never have allowed it." Sansa had tried to whisper into his ear, but after all she'd once said of the Tyrell girl, he felt that he'd at least owed her something. "If you wished for it, I would send you anywhere you wished this very instant. But you don't. So you shall stay by my side for all eternity, my love. I won't let you go. I won't let anyone else have you. You are mine and I want you all for myself and myself alone." With each word, the near pledge that he murmurs is cemented with another kiss, a series of fond, warm kisses to her mouth that are intertwined with gentle words that are tinged with a hint of possession as that feral nature slowly reasserted itself.
A process that's assisted by the brushing of her leg between his thighs. Still heavy, the shaft twitches just so as hunger gleams in his eyes and his fingers rake their curt nails over the scarring on her hip. "Well and good. I would have you dripping with need before I take you again, Margaery." Strength returned to him now in plenty, there's nothing that stops him from shifting where he lays, but only slightly. Straddling one of her legs, his hand cups an ample breast and he grins at her, brushing slow, teasing kisses up the curve until his lips part and catch her nipple in an eager suck.
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The sluggishness that had weighed his limbs down like lead receded far quicker than he would have expected. As pleasant as it was, it still served as surprise as he found the gentle ache subsiding and felt that vast reserve of heat and energy inside him start to slowly swirl in his gut. While he was still very content to laze about on top of her, it served as a very real reminder that he'd be wild with desire once again within several short moments. For the moment, however, he preferred to indulge in the soft warmth of her body pressed against his, not an inch of space left between them, and bask in that thing that he's been chasing his whole life: the knowledge that he's not merely tolerated, but well and truly wanted. From the moment she'd been brought before him, bundled in layers and layers of blankets, much of her wrapped in bandages, he'd wanted her. It had been a carnal desire, certainly, and brought on as much loneliness as anything, but it had been real. That had grown with each meeting. The desire that had swirled about inside of him yesterday, however, was only a pebble in the ocean compared to what he felt now. Secure in the knowledge that she needed him in the very same way he needed her, he was not ashamed to admit that his lust now would put the rumors of bastards in general to shame.
Truthfully, he's always lingered at their meetings longer than he should. The delays had started small, but they'd grown with each day that had passed; it had fueled much of the rumors regarding the improprieties of their relationship. When he'd been made aware of it, he'd toyed with the idea of cutting his visits out altogether -- Margaery had gone through enough without being drug through the muck by his whims -- but even when he'd resolved to keep his visits curt and proper, the next time they'd chatted, he'd been nearly an hour overdue. The guards were loyal to him (mostly) but even they had talked... and most certainly would now. Winterfell and a crown were things he'd wanted once, long ago, but like the food he never finished, he'd lost his taste for them a lifetime ago; it had been so long since the last time he'd gotten something he really, truly wanted that a days worth of unrest seemed a meager price to pay. By the time they were done tonight, her room would be very thoroughly defiled and they would know each crevice and nook of one another intimately. That was what he wanted to do: to explore every inch of skin he could find with gentle touches and ravenous kisses, to sample every method of taking their pleasure until they found the ones they liked best, to spend hours alternating between wild, bestial rutting and basking in these precious moments of tenderness after.
"Is that a challenge?" The laughter that came with the question was almost husky and his eyes caught hers as his lips curled into a slight smirk. "Would my lady prefer that next time, I make her come thrice before filling her with my seed?" The look of near certainty that shone in his eyes said it all. She had pleased him greatly thus far and, no doubt, she would each and every time they joined again. It was only part of what bound them together, but it was no less real, no less important than any other part of that greater whole. "Yes. Nothing can severe this. Not even the gods themselves could." Whatever came, their souls were as tightly bound as a sword to its hilt. The future would undoubtedly bring struggles: war, alliances, marriages... but even the greatest one, ultimately, would falter before what already existed between the bastard and his paramour. "Then it shall be so. Consider it another promise to add to the list." His neck tilts to press a couple kisses along the slope of her neck, lips sucking lightly on the lobe of her ear after. His voice is hot as his breath as he whispers into her ear. "I shall not take offence if you decide to wake me instead, Margaery. With your hands or your mouth or your cunt. It would be a very lovely way to wake."
Once their day was over, she would be given new chambers, adjoined to his, with a door between them. More for convenience in the morning, so she might slip back into her chambers to dress than for secrecy.
"Some may have plotted towards that end, but I would never have allowed it." Sansa had tried to whisper into his ear, but after all she'd once said of the Tyrell girl, he felt that he'd at least owed her something. "If you wished for it, I would send you anywhere you wished this very instant. But you don't. So you shall stay by my side for all eternity, my love. I won't let you go. I won't let anyone else have you. You are mine and I want you all for myself and myself alone." With each word, the near pledge that he murmurs is cemented with another kiss, a series of fond, warm kisses to her mouth that are intertwined with gentle words that are tinged with a hint of possession as that feral nature slowly reasserted itself.
A process that's assisted by the brushing of her leg between his thighs. Still heavy, the shaft twitches just so as hunger gleams in his eyes and his fingers rake their curt nails over the scarring on her hip. "Well and good. I would have you dripping with need before I take you again, Margaery." Strength returned to him now in plenty, there's nothing that stops him from shifting where he lays, but only slightly. Straddling one of her legs, his hand cups an ample breast and he grins at her, brushing slow, teasing kisses up the curve until his lips part and catch her nipple in an eager suck.